Based on events during Episode 4 of GoT Season 8
(Also includes flashback from Episode 6 of GoT Season 3)
The mirror that had been brought to Brienne's bedchambers was slightly marked and dirty, but it didn't stop Brienne from seeing her reflection clearly enough. She sighed as she looked miserably at her bruised, weary face, and her shapeless hair. It wasn't often that Brienne wished for a different appearance, not when she had accepted hers long ago, but right now, she couldn't help wondering what it would be like to be pretty, and to see men's heads turn the way they did whenever Lady Sansa walked past.
Sansa had kindly asked her handmaiden to help apply rouge to Brienne's face to cover up the bruises as best as she could. Brienne wanted to make a bit of an effort for tonight after all. It was a night for celebration. A night to spend in the company of Jaime, where they could drink and talk and maybe express what they had both been hiding for so very long. If only they had the courage. Alas, facing an angry army of White Walkers seemed to be an easier prospect than that.
As she finished dragging a comb through her hair, desperate to undo the tangles in her short curls, Brienne thought back to the funeral this afternoon. It had been a sombre affair, but respectful. Jon Snow's words had moved Brienne deeply, so much that she was inwardly grateful that she, Jaime and Pod had stayed glued to each other's side as they burned the dead. Her throat had burned and her eyes had stung from all the smoke, but it had felt nice just to have Jaime be part of the group, standing with her people. It had felt like he belonged there, beside her and Pod. And at least now it was over. The dead were gone, and now it was time for the living to rejoice in their victory.
When Brienne emerged from her bedchambers to head down to the great hall, she was surprised to find Lady Sansa waiting outside for her in the corridor.
'My lady,' Brienne greeted.
'Lady Brienne. How are your wounds?' Sansa asked.
'Healing well, I think,' Brienne replied. 'Thank you.'
Sansa stepped forward and looked over Brienne's face anxiously, wincing slightly at Brienne's black eye and the painful-looking bruise on her cheekbone. 'Well the ones on your face don't look quite so severe now, so that's something. Are you looking forward to the feast?' she asked, as together they began walking along the corridor.
'I am actually,' Brienne realised, a rather nervous smile on her face.
There was a mischievous glint in Sansa's eyes when she smiled at Brienne and gave her an approving nod, but she didn't say anything. She knew better than to tease Brienne into not coming to the feast after all.
'Have some fun tonight, Brienne,' Sansa said as they headed down the steps. 'You defended my home, you fought bravely until the very end. Consider yourself off duty.'
Brienne frowned. 'My lady?' She didn't understand such a concept.
'I'll be fine. I'm surrounded by friends and family and people of the North who are loyal to House Stark. I won't need protection tonight, though I am grateful for your service. Go,' Sansa said encouragingly as they reached the front doors to the great hall. 'Be with your friends, have a few drinks, enjoy the food, and stop worrying. Live a little. That's an order, Brienne.'
There was a stern look on Sansa's face, and Brienne knew better than to argue. She smiled humbly at her, grateful.
'Yes, my lady. Thank you.'
When they entered the great hall, Brienne was astonished by the transformation. In merely a day, the hall had been cleared of rubble, blood and bones from the battle, and had been decorated lavishly for tonight's special occasion. Dozens of candles lit up the hall, and long tables and benches had been brought out to accommodate all the guests, with endless food and beverages on offer. The room was packed full of people already eating and drinking; the noise of their chatter and the sheer number of moving bodies walking about left Brienne feeling somewhat uneasy. She could practically see it now; the guests of Winterfell suddenly transforming into rotting corpses and running up to her, snapping and clawing at her. For a moment, Brienne considered turning back and leaving the hall and its people that were haunting her so vividly, until she remembered Jaime and Pod, and she realised that she couldn't let her trauma win. She just needed a drink to calm her nerves; a few cups of wine to get her through this night and help her sleep easy would be a fine remedy, she was sure of it.
While Sansa left to join her brother and his Queen up at the top table, Brienne meandered over to the side of the hall to help herself to a goblet of wine. She gulped it down in merely seconds, and it was a relief to feel the liquid trickling down her aching throat. Blinking rapidly, Brienne then turned on her heel and headed off down one of the table aisles in search of Pod, whom she had agreed to meet here. She could already begin to feel the effects of the wine as she walked on, trying to avoid stumbling on everyone's feet as they sprawled their legs from the benches onto the stone floor.
When she collided into someone halfway down the aisle and felt the wine spill down them both, she knew at once who it was; she only knew one man who would dare to grip hold of her waist the way he did as they steadied themselves.
'Gods, I…I'm so sorry!' Brienne said, aghast, as she looked down at his empty goblet and his stained tunic.
She was absolutely mortified. Why did she have to be so clumsy and bumbling and awkward all the time?
But Jaime merely smirked. 'Don't worry about it,' he said reassuringly as he released his hold of her. 'I'll just get another.'
A nervous chuckle escaped her mouth as she met his amused gaze. Jaime seemed to be in unusually high spirits since they had parted from each other after the funeral today. Mind you, so was she, strangely enough. They were both full of a nervous energy that neither of them could fully comprehend.
'You should…change your shirt,' Brienne suggested.
'It's all right, I'll take it off later,' Jaime said airily, and he swallowed as he met her gaze.
A pause hung between them. Brienne looked away from him, flustered. She couldn't understand why she was so nervous. It was infuriating.
'So…what happens now?' Brienne asked him as the two of them slowly walked up the aisle of the hall together.
Jaime frowned, confused. 'What do you mean?'
'Well, the fighting's done. You've done your duty…you've upheld your oath,' Brienne said, trying but failing to keep the sadness out of her voice. 'You're free to go back to the capital now.'
'And would you like that?' Jaime asked, coming to a halt and turning to face her. 'If I left?'
Brienne felt her lips part, stunned, at the way he tilted his head at her, with that taunting smile and his raised eyebrows and that challenging glint in his eyes. He had rarely ever been flirtatious with her like this before. Did he know what it did to her when he looked at her like that?
She stared at him, trying to keep her composure. 'Don't play with me, Jaime,' she said, her lips twitching slightly.
'On the contrary, you seem to be the one playing with me,' Jaime said, and he took a few steps towards her, closing the distance between them; Brienne was taken aback. 'Perhaps I should remind you of the certain cruel remarks you made to me during our first few days together. Then you would know why I doubt whether or not I'm still welcome here.'
He was teasing her, and she wasn't used to it. Nor was she used to their proximity, and how unbothered he clearly was by the surrounding people watching them curiously.
'You know I didn't mean what I said back then, that was years ago-'
'Oh, but you did,' Jaime interrupted, grinning.
'All right,' Brienne admitted irritably, and she raised an eyebrow at him. 'Then perhaps I should remind you of the cruel remarks you made to me during our first few days together.'
Jaime smirked at her; he did love her so very much. 'Fair point. We did hate each other, didn't we?'
'I feel like 'hate's a strong word,' Brienne said thoughtfully, looking around at the guests self-consciously, and Jaime chuckled.
'That's true,' he agreed, and his expression turned more serious as he looked at her carefully, though he still wore a hint of a soft smile. 'Would it make a difference? If I stayed here?'
'Probably not to most people,' Brienne replied casually, avoiding his intense gaze as she continued to look around, suddenly wishing for Pod to come and save her from her embarrassing awkwardness.
Jaime took another step forward. 'And are you 'most people', Ser Brienne?'
Brienne's expression faltered slightly as she met his gaze. Since when had he been so forward? Her lips trembled into a nervous half-smile, and Jaime felt like if the room hadn't been filled with people, he would have kissed her there and then.
As if he had read her mind, Pod then appeared out of nowhere beside them, startling them both. 'Milady, milord – I've saved you both a seat!' he said eagerly, gesturing to the far end of the table at the left.
Brienne glanced at Jaime, whose eyes were still boring into hers; she stepped away from him and turned back to Pod, blushing. 'Thank you, Pod.'
As they followed Pod to the table, Jaime was perplexed to see a few of the soldiers and women greet him warmly and nod respectfully at him as he passed. Had the battle somehow rid these people of their former prejudices against him? It was utterly baffling.
Brienne sat down beside Pod at the table; Jaime went around to sit on the other bench so that he was opposite her. Tankards of wine and a huge array of food lay before them, the delicious smell wafting through their nostrils. The three of them soon began to dig in, and as they poured more wine and filled themselves up with food until they were bursting, Brienne found that her nerves were slowly fading away. She could talk and joke freely around Jaime now, with no one to reprimand her for it – not even herself. After all, tonight was a night of drinking and laughter and appreciating the fact that they were somehow still alive. It was a miracle that they were still here really, and they all knew it.
The festivities paused momentarily as Daenerys stopped Gendry in front of all assembled to publicly declare him as the legitimate, rightful son of Robert Baratheon and the new Lord of Storm's End, as reward for his heroism during the battle. Pleasantly surprised by the dragon queen's kind act, everyone stood up and raised a glass to Gendry Baratheon. After the toast, they sat back down, and Brienne's head began to swim as she glanced over at Jaime sat opposite her. She was intoxicated, not only with the over-indulgent goblets of wine she'd kept drinking, but also with the nearness of Jaime and the heartfelt warmth in his loving gaze.
When Pod reached over to pour Brienne some more wine from the pitcher, she immediately raised her hand and covered her cup. It was water she needed, not more wine; she wasn't used to alcohol and she didn't want to drink too much. But then she felt a tingling heat in her fingertips as Jaime covered her hand gently with his own. He had done that once before at a dining table, she remembered, long ago. It left her just as shaken as it had done then, for their bare skin to be in contact, only this time her heart was pounding in excitement.
His thumb brushing against her knuckle, Jaime then moved her hand away from the cup and back down to the table. Brienne gazed down at their hands for a moment before slowly looking up at him. They had held hands during the battle and when Jaime had comforted her in the library earlier today, but those occasions had been different – their hands had been covered up with gloves, and both times they had been in a sombre or desperate mood in need of comfort, and not in the public eye. But here they were surrounded by people at a feast, and Jaime didn't seem to mind at all that people could see.
'We fought dead things and lived to talk about it,' Jaime said to her as he picked up the pitcher and poured the wine himself into her goblet. 'If this isn't the time to drink, when is?'
Brienne considered him for a moment as he poured himself another cup, then glanced warily down at her filled-up goblet.
Is he trying to get us drunk?
Jaime raised up his goblet, and with a nervous smile Brienne nodded in agreement and held up her goblet as well, melting at the sight of his encouraging smile as he looked at her admiringly and tapped his goblet against hers. After all, how could she resist that tender gaze of his? And he had a point – it was time to celebrate, and it was about time she learnt how to do it properly. They both took generous sips from their goblets, neither of them taking their eyes off the other.
As the night went on and more people joined in with the heavy drinking, the mood lightened somewhat and the hall became much more celebratory, as Jaime had hoped it would. People were moving about, making toasts and boasting about their heroic deeds and triumphs in the battle, and the hall kept erupting in cheers. Jaime and Brienne stayed sat down, making an effort not to exclude Pod as they exchanged soft, heart-fluttering glances across the table and talked of anything but the battle and the wights: Brienne and Pod's mission to find Lady Sansa, for example, and their encounter with Jaime at Riverrun.
Brienne's words became less constrained as she drank more and settled into the flow of their conversation, and it cheered Jaime to no end to see her just being her, free to say and do what she pleased, without constantly focussing on her duties to Lady Sansa. The two of them could simply continue to reminisce over wine and dinner, and perhaps Jaime could show her what she had been missing. After all, he could be charming when he wanted to be, couldn't he? Although it had been such a long time since he had made this sort of effort with anyone. He'd never tried to court a woman before and he'd certainly never wooed Cersei – that had all been on her part and their pent-up feelings of lust that had brought them colliding angrily together in something Jaime saw now to be so toxic and horrific.
But now he was here, with Brienne sat opposite him wearing a nervous smile as she kept glancing over at him and fluttering her eyelashes, and it was all so very new and strange and unnerving. But it was exciting as well, mainly because they both knew. Their longing for each other was blatantly apparent. All they had to do was act on it…but that was easier said than done.
The first time Jaime and Brienne had dined together – at a table, rather than sat by a lake or tied up to a tree – had been much less fun and with practically no laughter. The tense meal had taken place in the foreboding fortress of Harrenhal with their host, Roose Bolton, who had terrified Jaime almost as much as his own father had.
When a worn and woozy Jaime emerged from Qyburn's quarters, the bandage on his stump having recently been re-dressed after his collapse in the bath, he hesitated in the gloomy, damp corridor. He was supposed to wait for one of Lord Bolton's soldiers to come and escort him to the dining chamber. But Jaime wasn't a fan of waiting, and he didn't want to go into the monster's den without his confidant at his side. So Jaime turned and walked along the corridor in the direction of Brienne's allocated chambers.
He was stronger now after a long rest, and he almost felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders after revealing his traumatic story to Brienne in the bath earlier today. In doing that and trusting her with his horrifying tale that had distressed him so much to relate, he could feel himself changed inside. But, despite feeling slightly better, he knew he was still vulnerable here. He was Roose Bolton's hostage, to do with as he pleased. Him and Brienne still weren't free.
When he saw Brienne coming out of her chambers, he came to an abrupt halt and his eyes widened in shock. She was dressed in an elegant pink velvet gown lined with moth-eaten fur. The dress was a little frumpy and faded – judging by its dusty, aged appearance, it was an old dress that had been left behind by someone else. Pink was not a good colour on Brienne, and the pompous dress didn't fit her properly, but, despite her obvious intense dislike of having to wear such ludicrous attire, Jaime was forced to admit to himself that she looked quite good in it. Well, maybe not good – he'd never go that far. But decent.
As Jaime gawped at her, Brienne froze and scowled at him. Her expression of disgust gave him a bizarre urge to burst out laughing, but he resisted.
He cleared his throat. 'Gods, you look-'
'More hideous than usual? I'm well aware,' Brienne snapped, closing the door to her chambers behind her.
She was absolutely horrified by it. After returning from Qyburn's quarters, some of Bolton's soldiers had mockingly provided this dress for her from an old trunk found in the upper levels of the castle, claiming it was the only item of clothing large enough to fit her. She looked absurd in it.
Jaime struggled to find the right words as he took in her disgruntled expression. They had shared a moment before. Not just in the bathtub, but afterwards as well. And since that moment of honesty and intimacy between them earlier today, he felt inclined to suppress his urge to be cruel to her.
'They've put you in that to make you uncomfortable,' he said in a low voice, and he looked around the corridor anxiously to make sure they weren't being overheard. 'Don't give Bolton the satisfaction.'
Brienne gave an awkward nod, surprised that he was trying to reassure her. Regardless of Jaime's words, she still felt remarkably stupid. She was being forced to conform to established norms of so-called feminine clothing, and it angered her. The dress was even tight across her bust, enough to reveal a hint of cleavage, which was beyond mortifying for her. She tried to hide it as she folded her arms now, but this only made Jaime notice the low fur neckline more prominently.
He wished he'd been given something different to wear. All he had left were the smelly dirty rags that had been on his back for the past year.
There was a rather awkward pause as they both averted each other's gaze. Merely hours before, Brienne had come to see him in Qyburn's chambers, to check that he was recovering after fainting in the bath. She had sat at his bedside and helped wash his face and cool his temperature while he'd let the tears trickle from his tired, bloodshot eyes. He had never let anyone see him like that before. Never. Similarly, Brienne had never spoken to anyone – well, anyone like Jaime Lannister – in such a gentle tone before. It made her flustered now to think of her tender behaviour towards him earlier. Although she knew now that he didn't deserve her scorn and hostility, she would still have to make more of an effort to be her usual frosty, guarded self around him from now on, or he would think she'd gone soft. And she couldn't have that.
Jaime stepped forward to her, breaking her out of her reverie. 'I'm rather looking forward to this; we haven't had a proper meal in far too long. Let us just hope they don't poison us, though it wouldn't surprise me if they do,' he said bracingly, his voice much less frail than it had been a few hours earlier, and he offered her his arm. 'Shall we, my lady?' He said it ironically.
Brienne tilted her head at him, exasperated. Rolling her eyes, she stalked ahead without taking his arm, wanting to get this over with. Jaime watched her go for a moment with a hint of an amused smile on his face, before following her wearily in the direction of the hall where they had been told to meet their gracious host.
Roose Bolton was already waiting for them at the dining table when they arrived, and his manservant was just finishing laying out the drinks and food. Jaime's eyes felt like they would burst out of their sockets in joy as he took in the sight of the hot meals awaiting him and Brienne.
'Ser Jaime. Lady Brienne,' Lord Bolton greeted politely in his deep, smooth voice. 'You both must be ravenous. Please, do sit.'
'It's very kind of you to have us here, Lord Bolton,' Jaime said, trying his hardest to speak without his usual sly tone, as he and Brienne took their allocated seats. 'Ah, steak!'
He looked down at the table to see that he had only been given one very blunt fork. He glanced at Brienne and caught her eye; she shook her head subtly at him, with a look that plainly told him: just deal with it.
As Roose Bolton turned to fetch the pitcher of wine from the cabinet behind him, Jaime leaned closer to Brienne.
'There's no gravy,' he mouthed in outrage to her, gesturing the dry lumps of meat and potatoes on their plates.
'What?!' she whispered back to him incredulously, leaning closer to him.
'No gravy-!' But she slapped his arm quietly as Bolton turned slowly back around to face them; Jaime stopped moving his lips and leaned away from Brienne at once.
Bolton smiled at them both as he sat down, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. 'Please, make a start,' he said, gesturing to the food before them.
Jaime immediately picked up his fork and began stabbing at his piece of steak, but neither Brienne nor Bolton felt quite ready to touch their food yet; they were too busy staring at one other, trying to determine what was going on beneath those steely expressions. Brienne glanced over at Jaime as he struggled to cut through his meat with his one hand. She felt anger ripple through her; Bolton had given Jaime a tough steak deliberately, so that he would have problems with it and be subjected to humiliation. And as if that wasn't enough –
'I see my men have finally found you something appropriate to wear,' Bolton said, watching her closely from across the table.
Brienne stared at him, struggling to keep her fury under control. She was tempted to shout or curse at him when she suddenly felt Jaime's leg press gently against hers while he continued to try and carve his meat. She swallowed.
'Yes. Most kind of them,' Brienne replied, trying to keep the sarcasm from her voice.
Bolton's lips twitched. He wasn't fooled.
Irritated with his lack of progress with the steak, Jaime put down his fork and reached over to the other side of the table where there was a spare knife. He may well not have adjusted to life without his dominant hand as well as he had hoped he would, but perhaps this implement of cutlery would work better for him. As he carried on trying but failing to carve out a tiny piece of meat, Brienne proceeded to speak politely with their host.
'You're a Stark bannerman, Lord Bolton,' she said. 'I am acting on Lady Stark's orders to return Jaime Lannister to King's Landing.'
'When King Robb left Harrenhal, his mother was his prisoner. If she wasn't his mother, he'd have hanged her for treason,' Bolton pointed out, as Jaime continued to strenuously attempt to cut his food.
Fed up with seeing him struggle, Brienne grabbed her own fork, reached out and stabbed Jaime's steak with a mixture of pity and annoyance. Jaime froze for a fraction of a second, and glanced hesitantly up at her.
She raised her eyebrows at him as she kept the steak still. Let me handle this.
Flashing her a grateful hint of a smile, Jaime then bowed his head low, ashamed and embarrassed, and finished cutting out a slice of the steak. The fact that she was helping him, let alone treating him like a human being, was something Jaime had ill been used to this past year and a half. It was greatly refreshing.
Bolton smiled, intrigued, as he surveyed his two guests. Even if they couldn't see it for themselves, he could tell just how they had evolved to be so much more than a captor and hostage.
'I should send you back to Robb Stark,' Bolton said, as Brienne removed her fork from Jaime's steak.
'You should. But instead, you're sitting here…watching me fail at dinner,' Jaime said coolly, holding up the tiny piece of steak he'd managed to cut and twiddling it about on his fork. 'Why might that be?'
'Wars cost money,' Bolton replied simply, as he watched Jaime take a bite of the steak. 'Many people would pay a great deal for you.'
'We both know who would pay the most,' Jaime said, locking his eyes with Bolton's. 'Or make you pay the most if he found out you had captured me and sent me back up north for a summary execution.'
Brienne couldn't believe that, even after losing his hand, Jaime was casually threatening the most sadistic house in Westeros. She had to admire him for it.
'You're right,' Bolton said thoughtfully. 'Perhaps the safest thing to do is to kill you both and burn your bodies.'
Brienne quietly picked up her knife but Jaime had already covered her hand with his own before Bolton had had time to register her threatening movement. Without consciously realising it, Jaime had grown accustomed to noticing Brienne's every little move and miniscule expression over these past few weeks. Even sick and infected, even when bargaining for his life and thinking harder than he'd ever had to in order to free them both from this place, he was still attentive to her. Brienne felt a spark rush through her the moment his fingers gently clasped hers, wordlessly reassuring her that it was all right, that he had it handled, that it was not necessary for her to reach over and stab Roose Bolton, as she so longed to do.
Without taking his eyes off Bolton, Jaime carefully lowered the knife in Brienne's soft hand. 'It would be,' he replied calmly, his hand lingering over Brienne's, 'if you honestly believed my father would never find out about it.'
Once he was sure she wouldn't do anything with the knife, Jaime slowly removed his hand from hers. The casual intimacy and feeling of familiarity between them from this simple gesture was almost more alarming to Brienne than the fact that she had held him naked in a bathtub this morning. They could communicate without words or without even looking at each other now. It was quite unnerving how quickly they had become attuned to one another.
'King Robb is keeping your father quite busy,' Bolton retorted smoothly, raising his eyebrows at Jaime. 'He doesn't have time for anything else.'
'He'll make time for you,' Jaime promised quietly, refusing to break eye contact with the imposing man sat opposite him.
There was a pause as Bolton simply stared at him, considering his words. Brienne didn't know why he kept up the act; it was obvious that Bolton had made his decision on what to do with the pair of them long before they had entered this room.
Bolton then let out a deep exhale. 'As soon as you're well enough to travel, I will allow you to go to King's Landing as restitution for the mistakes my soldiers made,' he said in his deep, firm voice, as Jaime watched him distrustfully. 'And you will swear to tell your father the truth – that I had nothing to do with your maiming.'
There was a tense pause as Jaime eyed him suspiciously. A 'Stark bannerman', Brienne had called him. But from where Jaime was sitting, it seemed that Roose Bolton was plotting to change allegiances. Unless he had already done so.
A slight frown on his face, Jaime then slowly began to nod, and reached out for the pitcher of wine. 'Shall we drink on it?' he suggested, reaching to pour some wine into Bolton's empty goblet.
But Bolton held his hand out over his goblet. 'I don't partake.'
Jaime stared at him and leaned back, perplexed. 'You do understand how suspicious that is to ordinary people?' he said as he poured some wine into Brienne's cup and then his own. 'Very well. My lady – may our journey continue without further incident.'
He turned to Brienne and held up his cup to clink against hers. Before she had time to respond, Bolton had already spoken up.
'Oh, she won't be going with you.'
Jaime's face fell.
Brienne, on the other hand, maintained a calm expression; she barely even batted an eye, despite the way her heart was thudding in dread. 'I am charged with bringing Ser Jaime to-'
'You are charged with abetting treason,' Bolton interrupted simply, and Brienne's false polite smile disappeared, upset by his statement; treason was not in her character at all…after all, she had only been fulfilling her oath.
For the first time since entering this room, Jaime felt genuinely afraid. But not for himself, he realised.
'I'm afraid I must insist,' Jaime said, quietly but firmly.
Brienne turned to look at him, startled; she has never heard him speak of her as if he had a personal stake in her wellbeing.
But Bolton was having none of it. 'You're in no place to insist on anything. I would have hoped you'd learned your lesson about overplaying your…' – he cocked his eyebrow as he glanced pointedly at Jaime's stump – 'position,' he finished in a delicate, sardonic tone.
Jaime simply stared at him hopelessly. He hated him but he was powerless against him. There was nothing he could do. A lump rose in his throat as he turned slowly to face Brienne. Her eyes met his beseechingly, her expression uneasy. It made him feel suddenly quite nauseous, and he pushed his plate away.
How could he go on without her? After everything they had been through together, after what had transpired between them today? How could she not come with him?
It was all his fault, Jaime realised. If he hadn't taken her sword on that stupid bridge and tried to fight her out of his sheer boredom and pride and arrogance, then they would have avoided all of this. They would have almost reached the capital by now, and Brienne would have been safe and away from the clutches of this quietly terrifying man. Jaime's lips parted as he tried to form the words to Brienne, but he didn't know what to say, not with Bolton watching them so beadily from across the table. Instead all he could do was gaze at her apologetically and hoped she understood how much he sincerely regretted all that had happened to lead her to this point. She deserved better than that. So much better.
Bolton smiled and raised his eyebrows at them both as he finally began to tuck into his meal. 'I must confess, this is rather touching. Your loyalty may well be the death of you, Ser Jaime. I see now why they call you two 'the lovers',' he said smoothly.
Jaime's nostrils flared and Brienne's hand fell on her knife once more as both their cheeks reddened in horror; Jaime quickly put his hand over Brienne's again to stop her doing anything reckless. Bolton's lips twitched in amusement.
'Although – and I don't mean any offence by saying this, my lady – I'd say you could do better, Ser Jaime,' he went on, unperturbed by Jaime's furious glare as Brienne's eyes dropped to her lap. 'I'm sure your sister would agree.'
At this Jaime leapt to his feet, livid. Brienne jerked her head up at him, alarmed by his reaction; he looked outraged, his eyes threatening to burst from their sockets in fury. He wanted to yell but as Brienne tentatively reached for his wrist and held it, he realised that he couldn't without risking them both. Lord Bolton was smiling at him, challenging him to say what he knew Jaime was bursting to say.
Jaime glanced down at Brienne, enraged for the way Bolton had insulted her.
Don't do it, her eyes told him.
He turned back to Bolton, his expression unsteady as he glared across the table into Bolton's sneering eyes. 'Thank you for dinner,' he forced himself to say, though his voice shook with anger.
And with that Jaime turned on his heel and stormed out of the chamber. Bolton watched him go, and despite his strange ability to keep his expression constantly serious, it was clear that he was enjoying every moment of this. He turned expectantly to a flustered Brienne.
She was red in the face. 'Yes. Thank you,' she said curtly to Bolton as she rose to her feet. 'My lord,' she added.
'Are you not hungry, my lady?' Bolton asked tauntingly, gesturing her full plate. 'You haven't touched your food.'
Brienne stared at him, trying hard to keep herself from scowling. 'I don't have much of an appetite, I'm afraid. Please forgive me,' she said, before turning her back on him and walking away to follow Jaime out of the hall.
'Just so you know, Lady Brienne,' Bolton called after her, and she halted, 'you will be escorted to new accommodations tomorrow, at a different wing of the castle. They won't be as comfortable, I'm afraid, but please don't take it personally – I just feel it best that you and your dear friend are kept at some distance from one another, until he's fit enough to depart for the capital. I'm sure you understand.'
Your dear friend. Brienne felt her knuckles crack as she turned back to face him.
'So I am to be your prisoner,' she said coolly.
'Well it depends which way you want to look at it, my lady. But you must see the difficulty of my situation,' Bolton said, and there was a hint of a smirk on his face as he looked at her. 'Besides, I can't simply deprive Locke of all his goods now, can I?'
Rage flickered momentarily in Brienne's expression as she took an angry step forward, but then she thought better of it. Saying nothing, she turned and swept dramatically from the hall. She strode furiously down the corridor to head back to her chambers, only she came to a halt when she saw Jaime stood by the open archway that led to the battlements, waiting for her as the wind blew softly in his long greasy hair. He looked guilt-ridden.
Brienne frowned as she walked over to him. 'What are you still doing here?' she asked.
'I…' Jaime cleared his throat. 'I wanted to escort you back to your-'
'Well that won't be necessary,' Brienne interrupted shorty, as she turned to carry on down the corridor. 'Thank you.'
Jaime rolled his eyes, barely repressing a snort. 'I'll find a way. I'll get past that cold exterior, you know, one way or another.'
Brienne stopped walking and tilted her head at him. 'Bolton won't change his mind. You're a fool if you think otherwise.'
'I was talking about you,' Jaime said, raising his eyebrows at her. 'Though…perhaps I've already succeeded. You were kind to me today, in Qyburn's quarters. Thank you.'
Brienne swallowed as she looked down, flustered. She didn't know what to say.
'And…I'm sorry,' Jaime went on hesitantly; the words were unfamiliar to him, for the golden lion of House Lannister never needed to apologise for anything…but he meant them. 'I'm the reason we got into this mess. You shouldn't be kept with Bolton or charged with treason, it's not right.'
There was a pause as Brienne simply looked at him.
'Well 'sorry' won't do me any good now,' she muttered eventually, and with that she turned on her heel and walked away; Jaime let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes.
She was halfway down the gloomy corridor when she thought of the way Jaime had touched her hand and stuck up for her in that ghastly dinner.
'I'm afraid I must insist.'
Up until now, she had always thought that Jaime had seen her as much of a burden as she had seen him, and had very much looked forward to the day he would be rid of her. And yet now, when he no longer needed Brienne to return him home or to fulfil his oath, he wanted her to be with him, as a comrade…or, dare she say it, a friend?
Brienne slowly turned back around to face Jaime still stood by the battlements; she met his desperate, sorrowful gaze. Swallowing, she began to slowly walk back towards him, the pink velvet of her dress swishing around her ankles as she went. Jaime felt relief spread through him as he watched her approach, and for a moment she looked like the warm Brienne he'd briefly seen within her earlier today, in Qyburn's quarters.
'Lord Bolton is moving me to a new part of the castle tomorrow,' Brienne said, when she reached him.
'What, why?' Jaime demanded urgently, horrified.
'I don't know. Perhaps he thinks a cell would be more fitting for my new position here at Harrenhal,' Brienne replied heavily.
Jaime cursed under his breath as he turned irritably to look out over the battlements to survey the yards below. He had never seen a more miserable, terrifying fortress in all his life.
'He can't keep you here,' he muttered.
'Yes, he can. He's Roose Bolton.'
'And I'm Jaime Lannister,' he said desperately. 'That has to mean something.'
'So what would you do?' Brienne asked, her tone challenging.
'I'll…I'll refuse to go.'
Brienne frowned at him, touched but also appalled by such an idiotic gesture. 'You'll do no such thing.'
'But-'
'I'm not important. I'm expendable, that's why he's keeping me here. What's the point in both of us being killed if we defy him?' she pointed out, and a strangely warm sensation surged through both of them at the word 'we'.
Jaime looked down, conflicted. She may be expendable to the mission. But she wasn't expendable to him.
'Do as Lord Bolton says,' Brienne said firmly as she leant on the battlements beside him. 'Not that you have any choice in the matter. I'll be fine, I can take care of myself.'
'I know that.'
They looked at each other for a moment. Jaime's eyes ran down her dress again, still surprised to see her wearing such a ridiculous get-up without looking horrendous. She looked like a real lady. But it wasn't her. It wasn't the look of the woman he had begrudgingly come to admire. So the sight of her being forced to wear such a thing irritated him even more.
There was a pause as he turned heavily to look once more out across the battlements. After some deep thought, he then turned back to her. Her face was set in its usual sour expression as she too stared out at the yards below…her new home.
'I'm not important. I'm expendable.'
She really didn't see her own worth. She had no idea just how much he depended on her now, how much he valued everything she said and did.
Jaime swallowed. 'I'll ask Qyburn to send a raven to your father informing him of your situation,' he said, and Brienne frowned at him questioningly, confused. 'It's not far, it'll only take a few days for it to fly to Tarth and back. It will be quicker than waiting for me to reach King's Landing so that I can pay your ransom.'
'You don't have to-' Brienne protested, but Jaime cut over firmly.
'I'm not abandoning you without a way out. I'll have Qyburn write to your father. End of discussion.' He almost snapped the words; anything to get her to shut up, for she looked to have every intention of arguing with him.
Brienne stared at him for a moment, stunned, then averted her gaze in embarrassment. She didn't know what she was feeling or what she was thinking. All she knew was that this man confused her more than anyone she had ever met.
'I'll say goodnight, my lady,' Jaime then said, looking equally as flustered.
They both nodded stiffly at each other, unsure of what to make of this new dynamic that had sprung up between them in the space of merely a day, and Jaime turned to leave. He'd only made it a few steps away when he turned back to her.
'You're wrong, by the way,' he said, and he forced himself to bring his gaze up to meet hers. 'You are important.'
Brienne's lips parted. She was lost for words. Jaime swallowed nervously, discomforted; it wasn't like him to say something like that. It wasn't like him at all. Averting his gaze, he then gave her another nod and walked away. Brienne remained behind on the battlements as she watched him go, too stunned to move. It was in that moment when she realised that her and Jaime's relationship was far more layered and complicated than either of them had ever previously thought.
~ Present Day ~
Tyrion was well on his way to being drunk. Once the food had been cleared away from the top table he had been making the rounds, talking to the large varieties of people gathered in the great hall. But now he was in the mood for some fun. It was then when he looked over at the cosy group sat at the far end of the table on the left of the hall; he could see Pod looking rather out-of-place while Jaime and Brienne made rather pathetic attempts to flirt with each other across the table. Tyrion smirked triumphantly as he made his way over to them.
'Hello, dear friends,' he greeted enthusiastically, as he plonked himself down on the spare seat beside Jaime.
'Ah. You're joining us, are you?' Jaime asked, raising his eyebrows warily at his little brother.
'Yes. Now let's play a game,' Tyrion said with relish, leaning forward on the table. 'Let's see how well we all really know each other.'
Brienne looked sceptical. 'Lord Tyrion, I hardly know you at all,' she pointed out.
'Well tonight's your lucky night, my lady, because you're about to!' Tyrion said playfully.
The smile fell from Jaime's face as he slowly looked around at his brother with raised eyebrows, unimpressed. Tyrion saw the look in his eyes and burst into nervous laughter.
'I didn't mean…don't worry, I'm not going to try and add to your competition,' Tyrion reassured him, and he glanced pointedly over at Tormund, who was roaring with laughter over at the top table with Jon Snow.
'Excuse me?' Brienne said, mortified, and Jaime closed his eyes, barely suppressing a groan.
'Oh, don't mind me. I just love to make things awkward,' Tyrion said, and Pod let out a nervous giggle. 'It's my speciality apparently.'
Brienne looked questioningly at Jaime; he avoided her gaze as he smiled exasperatedly and covered his face with his hand. Tyrion had better not ruin this for him.
'Now, how good of a judge of character are you, Ser Brienne?' Tyrion asked.
Brienne's eyes flickered nervously to Jaime, still rather stunned by what Tyrion had just explicitly stated in front of them all. 'I'd say I'm fairly good,' she said warily.
'Hmm…I'd say you're average, at best,' Jaime said jokingly, and she kicked him under the table; all three men laughed, and the mood relaxed at once.
'Well we're about to put it to the test, for all of us,' Tyrion said. 'Here are the rules: I make a statement about you're past, and if I'm right, you drink.'
'And if you're wrong, you drink?' Pod guessed.
'Clever lad. We'll take it in turns of course, to give everyone a fair shot. How about it?' Tyrion asked eagerly.
'Well this game hardly seems fair considering you and Ser Jaime are brothers and know a great deal more about each other than Pod or I do,' Brienne pointed out, and Jaime's lips twitched; he liked how the wine made her more confident.
Tyrion raised his eyebrows sceptically. 'I wouldn't be so sure about that. You and Ser Jaime have spent a lot of time together getting to know each other, just the two of you.'
Jaime and Brienne looked at each other, alarmed.
'Wh-what-'
'Err, I wouldn't say that exactly-' Jaime said nervously.
'-what do you mean?' Brienne asked, horrified.
But Tyrion was chuckling. 'There's no need to panic, I was only referring to your journey from the Riverlands to King's Landing.'
'Oh.'
'Hmm.' Tyrion smirked as he glanced knowingly between them both. 'This is going to be a lot more fun than I anticipated. Shall we begin?'
'I'm not sure if I'll join,' Brienne said doubtfully, casting the pitcher of wine an uneasy glance. 'Games aren't exactly my forte and I shouldn't really drink any more…'
She was tipsy and felt quite light-headed. What if she said something she shouldn't? She wasn't sure she liked the way Tyrion kept looking at her and Jaime.
'Oh yes you should. Give yourself a night off for once, have some fun,' Jaime urged. 'Don't do what you should. Do what you want.'
Brienne met his gaze and knew that he was right. She had let her duty take precedence all her life. How harmful would it be if she freed herself from her obligation for just one night? She looked up hesitantly at Sansa at the other end of the hall; she caught her eye and gave Brienne an encouraging nod and smile. Brienne turned back to Jaime and his brother apprehensively.
'All right then.'
Jaime, Tyrion and Pod cheered. Jaime reached over without thinking and gave her hand an enthusiastic squeeze, reassuring her that it was all right, that she could let herself loose a bit, that this would be fun. Tyrion and Pod exchanged a knowing glance as Jaime moved his hand hastily away from Brienne's, and flustered expressions fell on both their faces.
The game was soon underway, and to Brienne's surprise it turned out to be quite fun. Tyrion kept both her and Jaime topped up on the wine while he distracted them with impertinent questions and amusing statements, watching with satisfaction as Jaime and Brienne grew even more relaxed and flirtatious around each other. He was confident that it was only a matter of time until they would have to stop making eyes at each other and just get on with what everyone present could tell had been a long time coming.
Tyrion slurped down his wine noisily as the rowdiness only continued to grow around them in the hall. 'Your turn,' he said to Jaime.
Brienne bit her lip excitedly as her eyes flickered from Tyrion to Jaime. She didn't mind admitting that she was thoroughly enjoying this game…even if it was getting her considerably drunk. It just felt so fun to be carefree and joyful with Jaime and Pod, the people she almost considered her family, after such a traumatic shared experience. Tyrion also made quite a nice addition; in only the short time since they'd started playing, she knew she liked Jaime's brother very much.
'Err…' Jaime leaned back and raised his eyebrows at Brienne as he considered her thoughtfully, reciprocating her playful smile. 'You…are an only child.'
Tyrion pouted his lips sadly as he rested his head drunkenly on Jaime's shoulder, gazing at Brienne in mock sympathy.
Brienne stared at him. 'I told you I was,' she said, smiling.
'You didn't,' Jaime said at once.
'I did!' she insisted, and Tyrion leaned off Jaime's shoulder with a chuckle as he watched them.
Brienne was being more expressive and livelier than both Jaime and Pod had ever seen before. And it was wonderful.
'I surmised,' Jaime argued back playfully, raising his eyebrows at her.
Tyrion laughed. 'Drink!' he ordered Brienne.
Jaime beamed at her as she took another gulp of wine with smirking lips.
'Go again,' Tyrion murmured to Jaime.
Brienne put down her goblet and looked at Tyrion incredulously. 'Why does he get to go again?' she protested, as Jaime watched her closely, trying hard to think of a statement that would make her drink more.
'Because it's my game,' Tyrion replied firmly, and Brienne grinned at him, amused.
Jaime then pointed his finger at Brienne playfully. 'You have danced with Renly Baratheon,' he said slowly.
Brienne looked at him, stunned, then turned accusingly to Pod. Had he and Jaime been talking about her these past few days? Pod simply raised his eyebrows and tilted his head helplessly at her.
'Drink,' Tyrion said triumphantly.
Brienne turned back to Jaime with an irritated smile on her face; he winked at her as she brought the goblet up to her lips yet again, making both their cheeks grow rather hot.
Tyrion and Pod noticed, and looked across the table at each other. They smirked, both relieved and amused. The remainder of this night was going to be very interesting indeed.