Jaime took Brienne's right hand in his left and led her from his room. At first his fingers just folded over hers as he pulled her down the stairs, enjoying her breathless laughter. At the bottom of the stairs Jaime nodded to his guards, the same two who had been on duty the night before. Both guards seemed to be smiling at the pair holding hands and Jaime turned to look at Brienne. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shining at him. He gripped her hand a little tighter and then moved his hand around so that their fingers were entwined.
This wasn't the first time he had taken her by the hand and pulled her somewhere he wanted her to go, but it occurred to him that he had probably never held her hand like this before, like young lovers might when going for a stroll. Jaime wondered if he should make some remark, perhaps a little joke about how he had claimed her fingers and now had a full set, or how with her right hand captured she only had one hand left to flick his ear with, but something like good sense stopped him.
If I call her attention to it, he thought, she might find a reason to pull away. But maybe by not remarking on this small change in the way they touched each other it could become habit to them, like the way she would place his tunic over his head to make it easier to shrug his arms into the sleeves, or how he would hold her hair back while she fastened her gorget, or arrange his arm and shoulder under her head as a pillow when they went to sleep.
Jaime wondered suddenly if this was what it was like to court someone. With Cersei there had never been a courtship, there had been no need. They wanted each other, yes, but there had not been that heady feeling of infatuation, the process of discovering the mysteries of another person, of starting to fall for them and wondering if they might be falling for you. How strange that he and Brienne seemed to know each other so intimately, but still sometimes behaved like skittish foals around each other over the littlest things. They could lay curled together in sleep like an old married couple, dress each other's wounds, had even seen one another naked more than once, but feeling his fingers entangled with hers had him nervous and questioning. Gods, he hoped his hand didn't start to sweat. A small chuckle escaped his throat, followed by another and another until he was laughing outright.
"What's funny?" asked Brienne with a puzzled smile.
"Nothing," Jaime said, trying to stifle his mirth, "and everything." It was an apt description for what they were to each other, he thought. Suddenly he very much wanted to kiss her, to press his lips against hers and see her reaction. But no, that was too much. Maybe he could just kiss her knuckles? Again, too much.
Still, this could be a little like a lover's stroll, couldn't it? Inspiration struck and he led over to the stone passage leading down into the cells below: "My lady, would you like a tour of the dungeons?"
Brienne bit her full bottom lip, looking both bemused and concerned. "The dungeons? Do you have friends down there?"
And a sudden thought struck him, "Oh Gods, they're not keeping Cersei down there, are they?"
Brienne pursed her lips and looked at him askance. "No, she is being housed in the Maidenvault, same as me."
Jaime guffawed, "I think it's about time they thought of renaming the Maidenvault; I was under the impression it was just for maidens."
Brienne blushed. This had been a mysterious subject for quite a while between them. When he first knew her she had been the Maid of Tarth, and proud to claim the title, but after Lady Stoneheart and the Brave Companions, somewhere between the time she had left with Oathkeeper and returned to him at Pennytree, she never spoke of it again, and was evasive when he brought it up, however subtly. She smiled at his jests and kept her own secrets.
"The Maidenvault has long been used to house sundry guests of the crown," she told him, "though currently it only houses unmarried women and girls."
Jaime's breath caught in his throat with the desire to know what she could be hiding. If she was no longer a maid, had it been Hyle or some other nameless ruffian? Had she fallen for someone after Renly and had her heart broken again? He wanted to slay them all, not just knock out a mouthful of teeth as he had done to Red Ronnet.
Brienne took in Jaime's suddenly serious expression and asked "Are you very familiar with the dungeons? I have wondered what they are like. I imagine them to be like the pits of hell, though with a worse odor."
"Yes, that about describes them," said Jaime, "There are four levels, with the final one being so horrifying I am told you would be struck blind were there light enough to see."
"Oh, yes," Brienne said sarcastically, "by all means, please give me a tour of the dungeons Ser Jaime. What a fine idea. And then we can go see if we still have an appetite for onion stew and pickled pigs' feet."
"You know, I think I hear your stomach growling." He said, "How about we go on to the dining hall and save the dungeons for another time?"
"My stomach did not growl."
"It did. It sounded like a dying aurochs. Arrrruhg arrg," He mimicked. It was a good thing he had hold of her right hand so she couldn't smack him. He tightened his grip on her fingers. Let her do it left-handed then, at least the blow would be weaker, he told himself.
She started off toward the door to the courtyard, pulling him along with her. He went willingly.
In the courtyard the light of the short day had long since fled and an icy fog had set in. The torches on the parapets around them glowed hazily through the mist. As they walked toward the collection of buildings that housed the dining hall the fog swept around them like a white cloak, enfolding them in silence. Like somewhere not of this world, Jaime thought, just she and I, alone.
Out of the eerie stillness a horse whickered and a gate slammed and the spell was broken.
"I feel terrible that I have not visited Sean since we arrived," Brienne said, "I hope he is being well cared for and that they have remembered his warm blue blanket."
"They would not dare to neglect the fearsome Brienne of Tarth's horse," Jaime told her, "I am certain he is being spoilt rotten and will refuse to carry you back to the north again."
"He does so hate the spiders," Brienne said, "ever since that one got past the torches and wounded his flank. Have you been to see Ser Fluffy Tail?"
"His name is Reginald the Regal, you know."
"I like the name Tommen graced him with better, and since he was king at the time, it must stand. Did he actually knight the horse?"
"I think he may have," Jaime said, "for the horse takes on airs and demands special treatment. He is no hedge knight and deplores having to mix with the lower classes." Such as Hyle, he thought, but did not say it out loud.
He thought briefly about his son Tommen, now safely living at Casterly rock, albeit with a guard of Daenerys' choosing to stem any attempt to rally support for the former king to take back the throne. A waste of resources, Jaime figured, since Tommen would rather woo girls by showing them his collection of castle cats. Ah, to be that young again, and that innocent.
They had arrived at the group of buildings that housed the dining hall and went inside, glad to be out of the cold. Jaime was gratified that so far Brienne had not tried to retrieve her hand from his. She is trying not to mention it as well, he thought, and hoped it was because she, too, hoped it would become a habit and not because she was just humoring him.
As they entered the dining hall all eyes seemed once again to turn to them, to sweep over them in curiosity. No one seemed surprised to see their hands clasped. Jaime supposed the only people surprised by it were he and Brienne. It was commonly assumed the two of them were lovers, had been lovers for a long while.
The long tables of the hall were surprisingly full, and even Daenerys had decided to grace the people with her presence. She sat at a table near one of the smaller braziers with Jorah Mormon, Ser Barristan, and Missandei. A handful of Dothrakis were also included in the Queen's entourage, men and women all with their dusky chests semi-exposed and goose-fleshed in the cold. Ser Jorah sat as close to the queen as he could get away with, alternately making moon eyes at her and watching every man around them suspiciously. He looked like a dog guarding a steak that was way too hot for him to eat, one he had burned his tongue on more than once.
As Jaime and Brienne took in the people at the table their attention was caught by an enormous dragon skull hung from the rafters over the queen's table, seeming to leer down at the occupants of the hall.
"She's been decorating again," Brienne noted in a low voice, trying not to stare. The huge skull hung from a series of leather bands, its jaw wired open into a snarl with dried sinew.
"Is it…" Jaime paused, his mouth hanging open briefly, "breathing fire?"
Brienne studied it and pronounced "No, just smoke." They began to walk casually to a table near the opposite wall from the dragon skull.
"Gods," said Jaime in amazement, "she's had the brazier's pipe re-directed so the smoke vents out its mouth. I just knew someday she'd manage to kill us all." He bit his lip and met Brienne's eyes with his own, and they both had to stifle unseemly giggles as they selected a table with an unoccupied end.
The hall was smokier than usual due to the dragon's breath, but it was not as bad the further one sat from the queen. Servants brought them trenchers of the evening's fare: broiled fish cooked into a pulpy glob, caramelized onions, withered carrots and pickled pigs feet.
"As hungry as I am," Brienne said to Jaime, "you are welcome to my pickled pigs' feet."
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Jaime replied, "I would never describe your feet that way. Hand them over," he said, pretending to reach under the table for her booted foot.
"I promise I will hit you," Brienne warned. She picked up the slab of bread from Jaime's plate and tore it into three pieces for him. Jaime could have done it himself, but really, why do it for himself when he knew Brienne would?
"Hey, you two," said Tyrion, crawling up onto the bench across from them. "How's my favorite couple today?" he asked with a wolfish grin.
Jaime and Brienne both looked at him for half a second, considering whether to address his remark. Was this a trick question, Jaime thought, if I say 'fine' I acknowledge the label, if I ignore it I seem to dispute it.
"Lord Tyrion," Brienne said, "how nice of you to join us," and thereby averted the entire question.
"I hope you're hungry," Jaime said, "it's your favorite: pickled pigs feet."
Tyrion wrinkled his nose, his scar rucking up and making it appear half a sneer. "I think not." He said and waved his arm above him, signaling for wine. "How do you like the Queen's new, um, gods, what shall we call it?" he asked, nodding toward the dragon skull.
"Rufus." Said Brienne.
"Rufus?" Tyrion and Jaime both said at once.
"I had a cat named Rufus, back on Tarth. He had that exact expression when bringing up a hairball."
"Rufus." Tyrion and Jaime confirmed.
"What message is she trying to send with Rufus, do you think?" Jaime asked Tyrion.
"'I have dragons' I should imagine," said Tyrion as his trencher arrived, pigs' feet steaming next to the fish. Another servant brought a flagon of red wine and three cups.
"No, thank you," Brienne told the young woman when she tried to set a cup in front of her.
"You do not partake?" asked Tyrion curiously.
"Ah, poor lady Brienne had a bit too much the other night and it set her to wobbling."
"I do not wobble!" huffed Brienne.
"Do not feel bad, my lady," Tyrion told her kindly, "for I wobble even when sober." He quaffed most of his cup and gestured for the server to leave the flagon. "I enjoyed watching you instruct our dear sister in the art of combat," Tyrion noted, "was she receptive to learning from you?"
Brienne did not answer right away and seemed to be searching the air for what to say. "She was…uh…yes, receptive." She seemed to hope the subject would drop and concentrated on her food, giving Jaime a sideways glance.
"She was rather a bitch to Brienne, I'm afraid," Jaime told Tyrion. He would have liked to repeat what Brienne had said to Cersei about being a Kingslayer's whore, if he hadn't been the Kingslayer in question. Best not to bring that up or Tyrion would run with it as fast as his little legs could carry him.
"I would have liked to have heard what went on when I was watching from the hay bales," remarked Tyrion, "from what I know of my sister I am surprised that you were not tempted to whack her over the head with a sword."
"I was sorely tempted," said Jaime, "and that was just from what I heard when I was standing there." He looked at Brienne, who was studiously looking away. She seemed to be examining one of the small dragon skulls on the wall that had red ribbons dripping from its mouth like blood. Daenerys really did have the worst taste, he thought.
Dropping the uncomfortable subject but promising himself to bring it up with Brienne again later, Jaime said brightly "I have an appointment with a smithy in town on the morrow. We will be working on something new for my right arm. I know how my lady Brienne hates my gold hand."
Brienne turned from her perusal of an especially gaudy tapestry depicting a dragon dining on a knight's innards. "I do not hate your gold hand."
"You do not like it."
"it is not my place to like or dislike it." She said quietly. "I'm sure it is quite useful, for…something."
Tyrion watched their exchange as though it were an especially diverting sparring match. His grin looked particularly predatory to Jaime. Suddenly Tyrion looked towards the entrance to the hall and said "Oh, look, there's Cersei!" and waved his hand to beckon her over. He watched as Jaime and Brienne's expressions became mirrors of utter dismay, eyes wide with alarm. He nearly fell off the bench, gasping with laughter. "Ho ho, we have the truth of it now," he chortled when he could breathe again, hands wrapped over his stomach as he gasped to catch his breath. "the two most feared warriors in Westeros practically wetting their britches at the threat of having to face Cersei!"
Realizing it was a joke, Jaime glared at his younger brother. Brienne leaned over the table until she was practically nose to nose with Tyrion, "Beware, little man, or I will dandle you on my knee." Jaime whooped and smacked the table with his hand. You get him, Brienne!
"My lady," he said to her as he dabbed at his mouth with a small cloth, "if you are finished with your meal may I escort you out?"
"Yes," said Tyrion, "go, go, before our sister does show up. I will make sure your share of the wine is not wasted."
Brienne swung her long leg over the bench and stood up next to Jaime. He reached for her hand and quickly laced their fingers together. Jaime's heart stuttered in his chest at his own boldness. I have fought creatures out of legend, killed a king, had my heart ripped apart by the meanest woman in seven kingdoms, and this makes me feel brave?
The two warriors left the hall and Jaime led them to the stables, his guards following at a discreet distance. They found them nearly deserted but for a sleeping groom, a young man a little older than Podrick Payne had been when he was Tyrion's squire. Jaime lit a fresh torch from the small one flaming in a sconce by the entryway and they moved into the dark barn to find their horses. They heard a horse whicker from near the end of the first row of stalls and Brienne said, "That is Sean calling to me. He must have recognized my smell. Perhaps Ser Fluffy Tail will be with him." And they set off down the row.
The smell of horses, hay, and sweat combined with the warmth of the stables was soothing and familiar to them. They both seemed to relax and Jaime was glad they had come here instead of to the small hall to hear the bards that Dany kept employed at all times. When they arrived at Sean's stall the great horse leaned his head over the gate and his velvety lips strained toward Brienne. She reached out a gentle hand and stroked his nose.
"I wish I had a treat for you, Ser, but I promise I will bring you something soon." She placed her hands on his big cheekbones and laid her forehead against his, breathing in his scent, and then kissing him between the eyes. "Thank you for thinking of this, Jaime; it is just what I needed." She moved to the side of Sean's head and curled her arm under his neck so that her hand rested just behind his soft ears, then rested her cheek against his.
Jaime's own horse was begging for reunion from the next stall, and Jaime went over to stroke his nose, "There, there, Reggie, are they treating you well? Say, you don't happen to like pigs' feet, do you? No? I thought not." His horse began nosing in Jaime's tunic and he laughed and stepped back. "No fooling you, old man." And withdrew a couple of the withered carrots he had tucked into his belt at dinner. He handed one to Brienne, whose eyes glittered in the semi-dark as she took it and presented it to her horse. Jaime's horse reached his long neck out and lipped his share out of Jaime's hand.
"Brienne," Jaime asked softly, "how bad was it, working with my sister?"
Brienne considered him briefly, her eyes searching his face, perhaps trying to figure out what he wanted to hear from her. Seeming to give up any pretense she simply said, "It was awful."
"Please tell me about it."
"What is there to say, Ser? She hates me, and she wants you, and she wants me to know it. She seemed to know where the chinks in my armor were and was able to stick her dagger into each one and twist it." Brienne paused to watch his reaction to her blunt assessment.
Jaime reached for her with his right arm and drew her away from the horse, pulling her against his chest as she rested her burning face against his neck and collar bone. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair over and over, and as she wept softly against him, he whispered shh shh shh as though she were a frightened child.
"I am so sorry," he whispered. Jaime had long been over Cersei, but he suddenly realized now that he was forced to be near his sister again just how much she had taken from him, and how much she would still try to take. As he stood there with his true companion in his arms he felt he had been a fool not to risk letting her know how he felt. I am going to court her, he thought, nuzzling his nose into her hair, though I will no doubt be terrible at it.
Brienne pulled back from him and wiped her tears on her sleeve, smiling a little sadly at him. "Do you know," she sniffed, "that back when Hyle Hunt was trying to win that bet for my maidenhood he brought me carrots for my horse?" She laughed a little shakily.
Yes, I am already terrible at it, thought Jaime. Hyle Hunt had courted her by bringing her carrots for her horse, he remembered now. Courted her! He hoped he would not repeat any more of the hedge knight's missteps. Jaime knew that the hedge knight had traveled with Brienne for quite a while before they were brought to Lady Stoneheart. Hunt had hung around a while afterwards…
Jaime put his finger under Brienne's chin and made her look into his eyes, "Did you and he…? I mean, you told me he proposed and, I, uh, just wondered if, maybe…" Brienne was blushing now on top of the redness already in her face from crying. Her eyes were huge and perhaps as blue as he'd ever seen them.
"Are you asking if I allowed Hyle Hunt to come to my bed?" she asked.
"I know it is none of my business."
"He offered to," she told him, and Jaime could feel his jaw tightening with rage, "I told him that if he tried I would make him a eunuch." Jaime laughed. So not Hunt, then, thank the gods.
Back at the Traitor's Walk Jaime and Brienne climbed the stairs to his room. The space was small, lacking even a chair. There was only the narrow bed to sit or sleep upon and a small table with a basin of water on it.
"Thank you for taking me to see my horse," Brienne began, looking like she was going to return to her own quarters.
"Brienne," Jaime said, not releasing her hand yet, "Stay with me tonight, for I cannot sleep without you stealing my covers and telling me I snore."
"It would not be proper…" began Brienne.
"We have slept next to each other for more nights than I can count, so what is proper? Will they notice your absence from the Maidenvault and come looking for you? "
Brienne shook her head, but did not try to leave immediately. "Your bed is narrow, and your blankets scratchy."
"And my pillow is filled with thistles, I think. Would you prefer I slept with you in your bed in the Maidenvault?"
"That would be a scandal indeed!" Brienne said lightly, "and there is a crotchety old septa guarding the door. Also, do you not think your Dothraki guards would give us away as they lounged against the walls just outside?"
"So it is settled. You will sleep here tonight." Jaime gave her what he hoped was a winning smile. "Please?"
