I'm back, babies! And the next chapter is almost done as well and it will probably be up tomorrow evening.
Sorry for the long wait!
Major thanks to thereluctanthipster and ssstrychnine for being glorious betas for me. You guys are amazing!
Chapter 13
Jaime would be lying to himself if he tried to pretend he hadn't been avoiding Brienne since Tyrion had shown up. To Jaime's surprise, his brother hadn't said a single word about her on the day he arrived, and Jaime was entirely sure the Imp was enjoying watching his elder brother suffer and dangle as he waited for the subject to be breached.
Jaime had avoided the training yard for days, for he knew Tyrion would be watching like a hawk for the next time he could observe them together. He stopped there only once, when he knew Tyrion was meeting with the maester. He stuck his head in briefly ask her about the lads' progress and to ask how she was doing before bolting.
But after nearly a week, he could not deny that he was missing Brienne more than he could say, and all his plans to not give Tyrion any more fuel for mockery were gone.
He needed to see her and he was going to, regardless of how Tyrion might choose to taunt him about it.
He reached the training yard just as the lads were breaking to get some lunch. He strode over to Brienne, and started talking at once about nothing and everything, amazed by how much he had to say after only a week apart.
They ended up sitting on the ground with their backs to the wall as they so often did when breaking from bouts of sparring.
They sat close enough that their arms touched. Whenever she turned to look at him directly, their mouths were much too close and made his breathing turn ragged.
Jaime was just in the middle of telling her a story about a prank he and some other boys had played on the ornery master-at-arms at Crakehall when he'd squired there.
Brienne was breathless with laughter, clutching at his arm to keep from doubling over and causing an involuntary swooping sensation low in his belly.
"What little monsters you were!" she gasped, giggling and shaking her head at him.
"Trust me, my lady, the grumpy old codger more than deserved it. He was not nearly so good a teacher as y-"
"Good morning, dear brother," Tyrion cried with delight, interrupting him. The Imp was waddling across the yard towards them, looking delighted. "And you, my lady. It seems I've just missed some great joke."
"Jaim- er Lord Jaime was just telling me about some mischief he caused while squiring at Crakehall."
Tyrion smiled broadly. "Ah, would this be the one about the ridiculous beard-dyeing that earned him a black eye or the donkey in his bedchamber that nearly got our Jaime sent back to the Rock?"
Brienne clapped a hand over her mouth and turned to Jaime, looking scandalized, "Donkey in the bedchamber? I've certainly not heard that one yet! "
"Er, I was building up to it," Jaime said awkwardly, aware of Tyrion's eyes on them, shrewdly taking it all in. He noted their proximity and shifted away from her as subtly as he could, putting some inches between their bodies.
Not subtly enough.
When he caught Tyrion's eye, his brother gave a blatant smirk that showed Jaime had failed to pull the wool over his eyes.
"Well, I'm afraid I do not have the time to stick around for that tale, but I've no doubt you'll enjoy it, my lady. I must meet with the maester before our dinner this evening, Lady Brienne. You do still planning to attend?" he asked.
Jaime's head whipped around towards his brother, his mouth agape.
"I do," Brienne said, and he saw her nodding from out of the corner of his eye. "You are very kind to extend the offer."
"As are you to have accepted. I look forward to it. Farewell," Tyrion said, bowing slightly.
Jaime scowled as he watched Tyrion shoot him a cocky grin and leave.
The scheming imp couldn't have planned it better. Jaime had been forced into a private dinner with some sworn lord this evening, a meeting which promised to be long and tedious. Tyrion would have Brienne all to himself to pry information out of and manipulate into giving things away that simply...simply weren't true.
The thought of them sharing a meal without him present to look after her left Jaime feeling slightly ill.
Jaime hoped Tyrion would treat her well. His brother was not unkind, but he was of sharper wits than the wench and better at bandying words. He hoped he would not torment her too much as he attempted to glean information about her relationship with Jaime.
"So you're... you're having dinner with him?" Jaime asked trying his best to sound casual. "How did that come about?"
"He came by this morning to watch Pod- his squire at work. The boy is a fast learner and your brother seemed impressed by the quick improvement. He asked me to dine with him so that he might thank me for educating his squire on the finer points of swordplay. I could hardly refuse the offer," Brienne said awkwardly. "Besides, it will be nice to get to know him after all the stories you've told. He's seems just as amiable as you've always said."
Jaime could only grunt.
She was so bloody naive and trusting. He hated it almost as much as he loved it.
Jaime burst into Maester Corryn's chambers a while later, loud and angry.
"Maester Corryn, would you please excuse us? I must needs speak with my brother," Jaime snapped.
"My Lord, we are in the middle of-"
"It won't take long. Please leave us," Jaime demanded.
When Corryn shuffled out, looking half-terrified, Jaime was annoyed to see that Tyrion looked the furthest one could get from afraid. He was grinning.
"What can I do for you, dear brother?" Tyrion asked innocently, pulling out a chair so Jaime could sit beside him. Jaime refused.
"What's all this about you having dinner with Brienne?" Jaime asked sharply.
"What about it?" Tyrion blinked. "She's a highborn guest of this castle, who has gone out of her way to aid my squire in the acquisition of skills that will be most useful to me. He saved my life on the battlefield, but I believe that was down to luck more than anything. I simply wish to know her better."
"Don't toy with me, brother," Jaime said darkly. "You're not in King's Landing anymore. I have little patience for dancing about with words. I know- I know why you're trying to- trying to-" he sputtered, too furious to articulate the words.
"Trying to what?"
"You think there's something- something going on. You've heard- rumors or something and you want to-"
"What do I want to do?" Tyrion asked, furrowing his brow in feigned confusion.
Scowling, Jaime bit out, "Enough, you foul little imp. Have your dinner, but you better be bloody nice to her. Whatever game you're playing, it's with me, not her."
Tyrion grinned. "Quite protective, aren't you?"
"She's my prisoner, but she's of noble birth. It is my duty to see that she is treated with respect worthy of her station," Jaime said stiffly.
"Ah yes, and is it your duty to charge her with the training of your boys and ride all across the land with her? Or to sit on the ground beside her telling her all about your childhood mischief?" Tyrion grinned.
"She has the skills required to make a good teacher. She can fight as well as any man here, and has the patience they need to grow. That is all."
"And the patience to train with you every night, sometimes dueling away with you until the sun starts to come up, I hear," Tyrion smirked.
"I didn't come here for this," Jaime scowled. "I came to warn you to treat the wench well. I may have only the one hand, but I reckon I could still beat you bloody, little brother."
To his frustration, Tyrion began to laugh. Cackle, really.
He laughed until tears were streaming down his scarred face and he was beating his small fists against the wooden table. "My gods. You really- you really do like her! I thought I was only winding you up, but you actually like that giant beast of a woman!"
Tyrion dissolved into a fit of laughter once again and Jaime found his patience had worn thin.
"Shut up," Jaime hissed, seizing Tyrion by front of his red velvet tunic. "Stop laughing at her!" Tyrion widened his eyes in surprise at that.
"I'm not laughing at her, you imbecile," Tyrion cried, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "I'm laughing at you! Brother, you honestly have the strangest taste in women of any man in the Seven Kingdoms, and I say this as someone who has given my patronage to some very peculiar brothels over the years and seen some very peculiar things within them. I've seen men with all sorts of bizarre desires, but not a one can compare to the strangeness of yours."
Jaime scowled and opened his mouth to retort, but Tyrion kept going.
"You finally get past the ever-pressing desire to fuck your vicious, scheming sister right under a drunken king's nose, and then you start mooning over a girl who's taller than you are, stronger than most men and more noble and righteous than any knight in the country. Could there be any two choices stranger or more opposite?"
Jaime sighed in frustration. "You've got it wrong. I don't - I don't feel what you're suggesting. Not in the slightest. She's a fair companion. A patient person to spar with, handless and crippled as I am. And she's maddeningly noble and might actually make honorable soldiers out of some of those boys. She's earned my respect and she has it. But I - I don't feel that way about her."
"Why not?" Tyrion asked plainly.
"Because- because it would be bloody absurd," Jaime cried.
"Why would it be absurd?" Tyrion prodded.
What was his brother not getting? It should speak for itself.
Brienne was...she was...
Alright, she was his favorite bloody person in the world, but that didn't mean he wanted to be with her.
"It just- would."
Even as he said it, images of kissing her hard against the stone wall of the training yard sprang into his mind, unbidden. He imagined the feel of her tongue, hot and warm against his, of her strong legs wrapping around his waist as he intensified their kiss and ran his good hand along her body, touching the places he knew no man ever had.
He shook out his mane of golden hair in annoyance, rattled by the rush of heat that came with the unwanted images.
"I don't have time for this," Jaime snapped. "I've got to meet with Lord Rockwell and listen to his forty thousand grievances. But I warn you, brother, if I hear you've been anything less than a gentlema-"
"Don't worry," Tyrion said with a wave of his hand. "I plan to treat your girl with every bit of courtesy I possess."
"That's what bloody has me worried," Jaime muttered, before whipping around and walking out of the room to the sounds of Tyrion's chuckling.
"Well, I had dinner with your dear wench last night," Tyrion smirked, as the serving wench left with their dinner plates.
The brothers had shared a private dinner that evening and had been engaged in a battle of wills over who would bring up Brienne of Tarth first.
Tyrion was finishing his third cup of wine and seemed ready to move on to the next stage of their game.
"I heard," Jaime responded, offering no more.
"It was wonderful to get to know the woman who has captured my dear brother's heart so completely."
"She hasn't captured my heart," Jaime sighed, taking an angry swig of wine from his own goblet. "I hope you managed not to be entirely vile in her company. She might look brawny but the wench is more delicate than she lets on."
"Funnily enough I did," Tyrion said. "I was the picture of courtesy and your sweet maiden made it easy to be so. She was a bit shy at first, but I was my usual charming self and soon enough we developed a rapport. She's not much to look at-" Tyrion raised his eyebrows when Jaime scowled. "But she's a truly lovely young woman. Pod can't stop talking about her either. I can see why you like her so much."
"I don't-" Jaime began weakly.
"Of course you don't. And the sky isn't blue and the sea isn't wet and the smallfolk aren't tired of this bloody war. What other things shall we tell lies about? I'm sure I could think of a few more if you want to keep up with this game," Tyrion said, keeping his mismatched eyes on Jaime as he reached for his golden goblet and drank deeply from it.
"I've told you," Jaime said. "I respect the wench. I enjoy her company above most of the tedious people in this castle. That's- that's it."
He knew it sounded pitiful the moment he said it.
The truth was, since his conversation with Tyrion the day before, he'd been having an increasingly difficult time rationalizing even to himself that he didn't feel something for the wench, something so deep it shook him to his core.
He'd barely listened to a word Lord Rockwell had said during their meeting the night before. As the elderly lord croaked at length about taxes and smallfolk, Jaime had tried in vain to fight off images of pressing his body flush against Brienne's, of running his hands through her hair and nipping hungrily at her thick neck.
When Rockwell realized Jaime wasn't listening, the sour-faced old man had frowned and suggested they meet again when his liege lord was less distracted.
Jaime had slunk off to bed without checking in on Tyrion and Brienne's dinner, but he'd laid awake with similar images flitting through his mind, unbidden. When he'd finally managed to sleep, the same sorts of images, and filthier ones had plagued his dreams. He woke sweating and hard and longing for a warm body beside him.
And not just any warm body.
Hers.
His devious little brother had shoved Jaime out of the darkness and into the light with his goading and Jaime was struggling to adapt to the change. All the feelings he'd been trying to ignore for months were shoved to the surface now, and Jaime found himself blinking as let his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness and clarity like a man stepping out of a black mine and into the midsummer sun.
He wasn't sure exactly what it was he felt, but as he tried to understand it, a persistent voice in his head kept whispering It's love, you bloody idiot.
Love.
The word terrified him.
He should not be afraid of four simple letters with all he'd seen and done, but he was.
Jaime had fought in fierce battles and watched good men burn at the command of a mad king.
He'd endured his father's fury and cruelty and lived as a captive in a rotting cell for a year before having his hand chopped off by scumbags just when he thought he was almost home.
Jaime had endured the scorn of the whole world and witnessed the sort of pain and horror that could not be dreamed up in the worst of nightmares.
But it was love and all its' power that scared him beyond belief.
Jaime had known love as deeply and powerfully as he'd known war.
Every sensible part of his mind told him it would be less foolish to go back to war than it would be to subject himself to the heartless power of love again.
In his sister's hungry arms, he'd known love.
All powerful, all consuming love for the last woman he should have given it to.
He'd known the kind of love that blinded him to flaws, the kind of love that made him a slave, willing to do unspeakable things to hang onto it, the kind of love that had shattered to pieces and left him cold and broken and alone. Subjecting himself to love's clutches once again would be an exercise in folly.
But Brienne isn't Cersei, he thought.
She is gentle.
She is kind.
Her love would be as gentle and kind as she is.
No, the part of him that wanted to cling to rationality argued. No.
"She is a friend to me," Jaime said, loud and resolute. "That's it."
"Jaime, please," Tyrion said, and this time his expression had lost its' mirth and was entirely sincere. "You need not lie to me. I've seen what you've looked like whilst madly in love before, and I wished every day to see you look that way at someone- anyone- other than Cersei. Her love was a poison that brought out the worst in you and it pained me that you were never able to see the woman I did. You were always so good to me, and I always dreamed of some kind woman coming along to open up your eyes." Tyrion looked bitter and serious as he spoke of Cersei, and Jaime felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered how much of Cersei's scorn for Tyrion he'd willfully ignored.
But then Tyrion took a sip of wine and was smiling again as he said," I can't say that Lady Brienne is anything like what I had in mind, but that is by no means a bad thing. After spending five minutes in her company, I knew that she was better for you than any woman I could have dreamed up."
Jaime gaped at his brother, wanting to protest but finding his words catching in his throat as he caught the warm expression on Tyrion's face.
"When you left for the Rock more than a year ago," Tyrion said. "I confess I was afraid to see you go. I had never expected to see my brave brother so defeated and I feared I'd never see the glint back in your eyes. It's back, Jaime, and it's different than it ever was. It's... softer, and that girl from Tarth is the cause. You love the wench. That's a good thing, brother."
No, Jaime thought, shaking his head.
He could not love her.
And yet he knew that he did.
He stared quietly at the wooden table for a long while, thinking.
"She's too good for me," Jaime said quietly, at last.
"That's probably true," Tyrion conceded, and though he'd been the first to voice it, Jaime scowled. But then Tyrion continued.
"Yet it is apparent that Brienne feels as deeply for you as you do for her, and I think the lady is more than capable of deciding on her own whether she would like to be with you or not."
"She- she does?" Jaime asked, flushing slightly and feeling foolish. "But how do you- how do you know?"
"Because, dear brother. Your wench is rather unfortunate when it comes to her appearance- and before you get angry with me," Tyrion added, because Jaime was opening his mouth to retort. "Know that I am not saying that to be cruel. I am merely stating an uncomfortable truth, and if you'll allow me to finish, you will understand my point. I know that Brienne feels something for you, because her eyes- the only feature she possesses that could truly be called pretty... well, my brother, they become downright beautiful the moment you walk into a room and she sets them upon you."
All Jaime could do was stare. Tyrion's lips twitched at the corners. "It's true, Jaime. If she has not done anything to make her feelings apparent to you, it is only because she's been hurt by cruel men who've come before you, and likely is not aware of how deep your affections run. I suspect that with all the scorn she's faced, she is unable to even imagine that you could love her."
In spite of Tyrion's attempt to be reassuring, Jaime found himself feeling a twinge of jealousy.
Brienne had only spent one dinner with Tyrion, and she was already telling him things about her past she'd never even shared with Jaime?
"Hurt before?" Jaime asked, eyes narrowed. "Has she- have you talked about that sort of thing? What has she said about-"
He stopped when he caught sight of Tyrion's ridiculously triumphant expression.
"We have," Tyrion said, grinning. "It is not my place to spill her closely guarded secrets, though. But you can relax, brother. If she felt comfortable relating some of her sadder tales to me, I expect it is because our unfortunate appearances have made us kindred spirits of sorts. That does not mean I have any intention of stealing her away from you. I look ridiculous enough beside a normal-sized woman, thank you," he winked, before turning somber and serious again. "Besides, I couldn't steal her away even if I wanted to. I'd bet every last dragon I possess on it. She loves you, Jaime. Truly."
Jaime stared at Tyrion shrewdly, trying to read his brother's expression to find any signs of mockery beneath the sincerity and finding none.
When Jaime decided that Tyrion meant what he was saying- that he really come to believe Brienne loved his maimed older brother- he broke into a grin.
Perhaps this wasn't so absurd. Perhaps he could find some way to tell her how he felt and find comfort and warmth in her strong arms.
He could not longer deny that it was what he wanted.
He could no longer cower away from his own feelings.
"You're a very annoying little imp," Jaime said, smiling. "But I suppose I ought to thank you for- for clearing things up."
Tyrion grinned back. "I consider it my duty, being the brains of this family, to help my less fortunate siblings along."
Tyrion paused to refill their goblets, which had run dry. "Don't waste time hiding from it, Jaime. Let her know how you feel and see if you can't salvage a bit of happiness for yourself."
Jaime felt a wave of warmth for his brother as he watched the Imp reach for his goblet. Before he picked it up, he turned to Jaime with a raised eyebrow and said, "However, when father loses his mind after you marry her (and you know he will), I solemnly swear I will deny giving you my blessing to the grave. If I don't, I will undoubtedly be sent to an early one myself, and I rather enjoy all the perks that come with having air in my lungs and blood in my veins."
Tyrion raised his goblet in the air and drank deeply.
Jaime did the same.
Notes
Yay to Tyrion for saving the day by waking Jaime up to the feelings we all knew he had for ages!
The next chapter just needs some quick editing and should be up tomorrow evening!
I missed this story and I'm sorry again for keeping you waiting!
Feedback is love!