As Brienne strode away in Jaime's cloak she was glad that he couldn't see her face, which must have flamed as red as the cloak she was wearing. Her heart thudded in her chest and she set her hand over it, as though she could still its erratic beating with a touch. Shekissed him. What in the seven hells had she been thinking? She raised her hand to her lips, touching her fingertips to them. Traitorous lips, traitorous heart. Traitorous Jaime, she thought, making me lose control, driving away all of my good sense.

Earlier in the night when he kissed her in his room this game seemed less dangerous. When did it cease to feel safe? Sometime between dinner and what happened just outside the Queen's Ballroom, when Jaime demanded she confide in him, she realized. Rather than needling her with words to get the answers he wanted, Jaime had used his body to impel her to answer him. With effortless power and grace he'd pivoted to cage her in and pressured her to yield. It was a move for the sparring grounds, but in the field it wouldn't have surprised her half so much. In the field it wouldn't have felt so raw, so personal.

It was more than Jaime's insistence on having Brienne repeat what she'd said when he teased her about Loras, more than his indignant fury when she told him what Hunt had said to her. This was Jaime letting the man he was react to her as a woman in a way that felt like she was not his sparring partner but his conquest. Jaime's intensity and nearness made her body respond with a deep, instinctive yearning that pierced down to her core. Brienne had tried hard to deny the urge to yield, and when he first leaned her back and kissed her she'd held her ground and not responded. But when he pressed up against her and made her feel how much he wanted her both body and soul, looking into her eyes and willing her to feel it too, she weakened. He touched her face and said 'My Brienne' in that deep, wanting voice, and she had fallen into their kiss and been undone.

The kisses that followed in an evening already full of surprises were less intense, but the sense of things changing between them was palpable. There had been an easy affection between them for a very long time, but in these last few days it all seemed different. Jaime seemed to be deliberately pushing at the boundaries of their friendship.

Brienne paused in her stride, a thought that had been hovering over her finally coalescing into something tangible: Maybe he isn't just playing a game. Is he trying to turn our long friendship into something else, something more…? Brienne stood still in the corridor, turning the thought over in her head, trying to examine it from different angles as her doubts raced ahead of her, at every turn warring with the sudden awareness that this seemed true, that Jaime wanted there to be something more intimate between them than what they already had.

It's just physical, her doubts clamored at her, he has been celibate a long time and he needs a woman. Brienne mulled the thought over for a moment. There was some truth in it, she understood that. She admitted to herself that she was not innocent of wanting Jaime in that way as well, her love of him always tangled up in her desire for him. He could have any woman, she thought, he could have Cersei again, if he wanted to and if he had completely lost his mind. He could have had that serving girl tonight for one of his smiles. But he'd been strangely faithful to Brienne, even though their relationship wasn't about sex or desire.

Wasn't it? She thought, remembering the times when they'd been drinking together and one of them had kissed the other. Sometimes the kisses were harmless, tentative, taken for comfort or reassurance. Other times they hadn't been so innocent. Those kisses she locked away in her memory and only brought out to examine and ruminate on when she found herself overcome by grief for what she could never have, intent on torturing herself for daring to love unrequited. She leaned back against the wall, remembering a run-down tavern in some no-name northern town, both she and Jaime piss drunk on the local rum. Jaime's lips on hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he held her tight, his hunger undeniable as he kissed and nuzzled her neck; his voice low and burred as he whispered into her hair that he loved her. Loved her. Gods, to remember such a thing, when they both should have been too drunk to recall it or give it credence.

Brienne was guilty of the same lapses as Jaime; more than once she had sought out his kisses, reveling in the passion they awoke in each other. They would let the alcohol leach away their inhibitions, but neither of them ever let it go too far. There was always a boundary they could step back from and blame it on the alcohol, on the too real possibility that any day might be their last, balanced on the sharp blade between death and survival.

Brienne prayed that she never admitted to Jaime how she loved him during one of those unguarded moments, hadn't slurred out some pathetic vow of eternal devotion. If she had, she prayed to the seven that he remembered it no better than she did.

Brienne didn't remember which of them had sought the first drunken kiss from the other; likely it was a mutual thing after some particularly horrific battle against the Others. Their first real kiss had actually been on the Quiet Isle. Jaime took her there after they defeated Lady Stoneheart. The Penitent Brothers had taken her in, gravely wounded and not expected to survive. Brienne had been delirious with fever and pain, her will to live shattered like her vows and her spirit. The elder Brother told her later that Jaime had lain next to her the whole time. He had held her and bound her to the world with his arms and his will. She remembered little but fever dreams from those weeks, but there was one memory as bright and strong as the summer sun back home; Jaime, watching her as she opened her eyes for what might have been the first time since they had come to the isle. Barely able to focus, she saw his concerned face, had been lucid enough to fancy his eyes the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, and as her own eyes started closing again to fade back into oblivion Jaime lowered his head and kissed her softly on the lips. She heard him say "Don't leave me, Brienne. Please, don't ever leave me again." And she hadn't.

Brienne was grateful for the emptiness of the corridor as she let the old memories and the new roll through her, trying to catch hold of what it all meant. She had walked almost all the way back to the Queen's Ballroom in her distraction, and she would need to walk back the other way soon to avoid meeting the people leaving when the bard finished singing. Jaime would be waiting for her in her chambers if everything had gone as planned.

Brienne wanted to go to him, to be with him, as always. But tonight she was uncertain, nervous. What would this night hold? Would they talk and joke and hold each other in sleep as usual? It seemed like the barrier between being friends and being the lovers everyone thought they were might have become so brittle that if they brushed up against it much more it would shatter. What was on the other side of that wall? Would their friendship be forever broken, exposed to the intimacy of what it seemed they were becoming? Was Jaime willing to risk that? Brienne wasn't sure that she was.

She had turned to walk back toward the building's exit when she heard the doors to the ballroom open. She began to walk fast, taking long strides, hoping no one would notice her as she retreated.

"Brienne!" Her name was being called by a pleasant male voice. Dwayne. She was almost out of earshot, if she just walked a little faster...

"Brienne," he was nearer this time. The man's legs were even longer than hers, and he closed the gap in no time. She stopped to face him. Ser Dwayne was laughingly out of breath when he caught up to her. "Lady Brienne, where are you going at such a great pace?" he asked, his gold and green eyes alight with amusement, auburn hair burnished by the torchlight.

Brienne saw Ser Loras coming up behind him, walking fast but at a disadvantage due to his shorter legs. He was smirking as he caught up to them in time to hear Brienne tell Ser Dwayne that she was just on her way to meet Jaime. They didn't need to know she was meeting him in her chambers.

"Wasn't he with you when you left a while ago?" asked Loras, "Don't tell me he ran away when they played Cersei's Strumpet Stomp?" Brienne gave Loras a sour look, which he chuckled at. The dignity of others seldom mattered to Loras. "Oh, but you missed it, Brienne," Loras told her gleefully, "Cersei got pulled up on the dance floor by Brad the Bard, and she actually danced a couple of verses of the Stomp with him."

Brienne examined Loras' face to see if he was kidding, but he was too good at this game to let it show. She turned and looked up at Ser Dwayne and he nodded in confirmation. "Cersei must have been really drunk," Brienne said. She pictured Jaime's sister thrusting her pelvis with the rest of the dancers and suppressed a shudder.

"It was Cersei," Loras said, "of course she was drunk! Not only that, but that Brad does seem to have a way with the ladies."

"And the men, too, no doubt," Dwayne threw in, a little cattily. "But I'll grant you, the man has balls to get Cersei to dance to that song." All three of them laughed at the thought of what Cersei would have done to anyone who dared approach her during that song if she been sober, or had they not been as comely as Brad the Bard. Dwayne looked back towards the ballroom to make sure no one would overhear them, "She is still quite a beautiful woman;" Dwayne said earnestly, "but what in the seven hells was in her hair? Is that a Westerosi thing? The rendered animal fat look?"

Loras snickered, "That, Ser, is the latest trend here in the Keep. I understand that the price of bear grease has gone up tenfold to handle the demand for Cersei's slick style. Everyone will be wearing it before long."

Loras was making a jape, but Dwayne appeared to be taken in by the information. "Won't that play havoc with the bear population?" he asked with concern. Then he grinned; apparently he was very capable of keeping up with Loras' sense of humor. "And speaking of bears, Brienne the Brave, that was quite the story the bard sang about you. Did the Kingslayer really jump into a pit to rescue you from a bear?"

Brienne blushed. "Ser Jaime." She pointed out firmly, "His name is not 'the Kingslayer.'"

"Ser Jaime," Loras told Dwayne, "not only jumped in to save Lady Brienne, but he went in without a weapon and with only one hand." He smiled at Brienne, his eyes twinkling, "it seems he is quite the romantic."

"Or quite the fool," Brienne said, hoping to end the subject.

They weren't going to let it go. "That must have been quite impressive," Dwayne said, "did he kill the bear bare handed?"

"With just one hand? Did he kill the bear single-handed?" Loras snorted. "No, but he risked his life betting that the men charged with escorting him back to King's Landing would not let the bear kill him, and he made sure that the bear couldn't kill Brienne." Loras looked at Brienne with a smile, and for once it was not mocking, "Tell Dwayne what Jaime did when he leapt into the ring."

Brienne sighed, but the truth was she loved telling the story herself, though she seldom did. "Jaime had already ridden away to go back to King's Landing," she started.

"He should never have left you there," Loras added.

Brienne ignored that. "When he realized the danger I was in, he made the whole party turn around and come back to Harrenhal, riding hard."

"What's Harrenhal?" asked Dwayne.

"A ruined, haunted castle," Loras told him impatiently. "Go on," he urged Brienne.

"He followed the sounds of the crowd of men watching and cheering on the bear to slay me. At first Jaime believed I could kill that bear myself. He was ready to cheer me on when he saw that they had given me a blunt tourney sword. That was when he vaulted over the wall and down into the pit with us. He shouted for me to get behind him, but I saw he had no weapons, while I had a sword."

"She'd already been mauled down her arm by the bear," Loras told Dwayne, "and the beast would have finished her soon."

Brienne nodded, wondering how Loras knew the story in such detail. "When I refused to get behind Jaime he kicked my legs out from under me and then stood over me,"

"Chivalrous," Dwayne said drily.

"Hush," said Loras, "you've seen the woman fight. He had to knock her down to save her life." Brienne looked at Loras in astonishment. He looked back at her with a lopsided smile, "it was romantic as hell, something only a warrior would do for another warrior."

Brienne smiled back; it made sense, Loras defending Jaime's actions. Loras and Renly fought side by side for years; he had squired for Renly when he was younger and they had probably fallen in love then. Of course he would understand the bond between Jaime and Brienne on the field, even back in those early days.

"They shot the poor bear with arrows," Brienne said, "and we climbed out of the pit. I asked Jaime why he came back for me," Brienne said to Loras, offering him the final piece of the story she usually left out.

"What did he tell you?" Loras asked, like a kid waiting for the final sentence in a fairy tale.

Brienne said solemnly, "He said he'd dreamed of me."

Loras and Dwayne both said "Aw," and the three of them indulged in similar goofy grins.

"How sweet," came Tyrion's sarcastic voice from below. They all turned to look down at Tyrion, but Dwayne was the only one who blushed. Brienne thought that while he handled Loras' wit with ease he had a lot to learn about surviving Tyrion's cutting humor.

"My Lady Brienne, how lovely you look in Lannister Red." Tyrion said loudly, and this time Brienne blushed. She had forgotten that she was wearing Jaime's cloak. She hoped they wouldn't notice she wore his boots as well, as that would be even harder to explain. Loras and Dwayne looked at her with interest as her color deepened.

Thinking as fast as she could, Brienne said "I spilled wine on my cloak and Jaime didn't want me to catch a chill, so he loaned me his."

"How very sweet of him," Tyrion said, looking very much the imp. "Just the thing a maiden's true love would do. They should add that to the song." Brienne wanted to drop-kick him.

Loras looked Brienne up and down then, and she was certain he noticed the boots, but thankfully he didn't mention them. "It was a lovely song," he said. "Tyrion did not do it justice when he told me about it and asked me to make sure you would be there to hear it."

"You both knew about it?" Brienne asked, aghast. "And you let me go in there anyway?"

Tyrion chuckled, enjoying her pique. "Of course we did, silly woman! Half the fun is watching you try to hide from your fame. Watching you hide from it in Jaime's lap was just a bonus."

"I was not 'hiding' in his lap," Brienne insisted, "and besides, I have no fame,"

"No?" Tyrion asked, "Well, if you didn't before, you do now."

"Arg, by the teeth of the Warrior!" Brienne exclaimed.

"And the teats of the Mother," Tyrion intoned.

"Tyrion!" Brienne threatened.

"Yes, sister Brienne?"

"I am not your sister!" Brienne was incensed.

"Hm, I can see why you wouldn't want to be in that particular club," Tyrion mused, "but the song did say that you and Jaime were secretly wed, which would make you my good sister."

"It's just a stupid song!" Brienne protested, unable to stop herself from reacting to Tyrion's words, "by the Seven, Tyrion, did you have something to do with its writing? I swear I am going to tie you by your ankles to Rufus and let you dangle until morning!"

"Well, some might say I could use more blood flow to my head. It seems that most of my blood tends to reside somewhat lower… "

Loras and Dwayne were both laughing hard by this point. Brienne couldn't compete with Tyrion's wit, so she whirled and tried to stalk away.

"Running from a battle, Lady Brienne? I never took you for craven!" called Tyrion.

"Say "hi" to Ser Jaime for us," called Loras, and all three men chortled. Brienne stopped and turned to look at them, then came back to the little group, fists clenched.

"You ladies are worse than an embroidery circle of septas," she announced, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to head for the Maidenvault now that Loras had as much as announced to Tyrion that she was going to meet Jaime.

"I don't embroider," Tyrion said with asperity, also crossing his arms.

"I do," Loras said lightly, with a wink at Brienne. "I'll teach you if you like," he told Tyrion.

"I thank you, no," Tyrion demurred, holding up his stubby right hand, "these hands were made for loving, not knitting."

"Enough," Brienne announced, rolling her eyes, "it is time for me to be going. Goodnight, Sers, Lord Tyrion."

As she turned to go Tyrion said, "Wait, Brienne, let me walk with you a while."

"Don't you need to wait for your sister?" Brienne asked, looking pointedly back to the ballroom doors.

"Oh, Cersei wandered off a while ago, when she saw the bard chatting up some lord's fair daughter. I won't trouble you for long."

"I imagine you won't," Brienne said, "but I expect you'd trouble me for short all day long if I let you."

"Ha, ha," Tyrion gave her a courtesy laugh, but began walking so that she would follow. She waved to the knights and turned to walk next to Tyrion. It took a while to match her strides to his and she feared she was going to become tangled in her own feet the way she had to mince steps.

Tyrion got right to the point. Not looking up at her he said "What are your intentions toward my brother?"

"My intentions?" Brienne asked, confused.

"Yes, your intentions. Despite our differences I care deeply for Jaime. I always figured that Cersei would rip his heart out eventually, but I could do nothing to part them or to prevent the inevitable pain when Jaime came to realize the truth about our sweet sister."

"What has this to do with me?" Brienne asked suspiciously.

"Don't be coy, Lady Brienne. You and Jaime… " Tyrion sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know what you and Jaime are to each other. But I think I know what you are to him." Tyrion stopped and turned to Brienne; he reached out and ran the thick, soft fabric of Jaime's cloak through his fingers. "Jaime hurt me once," he told her, "but he thought he was being kind, the poor misguided man. I've had a long time to think about what he did, and I can find no other way he might have acted given our father's influence." Brienne nodded. Jaime had told her of Tyrion's first wife, the crofter's daughter, and of his role in separating Tyrion from her. Jaime still carried the guilt of it.

Tyrion sighed, letting a little melancholy creep into his voice, "Daenerys was going to have Jaime killed for what he did to her father. It is not entirely to my credit that she spared him. Part of it was the way he faced her down, in the great hall there before the iron throne, part of it was my council, my pleading, that she spare him, and a small part of it was the stories she heard about the two of you. Queen Dany is a very young woman, and she finds the two of you intriguing." He shrugged and looked seriously up at Brienne. His eyes were green like Jaime's, with depths to them she hadn't noticed before.

"Don't hurt him, Brienne." He said simply, "have a care for his feelings; he is a tender-hearted fool."

Brienne found she had a flutter in her stomach at Tyrion's words. Did he really suppose she had the power to hurt Jaime? She was so afraid of risking her own heart that she had hardly given a thought to Jaime's heart being at risk.

"I would never hurt him." She said sincerely, hoping Tyrion would accept her words. She was uncomfortable discussing her feelings for Jaime with his annoying little brother, particularly when she hadn't quite figured out what the relationship between her and Jaime was becoming.

Tyrion nodded, satisfied. He started to turn back toward the ballroom, but then looked up at her again, concern etched onto his features, making his scar stand out pale and raised across his face. "Don't trust Cersei. She's evil."

Brienne watched his retreating back for a long moment before she started walking again. Jaime would have been expecting her a while ago, provided he managed to sneak into the Maidenvault undetected. She wrapped his cloak closer around her as she approached the door to the outside yard. Jaime's scent on the cloak surrounded her and she breathed it in with a little hum of contentment before going out into a raging storm. The wind tried to snatch the cloak away as she clutched it to her, and the snow was blowing so hard that it stung her eyes. She trotted across the middle bailey and around the sept into the Maidenvault, gratefully pushing the door shut behind her.

She walked to the entrance where the crone drowsed on her chair. The woman awoke when she heard Brienne's steps and sat up straighter on her stool, her eyes bright in their nest of wrinkles. "Lady Brienne," she said, "decided to spend the night in your own chambers, then?" Brienne was about to nod when the woman went on in a cheerful voice. "What do you know about Dothraki men, m'lady?" she asked, with a broad smile.

Brienne stopped, staring at her. Gods, did something go wrong with the diversion?

"I speak a few words in their language" Brienne told her, "they are fierce warriors."

"Ah, but do you know why they call them Horse Lords?" the woman asked with an eyebrow raised, her smile widening until Brienne could see most of her surprisingly good teeth.

"Well, I assume it's because -" Brienne started to say, but the crone wasn't looking for an answer.

She winked at Brienne and lowered her voice so that Brienne needed to tilt her head to listen: "They're called Horse Lords because they're hung like horses!" the woman cackled, "and oh, can they ride!"

Brienne drew back, embarrassed, an unbidden image of her horse Sean taking a piss coming to mind. She bit her lip hard to keep from giggling and ducked through the door, the woman's bawdy laughter following her in.

She walked down the corridor and couldn't help imagining big, masculine Hemikh 'riding' the older woman, but when the image evolved into the woman with a riding crop exhorting him with yips and whistles to go faster she needed to shake her head hard to dislodge the picture.

She was trying to think of something bland when she noticed Cersei in the hall, wrapped in a rich gold robe with mink trim. She was walking towards Brienne, probably heading to one of the privy closets. Cersei looked up and saw her, and her eyes widened for a second before her dark eyebrows drew down over them in a look of disdain.

"Now you are wearing his cloak, you ridiculous beast?" she sneered, "Does Jaime even realize that you have it? You soil the Lannister name."

Brienne took a deep breath. This night she would not let Cersei get under her guard. "Jaime bade me wear it himself, and I just now left Tyrion, who did not mind seeing me in it. As you are no longer a Lannister, by the young queen's decree, I hardly see how youcan object."

"Did you not heed me before?" Cersei whispered, coming up close to Brienne, "Jaime only does this to make sport of you. You are nothing more to him than a curiously ugly pet. He does not want you; he has never wanted anyone but me in his bed."

"Really?" Brienne asked, "Then pray explain how it is that Jaime and I have slept together more times since he left you to go with me to the Riverlands than the two of you did in your entire lives?" Brienne knew she risked Cersei realizing that she had answered her euphemism with a truth that might only be perceived in an indelicate way. She was surprised at her own temerity in defending whatmight happen between her and Jaime someday from Cersei's hungry grasp. It would do Brienne's already questionable reputation little good to have Cersei believe she and Jaime were that intimate, but at this moment she couldn't bring herself to care. She had the satisfaction of watching Cersei's face turn unlovely and red with fury.

Brienne continued walking to her chamber, but turned around for one last dig, "I may be ugly," she said, "but youare pathetic." She adjusted the red cloak possessively around her shoulders and went on to her room, not looking back.

As she entered her chamber Brienne noticed the golden light that came from the fire burning in the hearth while candles flickered on tables and reflected from the windows. She saw that Jaime had fallen asleep on the big bed while waiting for her. He was dressed in soft nightclothes and his hair fanned around his head as he lay on his side in the middle of the bed, his arms wrapped around one of the big Stark Swan pillows, the other pillow under his head. His dark lashes fringed across his cheeks and his face was relaxed in sleep. Brienne imagined he might have looked like this as a child. His lips were parted, and Brienne shook her head at how anyone's teeth could be so alluring. She ran her tongue over her own teeth and was struck again by the unfairness of falling for someone so close to perfect. Would she love him less if he were as homely as she? No, she thought, but she might be able to love him more freely. Even his imperfections struck her as beautiful, the break at the bridge of his nose, the scars he bore, the place where he had lost his hand but gained her heart.

Brienne wanted to go over and stroke his golden hair, kiss his forehead, his nose, his lips. She did none of these things, because even though she was beginning to get an inkling that he might welcome them, she did not want to wake him just yet.

She was relieved that he was here and hadn't been caught and sent back to his room in Traitor's Walk, though if he had she would have simply gone there to sleep with him in his inadequate bed.

Still, she was glad she didn't have to face him just yet. The night had been too full of conjecture and revelation; she was glad of the chance to just relax. She swung Jaime's thick cloak off of her shoulders and draped it from a peg by the door. She saw the flagon and food on the table and went to pour herself a cup of the wine. She sat in one of the chairs and took a sip, letting her eyes rest on Jaime's sleeping form. Brienne was strangely touched that Jaime dressed in his nightclothes before she came. It seemed so normal, yet so intimate. Really, it was no wonder everyone assumed they were lovers, or even that they were married. Brienne willed back the moisture that came to her eyes when she thought about how dear to her what she had with Jaime was.

The wine was running warm through Brienne's veins already. It was several hours since they had eaten. They hadn't dared to eat the revolting meal served in the hall earlier, and the bread, cheese and dried fruit on the table was tempting. She would wait for Jaime to join her before partaking, though.

Brienne decided she might as well change into her sleeping shift. She set down the wine and went to the clothes chest where she stored her few possessions. In the bottom drawer she kept a couple of soft gowns she had commissioned when they had first arrived at the Red Keep. Jaime had been locked in the second level of cells in the dungeon, and Brienne had grasped at anything to take her mind off of his upcoming trial. She was practically catatonic with panic that she might lose him, so when a seamstress came to her to ask if she wished to order new clothing she readily agreed to it as a distraction. In addition to the two nightgowns she had given in to the woman's insistence that she also order some court gowns, even though she never expected to use them. Her father had sent her money when he learned she wasn't returning to Tarth immediately after she and Jaime found Sansa. Brienne had been very frugal with it. There was more than enough left to buy anything she needed while she was here, and she also hoped to go into King's Landing for a few comforts to take back north with her. She planned to ask Jaime to introduce her to Tobho Mott. Hemikh and Lavakhat had told her that his shop was a place of wonder, and what girl wouldn't want a shiny new dagger to take on the road?

Brienne decided on the robin's egg blue nightgown. She pulled it out of the drawer and ran the silky soft material through her fingers and sighed in sensual pleasure at such luxury. She hated wearing dresses, but she could still appreciate something as fine as this. Brienne looked back at the bed to be sure Jaime was still fast asleep. With her back to him she shucked off his boots and then undid her belt, setting it on the floor. She pulled her tunic up over her head, her nipples becoming taut in the sudden coolness. She brushed her fingers across them, roused by touching herself like this with Jaime safely asleep in the same room with her. Brienne inhaled shakily and reached to undo the laces of her breeches. She rolled the snug blue suede down her long legs and stepped out of them. Next she removed her woolen stockings. The only thing left was her smallclothes; she had little enough in the way of breasts that she never wrapped them or needed support, so all she wore was the briefest of smallclothes. She slid them down her thighs and kicked them to the side. She stood naked for a long moment before bending down to get clean smallclothes from the drawer and pull them on. Brienne shrugged the gown over her head; it was cut to fit her and settled easily over her broad shoulders and muscular arms. The long sleeves draped gracefully and the neckline was deep enough that it was not binding. It fit snugly against her chest and then flowed in graceful lines almost to the floor. Brienne looked down for a moment at the delicate lace the seamstress had stitched around the neckline, and wondered what had possessed her to order something so pretty and frivolous. She had to admit to herself that Jaime had been on her mind when she had chosen the fabrics and cut of this gown. She hadn't expected him to ever see it, and she supposed when he woke up he was likely to tease her about wearing something so girlie.

She reached out for the brush next to the wash basin and ran it slowly through her hair, remembering those desperate days before Jaime's trial. Queen Daenerys had cruelly made them wait for nearly a fortnight until she finally called Jaime to court. Brienne's days consisted of occasionally sparring in the yard with anyone willing to meet her sword, eating when someone reminded her to, and lying awake in her big bed, staring at the ceiling. She knew every groove in the wood beams there, and her tears had run down and wet her pillow on more than one night.

After Jaime received his lenient sentence just a few days ago she had only spent one night apart from him. Brienne sighed, thinking of last night again. She turned around, intending to retrieve her wine and sip it for a while, and maybe watch Jaime sleep for a little longer. As she turned she saw that Jaime had barely moved, but his eyes were open, watching her silently. When had he woken up? She'd been too bold dressing with him there, she realized, and blushed furiously wondering if he had been awake moments ago when she'd been standing nude with her back to him. Had he been watching as she ran her fingertips over her nipples? Would he have guessed what she was doing? Had she sighed out loud when she did? Brienne was in an agony between the embarrassment and arousal coursing through her at the thought of his eyes on her. Damn and damn.

"Jaime," she said, trying to be calm, "have you been awake long?"

"Long enough," he said, drawing in a deep breath. He moved to sit up and Brienne went to the table and poured him a cup of wine. She handed it to him and then sat down in the chair and took up her own drink. Her hands were trembling. No, her entire body was trembling, she realized. She sensed Jaime still watching her, and she knew what he wanted, because she wanted it, too. They had been able to deny this need even when their caution was undermined by drink, why shouldn't they be able to when they were sober? Their eyes locked, awareness searing between them. Jaime got off the bed, and she saw his arousal pushing against his soft breeches as he walked over and set his wine on the table then sat down in the chair across from her,.

"Wench," he breathed, "you torture me, you slay me." He reached over and picked up her hand and raised it to his lips, "you spin me about, and you must know how badly I want you right now." He looked up into her eyes, expecting and finding the mixture of fear and want reflected there. Her hand was trembling in his own and he turned it to kiss her palm softly, and then nestled his cheek into it. Brienne drew a shaky breath and lifted her other hand to push it through his soft hair. He raised his head from her hand and leaned toward her, lifted her chin with his stump and kissed her. Not chastely, but gently, reassuring her that he was in control of himself, that both of them were aware that something bigger was at stake here than sex.

Brienne remembered wondering earlier in the evening if what Jaime had been moving them towards was just about sex, having someone to fuck. Unexpectedly, the question had been asked and answered. It was more, much more than their physical longing for each other.

"I thought you were asleep," she said unnecessarily.

"I was," he said, tilting his head to give her a playful smile, "when I woke up I was sure I was still dreaming, though." Jaime watched as Brienne considered his words, looking up at him through her long blond lashes, "I've never seen this shift before," he said, reaching out to touch the sleeve.

"I had it made last week," Brienne told him.

"Somewhat thin for sleeping outside, isn't it?" His eyes were merry with his observation and Brienne looked quickly down at her chest, realizing for the first time that the fabric was thin enough to see the rosy tips of her breasts, to show clearly how hard her nipples stood out under his gaze.

"Fuck." She whispered under her breath. "Bad enough I gave you a show over there without meaning to… " she set down her wine and went to wrap her arms over her chest in mortification.

Jaime reached out and laid his hand on her forearm, sliding it to take her hand and pull it away from her chest. He kissed her hand and laid it firmly on the table, his own resting atop it long enough for her to get the message that he wanted her to leave hers there. He held her eyes as he raised his hand and brushed one of her nipples through the silky cloth with his thumb. Brienne drew in a startled breath, as the sensation of his touch spread heat down her body to spread between her legs, making her cunt pulse with need. She took a shaky breath, and knew by the darkness of his eyes in the glowing candlelight that her own must be dusky with passion as well.

As Brienne watched, Jaime lowered his gaze to watch as he caressed her nipple, his breathing uneven as he rolled it lightly between a finger and thumb. He looked back up into her eyes as he moved his hand and cupped her other breast. Seeing her breathing was as ragged as his, he brought his lips to the breast he held and kissed it. His raised his right arm and wrapped it around her back, pulling her closer to his mouth. Brienne watched as his tongue flicked out against the fabric before his lips closed on her nipple and drew it into his mouth. She shivered against him and moaned, letting her head fall back until her neck arched and her hair streamed down her back. Jaime raised his head and kissed her throat, moving his lips up the column of it, pressing his tongue to the pale freckles there. He threaded his fingers into her hair and sucked at the pulse point beneath her jaw, his own moan mingling with hers. Jaime stood and pulled her up with him, moving to take her lips with his own and kiss her, their bodies melding together.

Jaime pulled away from her mouth and grinned at her, biting his bottom lip. "Was that all right?" he asked, "I meant to be more gallant, but the sight of you, Wench, by the gods," he sighed, "the way you sound, the way you smell when you're excited…"

"Jaime," Brienne warned, embarrassed.

"So innocent, my lady," he said and watched as she ducked her head. He put his mouth to her ear, "I'm glad that I can do that to you, Wench, because it means you can't hide your arousal any more than I can."

His cock was rigid against her through her gown and she thought about all the times she had felt him hard against her in bed, and of her body's response to him. Jaime watched the horror dawning on her face and laughed. "Oh, don't worry, Wench, it isn't thatobvious most of the time, especially with all the layers of clothing we wear. But judging by the look on your face it happens a lot more often than you want to admit, or than I ever guessed." Jaime looked insufferably pleased with his deduction.

"Is it 'gallant' to mortify me like this, Ser?" Brienne asked shortly, feeling betrayed by the way her cunt responded to his words and the pressure of him against her.

Jaime laughed at her outright. "Serves you right, pretending you didn't know what you were doing to me all those times you rubbed your arse against me."

"Not every time-" Brienne started to say and then caught herself. "Shit." She growled shortly. "Fuck."

Jaime put his hand and stump on her upper arms and propelled her toward the bed. "Sit down, my wench, and let's eat before we fall over. I'll bring the tray over."

Brienne crawled over to the left side of the bed, and was about to settle there on her side when she saw the rose that had been under the pillow before Jaime had fallen asleep and pulled it against him. Of all the things to find in their bed, a rose wasn't something she was happy to see. It was a wonder she could even bear to be near Loras Tyrell, she thought, with his stupid house sigil. She picked it up and saw that it wasn't a real rose, but one artfully made of leather, each petal carefully crafted and dyed in shades of red, the green leather stem long and elegant. It was beautiful, but it was still a rose.

Jaime was carrying the tray over and saw Brienne holding the gift, dismay written across her face. As he set the tray down she looked up at him questioningly, holding it out. "What is this?" she asked.

"A leather rose," Jaime said in confusion.

"I know it's a damn rose," Brienne said, "why is it in our bed?"

Jaime walked around to sit next to her and take the offending flower from her fingers. "I got it for you in King's Landing," he told her. "For some reason I thought you might like it," he sighed. "I take it I've made a mistake."

Brienne looked at his disappointed expression and took some pity on him. "I'm sorry Jaime, it's just that roses and I don't get along. A man I was betrothed to when I was twelve delivered his rejection to me by way of a rose, and I have hated them ever since."

"Connington," Jaime said the name like a curse, "that toothless cretin. I'd forgotten all about the rose."

Brienne looked at him in consternation, "Red Ronnet Connington? How is it you know him, and how did you learn about the rose?"

"He was with me when I returned to Harrenhal. I ran into him in the bear pit and he asked me about what happened there. He told me about your betrothal. Now I remember him mentioning the rose," Jaime told her, "just before I knocked his teeth out with my golden hand."

"You hit him?" Brienne asked, "Why?"

"He needed to learn a little respect. When he told me about his part in refusing the betrothal I decided he needed to remember the lesson every time he tried to gum his meat thereafter."

"You did that for me?" Brienne asked, surprise and perhaps even gratitude on her face.

"No," Jaime said shortly, "I did it for me." He took the rose from her and walked back around the bed with it. He stood a moment, undecided, and then walked over and held it over the flame of a candle.

"What are you doing?" Brienne yelped.

"Burning the thing." Jaime told her. "I may as well. This was even worse than the carrots."

"Please don't burn it, Jaime." Brienne pleaded, jumping off of the bed and running over to pull his hand away from the flame. A couple of the petals were singed, and the smell of burning leather drifted in the air. Brienne took it from his hand and carried it over to set it on the chest. "What do you mean, worse than carrots?"

"Wench, in case you hadn't noticed I am trying to court you. I gave you carrots for your horse, just like that idiot Hyle Hunt did." Jaime dropped back onto the bed in disgust, "And now I've given you a rose, apparently an even worse sin."

"You've been courting me?" Brienne asked.

"No, Wench, I'm trying to sell you on pig plock as a tasty substitute for real food. Yes, what the seven hells did you think?" Jaime scoffed, "Anything else you'd like to warn me about before I run you straight into some other knight's arms?"

"Sure," Brienne said, "don't get a monkey."

"Too late." Jaime said. "Anything else?"

"You do not have a monkey!" Brienne laughed, "don't you even want to know why no monkeys?"

"No." Jaime said as Brienne sat back on the bed. He put one of the pillows back at the top of the bed and lay down with his head on it. He draped his right arm over his eyes and crossed his legs at the ankle. "Gods, but you exhaust me." He mumbled, but Brienne could see the twitch at the corner of his mouth as he held back a smile.
Brienne moved the tray to the foot of the bed and then snuggled up close to Jaime, resting her head on his shoulder. After several long moments he gave in and turned his body to face her, wrapping both arms around her.

"I've never been courted for real before," she said, "what should I be expecting?"

"I would have said flowers." Jaime said with a dramatic sigh.

"You gave me a flower once before you know." Brienne said, kissing his shoulder lightly.

"Did I?" Jaime chuckled, "and did you have a fit about it?"

"No, I didn't have a 'fit.' Not where you could see, anyway." Brienne said, "It was a wildflower. You picked it for me when it started to get colder. It seemed to be the only flower left in the whole world and you told me it was to remind me that we'd see summer again someday." She sighed a little dreamily, "I kept it."

"You did? How?"

"Do you want to see?" she asked.

Jaime grinned and nodded. Brienne got up and went over to her armor. She picked up her helm and turned it upside down to slip a finger between the layers of padding inside. She carefully extracted a small folded piece of red linen and brought it over to the bed. She settled down cross-legged on the mattress, trying to drape her nightgown modestly across her legs, a task that had Jaime's undivided attention. When she had herself covered she looked at him in triumph.

"That's cute, Wench. It's like you don't realize I can see practically right through your gown. Those smallclothes don't cover much, do they?" he said with a raised eyebrow. "Let's see it then," he told her, watching as pink suffused her cheeks. "The flower, Wench. Get your mind out of the moat."

Brienne set the linen on the bed and unfolded it to show Jaime the small dried flower nestled inside. Jaime reached out a finger and traced the delicate petals of faded red bleeding into a golden yellow. He looked up at Brienne. "You wear this in your helm?" he asked. Brienne nodded and shrugged. "Lannister colors," Jaime said, "I doubt I realized that when I picked it. You wear it almost as a favor then," he said softly.

"No," Brienne, said, "I just...I like to keep it near me. It's more of a talisman I suppose."

"I would be honored if you would wear a favor from me, Brienne. If not this, would you carry something else if I gave you one?"

Brienne nodded, wide-eyed. She carefully re-wrapped her flower and got decorously off the bed, too aware that her gown wasn't concealing much. She slid the linen back into her helm as Jaime arranged the tray of food for them in the middle of the bed. She picked up their wine cups and set Jaime's on his bedside table, then carried hers around to her side.

She helped Jaime to take the loose cloth off of the aged cheese and used his dagger to slice both the cheese and the bread for them. She stretched herself across her side of the bed facing Jaime.

"Shall we toast something?" Brienne asked, holding out her cup of wine.

Jamie picked up his wine and held it out. "To us," he grinned.