With one last look of entreaty at Jaime, Brienne followed Moira to the house. The spicy scent of simmering mulled wine wafted from the kitchen, mixing with the enticing smells of freshly baked bread and roasting meat. A fire was burning cheerily in a large hearth built into a split rock wall on the far side. A cord of cherry wood stacked in the near corner suggested it was seldom allowed to go out. Several wide chairs, also made of the reddish cherry wood and polished to a sheen, were arrayed before the fireplace, along with a scattering of footstools. Wheat colored cushions covered in the same nubby wool of Moira's scarf graced the furniture and lay scattered around the floor haphazardly. Colorfully painted wooden knights and horses were piled in a wicker basket in one corner.
Everything about the room seemed warm to Brienne, from the golden-brown tones of the wood framing the doors and mantle to the earthy tan and ochre of the roughly woven rugs. Soft blankets were folded and stacked on the hearthstone and hung over chairs. Thick wood beams met in a low peak across the ceiling, which sloped far down at one side, ending about five feet from the planked floor. A cradle waited against the low wall, with a generously padded chair on rockers beside it.
Moira went to the cradle and slowly un-wrapped her voluminous scarf, trying not to wake the baby. She laid Merrie down on a thin, firm mattress covered with sheepskin and pulled a loosely knitted blanket up to her chin. Brienne stood well back, glad for the excuse of her height for not entering the low-ceilinged space.
Moira walked to the hearth and draped her snow-wet scarf on a hook on the mantle, a wisp of steam rising as the heat of the fire began drying the fabric. She turned to Brienne, wiping her hands down her apron and smiling shyly.
"Welcome to our home, m'lady. May I fetch you some wine?"
"Please, it's 'Brienne.' Thank you, wine sounds lovely."
"I'm sorry for the mess in here," Moira said, stooping to pick up a small carved dragon. She tossed it into the wicker basket and looked around for more, "Please sit wherever you like. If you get cold there are plenty of blankets. Even here by the fire we sometimes get a draft come creeping under the doors."
"The room certainly doesn't look messy," Brienne offered, sitting in one of the chairs and finding it quite comfortable, "I can't imagine how you keep it so tidy with all those boys."
"To be honest, I made them clean up some before you came. I had to threaten to send them to bed early and miss out on meeting you and Jaime. That got them moving. Usually this room is a hazard of their toys and books. We spend most of our time here in the evenings."
Brienne nodded and smiled, "It's a very pleasant room."
Moira left to get their wine from the kitchen and Brienne glanced around. It really was pleasantly homey in a way she'd only ever imagined, having been in few homes that were not connected to the nobility in some way.
Returning with their wine stems balanced in one hand, and a cloth in the other, Moira handed a pewter goblet to Brienne and set her own down on a small, low table between their chairs.
"If you wouldn't mind, Brienne, I'd like to clean your wound a little," Moira said, holding up the cloth, "It'll sting, but not for long."
Brienne had forgotten all about her injury, but raising her hand to her head she was able to follow the crusted path of blood that had trickled down her cheek, realizing she must look frightful to gentle woman before her. She could think of no way to refuse Moira's ministrations without appearing surly.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Moira gave her a tentative smile and stepped forward to part the sticky strands of hair over her ear to look at the wound before dabbing at it with the damp cloth. Whatever was on the warm, wet cloth smelled of smoke and cloves, and stung slightly.
"It's not a very deep gash, but you know head wounds. They always bleed something awful," Moira said, efficiently washing away the blood and running strands of Brienne's hair through the folded cloth to clean them. "This is myrrh oil and cloves; it'll help you heal. I know you warriors are probably more accustomed to boiled wine, but I've always found this distillation works better for small cuts. I use a lot of it on the boys and Toby. Toby's always coming in with cuts and scrapes and burns from the forge. He bears it all just fine until he's alone with me, then he's more a baby than the boys."
Moira stepped back and looked at Brienne to be sure she'd cleaned away all the blood. "Does your Jaime do that? Act like a child whenever he's hurt?"
Brienne was surprised by how much it pleased her to have Moira refer to him as your Jaime. She had long thought of him that way secretly, but hearing it from someone else made it seem more real.
"Jaime is very stoic when he's wounded," she said, "I think he likes being fussed over, even if he'd never admit it. But, sometimes when I'm wounded, he gets…he acts…not like a baby, but he gets quite upset. He frets over me and always insists on tending my wounds himself, or, if I need a maester, he has to be right there, too." Brienne shrugged, not sure how to describe his behavior.
"He mothers you," Moira said, sighing happily.
"He 'mothers' me?" Brienne asked, confused.
"He loves you." She clarified, "His fretting over you shows how much he cares. A mother's love is selfless. It's pure. I'm sure there's a better way to say it, but to me that makes the most sense."
Brienne sipped her wine and looked into the fire before answering. It was an odd way to describe how Jaime took care of her, though ever since she'd nearly died in the battle with the brotherhood he was an awful scold whenever she was hurt.
"I'm…in truth Moira, I'm still not sure I understand what you mean. My own mother died when I was very young. If I ever knew a mother's love, I don't remember it well."
"Oh. I'm so sorry, Brienne. There's little so sad as a child growing up without a mother," Moira said, reaching over to lay her hand briefly over Brienne's, "What I meant wasn't that Jaime's love isn't romantic, or that he sees you as a child. It's that you're a part of him. As the saying goes: 'he is mine, and I am his'. Jaime lost his mother quite young also, didn't he?"
Brienne nodded, "He remembers his mother, what she was like, that she loved him. I think if not for that he might have become as hard as his father. Lord Tywin was not a good man."
"You know, I met Ser Jaime when he was about twenty," Moira mused, "the poor lad was already known as the Kingslayer, and had a belligerent arrogance about him that I misliked immediately. I could see why he put on airs; he was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen, north or south. I was a newly married woman, and crazy in love with Toby, but there were few women that could look at young Ser Jaime Lannister and not wonder 'what if?'"
Brienne nodded, fascinated by this glimpse into Jaime's past.
"I said some unkind things about him to Toby when he'd gone, for nothing gets a young woman's ire up more than seeing a man like that, wearing his disdain like a mantle," she smiled, remembering. "Toby told me he'd known Jaime since he was quite young, always coming up here to pepper him with questions about his training in Qohor, asking to try out every fresh sword Toby made. When he became a member of the King's Guard so young, he came less often. Yet when he did, he was always eager, and civil to Toby as ever.
"After he killed the Mad King, he changed. For a long while, anyway. Toby said he carried a great weight on his shoulders, expecting everyone to despise him for his broken vows," Moira took a swallow of her wine, "It took a long time for Jaime to figure out that, to Toby anyway, he was still the same young man he'd always been. Still, even though I knew his story, it was years before I was allowed to glimpse the man rather than the Kingslayer."
"He hated that name," Brienne murmured, "yet he wore it like armor." She felt sad, thinking of how many years Jaime had kept his secret, never telling anyone the truth of his finest deed.
"What was he like, when you first met him?" Moira asked.
"Beautiful, arrogant, insufferable; just like you said," Brienne smiled at the memory, "He still is. I hated him, Moira."
"And now you love him."
"So very much," It felt good to be able to tell someone else how she felt about Jaime, and Moira's sincere smile felt like a blessing.
It was easy to confide in her for some reason. She'd never had a close female friend before. When Brienne was younger there had been other girls in and around her father's keep she'd played with. But her septa soon made it clear she wasn't like other girls, and lacked any of the qualities that were valued in young ladies. Brienne began to keep to herself after that.
They fell silent for a moment and Brienne lifted the wine cup to her nose and inhaled deeply, detecting cinnamon, citrus and a hint of ginger. She took a sip.
"This is really delicious," she said, "I've never tasted it's like before." She took another sip, letting it rest on her tongue a moment before swallowing. "Mmm, is there rum in this, too?"
Moira laughed, "Good guess. It's an old family recipe, though I admit I splash a little more rum in than is traditional. I also find if I have a bit of this before feeding the baby she sleeps easier as well."
Unable to keep the surprise from her face, Brienne said, "Truly? I had no idea you could do something like that. But then, I don't know much about babies." She admitted, immediately wishing she hadn't. They'd already strayed too far into the topic of mothers for her comfort.
"I know what you mean," Moira said, "I never expected to have such a brood of my own. There were times after my first couple were born when I wished I'd paid more attention when other women talked about babies. Before I met Toby the last thing I was interested in was children."
"Really? I thought…well, most women seem to think of little else." Brienne said.
"I know," Moira sighed, "How they bored me! Of course, I love my own lads and little Merrie-Pie, but when I was younger my favorite thing was helping my father in his shop. He was a blacksmith as well, up north, and I wanted to be a silversmith. He indulged my interest."
"Do you still practice the craft?" Brienne asked, intrigued.
"I do when I can find the time. I have a room here in the house where the boys aren't allowed, and I take commissions from time to time. I'm hoping Merrie takes an interest in it when she's older."
"I think your husband is hoping she'll take to steel instead," Brienne told her with a laugh.
"He would, the single-minded fool." Moira said fondly. "I met him when he came to see my father about learning a northern technique he specialized in. He tried to flatter me by complimenting my work, but I was having none of it. Can you imagine, he tried to court me by sending me a little dagger to wear above my ankle? Said it was to keep the other boys away."
"That sounds quite romantic to me, actually," Brienne grinned.
"It was. It worked."
Brienne found herself relaxing more and more in the company of Mott's wife, and not entirely owing to the strong drink.
"If you'll excuse me, Brienne, I need to check on the supper."
"Would you like some help?" she offered, sincerely hoping the answer would be no. She hadn't the vaguest idea how one prepared anything but basic camp food.
"If you'd like."
Brienne followed her into the kitchen, bringing her wine and hoping she wouldn't be asked to do more than stir anything. Moira led her into a spacious room that combined the cooking and dining areas. The aroma of cooking Brienne had noted earlier was stronger, and she hoped her stomach wouldn't growl. The room was warm from the heat of the cavernous clay oven, and wood-topped tables lined the walls around the cooking space. A couple of crusty loaves of bread rested on one next to a stone bowl of churned butter, while others were covered in pans, pots, plates and ingredients.
Using a thick square of cloth, Moira lifted the lid from the pot hanging over the oven's flames and peered inside. Brienne caught a glimpse of a browning hunk of meat simmering in a bath of its own juices along with chopped onions and carrots. She wondered how it was that commoners, even those as well-off as the Motts, ate so much better than those living in the Keep. She also wondered how Moira had managed to make anything involving carrots and onions smell so savory.
"Yes, that looks just about done," Moira said, picking up an iron pan and a ladle. "I'll just drain off some of the broth to make gravy. Would you be a dear and get me a cup of flour from the table to the left there?"
Brienne turned to look at the array of stone containers and groaned inwardly. She'd approached enemies with less trepidation than she did that line of identical jars. One after the other she quietly lifted lids to see if she could recognize any of the contents as flour. Two seemed likely, so she picked up the largest of the cups on the table and dipped it into one, sending a silent prayer to the Crone for guidance. She carried the filled cup to Moira and handed it to her.
Moira had just finished straining broth into the pan. At Brienne's muttered 'here' she took the cup and began slowly pouring the contents into the pan, using a whisk to blend it in. Almost immediately she let out a little noise and stepped back, looking in consternation at the cup and then at Brienne.
Moira bit her lip when she saw Brienne's wide-eyed look and the deep flush on her face, then burst out laughing. "M'lady, I'm so sorry! I had completely forgotten how highborn you are, what with how easy your company is. You've not cooked much, I take it?"
Brienne was as startled by being considered easy company as she was by Moira's laughter. She ventured a tentative smile, "That's not flour then, I take it?"
"Let's just say the gravy will be a might salty tonight," Moira said, carrying the cup back to the jars. She dumped the salt back into its container and then used it to scoop out some flour from the other jar Brienne had considered.
"Is it ruined? I'm so sorry. When we cook in camp we…"
"Oh, Sweetling, don't you worry," Moira assured her, "I expect it's better than some of the dishes I cooked when Toby and I first married. I'll just add more broth and it'll be fine. Why don't you refill your wine and go warm yourself by the fire? The boy's noses will bring them inside soon. When they see you they'll stay out of my hair while I finish the cooking."
Brienne did as she was asked and poured more of the warm wine into her cup and Moira's before retreating back to the living room.
She settled back into the chair and used her feet to position one of the footstools. The wine and the fire made her warm and drowsy, and her thoughts went to the house by the dragon pit. She pictured herself curled up with Jaime before the fire in the front room. They'd also have mulled wine with rum, and soft blankets and cushions to lie on. Jaime would kiss her, tasting of cloves, his mouth warm on hers...
The sound of childish voices and stomping boots woke her from her reverie. The door flew open and the Mott boys tumbled inside, shedding cloaks and boots as they made their way to Brienne and the fire.
"You boys had better not be leaving your things out to be tripped on!" Moira called from the kitchen, "If I find one boot in the middle of the floor and you'll all be off to bed without supper..."
With a collective groan, all five boys ran to hang up their cloaks on hooks by the door and line up their boots. Brienne watched them, impressed with their mother's authority.
The smallest boy trotted ahead of his brothers and surprised her by climbing over her outstretched legs to settle in her lap. "Bwienne," he said happily, leaning back against her.
"Hello. What's your name?" She asked.
"Bwienne," he said with emphasis.
She looked to the older boys situating themselves all around her, on the floor and on chairs.
"We just call 'im Quart," the next youngest boy said.
"Short for 'quarter staff,' 'cause he's the littlest." Explained another boy, "but he's really a lot shorter than a real one."
"Well met, Quart," Brienne said, ruffling the boy's red hair.
"I'm 'Tinker,'" said the largest boy, who had taken the chair next to her.
"Quart, Tinker, Toby," Brienne said, identifying each boy whose name she knew. She looked at the boy who had told her Quart's name, "and what are you called?"
"Tongs," he told her.
"And you?" She asked the final boy, whose ginger hair stood up in spikes.
"Frecklefire," he said, giving her a huge grin.
"Frecklefire?" She said doubtfully, and the boy nodded.
"We wanna hear about the bear," Tongs said, coming to stand by her chair, "how big was it?"
And then all of the boys were talking excitedly over each other.
"Will you show us where it clawed you?"
"Did it bite you?"
"Was its breath stinky?"
"I bet it sounded like a lion!"
"Did Ser Jaime jump on its back and ride it?"
"Was it as tall as you?"
"I bet that bear was scared once he saw you."
"Shut up, Quart. Bears aren't afraid of anything, are they Ser?"
Brienne suppressed a laugh at all the questions. "I'll tell you the story, if you like. But Ser Jaime tells it much better."
"Aw, we asked him outside and he said you told it better!"
"He said the bear bit off his hand, but then he laughed!"
"Where's his hand now, Lady Brienne? Did he really have it dipped in gold so he could wear it?"
Moira walked out from the kitchen, carrying her wine and smiling apologetically, "Are you lads pestering the lady?"
"No, Mum, we was being polite," Tinker said, looking pleadingly at Brienne for confirmation.
"They're fine, Moira. Just very curious."
"I see little Quentin has decided to warm your lap."
"I thought his name was Quart…"
"No, I'm afraid their father is fond of giving them nicknames. If Merrie had been a boy he'd probably be calling her 'Anvil' by now," she said, "Timmy, out of my chair."
The oldest boy that had called himself 'Tinker' gave up the chair readily and sat down on a cushion facing them.
"Quentin recently had his third name day, Torvyl here is five, and Brand is about to be seven. You know Toby, I take it?"
"Yes," Brienne confirmed, wondering how the Mott's managed to remember it all.
"Our oldest boy, Darven, is squiring out to the Red Keep. He's thirteen, and fancies himself quite the adult now. So what are the boys after you about?"
"Oh, they wanted to know…"
Just then a squalling cry rose from the crib near the wall. With a sigh, Moira set down her wine and went to attend to Merrie. Tinker immediately got back into the chair.
"Bear stowy, Bwienne!" Quart sang out, and turned so he could gaze up at her while she talked.
"Okay," Brienne laughed. She thought about how to begin the story for the children, finally starting with, "Ser Jaime and I had been captured by some very bad men," when Moira came back carrying Merrie.
"Out," she told Tinker, who once again vacated the chair. Moira sat down with Merrie in her arms. Brienne hadn't seen the little girl awake before, and was surprised to see her wide blue eyes regarding her seriously.
"Stowy!" the boy in her lap reminded her, and she resumed, "The bad men had cruelly taken Ser Jaime's sword hand and then decided to send him back to his family. They decided to keep me and make me…"
"Oh!" Moira exclaimed, "I forgot about the potatoes I left boiling. Brienne, would you hold Merrie while I go take care of them?"
"Um, sure, Moira. But I don't have any experience with babies. Maybe one of the boys should hold her instead?"
"Nonsense." Moira said, "There's nothing to it, and someday when you have your own bairn with Ser Jaime, he won't be the only one to know how to hold it. Quart, get down so Brienne can hold your sister."
The little boy reluctantly slid off her lap as Brienne looked up at his mother doubtfully. Moira set Merrie in her arms and adjusted her hands a bit to support the baby. Without a qualm, she walked back into the kitchen.
Quart immediately crawled back into Brienne's lap and managed to get under her arm until she was holding both he and Merrie.
"He still thinks he's the baby," Tinker said, getting back in Moira's chair.
The door opened and a blast of cold air followed Jaime and Mott in. Brienne looked back over her chair at them. She knew Jaime couldn't see that she had her arms full. He gave her a reassuring smile, seeing some of the boys arranged around her.
"I'll just get us some wine, then," Mott said, and headed for the kitchen.
Jaime walked to the hearth, intending to sit in the empty chair on the other side of Brienne. He stopped when he saw the two children snuggled against her. He tilted his head, a smile lighting his eyes. Brienne couldn't decide if he was amused at seeing her pressed into service as a cushion or if he was just a bit pleased at how domestic the scene was. Probably both.
By the glimmer in his eye, she suspected there might be an even stronger emotion at play. They'd barely discussed having their own children, but the look on his face as he sat down next to her and reached out to stroke her hair told her he was thinking about their future, when they might start a family of their own.
Merrie squirmed in Brienne's arms until she could see Jaime as well. She was drooling a little.
"Ew, Merrie!" Quart said, "Babies are so disgusting!"
Jaime and Brienne laughed, and the import of the moment passed.
"How are you faring, Bearenne?" Jaime asked in a low voice.
"Bwienne." Quart said indignantly, "not Bearenne."
"Bearenne is a nickname," Jaime explained, "But I'm the only one who calls her that. Isn't that right, Bearenne?"
"Oh no, don't get them started on nicknames," Brienne said, shifting in her chair as Merrie leaned back dangerously to peer up at her. It was difficult to juggle both children, and Quart seemed immovably solid, unwilling to give an inch over to his sister.
"Here," Jaime said, moving his chair closer so he could reach over to steady Merrie's back. Merrie pushed herself against his hand, using the leverage to straighten her legs as though she were standing. Jaime leaned in closer, concerned that she would topple. The baby took the opportunity to grab a handful of his hair to steady herself.
Giggling at Jaime's expression, Brienne tried to unfold the tiny, fat fingers from his hair, succeeding only in allowing the baby to grab some of her own. She started to laugh at their ridiculous position; held hostage by a baby using their hair like reins, pulling their heads down. A big toothless grin bloomed on the baby's chubby face, and she made a cooing sound.
Jaime tried to wrap his right arm around the girl, thinking perhaps to bring her onto his own lap. He had a good grip on her with both arms, but not as good as she had on them. One of them was going to have their hair torn out by the roots if he wasn't careful.
"I've got her," he told Brienne, "Use your hands to make her let you go."
Brienne lifted one hand to the tiny fist tangled in her hair and tried to get her other hand up without letting Quart fall. As they were struggling they heard a loud guffaw from Mott, who was walking over to them with two cups of wine. Brienne saw that Moira was leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, covering her mouth to stifle her laughter.
"Moira says I ought to rescue you," he said, setting the wine on the low table, "though it's not every day one gets to see a tiny slip of a girl conquer both Brienne and Brave and Ser Jaime Lannister."
He easily lifted Merrie from Jaime's grip, using one hand to pry her fingers lose from Brienne's hair and then Jaime's.
"How long did you stand there just watching us?" Jaime asked in an aggrieved tone.
"A while," Mott said, "but seeing as Merrie was in no danger, we thought we'd wait to see what happened. You had them, didn't you, Merrie-Pie?"
"I'm certain the White Walkers would quiver in terror if you she were ever to go to the wall," Jaime said drily, straightening in his chair.
Mott grinned, "Not likely. But I do think the lass has you two outnumbered." He handed Jaime one of the wine cups, "Out of the chair, Tinker," he said absently.
The eldest slid out of the chair next to Brienne and sat on the floor facing them. Mott eased himself into the chair with a groan. He easily cradled his daughter in his arms, and when she grabbed his whiskers he hardly seemed to notice.
"So, Ser Jaime tells me you plan to train those great beasts of the queen's over in yon dragon pit," he said, taking a generous drink of his wine, "Must say, doesn't sound a sensible occupation." He turned his head to look at Brienne, as though to judge her fitness for the task.
"Fighting the Others is not terribly 'sensible,' either, my lord," Brienne said, "but if I can train Viserion we might be able to end the battle all the sooner."
"Aye, so Jaime tells me, though myself I wonder if killing the Walkers will be enough. The legends speak of a great hero wielding a sword that burned with magical fire. Lightbringer, it was called. Ever heard of it?"
"Of course," Brienne said, "It's a popular tale. All children seem to be raised on tales the Last Hero, along with stories of grumkins and unicorns. If there was such a flaming sword, it was probably a trick done with wild fire or some such, and then the tale was embellished by bards."
"Could be," Mott mused, "though of course most blacksmiths would like to think they'll be the one to forge the great sword. What I'm getting at is that while dragons have ended wars before now, I've never heard of them having any effect on the weather. If we're in for another Long Night, they might not be the solution."
"Ending the winter isn't my goal; saving lives is. The more Walkers and Wights we can kill, and the more supplies we can bring to starving troops, the better chance we have of surviving a long winter. If Azor Ahai comes along, he'll be welcome to push back the winter. Meanwhile, we need all the strength available to us."
"You're right, Jaime, the girl is determined," Mott said, looking past Brienne to her betrothed.
Brienne turned to look at Jaime, a frown creasing her brow, "Jaime, did you ask Toby to try to talk me out of training the dragons?"
"Dragon, Brienne. Just the one. But no, Mott sees the danger, just as I do. I told him I couldn't sway you. I did ask him if he would help us with designing a saddle and bridle for the beast."
"Do you have much knowledge of saddlery?" Brienne asked, turning back to Toby.
"Aye, I've learned a bit here and there. Enough so I could come look at the beast and make some sketches. I know all the best craftsmen in King's Landing; what I can't do myself I'll find someone who can."
"Oh, you'll get to meet them, then!" Brienne said, "And, er, help with some ideas, of course."
"Didn't I tell you, Toby? She's in love with them. Thinks they're big cats or something." Jaime said.
"One of them likes Jaime," Brienne said, "The green one, Rhaegal, really wanted his attention."
"Interesting," Mott said with a smirk, "That one must be a female, I take it?"
"They're all male," Jaime said, then looked at Brienne for confirmation, "Aren't they?"
"I thought they were. Her Grace always refers to them that way." Brienne frowned, thinking about it, "But I'm not sure if she knows for certain. I didn't see any sign of…well, dragon bits, if you know what I mean."
Jaime laughed at her embarrassment. "I suppose if they did have bollocks they could be gelded like stallions, to make them more tame. Also, if one of them is female, and goes into heat around a male, things could get even more dangerous."
"I've asked Tyrion to have someone look in the Keep for anything left of the old lore," Brienne mused, "maybe we'll find some answers there, along with paintings showing the dragons being ridden, to show us how they were equipped."
"That would help." Toby said, "Ah, there's Moira. Looks like supper is ready. Boys, go help your mother."
There was a flurry of movement as four of the boys rose and trotted to the kitchen, following their mother inside. Brienne realized that Quart had fallen asleep on her lap with a thumb in his mouth. Mott rose with Merrie, looking down at them and smiling.
"You make a pretty picture with a child asleep on your lap, m'lady. Don't you think so, Ser Jaime?"
Jaime stood up next to Mott, hands on hips, and sought Brienne's eye, "None prettier," he agreed, "Here, Sweetling, let me take the boy so you can get up."
Jaime lifted the sleeping child off her lap and held him against his chest, Quart's head resting against his shoulder. Brienne was surprised to find she missed the weight and warmth of him.
"You'll think it an even prettier picture when she's got a blond bairn of yours to hold." Mott said easily, turning to carry Merrie back to her crib.
"He's right, of course," Jaime said softly, leaning in to press his lips to Brienne's as she also stood.
Sudden warmth spread out from her heart. She'd been in love with Jaime for a long time, but a fortnight ago she'd have been happy just to continue on the way they'd been, the best of friends, sleeping in the same bedroll, occasionally crossing the line to kissing when they were drunk. Now they were betrothed, they'd made love. The idea of there being children in their future should have bewildered her as much as everything else, but instead she found it surprisingly natural. Really, she was starting to feel like it had always been this way between them. Perhaps it had.
Mott took Quart from Jaime at the entrance to the kitchen. The boy had woken up, and his father set him in a chair with a fat pillow on it. The other boys were standing behind chairs, except for young Toby, who stood next to his mother. Moira had the roast on a plate, already sliced atop its bed of vegetables. Toby had a set of tongs at the ready.
Jaime and Brienne took their places across from each other at the far side of the table. Mott positioned himself at the end of the table closest to them. Bread and butter were laid out at both ends of the table, along with stone pitchers of gravy. Metal plates were set at each place.
At a nod, everyone sat down with the exception of Moira and Toby, who served the roast before joining the rest. Once everyone was seated, they began to eat.
Brienne felt odd being at the opposite end of the table from Moira, who spent most of the meal trying to keep the boys in line while all of the interesting conversation happened at the other end between her and Jaime and Mott.
The food was as delicious as it had smelled, and she was grateful that Moira had caught her error with the salt earlier. She would have hated to be the cause of ruining the meal.
When everyone was finished eating, two of the boys, Tinker and Brand, began removing plates, while the others removed the food. Little Quart followed with a wet cloth and wiped the wood table. Everyone seemed to have a job to do.
Moira refilled the wine glasses and sat down next to Jaime after sending the boys to dress for bed.
"I'm impressed with your boys," Jaime told her, "How do you manage to keep them so respectful and well-behaved?"
"Threats," Moira answered blandly.
"They're really good lads," Toby said, "Though they're all being especially good tonight. They're counting on staying up late and visiting with you two."
"Though while the four of us are alone for the moment, I understand there's something Jaime wished to do?" Moira said.
"If Brienne doesn't mind," Jaime said to Moira.
Then he was smiling across at her, biting his lip in anticipation, "My lady, I have a gift for you, a betrothal gift. May I give it to you now?"
Brienne nodded, blushing. Jaime walked over and sat down next to her, pulling the small bundle wrapped in blue cloth from his boot. He held it out and she took it from his hand. By the shape it was obviously a small weapon of some kind.
Unfolding the cloth gently, she revealed a dagger in a red scabbard. It was so beautiful that she inhaled in surprise as she held it up to examine it. The hilt of the dagger was a gold lion with sapphires for eyes. Its mane curled down the length of the hilt, its tail curling up over its flank. The cross guards were made of pale quartz with hints of rose and blue and shaped like two crescent moons. A golden sunburst rose near the top of the red leather scabbard.
Jaime had managed to combine their house sigils; the sunburst and crescent moons of Tarth and the golden lion of House Lannister.
"It's so beautiful," she breathed, turning it to catch the light.
Jaime laughed happily, "And you've not even seen the blade yet, Wench. Go ahead and draw it."
She removed the dagger from its scabbard and looked at the blade. The workmanship was obviously Mott's. Even in the low light of the kitchen Brienne could tell the edge would be deadly sharp. What really caught her eye, though, was the darkly glimmering center of the blade. Dragonglass.
Tears stood in her eyes as re-sheathed the blade and set it on the table so that she could hug Jaime.
"It's so perfect," she whispered in his ear.
When she sat back Jaime set his hand atop hers, "It's fortunate for me that you said 'yes,' to my proposal," Jaime told her, "Otherwise I'd have looked rather foolish commissioning a dagger with suns, moons and lions."
"He designed it himself, you know," Mott cut in, grinning.
"You did?" Brienne asked, astonished.
"Well, I made some sketches. Rather bad ones. Fortunately, between the goldsmith and Toby they were able to make it work."
"You've done a remarkable job on the blade, Toby," Brienne said, "I shall have to think of a name to match such a fine dagger."
"Between the Dragonglass dagger and your Valyrian steel sword, the Others won't stand a chance," Moira said.
"If only Jaime had a Valyrian steel sword as well," Brienne said wistfully, "but at least he has his new sword with the Dragonglass. We're going to have to practice quite a lot, my love, if you are going to be fighting right-handed again."
"With pleasure, my Lady. You know how much I love sparring with you."
Brienne blushed, picking up on the underlying meaning of his words. Would she ever think of sparring with him again without picturing him naked as his name day, ready to spar with her in more intimate ways? She doubted it, since she found herself thinking of it quite often even when sparring wasn't mentioned.
"I think the boys are getting rather impatient," Moira said, "I've seen at least three of them come to peek in at us. Shall we go sit by the fire? Toby, if you 'll carry my cup, I'll just get Merrie."
For the next hour or so, Brienne and Jaime sat and answered the boys' eager questions and told them stories of their quests and battles. Their parents finally shooed them off to their beds so the guests could make their way back home.
Outside, the wind was blowing, though the snow was light. Sean and Fluffy were quickly saddled despite their grumpiness at being taken out at night.
"They've already forgotten that they need to be ready to travel, day or night," Jaime said, handing Fluffy a carrot he'd begged from Moira.
"It will be a rude shock to all of us when we go back to fighting all night and sleeping during the day," Brienne said, "I never would have guessed I would welcome spending time in the Red Keep."
"We'd best make the most of what time is left." Jaime said, then turned to Mott, who was wrapped in his cloak and yawning, "You'd best get to bed, old man. Thank you for everything. I'll return the lantern when you come by to meet the dragons."
"Aye. Send word when you'll be at the pit and I'll try to come by. Moira says not to forget to let us know when the wedding is."
"You'll be one of the first to know," Brienne assured him.
"But remember not to tell anyone else," Jaime reminded him.
"Aye," Mott said, yawning again, "Ride safely."
They mounted the horses and rode back down the slippery street of steel, Brienne holding the borrowed lantern. It cast very little light, but she felt better for having it anyway. The snowlight helped light the way, but the trip home seemed to take a long time. She was ready to be back in their chambers in Maegor's holdfast, with a roaring fire and the big bed. They were both tired from the day, though Brienne suspected she would have little trouble convincing Jaime to stay up just a little while longer.
Notes:
Your comments are so important to me! Every time I get a new comment I do a little happy dance. Short and long and medium comments all make me happy. I just like to know you're out there fangirling along with me.
Also, now we've all seen episode 1 of season 4, right? At first I was a tiny bit underwhelmed, but the more I re-watch it (all scenes with Jaime or Brienne or Arya and the Hound) the better I like it. It's difficult after a hiatus of reading fanfiction and obsessing over the show not to expect our OTP to immediately run away together.
