Chapter Text
The late summer sun dried up the earth and burned the eyes. It was impossible to hide from it even in the shadow of the balcony on which the future Lord of Casterly Rock stood looking down, where in one of the courtyards of the castle his wife was talking to her father.
The Maid of Tarth was as tall as she had been at their first encounter, at their second one, at their wedding. He was sure she was just as ugly, but she stood with her back to the walls of Casterly so he could see only the top of her head with her thin straw hair clinged to her skull, and broad shoulders.
He couldn't hear what they were talking about but could assume it's about their wedding. Selwyn's expression was sad, and the shoulders of his daughter were tense.
Jaime watched them with eyes fixed on the blond head without a single thought.
"Seems like Cersei is looking for you," his brother's voice came from behind.
Jaime dwelled on the emptiness inside him at the mention of his sister; without taking his eyes off Tarths, he wound his head in acknowledgement. Selwyn took his daughter further under the shade of an oak and Brienne now stood half turned to him; he could see her profile.
"Wants to ask you about your wedding night, I dare assume… Anyway, can't blame her," tone of his voice was cheerful, but Jaime felt the stare of mismatched eyes on his back.
"Didn't the maid who came to change our sheets this morning already inform everyone concerned?" he rubbed the scratch on his fourth finger with his thumb, finally looking back at his brother.
Tyrion snorted.
"I'm sure she did," he leaned against the aisle, "as I'm sure our dear queen is interested in a more detailed tale."
Detailed tale.
The only kiss they shared was in the Sept, in front of that rabble. Her lips were chapped but big and warm. Just chaste touch, nothing more.
"Not being the gossip one —" Jaime scoffed. In the craft of prying, the dwarf could compete only with Littlefinger and The Spider. " — but if you want to share your experience with your little brother instead, I'm always here to be of service."
He tried to kiss her later in their bedroom, but she recoiled. So be it, he decided.
Jaime didn't want to share anything with anyone. Everything that happened seemed disgustingly vulgar to him.
"Not really cheerful for a newlywed, I see."
Jaime seemed to still feel the tingle on his lips after the kiss in the Sept. He shut his lips tight to shake the feeling off and turned around.
Tyrion sat at a table with a jug of wine and two goblets. His tiny hands were folded in front of him.
Seeing his brother's face, he grinned. "Wine to raise a toast for matrimonial alliance the part of which you are now?"
Jaime didn't understand what benefits his father saw from an alliance with Tarths, and, for the most part, he didn’t care.
He said he wanted to retire from the Kingsguard; Tywin didn't ask for his reasons, just sent him to Casterly Rock as soon as possible. When he reached the castle which once was his home, it turned out the castellan had already received a letter instructing him to start preparations for the wedding between the Lannister heir and heiress of the Sapphire Isle.
Plain, dour and huge heiress of the Sapphire Isle, who shied away from him like a skittish horse.
He did want to make things right. Not to force her.
"I'd rather refuse. I'm afraid I had enough wine for that yesterday." He had not; he wasn't even slightly drunk, remembering every littlest moment of the day before, but Jaime was not going to admit it to his brother.
His wife didn't reveal the love for wine as well, preferring water; the fact wasn't surprising, but made him oddly pleased.
But maybe if she drank she wouldn't be so tense.
Tyrion gave a twisted grin. "Your loss."
Not the first one in Jaime’s life; definitely not the last. Jaime shrugged and looked away into the yard again. Brienne twisted the dress fabric in her hands nervously. It seemed to be her habit as she did this the day before almost every time Jaime watched her.
She twisted her shift while watching him undressing.
She had nothing to do with her hands when he came up and took off her smallclothes, so she clenched them into fists.
He tried to kiss her, but she recoiled; tried to hug or rub her shoulders but she was so tense as if he was touching a statue.
He wondered what exactly she was saying to her father now.
Jaime offered her wine; she refused. Tried to prepare her, with fingers and then his mouth too, but Brienne was so tense, and seemed to get more and more strung with his every touch. She was so dry with an expression of stubborn anguish on her face; he could not do anything.
Tyrion took a deep breath. Jaime heard the creak of a chair being pulled back.
"You know, you could have refused. I'm sure father would have found you another bride."
Jaime hummed. That was pointless. He didn't want another bride. He didn't care what high born lady his father would lay under him.
He wanted nothing.
Tyrion now stood beside.
"You still can benefit from it."
Jaime nodded.
"At least do not make your life miserable. And her life as well."
He didn't, or did he? He stopped, because she was so resigned, and he wasn't going to do anything against her will.
He stood and threw her shirt at her. Then blew out the candles and laid down on their matrimonial bed, turning his back to his wife.
He pretended not to hear her ragged breath, for her, or himself, he didn't know.
"You should not grieve for Cersei for the rest of your life," Tyrion continued despite lack of response from older brother.
Cersei did not grieve for him. She was angry, with no clue why he ended this between them.
She loved him, so why did it matter that she was fucking with others?
As it turned out, it did matter to him.
Jaime was sure Cersei will always be the only woman for him. His cook thought the other way, as it saw no problem to be hard in front of Brienne of Tarth.
Brienne of Tarth did not appreciate that. At least he didn't see any enthusiasm on her face.
In the morning they dressed in silence. When the maid who had come to change the linen and find out if the marriage had been consummated knocked, he saw a strange expression on Brienne's face.
Taking his dagger, he cut his finger and a drop of his blood fell on the sheet.
"Maybe you two will be able to find common ground."
Jaime didn't know why he did this. Be their marriage not consummated, they could annul it and get rid of each other.
But when the septon joined their hands Jaime felt calluses on the palms of his soon-to-be wife. He heard before that she was preferring swords and fighting to needle and embroidery, but didn't give that much a thought.
Jaime would like to see her with a sword.
In the stuffy, filled with the smell of incense Sept, he couldn't help but stroke the roughness of her skin with his fingertips and look into her calm blue eyes.
"Maybe." Jaime nodded, his eyes crossed with Brienne’s.