The Street of Steel was loud with hammers ringing on anvils, the hiss of hot metal meeting cold water, and men shouting to be heard over it all. The heat of a dozen forges turned snow to slush, cascading droplets freezing and forging icicle swords from every eave. Soot clung, grimy and black against pristine new snow. Over it all hung the bloody tang of molten iron and steel, redolent of war.

Brienne had never seen an entire street devoted to the craft of blacksmithing. There was more than one blacksmith back on Tarth, but their forges were leagues away from each another and folk shopped at whichever was closest. Here, one could choose from different styles and quality, or get basic work done in one of the shops at the bottom end of the street.

She and Jaime were headed to the top of the street, where Toby Mott's armory took up as much space as any other three shops on the street. They found a narrow path that had recently been hacked into the ice and their horses went nose to tail up the hill.

While she'd never met the man, Brienne was familiar with his work. Her own armor, what was left of the original pieces anyway, was crafted in Mott's forge. It had been a gift from Jaime, and except for Oathkeeper, was her most treasured possession.

Jaime had asked her if she was nervous about meeting Mott and his wife. The man was one of his oldest friends, and Brienne trusted Jaime's judgment of people. She was more apprehensive of meeting Mott's wife, Moira. Aside from the reaction most women had to her appearance and the life she led, engaging in small talk with them was difficult. She knew little of their interests and they even less of hers. She'd always dreaded women with babies, who tended to look at her like a duck who didn't know how to swim, finding her lack of a husband and child even more curious than her swordplay.

As they rode into the large yard around Mott's forge and home, the sounds of children shrieking in play and dogs barking carried over the whoosh of the bellows an apprentice was working to stoke the fire.

Wood smoke drifted on the light wind, reminding Brienne of the fires they huddled around on campaign. The flames had offered little relief from the biting cold, but she found herself smiling at the memory of her and Jaime keeping each other warm beneath their cloaks, laughing, talking, sometimes half-dozing in exhaustion.

A thickly muscled man with a red beard and thinning apricot-colored hair looked up from examining a dented paldron when he heard the clatter of their horses' hooves on the swept gravel path to his forge. From his broad smile at their appearance, Brienne guessed this must be Tobho Mott. He was a little younger than she had expected, somewhere between her father's age and Jaime's.

They halted their horses and dismounted at the same time. Mott smiled even wider, noticing how they moved almost in unison.

"Toby!" Mott roared, startling Brienne.

A red-haired boy of about eight came running from the stables, a large brindled dog at his heels. He stopped in front of his father, breathless and grinning. The dog went into the forge and lay down out of the snow, watching them.

"See that Ser Jaime's and Lady Brienne's horses are rubbed down and fed. Bring back the sparring gear from their saddles and leave it just inside the shop. No messing about, now, got it?"

The boy nodded, his eyes never seeming to leave Brienne. His father gave his shoulder a little nudge and the boy gave them a gap-toothed smile, reaching out to relieve them of their horses' reins, "Will you fight later, Sers?" he asked excitedly.

For a second, Brienne thought he'd mistaken her for a man, but then remembered that with her hair long and the well-fitted tunic he likely had formed a different misconception, "I am not a knight, lad," she said kindly, "but Ser Jaime and I are hoping to spar later. You may watch if your father permits it."

"He will!" Toby assured her, "he's been telling us all tales. We even had a bard here the other day and he played us your song."

Before they could ask which song, Mott jerked his head toward the stables and the boy turned and led the horses away, followed by the dog.

Mott stepped forward and enfolded Brienne in his muscular arms, his head barely clearing her shoulder. He stepped back, gave her an interested look, and then hugged Jaime as well.

"So, this is your warrior woman," he said, his arm still draped over Jaime's shoulders.

Jaime's answering smile was so genuine and happy that Brienne felt her nervousness slip away. Whatever anyone else might think of her, Jaime loved her.

"Aye, this is my 'Warrior Woman,'" he confirmed, "Brienne of Tarth, meet Tobho Mott, the finest armorer in Westeros." His teasing tone put them further at ease. Jaime always seemed to know how to bring people together.

"Lord Mott," Brienne said, inclining her head.

"Toby. My friends call me Toby. I must say, 'Brienne the Brave,' I am glad to meet you at last."

Brienne raised an eyebrow at Jaime, "At last?"

"Aye, lass," Mott said, "I first learned of you when Jaime sent me instructions and measurements for your armor. When he came himself to look it over I expected him to bring you along."

"Oh," Brienne thought back to the day Jaime had presented her with gifts and a quest, "I imagine he wanted it to be a surprise."

"Did the blue hold in the metal? We'd never made that color before. You know we're the only armory that doesn't just paint the color on."

"So I hear," Brienne assured him, "the pieces of the original suit that remain are still dark blue, even though they are quite battered."

"That 'remain'?" Mott asked.

"The Lady has not cared for her armor quite as well as she has her sword," Jaime said teasingly, "she lost a vambrace near Saltpans. Andboth greaves at the Eerie, which is quite a story! The plated skirt looks like a particolored quilt now."

"And your armor looks any better?" Brienne scoffed, "What remains of Jaime's armor looks like a drunk with a broken hammer and an abundance of leather cord had his way with it."

"She's not making a jape, Mott; that's exactly how I patch it when I need to, with rum and cord. And three hands, since the lady always insists on helping."

Mott was watching their interplay with interest. Brienne abruptly realized that she and Jaime had stopped talking and were just looking at each other fondly. The moment was brief, but she blushed anyway.

"I have some spare pieces of armor about," Toby offered, "bring what you have by and I'll see what I can patch up before you go north.

"Thank you," Jaime and Brienne said together, and then laughed at Mott's smirk.

"I've heard from some Dothraki friends that you have an amazing wall of daggers," Brienne said, "I'd love to see them."

"Come, I'll show you," Mott said, and led them into the forge.

His apprentice, a skinny young man whose only muscles seemed to reside in his bulky forearms, began to hammer on a chunk of iron near the back of the building.

Mott stopped at a wall covered floor to ceiling with mounted daggers, their bare blades gleaming orange and silver from the fire. Taking one down, Mott handed it hilt-first to Brienne, who took it reverently and held it up to examine it.

"Is this Braavosi steel?' She asked, running a finger along the flat of the blade, feeling the lightly grooved pattern in the metal.

"The lady knows her weapons," Mott said approvingly to Jaime, "I learned…" he raised his voice as the apprentice began to hammer more passionately behind them, "From some of the finest smiths in Qohor…they WORK…" he was beginning to shout as the sound of the hammering reverberated around them, "WITH FINE SILVER FROM LORATH…by the gods, Ranyld!" he turned to glare at his apprentice, "How about you go get Moira to give you something to eat and then take the rest of the day off?"

Ranyld stopped hammering, ran his sooty hands through blond hair already streaked with greasy ash, and nodded dully at Mott. He trudged by, stopping only to hang his leather apron by the door.

"Wife's nephew," Mott said, "Not the sharpest awl in the drawer. Now, what was I saying?

"Silver, from Lorath," Brienne prompted him, and he continued telling her about the dagger's forging. The two of them happily chatted about different daggers on the wall for quite a while. Jaime looked bored and began poking around in the corners of the forge, examining tools, opening drawers, and, occasionally, dropping things.

"You've known him a long time; has he always been this subtle?" Brienne asked Mott after one especially loud clang when Jaime knocked over a small bucket of scrap iron. Jaime set the bucket upright, and then looked in consternation at the pile of metal he'd spilled. It would take forever to pick them up one handed.

"Not to worry, lad, I'll have my Ranyld sweep them up later. Jaime's just impatient to see if I've finished his orders. I've been enjoying talking with your lady, Ser, she knows her weapons, she does. I'll be a proud father if my little girl Merrie takes such an interest in good steel."

"She does know her way around weaponry, I'll grant you," Jaime said, joining them at the wall of daggers, "the lady nearly bested me the first time we fought."

"Nearly? I hear she practically drowned you after defeating you in battle."

"That song is becoming too well known," Jaime complained, "though it's true, my Brienne had murder in her eyes that day, and was frustrated by her vow not to kill me."

"The vow was to keep you safe," Brienne reminded him, "a task I failed miserably at."

Jaime tilted his head at her, considering, "She gave me reason to live, Toby. That was the more difficult task, in the end."

"Aye, to live and fight a bear for her. I know that's true, you told me yourself when you came for her armor."

"You've got the story wrong, Toby. I didn't fight the bear, if you remember. I just used my dubious influence to have others take it down. If Brienne had been given a proper sword she'd have slain the bear herself."

"My boys have talked of little else but 'Brienne the Brave' since hearing the song. I'm afraid they're going to insist on hearing all the details, especially about the bear and you getting your hand chopped off. Maybe you could dress it up a little for them."

Jaime and Brienne exchanged a look, if ever there was a tale that needed no embellishing

"How about we just tell them the bear bit my hand off and Brienne pulled me to safety. It might save time," Jaime said wryly.

"Well, I guess it'll stop 'em asking for toy arakhs and wooden bears to reenact the whole thing with," Toby said dubiously, "I'll just go get the things I've been working on for you, Jaime. I'm sure you're anxious to see them."

Jaime nodded, and the armorer left them.

Stepping forward quickly, Jaime pulled Brienne into a brief kiss, "How do you like Toby?" he asked.

"Very well," Brienne said.

"I knew you would. Wait until you see what he's been making for me."

Mott returned with his arms full of weaponry and a cloth-wrapped bundle balanced on top.

"Lady Brienne, if you would just take that wee package on top and set it aside for me," Mott said.

Brienne did as he asked and then helped to lay the other items out on a work table. She recognized that the blunted short sword was a near duplicate of the one Jaime had shown her that morning. If lacked the refinement and dragon glass of the other, but it would be perfect for practicing.

One of the other items was a morning star with the same sort of stump cup and straps as the sword. Its long spikes bristled out, some of them serrated or corkscrewed to do maximum damage when ripping through an opponent's flesh.

The third item, to Brienne's surprise, looked like a Dothraki arakh.

"Jaime, you really mean to wear something like the weapon that severed your hand in place of the hand itself?" she asked, picking up the curved blade by the rounded base, careful not to touch the razor sharp inner curve.

Jaime shrugged, "I thought it might come in handy," he said.

Brienne groaned and set it distastefully back on the table. She reached for the package wrapped in blue cloth. Before she could pick it up, Toby grabbed it and held it against his chest.

"Sorry, m'lady, this one is…it's not…" he looked to Jaime for help.

"Later, Brienne," Jaime said, looking very pleased with himself.

"Did you have something made for me?" Brienne was torn between insisting she needed nothing and telling him give it to me this instant.

"Toby, put that somewhere for now, if you will. I'd like to try out my new sparring sword. It's been far too long since the lady and I took the field together," Jaime said, picking up it up and raising his eyebrows at Brienne.

They found their belongings just inside the shop entrance. Toby's son was sitting next to the pile, his arm draped over his dog's broad back and his chin resting on one hand. He sat up straight when he saw the three adults coming toward him.

"Are you going to spar now?" He asked. Jaime nodded, and the boy scrambled to his feet, "I need to go get everybody!" he cried, sprinting toward the house.

"Like it or not, you'll be putting on a show," Toby said.

"How many children do you have?" Brienne asked.

"Well, let's see now," Mott held up his hand and started counting on his fingers and mumbling under his breath as he folded down finger after finger, until he'd made a fist. He looked thoughtful a moment, "That makes it five boys; my eldest is a squire, so he's not here, and little Merrie. Six." He confirmed, "'Twould be seven, but we lost a boy many years back. Never saw his first name day, poor wee lad."

Brienne gave him a sympathetic smile, thinking of her little sisters. At least Mott had other children, unlike her own father.

She stooped to pick up Jaime's gambeson. It was an old one, with plates of steel riveted to the heavily padded fabric. Many of the plates were missing rivets and were hanging at drunken angles. Jaime handed his sparring sword to Mott, took off his sword belt and leaned the blade against the door frame. Brienne held the garment for him to shrug into.

"It's been a long time since I've had this on," he remarked to Toby, "we don't practice much up north since we're nearly always fighting."

Brienne helped him with the straps that closed the gambeson before picking up her own and shaking it out. She smiled to herself, noticing that hers was similar in condition to Jaime's. They'd had many good matches while wearing them.

Jaime began putting his sword on, steadying the blade's tip between his feet as he inserted his stump in the padded cup. He secured all the straps while Brienne observed, familiarizing herself with how it was done. If a time came when they needed to arm quickly he might need her help.

When he had secured the last buckle, Jaime swung the sword up slowly, testing the balance. He turned to grin at the armorer, "I can hardly believe you managed to make this so quickly, old friend. The balance is nearly as good as the other one."

"Aye," Toby said, accepting his due praise with a smile.

Brienne put on her helm and shield. Jaime stooped to pick up his helm and nearly stabbed the ground. Having a blade attached to his right hand would take some getting used to. He donned the helm and stooped to slide his left arm into the battered shield's braces.

The two walked out to the wide, snow covered lawn and faced each other.

Through the open grill of his sparring helm, Brienne could see the fierce joy that lit his face. She felt a familiar flutter in her chest, recalling how that look always made her heart race with yearning for a man she thought she could never have.

"Come dance with me, Sweetling," Jaime said with a seductive smile that made her blush.

They raised swords and shields, circling each other. It felt odd, seeing Jaime armed with a sword on the right rather than the left. Brienne could see he was a bit disconcerted as well. It had taken a long time for his left arm to answer his will as his right always had. He'd become a formidable fighter again, as good as nearly anyone that was naturally left-handed. Fighting had finally become instinctive, and now he would need to think about every move all over again.

Brienne stepped toward him, shield forward and her sword arm aligned along the top, ready to parry whatever blow her opponent sought to land. She and Jaime analyzed each other, waiting for a first move, a tell that would begin the dance.

As they circled and feinted, a gaggle of red-haired boys giggling and pushing at each other arrived to watch them. Their mother also came to see, little Merrie clutched against her chest for warmth. A nubby woolen scarf draped across Moira's shoulders and down over the baby for protection from the blowing snow.

Jaime took the first swing, his sword arcing in an overhand blow that Brienne caught on her shield. She swept her sword around to his left side and he barely managed to block her before hitting her shield again and quickly reversing the movement to deliver a glancing strike to her shoulder.

Brienne was quick to sidestep and slash his chest. He caught the blow on his sword rather than his shield. His right arm lacked the strength to counter the force of her blow and was driven against him. Jaime stepped into her and brought his shield up with his stronger left arm, hooking it over her shield and yanking it away from her body as he drove his shoulder into her ribs. Brienne staggered back, recovering with a clanging blow to his helm before she wrenched her shield free and spun away.

Limited by the reach of his short sword, Jaime was forced to take two steps forward to attack. Brienne met his advance and their swords slithered and grated together. Jaime hooked Brienne's ankle with his foot and she stumbled; it was enough for him to pivot around and strike her hard across the ribs.

Brienne was finding that Jaime's fighting was not as clean as usual. Trying to gain the advantage by tripping her was a tactic he'd seldom used since regaining some skill. If that was how he wanted to play, she thought, so be it. She took a long step back and crouched, waiting. Jaime circled, looking for an opening, watching for some sign of her intentions.

She edged closer to him and then swung her sword wide, forcing him to bring his shield out to block, exposing his upper body. Brienne tipped her shield forward and charged, knocking him back hard. Jaime nearly went down on one knee, but managed to brace his legs and spring at her in a single movement, stepping and pivoting to get behind her guard. His sword hit her helm so hard she rocked forward, feeling a sharp sting and then numbness above her ear.

After that, things got messier. It became a game to see who could knock the other off balance or foul their shield. Brienne took advantage of Jaime's confused tendency to swing his shield like a sword and block with his blade, raining blows on all sides as he tried to make his arms obey. He increasingly charged her, getting in close, using his body to push her back, spin her around, make her falter.

Both were laughing and grunting, not giving an inch as they churned the snow into mud in Mott's yard and his sons jumped up and down and yelled and shoved each other. Childish cries of Brienne the Brave, Ser Jaime and even Kingslayer were barely heard as they continued to fight.

When they found themselves face to face their eyes locked, teasing and suggestive. Brienne could read the hunger and desire in Jaime's eyes, and suddenly realized it had always been there when they sparred. With her new knowledge of how their bodies fit and moved together when they made love, she felt it too.

She tried to give Jaime a seductive look, daring to lick her lips suggestively. As she'd intended, he forgot to guard himself and she stepped behind his shield and whacked her sword behind his knees. He buckled and she pushed him to the ground, straddling him. She tried to demand he yield, but the look of betrayal on is face had her laughing too hard to get the word out. She slid off his lap and lay down, gasping and giggling beside him.

Jaime sat up and pulled his arm from the shield, then leaned over her, "You'll pay for that later, Wench," he growled.

"Promise?" she smirked up at him.

Chuckling, he got to his feet and offered her a hand up. Mott's boys were cheering.

Brienne and Jaime removed their helms. Jaime dropped his onto the slushy ground and stepped in to kiss Brienne, wrapping his arms around her, careful not to knock his sword against her back or head. When their lips met the cheering abruptly stopped, and as the kiss when on they heard the boys muttering ew to each other and making gagging noises. They heard a booming laugh from Mott and parted, grinning.

"Now then, you two," he said, "Is that any way to be behaving? I'd guess my boys have never seen two fighters smooching afore."

Jaime smiled at the boys, who were in varying states of curiosity and disgust.

"It's all right. We're betrothed," he told them, and gave Brienne one more quick kiss.

Moira's face lit up, "Is it so, Jaime? Oh, blessings to you both!"

Mott walked out to them and hugged Brienne hard enough to make her ribs creak before turning to Jaime and pounding him soundly on the back. Moira joined them.

"Lady Brienne, I'd like you to meet my wife, Moira," Mott said.

Moira looked up at Brienne, smiling, and then her expression changed to alarm, "M'lady, you're bleeding! Just above your ear, there."

Brienne raised her hand to touch the spot on her head that had stung so earlier. There was a growing lump there, sticky with blood.

"I guess I am," Brienne confirmed, "but it doesn't trouble me. Ser Jaime's done far worse than this over the years."

"As you have to me," Jaime said, stepping over to part the hair over her wound and probe it with his fingers, "If anything, Moira, this one probably just knocked some sense into her."

"Och, you're terrible. Is that any way to speak of your lady? Come into the house, Lady Brienne, and I'll clean you up so it don't fester." She gave Jaime a look that would terrify a lesser man, but he only laughed.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Lady Mott," Brienne said, trying to give Jaime a pleading look over the woman's head, please don't make me be alone with her

"Just call me Moira, dear. I insist. Let's get you out of that gambeson. I need to finish supper and get Merrie out of the cold anyway. You can warm yourself by the hearth."

Seeing there would be no rescue by Jaime, Brienne trudged over to the shop to take off her gambeson. The Mott boys followed her, offering to squire for her and sharing opinions about the fight while the brindled dog capered around them, barking.

She quickly unbuckled her armored garment and laid it down. Tugging at her tunic and jerkin, she realized she was sweating in the cold and far from presentable.

"I'm fine, boys, but Ser Jaime could really use as much help as he can get. He can't possibly get disarmed by himself." She told the boys, then watched in amusement as they swarmed around Jaime tugging at his straps and buckles. When he narrowed his eyes at her she stuck out her tongue at him. Promises, he mouthed back, smirking.

Moira was at her elbow, bouncing on her toes to soothe the baby, now fussing beneath the scarf. "Come along then, Lady Brienne," she said diffidently.

"Please, just call me Brienne."

"Brienne. And you're to call me Moira, all right? Come with me while the boys talk out here in the cold. I left some mulled wine heating in the kitchen."

Notes:

Part 2 should be up soon with much baby holding and a gift for Brienne.

Your comments make writing for this ship all the sweeter, and I adore getting them whether short or long. Just knowing someone out there enjoyed what I wrote makes me quite happy. So...comment me, maybe?

I'm so excited for the new season of Game of Thrones! You might notice I've deviated from canon in one place here in honor of the season trailers. Can you tell what it is?