Notes: This chapter is nearly as long as the other two combined...but I really wanted to get through the wedding ceremony and the wedding night! My next update might not be quite this fast, but I'll be trying to get a chapter up on Friday. Thank you again for supporting me and this story!
Chapter Three
On another woman, the wedding gown might have been perfect. Dark blue silk and silver satin, gleaming suns and moons embroidered in a filigree pattern along the hems and over the bodice, all complimented by a sapphire and pearl necklace which had been one of the few pieces of jewelry Brienne had ever coveted. It had been her mother's, and though it looked strange on her thickly muscled neck, she refused to enter the sept without it.
The seamstresses had done what they could to give her a womanly shape. Padding had been added at the hips in the hopes that she would present the illusion of a waist. Her small breasts were emphasized by the embroidery on the bodice, though her shoulders remained too wide and muscular for this to have any real effect. Her hair, cropped brutally short so her sparring partners could not use it against her, was covered in a headpiece of silver with white wildflowers.
It was all a work of great skill and beauty, and on Brienne it looked as ridiculous as it would have on a horse. She had to fight her instinct to curl in on herself protectively, to flee back to her chambers and pull on her usual doublet and breeches. The gown left her feeling as vulnerable as if she were about to parade across the island naked, and it took great willpower to square her shoulders and lift her chin high.
Her father's eyes gleamed when he saw her, but he didn't shed any tears. Instead, he gently covered her with her maiden's cloak and said softly, so only she could hear, "Courage, my darling."
The walk to the sept was too short. Time was doing strange things, speeding up or slowing down at the most inopportune moments. Brienne was halfway to the septon and alter before she realized that she was truly about to be married. That it really was Jaime Lannister waiting for her at the end of the aisle, with a squire holding the Lannister colors beside him. She was about to be draped in those colors, supposedly cloaked in the protection of her husband's House, but was anyone safe in a lion's den?
A shiver ran through her. She had barely registered the guests all staring at her as she walked past them. There were murmurs and looks of ill-disguised amusement or sadness from the Queen's entourage, but Brienne's attention was focused on her soon-to-be husband. He stood as tall and proud as ever, his beauty nearly painful in the sunlight streaming in from the large windows above him. A perfect, golden knight; the only flaw was the grim set of his jaw and the cold emerald of his eyes.
Again, Brienne fought off the urge to curl into herself. She had never lacked for courage, she wouldn't start now. She made it through the final steps to the septon without faltering. Her father gave her a kiss on the cheek and squeezed her hand before slipping off to the side to receive her maiden's cloak.
She was distracted through much of what followed. She kept glancing at Jaime's profile, studying his expression. His face was a mask and he made no attempt to meet her eyes. He watched the septon with impressive detachment, and only turned to her when it was time to fold her into the Lannister's mantle.
He took the bride's cloak from the squire. It was a thing of beauty: heavy crimson brocade and cloth-of-gold. It was also new, unlike the cloak Brienne was already wearing. This was no family heirloom, as Tarth's was. The true Lannister shroud was no doubt packed away carefully at Casterly Rock, awaiting the chance to don the shoulders of a more deserving lady.
Jaime pulled Tarth's weathered cloak from her and, with an impressive flourish, enveloped her in red and gold. Brienne again tried to read his expression and was again met with stony impassivity. His colors felt heavy on her shoulders, suffocating rather than protective, but she resisted the urge to tug the fabric off as the septon lifted his crystal high above their heads and pronounced them man and wife.
In that moment, warm fingers touched her chin. Awareness ran through her blood like fire—her husband was touching her for the very first time, and she sucked in a breath at the unexpected sensation.
He kissed her still-parted lips.
It was just a touch, just the barest brush of his warm mouth against hers, but suddenly there was no air left in Brienne's lungs. Her heart had thudded out of control and electricity seemed to shoot through her blood. What was happening to her?
He leaned back and for the first time that day, she saw a hint of emotion on his face. It was the tiniest curl of his lips; a smirk at the stunned look on her face. Brienne quickly composed herself again, but her cheeks were no doubt blazing with color.
No one had warned her that kissing was like that.
"Fortify yourself, my lady," he murmured to her. "We still need to survive the festivities."
Brienne felt a chill as she thought about the celebrations still to come: another feast, tumblers and fools and dancers and music, and then… If possible, her cheeks became even hotter.
And then the bedding. Seven save me, how could I have forgotten?
The wench didn't even blush prettily. Jaime stalked away from his bride as soon as possible, which wasn't until the entire wedding party had returned to the Great Hall. Even as he'd sworn oaths to honor and protect his new lady (always more oaths, he seemed to be drowning in promises), he'd felt as though some sort of trap was closing around him. Cersei had glared at him the entire time as well, adding timber to his already blazing temper.
And then of course there was Brienne and her bloody blue eyes, staring across at him as though he was some sort of riddle. He tried and failed not to think of their first brief contact at the alter. Even that not-quite kiss had sent a shock down his spine. The memory of that little mystery was only adding to his discomfort, and Brienne's unflinching gaze was rapidly getting under his skin. He hoped she'd knock it off or else he'd be put off his food for the second night in a row.
The feasting part of the day seemed to drag on for an eternity. Brienne sat at his right at the head of the table, but she hardly spoke, and her expression grew grim as the hours went by. She refused to dance with anyone, but that suited his mood just fine. They would only be gawped at, and he'd had his fill of that.
It was bad enough he'd been married to an ugly wench, but did she have to be so damn dour?
"You're not eating, my lord," she said.
No, he'd been too busy with his ale to partake in crab cakes and oysters. "Don't worry, I'm well satisfied."
"So I see." Brienne's gaze touched his rapidly emptying cup.
"Wedded for a few hours and you're already chiding me. Marital bliss is living up to its reputation," he quipped. His voice was not kind. Her eyes narrowed on his face.
"If only I'd been warned that my husband is a drunk as well as a Kingslayer," she replied.
Jaime's fists tightened. "Consider us even. After all, no one warned me I was marrying a hideous beast."
Brienne's spine stiffened and they lapsed back into silence. He could feel the hostility coming off of her in waves, and he replenished the ale in his cup. He spotted Tyrion trying to hide an amused grin and shot his brother a glare. Nor was there any comfort from his sister, sitting in the place of highest honor and looking as though she was carved out of ice. She was glorious, beautiful—and, as ever, out of reach.
Then, all at once, some of the squires at the back of the hall began calling for the bedding.
The color immediately drained from Brienne's face. Those eyes—summer eyes—were so filled with dismay that all at once, Jaime felt a slight softening toward her. She reminded him so much of Tyrion when he was a boy; aware of her unforgivable awkwardness and prickly in her own defense, but underneath it all was fear and a hope for genuine kindness. He might have reached over and touched her hand to reassure her, but he was already being dragged from his seat.
Bawdy jokes filled the air as the men swept Jaime out of the Great Hall. Brienne stared after him with wide eyes, caught in her own tide of teasing women. Some of the japes were cruel: what was normally a bit of fun at the couple's expense was turning into an opportunity to mock Brienne's mannish appearance. The men were no kinder. They offered him boar spears and crossbows to keep his 'fair' bride away, compared their bedchamber to a bear pit, a hundred other clever little indignities…
She didn't cry.
He had to admire her strength in that. He supposed she'd built up an immunity to their words over the years, though she remained pale enough that he knew she'd carry their japes with her.
The couple was shoved into the bridal chamber and forcibly stripped to their undergarments. While Brienne was shoved into a nightgown behind a screen, Jaime silently begged Cersei to call a stop to this ridiculous display. She only met his gaze and smiled. It was a cruel smile, as though she was exacting some sort of revenge against him for something he hadn't even wanted.
It was Selwyn that called the guests back to the Great Hall. He stood in the hallway and implored them all to join him at the gaming tables, and slowly the chamber emptied of all but the septon. Jaime and Brienne stood next to the old man as he blessed their marital bed, mumbling prayers to the Seven for Brienne's obedience and fertility and Jaime's honor and virility. He didn't look at her legs, which seemed endless under her thin gown. He looked instead at their feet, so similar in size, and wondered how he would get through the next part of the evening.
The septon left with one last blessing, and they were alone.
"Ser Jaime," Brienne said, her back as stiff as a board, but he cut her off as he moved around the room, extinguishing lamps and candles until only the two nearest the bed remained lit.
"Just Jaime. We're married. We may as well leave off the honorifics." His irritation was returning quickly at the thought of what they both must endure. He hadn't been with a woman since he'd realized he was in love with Cersei, yet he must betray her at last. There must be a child if he and Brienne were ever to be free of each other.
"I don't know what your expectations are this night, but—"
"I expect," he told her drily as he crossed around the bed to climb in, "to blow out the lights and get on with it as best I can. They say all women are the same in the dark. Even your face can't put me off if I can't see it."
Still, Brienne stood by the bed. It was the first time he'd seen her courage falter.
"Come on wench, climb in and let's get this over with. I shall be gentle, I promise."
She hesitated for a moment more, and then she slid into the bed with all the grace of a newborn foal. Jaime blew out the candle on his side, and Brienne did the same, plunging the chamber into full darkness at last. He closed his eyes and tried to will his body to obey him, then he turned and reached for Brienne. He drew her toward his body, one hand moving to lift her night gown and touch her meager breasts—
Something very cold brushed his stomach and he jumped.
"Careful, my lord husband, for my knife is quite sharp." Brienne's voice was almost sensual. "They'll look for blood on the sheets in the morning, but it does not have to be my blood."
"By all the gods…do you always go to bed with a knife, wench?" Jaime asked as he released her and slid away from her.
"Not always. Only when I'm told I must sleep beside a lion."
Jaime laughed, surprising them both. "No doubt a wise precaution. I won't even ask where you had it hidden." There was a pause, and then he added, "You know what we must do as well as I. Tonight, a week from now, a year from now…what difference does it make?"
"Just stay on your side, Kingslayer."
It was as if she'd spat in his face. Any earlier kindness he might have felt for her disappeared with those words.
"Have it your way. Try not to slide that knife between my shoulders while I sleep. My father is rather fond of me despite my myriad flaws."
Brienne didn't answer. She turned her back to him and drew the sheets high up around her ears, as though to block him out. Jaime glanced at her, sighed, and turned away as well.
She's even more stubborn than she is ugly, he thought, but then he thought of the knife against his belly and smirked. At least her new sigil seemed to suit: there could be no doubt that she had the potential to be a proper lioness. His father might be in for a surprise.