It all began at the feast King Joffrey threw in honor of the safe return of the new Lord Commander of his Kingsguard. She was invited, of course—she was the one to deliver him almost directly into his sister's arms, after all—but decided to remain in the shadows, unnoticed by all.
All but one.
"Dance with me," he proposed at first.
She had only ever danced once in her life, with Renly Baratheon, her king. She feared what it would mean to have her second dance with Jaime Lannister, her…
What was he to her? She also feared the answer.
"I'm a disastrous dancer," she said to him.
"Nonsense," he replied in less than a beat. "No one who fights as well as you do would be disastrous at dancing. But I'll leave you be, my—my lady."
My lady. It sounds soft, softer than she ever expected from him.
Later, he came to her with a drink. "Arbor Gold," he explained, handing it to her. She accepted it this time; it'd be offensive to refuse it after she denied that dance.
She thought he'd leave her alone afterwards—that he'd spend the night as close to his twin as possible—but he kept approaching her. "This feast should be in your honor," he said at one point, "not mine. I did nothing but survive."
"Your hand," she replied quietly. "The bear."
"Oh, trust me," he said, somewhat bitterly. "My family would sing no songs about those things."
No, of course they wouldn't. His sister would probably imprison her for being the reason behind the loss of his hand and his delayed return to save her. In a way, it was for the best those incidents stayed between the two of them.
Jaime was not the only one she kept her eyes on, though, for Lady Sansa also attended the feast, all courtly smiles and frightened eyes. She had to find a way to speak to her and convince her of her intentions.
Sansa Stark left the feast earlier, and she used it as an excuse to leave as well. She did not follow the girl, as she did not want to leave a bad impression, but retired to her chambers instead—guest chambers, as per Jaime's insistence upon their arrival.
Before she could truly settle on her bed to sleep, though, she heard a knock on her door. Opening, she found Jaime, staring at her with glittering eyes. "You left before the end," he said accusingly.
She looked down. "I was feeling unwell," she lied.
"Are you better now?"
She raised her gaze back to his. "A bit," she replied, "though not enough to make it back."
"I'd not ask you to," he replied, pushing the door further for him to enter. "I have no intention of going back either."
She closed the door. "Why did you come here, Ser?"
He took a step closer. He looked sad, but she couldn't fathom why. "I wasn't japing when I said the feast should have been in your honor, you know. I meant it. You deserve it, for all you went through because of me."
"You did a lot for me as well," she replied. "At the risk of your own life."
He laughed. "If I'm alive at all, it's because of you, Brienne." And there it was, the softness in his voice she couldn't understand.
He took another step, and soon their chests were touching, even if slightly. With a shaved face and a haircut, he looked like the Warrior personified. "Cersei complained that 'I took too long' to come back," he continued. "You know what I wanted to say?" She shook her head. "I wanted to apologize, albeit very sarcastically, for saving you from that bear. Instead, I blurred out some bullshit about all the efforts I made to come back to her. I don't even remember what I said." He sighed. "Actually, I can't remember why I wanted to come back here in the first place. We should have taken a detour."
She could smell the Arbor Gold from his breath. He was drunk, even if only a bit. "To where, Ser?", she asked kindly, deciding to indulge him, hoping the wine's effects would go away soon. His proximity was doing her no good.
"Back to Riverrun," he slurred. "We could have stopped that damned Red Wedding. Or maybe the Twins, to kill all the Freys and avenge your liege lady. Tarth, perhaps. I doubt your father would accept me for your husband, even with the hand and the bear and all that, but surely he'd not refuse me as your sworn shield, or as his master-at-arms, would he?"
She gulped. What was he talking about? "H-husband?"
He blinked. She expected him to realize the weight of his words and take them back, but no. "Of course. Would you rather be the Kingslayer's Whore, as those cunts taunted you once on our way here? No, no, if you were the Kingslayer's anything, it'd be his wife. Make an honest man out of me. Does that not sound sweet?"
The world was spinning, as if she was the drunken one. "I—I…"
She closed her eyes, only to open them when she felt his flesh hand cupping her cheek. "Oh, you don't get it, do you? Let me show you instead." And then he kissed her.
It all happened so fast from then on, she was only aware that she was giving him her maidenhead because he stopped to ask for her consent. When he got it, things slowed down, as opposed to her heart which began to beat faster and faster.
When he reached his peak, he let out a cry of "I love you" that stilled her for a moment. Then he kissed her, deep and passionate, swallowing all objections and questions.
He was not there when she woke up.
For several days, they did not have the chance to meet or talk again. He was absorbed by his new duties as Lord Commander and his noticeable struggle to be a Kingsguard—to be a knight—without his sword hand.
(Still, he all but asked to be her sworn shield if he could not be her husband.)
Meanwhile, she approached Lady Sansa. More than once, they took refuge in the godswood, where she'd tell her about her mother and the oath she (and Jaime) swore to her.
The Stark girl believed her; apparently, her eyes would easily betray any lie she tried to give. However, she was still skeptical about her future. "But how are we going to escape this city, with Cersei and Joffrey and everyone else watching me?"
"I'll find a way," she insisted. "Even if I have to resort to asking for Ser Jaime's help."
(I'll take whatever you give me, he said when his eyes asked for her maidenhead. Naturally, she gave it all. I'll do anything you ask of me, he said when his flesh hand explored her upper body. She asked for nothing but him at the time.)
She did not like that. "I don't trust him."
"Neither did I," she admitted, "not at first. But there is honor in him, my lady. I'm sure I can convince him to help us, even if minimally."
She still looked unconvinced, but nodded anyway. "If you think you can do it, I'll trust you."
(I love you, he cried, silencing her voice and her mind with his kiss afterwards.)
Then one day she grew tired of waiting for him to come to her. Surely he knew why she was lingering around the Red Keep.
"He's supposed to be in the White Sword Tower," Ser Loras replied. He had decided to ignore her—understandably, given what happened—but at least he dignified her with an answer.
She thanked him with words and a polite smile, and went upstairs. When she got closer to the door of the highest room, though, she stopped on her tracks.
"Not here," she heard him say forcefully.
"Did they take your manhood as well as your hand?", she heard his sister hiss in response. "Or is it because I'm not her?"
Her breath stilled. "Who are you talking about?", he asked.
"That ugly beast, the Maid of Tarth. I wonder, did you—"
He cut her off. "Nothing else matters but us. Should you not know it by now?"
"Then why are you refusing me?"
Silence. "Fine," she heard him say. "Have it your way."
She did not stay to hear the rest.
Meet me in the godswood after supper, the note said, delivered to her by a young boy. The handwriting was unmistakably his.
She did not want to go. What would she do there, hear another set of lies? But she made a promise to Lady Sansa. Even if he lied to her, used her to his own pleasure, she still believed he'd honor his vows to Lady Catelyn.
She still wanted to believe he was a good, honorable man. Love worked like that, she supposed; made you want to see only the best in someone, no matter how much they wronged you.
So she went to meet him, and there he was. once again resembling the Warrior with his impeccable looks. She hated that he was so handsome; it made her so, so weak.
"We need to talk about Sansa Stark," he said gently.
No, she would not be fooled by his fake softness again. "We do," she replied stiffly.
If she had hoped that her tone would go unnoticed, it was useless. He frowned and took a step closer. "Brienne, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, Ser," she replied, trying—and ultimately failing—to sound neutral.
(Jaime, she had gasped for the entire ordeal, each time seemingly driving him madder and madder.)
"Oh, we're back to Ser," he hissed. Then his eyes turned sad. "Is it because I did not come to you sooner? Believe me, my lady, I wanted to, but—"
"Your duties were more important," she cut him off. "I understand."
"More urgent," he replied, "but no more important. Brienne, about that night—"
She did not want to hear his lies and excuses. "You were drunk," she said quietly, "and Cersei was unavailable, what with so many people nearby. I get that you would seek another to relieve your… urges."
He took a step back, eyes wide—was that hurt? It could not be possible. "Is that—how could you think, for a single moment, that you were replacing Cersei? Did you forget the things I said to you? Because I was not drunk enough to not remember them."
(I offer you my service, he purred when she touched his naked chest. I offer you my sword, he added with a wink that made her blush.)
"Clearly, you were imagining your sister in my place," she replied. "It was dark enough for you to do so."
"There was moonlight," he replied instantly, a bit harshly. "I was able to see you perfectly. Every inch, every curve, every detail—"
(Beautiful, he whispered when he laid her in her bed.)
"Even if I wanted to, it would have been impossible to picture Cersei in your place. And I did not." He shook his head. "Whatever stories you heard, whatever they taunted you with, it was not true. My words to you that night were."
Had she been like this due to rumours, she'd fall for his words easily, as pathetic as it was to admit such things. But no, she had evidence. "I heard no stories, Ser."
His eyes looked desperate. "Then what was it? What made you think I was not truthful to you? My delay? Ser Loras even told me you had asked for m—oh." He straightened his back. "You overheard Cersei and me in the tower, didn't you?"
Her breath stopped, but she could bring herself to deny his accusation.
He did not berate her, though; instead, he cupped her cheek, just like he did that night before kissing her. He looked crestfallen. For a while, they just stood there, his thumb caressing her cheek while she stared at him, hoping to find answers to questions she had yet to ask.
Eventually, he spoke up. "If you heard me denying my feelings for you… Well, I can't blame you for doubting my words. I'd argue it's the right thing to do, even." He took his hand off her cheek and let it fall to his side. "I still want you to think, though. If I did not love you—if my words to Cersei were true—what would I gain going to you that night, saying what I said and doing what I did?"
"My loyalty," she answered easily. My love, she refrained from adding.
He hummed. "A reasonable answer, sadly. But now I want you to think the other way around: if I was being truthful that night, why would I lie to my sister while she tried to suck my cock?"
She startled; she was not expecting him to describe the exact nature of his encounter with Cersei. "I…" She did what he asked and thought about it. Only one answer came to mind. "To protect me?"
He smiled, although it didn't reach his eyes; she had answered right. "Believe what you want about me and my intentions, my lady. Gods know I've always been shit at words." He cupped her cheek again. "But I'd ask you to let my actions speak for me. I came to talk to you about Lady Sansa, but…" He sighed. "Wait a few more days, please. I promise I'll sneak you and Sansa out of the city safely. Then you can decide which scenario was the truth."
He placed a feather kiss on her forehead and left.
True to his word, he summoned her to the White Sword Tower three days later. She didn't really want to go there, out of all places, but she owed him at least this.
(Sometimes, she'd wake up gasping with the ghostly feeling of his hand roaming up and down her body.)
"If you can bear to stand near me," he said, half-teasingly, half-sad, "close the door and come here."
She did as instructed, but kept her distance. With a sigh, he spoke up again. "The Crown declared Roose Bolton the new Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, and legitimized his son Ramsay." Her eyes went wide. "I'm as pleased as you are with the news, but it means your itinerary must change." He ran his hand through his hair. "Sansa has an aunt in the Eyrie and a half-brother in the Wall. See with her which one she trusts the most—although, if you ask me, Lysa Arryn would not be a good choice."
Curiosity got the best of her. "Why?"
"Littlefinger," he said simply. "You do not know him, but Sansa does. Lady Lysa has always been awfully close with him at court, and he's a… pardon my language, my lady, but he's a cunt. Unless Sansa Stark truly fears the Night's Watch, it should be a better option than the Vale.
"Well, your destination matters little at the moment. Right now… Come a bit closer, I have something for you."
She frowned, but took a couple steps closer. He fiddled with his belt and pulled something out of his right side, which she did not catch sight of until now—a sword. Balancing it with his golden hand, he handed it to her. She grabbed it, and—"Valyrian steel," she gasped.
She heard him take a sharp breath. "Forged from Ned Stark's sword," he said quietly. "Courtesy from Father."
"Is that why—the lion-shaped hilt?"
"He wanted me to have it, but, as you can see, it's wasted on me. The least I could do is give it to you so you could use it to defend the dead man's daughter. It's yours."
For several moments, she had no words. And then, "I—I'll protect her. For her lady mother… and for you."
His breath hitched—did he realize what she meant? "I have another gift," he added, sounding a bit… husky?
(Brienne, he said in her ear, in nearly the same tone, then sucked her neck.)
He walked to another corner, where a sheet covered… something. He took it off, revealing a blueish armour. "I hope I got your measurements right," he said, voice still husky.
(He had looked at her so intently that night, it'd surprise her if he got it wrong. Beautiful, he called her twice, and she'd never forget how it made her feel, how his gaze seemed to confirm his verbal praise.)
"There are also two horses in the stables," he added. "My new squire Podrick will point them to you when you go to him." He turned to her. "Leave tonight, you two. I'll make sure no one will stand in your way. Trust me."
"I trust you," she said, echoing his words to her in Harrenhal.
He smiled, the same sad smile from that day in the godswood. "I'd like to apologize, Brienne. I never wanted to hurt you. If you don't believe anything else, at least believe this."
Her throat constricted, she nodded, grabbed her new gifts and left.
Jaime wasn't there when they left, but the lack of guards to stop them showed his presence somehow. She caught Sansa looking behind them, but when she motioned to do the same, she shook her head and said, "I was looking for him, but—no matter. We should hurry, Lady Brienne."
And they did.
"Oathkeeper," she whispered to the sword as she cleaned it.
They miraculously found Arya Stark, who had the Hound on her heels. Lady Sansa trusted him, for some reason, so the four of them continued on their journey.
"This is a Lannister hilt," the Hound said accusingly, pointing at Oathkeeper.
Lady Sansa saved her. "Ser, this is a Valyrian steel sword that Lady Brienne brought with us to protect me. Changing the hilt was not our priority when we fled King's Landing."
He bought the story, but later Sansa told her sister the truth. Lady Arya's eyes shone. "I'm no romantic," she said. "That'd be Sansa… But if I ever got married, I'd like a Valyrian steel sword instead of a cloak."
Brienne looked away from the younger Stark to the older, who gave her a knowing grin. Of course, of course Sansa guessed the truth of her feelings for Jaime.
For reasons undisclosed to her, Jon Snow was no longer a member of the Night's Watch. Stannis Baratheon was dead, killed by Bolton men, but he was not really mourned, since he and his wife had his daughter burned as a sacrifice to the Lord of the Light he worshipped so much.
After the heartwarming reunions, Lady Sansa approached her. "I'll be forever grateful for what you did for me and Arya, my lady," she said. "You honored your oath to my mother even long after her death, even when it was the most dangerous choice for you. I promise you'll always have a place at my home, when Jon and I retake it from the Boltons."
She began to kneel to pledge her sword, but she didn't let her. "I know I am no true knight, my lady," she said, her heart squeezing at the rejection, "but—"
Sansa cut her off. "You are a truer knight than most I've known," she said kindly. "That is not why I'm refusing your pledge." She smiled and held her hand to help her up. "I'm happy, my lady, and closer to home than I ever thought I'd be since my father's death. I'd like the same for you… but your happiness lies elsewhere, I know."
Tears came, but she held them off. Deep down, she knew what Sansa was talking about, but could not bring herself to say it out loud. "My lady, I'd be glad to serve you," she insisted instead.
Sansa shook her head, however. "I must apologize, Lady Brienne. I lied to you when we left the capital. I did see Ser Jaime when I turned my head. He was looking at us—at you, and even from a distance I saw the longing in him."
Brienne inhaled sharply and sat at the nearest chair. "What—are you sure, my lady?"
She nodded. "Did he ever say anything to you?"
Perhaps it was her kindness, or perhaps Brienne was just too tired of keeping this hidden, but she ended up telling her what happened in King's Landing—Sansa already knew a great portion of their story, as she tried to understand why Jaime would help her escape.
When she ended her tale, Sansa was looking at her with one of the most serious expressions she's ever seen on her face. "He told you the truth, not Cersei," she stated. "Maybe you didn't notice it, but he never looked at his sister with desire or longing after you two arrived. Yet he always looked at you fondly—don't look at me like that, of course I watched you two. And—Lady Brienne, why would he lie to get your loyalty if he was just going to send us away? If this had all been a ploy, he'd have made efforts to keep you in King's Landing, not the opposite. He loves you… and you love him too."
She nodded. Sansa smiled. "Then go get him, my lady. If he lied to his sister about his feelings for you and laid with her to dismiss suspicions… I think there is someone in need of rescue, don't you think?" She glanced to the side. "He will be welcomed in my home as well. Consider this a token of gratitude."
Jon's friend Tormund led her to Eastwatch-by-the-sea, from where she took a ship to Gulltown—there'd be no ships straight to the capital for the next five days, and she had no time to waste.
Lady Sansa's words opened her eyes; Jaime's actions only made sense if he loved her as he claimed. Why else would he chase her, kiss her, fuck her, when the full moon was high up, enabling him to see all of her? How else would he find her beautiful, if not with a love-tinted lens to blur his vision and erase her many flaws? Why else would he offer to be either her husband or her sworn shield, if not to spend the rest of his days by her side?
All of his tender touches, during and after that night—and even before, even in Harrenhal. Did he love her then already? She knows she fell for him in the bear pit. Had that action been motivated by love?
Her voyage to Gulltown was restless, and so was her short stay, in which she found out he was not in King's Landing, but in the riverlands. Instead of a second ship, she grabbed her horse and rode to Riverrun.
It was dark when she arrived at the camp; the moon was hiding behind heavy clouds. Still, no night was so dark she could not spot him—and, apparently, no night was so dark he could not spot her either.
He came to her alone. "My lady," he whispered, eyes wide and vulnerable. "I had not expected to see you so soon." Before she could reply, he added, "Come with me. This is no place to talk."
When she finished her story, he smiled, and, for the first time since King's Landing, it reached his eyes. "I'm proud of you," he said softly, standing up and circling the table, stopping next to her. "You fulfilled your promises to Lady Stark better than even she could have imagined."
As always, his proximity left her weak—but she had to be strong tonight, for her sake and his. "Yes, I fulfilled my promises," she began, unseating Oathkeeper off her belt. She extended it to him. "As such, it is time I give your sword back." She gulped. "I—I named it Oathkeeper while on the road."
His eyes were, once again, wide and vulnerable. His breath sounded unstable. "It's yours," he whispered, so low she almost didn't hear. "It will always be yours."
His words were about the sword, but his eyes implied something else… She had to be brave. "I am not sworn to the Starks anymore," she declared, placing Oathkeeper back on the table. "I'm free to do whatever I want."
He took a step closer. "And I was released from the Kingsguard by King Tommen," he replied, just as quietly. She knew his eldest son had died, so him calling the current king by his younger son's name was no surprise. "I'm free to do as I please." Another step closer. "Free to take a wife, or to swear myself to another House."
A treacherous tear fell from her left eye. "I… I came here on the assumption you told me the truth."
His eyes shone at that, and he grabbed her hand. "Have you finally seen it, my lady?" He placed her hand on his chest. "My heart is yours, just like the sword." His expression fell. "But it is too dangerous for you to be here with me. If word of your presence here reaches Cersei—" He shook his head, interrupting himself. "I cannot lose you, Brienne," he added, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. "Living with my daughter's death is already a burden, but—I'm not sure I'd be able to live in a world without you, my lady. And Cersei…"
He trailed off, but she would not let the subject drop. Gathering his arms on hers, she asked, "Has she done anything to you?"
He glanced away and said nothing, which was already an answer. "Sansa offered her home to us both," she said hurriedly. He turned his gaze back to her abruptly. "Said it'd be her way to thank us for what we've done." She took a deep breath. "You offered to be my husband that night, or my sworn shield. Come with me, Jaime, and we'll marry as soon as we find a safe place to do so."
She felt his lips on hers before she even saw him moving forward. He cradled her in his arms, and she melted against him. Even though she consciously missed him for all these months, she had not realized how much until now.
However, he broke their kiss before she could do anything more. "Tommen needs to be protected from Cersei," he whispered, "and I cannot let you come near the capital."
His voice was pained, as if the possibility of parting with her brought him agony. Perhaps she was just projecting her own feelings on him, though. "I refuse to leave you again," she whispered back. "I—I love you, Jaime, and—I'll protect you just as you protected me."
He shook his head. "You don't understand," he said. Then he extricated himself from her, opening his shirt. When his chest was exposed, he brought a lantern close.
It was then that she saw it: several bruises, small and large, white and purple, and several scars. "It was—" She could not bring herself to finish the question.
"My denial meant nothing to her when they found you and Sansa Stark gone," he said quietly, buttoning his shirt back up. "The only way to stop her from hunting you two was lying with her whenever she wanted, in whatever way she wanted; doing her bidding, whatever it was, wherever it was."
She immediately cupped his face on her hands. "If you go back, you'll only be forced to keep this up," she said, bile threatening to come up at the visions her imagination conjured of the tortures Cersei inflicted the man she supposedly loved—the man Brienne loved with all her heart. "If you try to keep her and Tommen apart, she will be more vicious. Come with me, please. I'm not worth this torture."
"You are," he whispered. "But your offer is too tempting for me to refuse, I must admit."
"Then don't," she insisted. "We'll go to Saltpans and board on a ship to White Harbor, or Eastwatch. Lady Sansa and Lady Arya will welcome us, wherever they are. I don't care whether I'm worth your suffering or not; I want you safe. Now that I know what you've been through, I can't let you go to your hell, not again." She swallowed a sob. "I know I'm asking you to abandon your duty—"
He cut her off. "I've wanted to leave since you did. I just didn't know how, or where to go." He cupped her right cheek. "I've long realized I've been on the wrong side of this war, Brienne. All I needed was a compass, and you just gave it to me." He gave her a quick peck on her lips. "I just need to do one thing before we go."
With her help, Jaime sneaked Lord Edmure Tully—the only real leverage the Freys had against the Tullys—inside Riverrun. Then, taking full advantage of the darkest night of the year, they fled the place.
They found a septon in the ship from Saltpans to White Harbor, who saw no problem in marrying the Kingslayer to the (not really) Maid of Tarth. Soon after the night, they came together again.
"I meant everything I said that night," he whispered to her chest. "You're beautiful to me—gorgeous, to be more specific."
She giggled, still under the effects of the orgasm he just gave her. "Your eyes might not be working well," she said.
"On the contrary, I think my eyes are the ones who work the best in this realm," he teased. Then, raising his head to look into her eyes, he added, more serious, "I'll do anything for you, I'll take everything you're willing to give me, because I know you'd not ask me anything dishonorable." He kissed her, tenderly and sensually at the same time. "I give you my heart because I know it's safe with you. I give you all of me, because I know you'll care for me like no one ever has. And I promise you, as long as I draw breath, you'll never feel unloved ever again."
She touched his chest, marked with Cersei's loveless envy. "And I vow to shield you from all harm. Your sister won't lay a finger on you as long as I live."
Perhaps both of them were being naïve. The future was uncertain, and there were many possibilities that could drive them apart, temporarily or permanently. However, as he kissed her and touched her and brought her to the seven heavens one, two, three more times, she knew they'd face any and all obstacles together, and would be stronger for it.