As promised, I have questions.
It took nearly his entire morning routine and drive to the university before she responded to his text with the address of a local coffee shop and time.
He dropped the phone into his briefcase, annoyed by the brusque reply, and did not send confirmation.
He skimmed the classroom, his gaze briefly resting on the brunette in the far corner seat. Brienne's seat. It felt distinctly wrong to see another in her space. The current occupant saw him staring and flashed him an open grin while tucking her hair behind her ear, each movement an obvious and calculated flirtation.
Jaime didn't even feign a polite smile before looking to the rest of the new students settling in and ran his thumb over the edge of the stack of syllabi in his hands. His stomach dropped as he took in their young, oblivious faces.
You all have no idea what is coming.
And Brienne was right. He couldn't tell them, not without being labeled a raving lunatic. Even he, an expert in Westerosi history with a romantic view on ancient magic, didn't believe it until it had pinned him to the ground and tried to kill him.
But he had their attention and could present the truth in the wrappings of his course.
His hands lifted the stack of papers to drop them into the metal wastebasket, the echoing thunk startling the classroom into silence.
"Things will be a little different this semester. Who knows the Evenstar prophecy?"
Jaime adjusted the table light to better see the texts strewn before him, his fingers jumping from one page back to the other before moving to the copies of Brienne's essays.
What had she said on that last day in his class? How had her interpretation differed?
Most obviously she replaced 'his' with 'their', despite knowing it was, well, her.
'Proper nouns related to the Lord/Goddess of Light use the feminine and masculine interchangeably to reflect the duality of the deity,' she had written in one essay. 'While this is known when directly referring to R'holler, it is not widely accepted that this extends to the prophesized champions of the deity, namely Azor Ahai and the Evenstar. As such, the formal singular pronouns in subsequent writings, while in the masculine form, may actually reference either a woman or man.'
He clucked his tongue and returned to the original High Valaryian.
While that may be true, he thought, the possessives are not consistent. The singular masculine was used to describe 'her love', but the possessive referencing the 'Line' of the Evenstar is pleural, indicating it will be of at least two people.
He wondered at Brienne's vehement denial of something so obvious and cursed when he realized he'd pressed the tip of his pen into his notes hard enough for the ink to bleed to the page behind it. Waving the thought away as no concern of his, he moved to the last of the changes he could find.
Armed with his love...
"But Brienne said, 'Armed by her love, a weapon fierce and sharp'," he muttered to himself in the silence of the library and frowned at the difference. A fellow library patron one table over shot him a dirty look as he restlessly tapped his pen against the spine of his notebook.
The words were not similar in either context or appearance, nor could the discrepancy be explained by her little-known gender referencing rule. It was either a mistake on her part or a misrecording that had taken place ages ago and been perpetuated.
The alarm on his phone trilled and his silent compatriot finally broke their composure with a violent shushing motion.
"Sorry!" said Jaime loud enough to echo off the vaulted ceilings and rose, slamming each of his books shut to return them to their resting spots.
With a glance at the time, he gathered his notes. If he was to make it in time to meet Brienne and only be fashionably late instead of abominably rude, he had to leave now.
He found her immediately, her tall frame slouched down into one of the small wooden chairs in the back of the shop at the most far removed table. When she in turn spotted him, he made a questioning motion towards the cashier. For a second, she just blinked then shook her head to resume staring at her folded hands on the table.
He placed his order and was waiting when a small group of college-aged boys walked in loudly complaining of Riverrun's performance at the last tourney, and Jaime stepped aside for them to reach the cashier.
He was pulled from his thoughts when one of the youths let out a whistling breath. "Fuckin' hells. Look at that one will you."
Jaime kept his eyes on the barista but his attention was decidedly elsewhere.
There was a startled choke from one of the companions. "Looks like something that escaped from Professor Qybern's lab."
"You think it's got a cunt but looks like it's got a cock or got a cock and just pretending to have a cunt?"
"It's ugly enough for either."
Jaime reached for his coffee with his left hand and curled the right into a fist.
"I once heard," said Jaime conversationally and the four men turn to look at him, "that there was nothing so unfortunate in this world as an ugly woman."
He stepped to block Brienne from their sight and straightened, using his height to add to the disdain in his glare.
"Personally, I find walking, talking personifications of the word 'forgettable ' to be the truly pathetic."
With a smile, he turned and walked towards Brienne, who had gone stock still with her eyes locked on her clasped hands on the table.
She heard them.
"Hello, darling," he said once he reached her, infusing as much warmth as possible in the greeting. At the last moment, he made the reckless decision to lean down to kiss her cheek.
He didn't see the men's reaction though he knew they were watching. He meant what he said. They were useless, pointless cunts not even worth the effort of turning his head. Besides, he'd found himself distracted by the surprisingly soft texture of her skin against his lips and the warmth underneath that rivaled the cup of coffee in his grip.
Brienne's eyes flicked up to his and then shifted away while she blushed despite the carefully blank look on her face. It left Jaime feeling unaccountably guilty.
"Let's walk," he said and jerked his head to the exit. "I find I mislike this place."
After some hesitation, Brienne stood up and together they exited into the chilly winter air. The silence between them was strained and Jaime took the moment to look at her while feigning a sip of his still too hot drink. Her clothes were as awful as ever, with not a single item doing justice to how fit she was underneath. He tried to picture her in the flowy, feminine pieces so popular with her contemporaries and grimaced.
Absolutely not. But in well structured, well-tailored clothing that made the best of her assets…
He glanced down at her legs to picture her in a pair of shorts with a nearly indecent inseam and stumbled when his mind added fuck-me-heels all of its own accord. It was almost absurd how completely, not even remotely absurd he found the picture.
"Shit," he cursed as a bit of coffee sloshed through the lid to splash onto his lapel. He looked up in time to see her withdraw her hand as if she had been about to steady him and he felt frozen, unable to find words while the image still rattled around in his brain.
What the hell is wrong with me?
"You said you had questions. What do you wish to know?" she asked suddenly and shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her coat.
"I," he started, then busied himself with wiping the coffee off his clothing to hide how unsteady he felt. "Let's start with the deer."
With a deep inhalation, she spoke.
"I found signs of a jotnur possibly blinking in and out of our realm. It was the only way I knew how to bait it. The deer had already been sick and dying. I put it out of its misery."
"A jotnur?"
"A… troll… of sorts. But a giant one."
"And I take it your runes were to keep it contained to the forest?"
She looked mildly impressed at his deduction before she started walking. Jaime followed. "I carved them to form a ring around as large an area as I could manage. The runes you saw around the campsite I'd just put there that morning after tracking the orbusadake."
He took a sip of his coffee, letting the sweetened drink roll around on his tongue. The tension in Brienne's posture had let up and he figured it was safe to move to more personal questions.
"And your wounds?"
"I heal rapidly and rarely require medical attention."
"But you can die?"
"Everything can die."
He hummed a non-committal noise as he took another drink.
"And she really was your mother? R'hollor?"
"Yes." She sighed heavily. "Partly, she was what you would expect… austere, exacting, and firm. She never made secret what she expected from me and both my parents made sure I had the training I needed. She taught me Valaryian and mysticism and Father ensured I knew how to fight. But she could also be kind and surprisingly affectionate."
"Why did she leave?"
She bit her lip and looked up into the distance. "She had to."
Her voice was small, her melancholy palpable and Jaime felt a kinship with her. His recollection of his mother was hazy, just a series of warm but brief memories. He missed her but it was an abstract sort of ache that hovered on the periphery of his consciousness. Regardless of how much he disliked his father, he could never completely shake the desire for the man to acknowledge him in some way with either pride or love. Tywin was no god but he was unreachable just the same.
"So why don't you have a cult yet?" he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice as he changed the subject. "I mean, I'd have a whole swath of adoring fans from here to Asshai if I were you." He raised a brow in her direction. "We could start one. I'd pick the uniforms, of course, though I'd leave the color scheme to you, for obvious reasons. "
Her mouth quirked in a small smile and she rolled her eyes. "Cult leaders tend to be charismatic with the ability inspire others to love them, two characteristics I distinctly lack."
"Some inspire fear," he said with a careless shrug and her expression soured.
"Humans already fear me. I have no desire for followers regardless."
"Humans?" He laughed. "You speak as if we were a different species."
It was her turn to shrug. "I meant what I said. For as long as I can recall, people have stared at me, avoided me, and flinched away from my touch, the only exceptions being my father and brother."
Jaime's head jerked up at the mention of a brother but Brienne continued on.
"And it's not just the way I look, though I know that plays a part. It's a sense you all have. Different. Unnatural. Other." She said the last word with a snarl and Jaime felt guilt curl in his abdomen.
Hadn't he thought those exact words?
Yes, but it wasn't because I'd been repelled by her. If anything, I've been-
"It is a protective instinct, I'm sure," sighed Brienne. "It will serve people well as the veil deteriorates-"
"That's not true," said Jaime abruptly and stopped walking. "Your family are not the only exceptions. I don't avoid you and you've actually complained at how much I touch you."
"T-touching me is different from m-me touching y-you," she stuttered out in an almost angry rush. "Besides, I think we've well established that you are not normal."
"Perhaps there are no men like me, only me," he said, throwing her own words back at her. With that, he grinned and resumed walking only to spin cheerfully on his heel as he passed her still form. "The color in your cheeks proves you're at least half-human, your Grace."
He walked until he reached the next intersection and waited for her to catch up. She was silent when she finally did, and waited a block more before she spoke.
"Speaking of colors… I've been thinking about what you told me."
"About my eyesight, you mean?"
"Have there been any changes?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. Red is back and just as brilliant as before." He shook his head wonderingly. "I first noticed after the smoke demon when I could distinguish the blood on your shirt."
"So before the smoke demon…"
"There but faded."
"But you could still see me, this, just as bright before?" she asked and gestured to the general direction of her face, which had already started to flush.
"Yep," he replied, making sure to pop the p at the end.
"When did you first notice you could see red at all again? What day?"
He didn't even have to think about it. The entire day was seared into his mind. "The day we found the wolf."
"The first time you touched me."
Her response had been immediate and low, almost as if she meant for only herself to hear, and a bit of coffee splashed out through the lid of his cup again, this time burning his skin. He hissed and pressed the webbing between his thumb and forefinger to his mouth.
"You think that's why?" he asked and frowned at the tremor in his voice.
"I don't know," she snapped. "If you've got another theory, I'm open to hearing it."
He reached up to probe over the back of his still tender head. "You touched me when I hit my head and after, I could see the blood on you. You may well be right. "
Her steps slowed and she bounced lightly on her toes before turning to him. "Let me see your hand."
Jaime shook his sleeve back from his wrist before holding it out. She stared at his bared skin and lifted her hand hesitantly.
"I'm not afraid of you," he said softly.
Her mouth opened as if she was going to say something but then her eyes closed. When they opened again, she appeared resolved and brushed her fingertips over the pulse in his wrist.
"I don't understand… you're so cold."
His breath sped up as her touch danced over his sensitive skin, tendrils of heat snaking up the extremity and frissons of electricity trailing behind. And when her fingers finally, finally wrapped around his arm, he nearly choked. The world grew brighter around him but all he could see was her.
"Jaime," she said gently, her brow pinched in concern. "I think you've been marked by The Other."