Warnings: Canon-level coarse language. Jaime/Cersei moments.
King's Landing: Nine
Brienne
They stand in tense silence after she speaks, Jaime simply staring, eyes dark. That strange, unfathomable expression is again on his face as his hand slowly clenches at his side. He swallows, then gives her a curt nod and turns, striding away from her like demons from all seven hells were on his heels.
Mayhaps they are.
That night, for the first time in a long while, she dreams of Lady Catelyn and Lady Stoneheart. She dreams of oaths made and broken, of blind obedience as she swings her sword and takes Jaime's head from his shoulders. She wakes with his name on her lips and sweat on her brow and wonders what she's done.
In the morning, she walks into court beside Myrcella to find the place filled to bursting. Her step falters when she sees Red Ronnet Connington in the gallery and she has a moment of blind panic. She's suddenly convinced that the previous day had all been a ruse, another cruel jape designed to humiliate her with a pot of gold as the prize.
"Lady Brienne?" Myrcella says beside her, voice low. "Are you well? You look pale."
Brienne forces herself to smile at the girl as they walk to the royal gallery and she catches snippets of fevered talk that tell her the news of what is to happen today has already slipped out.
"I'm fine," she says then turns her attention towards the Iron Throne as the small council files in and take up their positions on the steps. Lord Tarly gives her his usual glower of disgust and in an odd way, his contempt strengthens her spine for the ordeal ahead. 'They mock us now,' Jaime had said, and it's true and laughter has only ever hurt her pride; it has never broken her bones or torn through her skin.
The King enters flanked by Ser Jaime on his right and Ser Meryn on his left. Jaime's face is set in grim lines and she wonders how much he regrets giving up the Kingsguard, how much he regrets the need to publicly tie himself to her. She is not naive enough to believe his vow that he will never lay with another or deny her or set her aside even as, in a strange way, she appreciates the effort it took to lie to her about it. But there is no doubt that once this crisis in the Westerlands and Casterly Rock has been eased, he will find his way back to his sister.
He always does.
For the second time that day, she wonders what she's done.
*/*/*/*/*
Court proceeds quickly and is mostly concerned with the flow of food in and out of King's Landing, and the small trickle of people that have begun to arrive from the Riverlands seeking shelter from the winter. Tommen hears several petitions from smallfolk and resolves their issues readily enough with his small council to advise him. Finally, they are at the moment she's been dreading.
Tommen stands and calls her forward and nods at Jaime to walk down the steps to join her. Once Jaime is standing beside her, Tommen walks down the steps until his head is only slightly higher than theirs and Queen Margaery and Princess Myrcella join him, standing below him on the stairs.
"Ser Jaime," Tommen says and his voice quavers, sounding like the young boy he is. Brienne's heart goes out to him, a sweet child who never expected to be King and especially not at this age. Margaery discreetly squeezes his hand and he clears his throat. "Ser Jaime," he says again, his manner more assured, "you have served in the Kingsguard for my father, my brother and me, and you have served us all well and true."
Brienne hears a few muffled snorts from the onlookers and a muscle in Jaime's jaw clenches and relaxes. Tommen, to his credit, ignores the scoffing, and continues.
"Now the realm has a different need of you, something that cannot be done while you are Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. We have asked you to make a difficult choice, and you have, as always, risen to the occasion." He turns to Brienne. "Lady Brienne, you stood champion for my Queen and allowed the gods to prove her innocence through your bravery and your skill and the strength of your arm. I named you to the Kingsguard to protect her and you have fulfilled your duties with grace and dedication. The realm now has a different need of you."
He reaches out and unclasps Jaime's white cloak and hands it to Margaery, then he unclasps Brienne's and hands it to Myrcella.
"Ser Jaime Lannister, you are released from the Kingsguard. I thank you for your service to the person of the King and to the realm. In reward, I am restoring your right to the title of Lord Lannister, head of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West."
The whispers that ripple through the watching crowd makes Jaime's lips twitch towards a smile.
Tommen turns to Brienne. "Lady Brienne of Tarth, Brienne the Blue, Brienne the Beauty, you are released from the Kingsguard. I thank you for your service to the person of the King and to the realm. In reward, I am betrothing you to Ser Jaime Lannister. Upon your marriage, you will become Lady Lannister, of House Lannister, wife to the Lord of Casterly Rock, wife to the Warden of the West, with all the responsibilities and duties those roles entail."
This time there are gasps and loud mutterings, and Jaime grins. Brienne sees Randyll Tarly's jaw drop and she frowns a little. She had assumed the small council, at least, had known of Jaime's plans for her.
She has no time to think on it further because Tommen is grinning at her, no longer King but a young boy. "I will miss you, Lady Brienne, but soon I shall be able to call you aunt," he says then flings his arms round her neck and hugs her.
She flushes and thinks she will punch Jaime again if he dares laugh at her, but when she finally glances at him, his smile is almost kind.
Tommen releases her and says, "The wedding shall be on the fourth day from today, and I shall be the first to wish you happy." He then drops a kiss on each of her cheeks.
Queen Margaery adds her words of welcome to Tommen's and kisses her cheeks, and finally Myrcella does the same. By the end of it, Brienne feels like she is about to burst into flame from embarrassment and Jaime looks both dismayed and amused although his face is expressionless when they turn towards the still-shocked gallery once Tommen and his court have left the throne room. Her gaze falls on Red Ronnet Connington's gaping face and she realizes Jaime has also noticed him because he slightly raises his gold hand in greeting. Connington pales and closes his mouth with a snap and gives them both a short nod before he looks away.
They leave the throne room and quickly walk away, the mutterings following after them. They pause once they have left the crowd behind. Jaime claps her gently on the shoulder then looks down as his Kingsguard armor and grimaces. "I needs must change and move to new quarters. I'll be in the courtyard in an hour, my lady, if you wish to spar."
She nods rather helplessly and watches him stride away. Then he turns and grins at her. "But no punching!"
She flushes then turns on her heel and hurries away to her own quarters.
*/*/*/*/*
The three days before the wedding pass in a blur while still moving far too slowly as dread eats away at her stomach.
Pia is excited and also disappointed since Brienne refuses to order a new dress for the occasion. The blue one she already has will suffice, she insists, although she does request a new cloak with her House's colours and sigil. Queen Margaery and Princess Myrcella try to overturn her decision but Brienne stands firm. She rather wistfully considers wearing her now-battered armor that Jaime had gifted her a lifetime ago, but a small, well-hidden part of her truly wants to wear a pretty dress for her wedding.
The days are a flurry of activities and Brienne feels rather like a leaf being swept downstream. She is out of her element while Margaery and Myrcella are enjoying themselves immensely. Their enthusiasm is contagious and she's almost cautiously hopeful that it won't be the ordeal she's imagining when cold reality douses her like icy water being thrown over her head.
Queen Margaery hosts an afternoon tea in her private chambers for those highborn women who wish to pay their respects to the soon-to-be-Lady Lannister. Brienne overhears several of these women, giggling in a corner about how Brienne's even uglier close to and it will take a truly heroic effort for the Kingslayer to manage to bed her even once. Not that they blamed him; no man should be expected to fuck one such as she for the rest of his life.
She is tongue-tied and remote for the rest of her time with them and when Margaery asks if she is well, simply says she is not at her best in a crowd.
The afternoon before the wedding, the High Septon sends an old, withered septa to examine her and as uncomfortable as that is, it is nothing compared to Qyburn when he did the same at Harrenhal. The septa, her face pinched with ill-tempered disapproval, nods and confirms her maidenhead is intact and Brienne thinks that at least they will not need a witness to the bedding although she will have to suffer through another examination the next day.
The thought of the bedding makes her stomach twist as she prepares for bed that night. She tries to remember everything Septa Roelle had told her about the marriage bed and glumly admits it wasn't much, only that it is painful but she, Brienne, was not likely to often suffer her husband's demands. She worries that mayhaps Jaime will be unable to force himself to do what must be done but then she remembers Ser Hyle's contention that all women are alike in the dark.
Brienne wonders if she should ask the servants to ensure the bedchamber is unlit when she arrives there with Jaime...only she doesn't know which bedchamber is to be used and she doesn't know how to make the request without humiliating herself further, so in the end, she leaves it be. She's sure she will have time to snuff any candles and lanterns that may be burning before she crawls beneath the blankets to suffer through the bedding.
The fact that during their sparring session that morning he had teasingly made her promise not to break his ribs or any other body part if he displeases or startles her does not make her rest any easier.
As she slips beneath her blankets, she wonders if she's lost all of her wits to agree to this wild scheme. She stares up at the dark ceiling and wonders if Jaime will even appear at the Great Sept or if she will arrive to find this has all been some elaborate jape at her expense. Fear makes her cold as she wonders whether she will be walking into a bedchamber with her husband tomorrow or if she will be creeping from King's Landing, humiliated and alone, although both possibilities seem equally bleak at this moment.
*/*/*/*/*
She falls into a fitful sleep and dreams of Red Ronnet Connington and his mocking rose. She dreams Ser Hyle Hunt, Ser Mark Mullendore, Ser Owen Inchfield, and the others from Renly's camp, playing court to a bag of gold dragons housed between her legs. She dreams of the Bloody Mummers and Vargo Hoat and of Qyburn's cruel, disinterested fingers. She dreams of the Brotherhood without Banners and Kingslayer's Whore. She dreams of laughing women and Septa Roelle, who all tell her she will be fortunate if her husband manages to force his attentions on her even once, although, Septa Roelle's voice whispers, that makes Brienne the fortunate one.
Finally she dreams of Jaime, his mocking eyes and the beauty of his naked body in the bath of Harrenhal and on the Quiet Isle. His smile when he's being kind, the shape of his lips, the angle of his cheeks, the breadth of his shoulders and the strength in his legs. She dreams of laughter and cruel japes and foolish bravery, of sapphires and swords and armor. She dreams of his warmth as he slept beside her during a blizzard and on their way to Maidenpool.
She dreams of soothing fingers stroking through her hair as she cried out her anguish in her sleep, and it is that memory that lingers when she opens her eyes to the dawn and Pia's excited face.
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime
Jaime wakes early the morning of his public wedding, eager to get the day begun and finished. He grins as he pulls on his breeches, and wonders if he should tell Brienne she has the High Septon to thank for remaining a maiden until her wedding day. It had taken all his self-control not to take her in the bath when she stood, naked and proud as she accepted his bargain.
But his goal is within his grasp and he believes he's laid the groundwork well enough that there will be no sudden deaths at this wedding feast—unlike Joffrey, and he wishes he could feel some level of grief for the boy—but he still needs to exercise caution until they are on their horses tomorrow and have left King's Landing behind.
The scratching at his door, when it comes, does not surprise him and only proves his caution is justified.
Cersei glides in, her robe coarse and brown and something a servant girl would wear. The cowl is pulled up to cover her hair and she's holding the edges close to hide her face.
He closes the door and turns to face his sweet sister, grateful he has already pulled on his breeches.
She lowers the robe's hood, her short hair gleaming gold in the early dawn light filtering through the windows. She's smirking, green eyes gleaming, and Jaime's breath catches at her beauty.
"A wedding gift," she purrs, and drops her robe to stand naked before him.
His eyes widen and he can't help letting his gaze drift down her body, a body he still knows better than his own. She's always been beautiful to him and she still is, and his cock reacts at the sight of her bare body and his memories of it.
Yet he finds himself strangely unmoved. His body wants her, yes, but fucking her would have as much meaning as fucking Pia would have had when Qyburn sent her to him in Harrenhal.
The thought startles him, he who has loved this woman so deeply for so long. He almost desperately lets his eyes roam over Cersei's breasts, the golden hair between her thighs, her shapely legs, but he feels nothing but physical lust and a nostalgic warmth fueled by the memory of times past.
Then he looks in her eyes and sees the almost-feral triumph in her face.
She thinks she's won, he thinks as his arousal subsides. She thinks she can control me by again grabbing my cock and leading me with it.
He's relieved now he has not tried to soothe the worry from Brienne's eyes, to tell her he wants this marriage and her. If Cersei thought they might be happy together, his sweet sister would order Brienne taken to Qyburn's cells no matter what Jaime might have to say about it.
One more day, he thinks as he looks in to his sister's eyes. One more day and they will be gone from King's Landing and beyond Cersei's immediate reach, but all his careful manipulations may be for naught if he does not tread carefully the next few moments.
"Put your robe on, Cersei," he says tiredly. "You have won your freedom from the marriage bed. There is no need to reward me."
"This isn't a reward, Jaime. This is because I love you, and this marriage—while annoying—will help us return to what we used to be, before our demon brother took so much away from us." She moves to him and winds her arms round his neck, pressing close, her mouth raised in invitation. "This is a celebration of our new beginning."
He touches her shoulders and gently pushes her away.
"You know my terms, Cersei. Are you willing to take Lady Brienne's place beside me in the sept?"
She stares at him, searching his face, eyes wide and limpid and sad. He catches his breath in sudden worry.
"You know I can't do that, Jaime," she says and presses against him again, fitting as naturally as she always has, her body feeling sweetly familiar. "There's no reason we can't continue as we have. We just need to rid ourselves of the High Sparrow when the time is right, and let the gossip die away."
"And Brienne?"
"You can keep her hidden in Casterly Rock, if she means that much to you," Cersei says carelessly, her hands stroking over his back and chest, her mouth brushing against his neck as her hand slides lower to fondle his cock through his breeches.
He steps away, breaking her hold on him.
"Get dressed, Cersei," he says, not unkindly. "My squires will be here soon to ready me for the ceremony, and all our careful planning will be for naught if you're found naked in my bedchamber."
Cersei's smile turns to a sneer as she sharply turns away and wraps her robe round herself.
"You truly did leave your manhood in the Riverlands, didn't you? You never used to be so craven—nor cared if we were caught! You risked our lives more often than not—Winterfell, for instance!"
Guilt flashes through him at the memory of the boy's face as he fell. The one thing he truly regrets, he thinks, wondering where they would all be if he had just gone hunting with the rest.
"Things are different now," he says. "You had not recently been paraded naked through the streets of King's Landing, nor suffered trial by combat to prove you innocent of killing King Robert. I am also short a sword hand and can no longer protect us from whoever may see."
She laughs, a cold, mocking sound as she pulls the cowl of her robe over her head. "Excuses," she says and strides to the door. She opens it and turns. "I'm not sure which of you will have the worse of this mummer's farce: you for marrying that lumbering cow, or her for marrying only half a man."
She at least knows enough not to slam the door as she leaves.
*/*/*/*/*
Peck and the other squires arrive not long after Cersei leaves, a despondent Podrick Payne in their midst.
Jaime raises an eyebrow at the boy and he glumly says, "Pia said this is not the time for a squire, but a lady's maid. My lady, ser, agreed."
He claps his hand on Pod's shoulder and says, "Have no fear, Pod, I have need of you." He glances at Peck. "The wedding chamber is ready?"
"Almost. It will be ready by the time you leave the feast tonight."
Jaime grins. "So long as the bed is comfortable and large, the room is warm, and the location is secret until it's time to be escorted there," he says. "There will be no bedding ceremony, but the High Septon is sending a septon and septa to witness us going into the room."
Peck says, "We have tasked the serving girls Pia trusts to set the room to rights. The High Septon has also assigned a septa and novice to sit vigil until you arrive. When ready, Pia will escort them there."
Jaime nods. "Good." The High Septon demanding proof of consummation, annoying as it may be, has helped him ensure Brienne's safety as much as possible without causing Cersei undue suspicion. "No food or drink is to come to the room unless you've prepared it yourself, Peck." It's not that he doesn't trust his sweet sister, he thinks cynically, but it is best to be cautious.
He smiles. "Now, I need bathwater."
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne
Brienne bathes and puts on her blue dress and Pia toils over her hair. The scars from the bear and from the sword wound she took from the Brotherhood without Banners are clearly visible beneath the neckline of her dress but, she thinks hopelessly, at least her hair will be as beautiful as the straw-like mop allows.
Queen Margaery and Princess Myrcella accompany her to the sept which is filled to overflowing by all those who wish to watch the spectacle of the Kingslayer and Brienne the Beauty being joined in marriage. For a moment she considers turning tail and running, but then she straightens her shoulders and stands proud.
She can do this.
She will do this.
*/*/*/*/*
The High Septon's opening prayers seem endless. When she finally walks down the aisle—alone, without a father or brother or uncle to escort her—she sees Jaime, clad in soft velvet of Lannister red and gold, handsome and proud, and her step falters at the realization of how foolish they look when seen side-by-side. He's watching her with a cynical gleam in his green eyes and she lifts her chin and strides purposefully to meet him, and she thinks there's a hint of pride in his face as they turn to face the High Septon.
She barely hears the prayers, but Jaime's hand in hers seems to burn while the High Septon winds the ribbon round their hands. She keeps her eyes on Jaime's as they recite the vows and when the High Septon gives them permission to kiss, Jaime's lips are warm and dry as he briefly presses his mouth against hers. She thinks the only difference between this kiss and the one Ser Owen Inchfield had once stolen from her is the fact she doesn't push Jaime away and into a campfire.
And then, to her relief, it's all over, and she leaves the Great Sept on Jaime's arm for the journey back to the Red Keep with only the feast and the bedding left to endure.
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime
Tommen is the first to wish them happy in the Great Hall where the wedding feast is held, and he is the happiest Jaime has ever seen him when he isn't playing with his kittens, of course. The kitchens have done him proud and the wine flows freely.
Mayhaps too freely.
"Good thing there's to be no bedding ceremony," says one drunken knight, his back to Jaime and Brienne who are strolling the room, stretching between courses and speaking with those who think it might benefit them to congratulate the new Lord and Lady Lannister. "The Kingslayer's like to find a cock instead of a cunt beneath that gown."
Jaime clenches his hand and glances at Brienne, who's turned a fiery red. It is not the first insult they've overheard, but it is the crudest.
"Even if he finds a cunt," says another, "the Kingslayer needs must take her from behind else he'll never rise to the occasion!"
They hoot with raucous laughter and Jaime takes a step towards them but is stopped by Brienne's iron grip on his arm.
He glares. "Let me be, my lady," he growls.
"Not here, at the wedding feast," she hisses, "and weren't you the one who said 'let them mock'?"
"I said they mock us now, Brienne, not that they are free to do so! Besides, you are now Lady Lannister, Lady of Casterly Rock, and my wife. They are never to mock you in my hearing without repercussion!"
She blinks those big, beautiful blue eyes and suddenly he's sorry there will be no bedding ceremony, because he would enjoy nothing more than to show these laughing, drunken fools just how ready he is to bed Brienne, from the front or behind, in the dark or in bright daylight.
His cock rises at the thought and he wonders if he can convince Brienne to leave the feast early. The wedding chamber is still not ready but he's sure he can find someplace where he can rip off that dress, wrap those impossibly long legs round his waist and—
"Jaime?" she asks, alarm filling her broad, ugly, scarred face, and he blinks. "Are you well?"
"Yes, Lady Lannister," he says, and raises his voice so it pierces even the drunken knights' ears, "but not pleased with the company we're near." They freeze and Jaime knows they're likely suddenly even more sober than when they began the day.
"These good people have all been granted guest right," he continues, "but any who mock you would be wise to remember you are a Lannister now. And a Lannister always pays their debts."
The knights slowly turn then visibly gulp when they meet his eyes and gulp again when he smiles his knife-like smile.
"Jaime," Brienne scolds as he leads her away, but he just grins and wonders how much longer he has to wait until the wedding chamber is finally ready.
*/*/*/*/*
Brienne
The feast is interminable and Brienne feels both relief and sudden, tense dread when Jaime sends Peck to check on the wedding chamber. Upon Peck's return, Jaime suggests it's time for them to leave the guests to their revelry.
There is no bedding ceremony, but they are escorted at a discreet distance by a septon and septa who will report back to the High Septon that they were seen into the bedchamber, just as the septa and novice guarding the chamber will report no others entered while they were there.
Brienne's heart pounds faster and every mocking word she's ever heard seems to echo in her head with every step they take: She remembers Septa Roelle telling her she's lucky enough to not inspire lust and will therefore not need to suffer her husband's attentions often; the knights playing mock court to her in Renly's camp; Tarly telling her no father deserved a creature like her; Ser Hyle saying that all women are the same in the dark; Red Ronnet Connington and his rose.
Jaime glances at her and says, his voice pitched low so their companions cannot hear, "I will offer my pardons now, my lady. I'm like to frighten you, this first bedding."
She swallows heavily and says, "It must be done but it will be finished quickly, and then we need not worry about it again."
Jaime grimaces. "Finished quickly? Aye, true enough. I've been long without a woman and that sometimes wreaks havoc on a man's control."
Brienne scowls as she puzzles over his words. "Why?" she asks, and Jaime looks suddenly pained.
"I'll explain later," he almost groans then frowns. "We need not worry about it again?"
She leans closer and whispers, "I see what's in the mirror, ser, and while all women are the same in the dark, we both know I am nothing like...like...other women." She worriedly chews her lip and says, "Mayhaps that's the trick of it. The dark, I mean. If we snuff the candles, mayhaps you can—can—force yourself to go through with the—the—act." She can't bear to look at him as she babbles, but the mocking voices are far too loud in her memory and she just wants this bedding to be done. She lowers her voice even more. "At least when it's finished, we need never touch again."
"Never touch again..." he says faintly.
She gives a slight nod, mindful of their distant escort. "I will not hold you to the promise of an heir for Tarth, Jaime. We must go through with this first bedding but that doesn't mean—"
"You need to stop talking," Jaime says sharply but when she risks a glance at him, he seems more ruefully amused than angry. She falls silent and walks beside him, feeling like a woman going to her execution.
*/*/*/*/*
Jaime
As they finally reach the wedding chamber, Jaime ruefully thinks mayhaps he should have risked Cersei's suspicions and paid court to Brienne in the days leading up to this moment. Now his lady wife looks like he's about to remove her head from her shoulders rather than her maidenhead from between her legs.
In truth, he thinks as he knocks on the door with his gold hand, his eagerness may work to advantage. The slow and gentle seduction he'd originally hoped to achieve may only serve to make Brienne even more nervous.
The septa and the novice open the door and he gives them such a haughty glare they scurry out of the room like mice running from a particular hungry cat.
Apt, he thinks as he gestures for Brienne to walk through the door before him. After all, he's been practically starving now for weeks.
*/*/*/*/*
A/N1: *evil laughter* *ahem* The next chapter should be posted by the end of the weekend or on Monday at the latest. I think their wedding night deserves to stand on its own. ;D
A/N2: Brienne needs such a hug.