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Jaime notices Brienne’s absence like a phantom ache. The Great Hall is still bustling with people, but he would be able to pick her out of any crowd. And not just because of her stature, though that is a plus. Like a prickle at the back of his neck, urging him to turn to her, he can always feel when she is near, a compass needle always pointing north.
His brother is still bantering with Pod when Jaime makes his departure. Tyrion barely acknowledges him as he leaves, his cheeks rosy with wine and laughter. Everyone around him celebrated their victory. Their losses are all but forgotten in the sheer disbelief that everyone in this room beat the odds.
They lived.
Jaime finds the halls of Winterfell surprisingly warm. He can’t recall if he’d noticed this during his first trip to the castle. His life before his disfigurement seemed so long ago. He wasn’t the same Jaime that had thrown a ten-year-old boy from a window. For Cersei. The man who shoved a sword in his King's back was not the same boy who trained every day to become a member of the King’s Guard. At just fifteen, their youngest member in history and he had done it for Cersei. So that he wouldn’t have to marry. So that he could be with her and only her.
It seemed a cruel sort of irony that the horrible act that everyone remembered him for was the only decision he’d truly made for himself at that point. He’d had to make the impossible choice between killing the man he swore to protect or letting thousands perish in flames.
Did that absolve him of his other sins?
Did saving thousands make up for crippling a young boy?
Was losing his hand his penance?
He’d come to Winterfell because he knew it was right, because he’d seen Aerys II in his sister. In her refusal to send aid to the North. There had been no reasoning with her. He’d wanted to scream at her, to shake some sense into her, but he knew her better than anyone and there was nothing he could have done.
For a brief moment he’d thought of killing her.
Even with Gregor there (or whatever you wanted to call the monster he’d become–Cersei’s monster). Even though it would mean his death as well; he’d considered it.
He had been so close to her. It would have been so easy.
But he couldn’t make himself move. Couldn’t reach for his sword. Couldn’t do what needed to be done.
Even after everything, he still loved her.
Jaime wasn’t sure what that meant, wasn’t sure what any of it meant, but he didn’t want to think of his sister right now.
The corridors of Winterfell were winding and meandering, but Jaime found Brienne’s room expertly. It was quiet up here, the sounds of the party a distant echo. He wasn’t sure why he'd sought out Lady Brienne, other than the fact that he could. That she was here and alive and that for once they were on the same side.
When he lifts his fist to knock he’s surprised to find it trembling.
He grasps his arm behind his back as the knock cuts through the silence. There is a soft shuffling from behind the door before it slides open with a creak.
Brienne stares at him open mouthed for just a moment before collecting herself.
“Ser Jaime,” she greets him.
She’s dressed plainly in dark underclothes that starkly contrast her pale skin and light hair. There’s a darkening bruise around her eye and she’s covered in scrapes and a thick layer of grime.
Jaime thinks she’s never looked more beautiful.
“Ser Brienne,” he replies and relishes the flush that the title brings to her cheeks. “May I…” he asks, gesturing.
“Oh! Uh, yes, of course,” she stutters, stepping aside.
He lets himself inside and is surprised to find a large and wellkept room. There is a large wooden bed covered in animal skins that looks warm and inviting. There is even a sitting area where a small fire lives, warming the room. Brienne had always spoken highly of Lady Sansa and it was clear that the appreciation was reciprocal. The fact that the young Stark girl seemed to want to care for Brienne made Jaime like her even more.
“You left the festivities without a goodbye.”
Even her armour had a home. It was banged up and needed a wash, but it sat on a rack displayed by the door. The armour he’d made for her beside the sword he’d given her.
“I didn’t think my absence would be noticed.”
Jaime snorts out a laugh at this as he makes his way further into the room. Her absence was unignorable. It was all consuming. Like a lost limb, he thinks bitterly.
In the corner of the room is a tub, steaming with hot water. He warms his hand in the steam before turning to Brienne where she’s still standing by the door, unmoving.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he apologizes, “I’ll go.”
He’s being too nice, he thinks, overcompensating. She’d said something similar when he’d first arrived here. The problem was that he didn’t know how to do this. Didn’t even know what this was. They’d been dancing around one another since he’d arrived here. Neither of them were sure how to deal with the other now that they weren’t enemies. Friends didn’t seem like the right word for what they were either, though. There was too much between them for that to be sufficient.
“Stay,” she says firmly, and then, “if you wish.”
So he did.
Watching as she makes her way over to the tub, but turning as she undresses. Her back is to him and he’s seen her bare before, but there’s something about the stillness of the room and the crackling fire that is making him modest.
He hears the splash of water and turns to find Brienne submerged in the steam. Her pale hair and knees are just barely visible.
Without a word he settles onto the stool beside the tub. Brienne doesn’t spare him a glance as she begins to wipe the dirt and grime off her body with a plush looking cloth. A floral sweet smell fills the room. Lavender, perhaps. A luxury this far north.
Jaime finds himself smiling at the thought of Brienne being given these luxuries. A warm room and bath with expensive oils. She deserved this and more. He’d thought so even before. It’s why he’d had armour tailored for her and gifted her a sword befitting her talent. Jaime had begun to care for her before he’d even realized it. Even back when she was his captor.
His stump aches with phantom pains as he watches her. Brief flashes of that night come back to him. The horrifying sounds of Brienne’s screams. The relief he’d felt when his ploy had worked. And the pain. So much blinding pain.
When he comes too again she’s watching him.
She’s leaning against the basin and her skin is golden in the firelight. Her face is covered by his shadow so he can’t determine her expression.
Without conscious thought he reaches out. His fingers easily found the long scars on her neck.
Her skin is hot from the bath and he follows the path of the water droplets as they drip from her hair and down her chest.
Brienne tilts her head back as his fingers trace down the reminder of their run in with the bear. She lets out a shaky breath and he tries to ignore the stirring in his pants.
Even looking back now he’s not really sure why he’d gone back.
He had felt as though it was his fault. Both that they’d been taken and that because of him and his lie about Tarth’s riches, it seemed like her father wasn’t willing to pay any and everything he could to get her back. He knew that Lord Selwyn would have done anything he could to get his daughter back. It was true that his father would have done the same for him, but for the sake of the family and their House, not out of love.
“Do you miss Tarth?”
If this question surprises her she doesn’t show it. But she doesn’t answer for a moment. Instead she shifts away from him, his hand falling from her skin as she sits back more fully into the water.
“I think of home often.”
It’s not quite an answer.
“I hear it’s beautiful,” he says, thinking about the brief glimpse of the island he’d seen. The lush green forests and the clear blue waters. Though not quite as beautiful as the maiden’s eyes.
She nods.
“Tell me about it,” he invites.
Brienne gives him a sad smile.
“Grab me my robe.”
He does. The fabric is thick but soft against his skin. As he turns back to meet her she’s stepping out of the bath. Water dripping down her skin and pitter-pattering against the stone floor.
Holding out the robe he finds that he can’t pull his eyes away.
Her whole body is flushed pink from the heat and her freckles are prominent even in the dim lighting. There are no soft curves to her, only sharp muscles and wiry hairs. She looks much like he remembers, though a bit more bruised.
His own face becomes flushed with heat as he forces his gaze up and finds her eyes on him. Watching him watch her. It isn’t until their eyes meet that she reaches for the robe to cover herself. He shifts his weight nervously under her scrutiny. Balling his hand into a fist so that it ceases to tremble.
“The water is still warm,” Brienne offers.
Jaime hesitates. The thought of a warm bath after the past few days seemed like a blessing and one he wasn’t likely to get elsewhere. And the way that she is looking at him is almost challenging.
I bathed in front of you, it said, are you going to do the same or take the cowards way out?
“Alright.”
He pulls at his shirt strings. The fuzziness from the wine had all but dissipated by now, but his hands were still unsteady.
Brienne takes pity on him and helps him lift the shirt over his head. Looking down to his trousers she hesitates, dropping the shirt at their feet.
“I got it,” he whispers, pulling at the strings where a prominent bulge can be seen. Ignoring the embarrassment over his own arousal, he kicks the rest of his clothing away and steps into the bath. A satisfied smile splits his face as he notices a flush on her cheeks as she sits beside him. The first hint that she is affected by this as well.
He allows himself to close his eyes and sink into the water. It is the first time he can remember feeling truly warm since coming to the north.
“Did you really think dying your hair would make you any less noticeable?”
Jaime lets out a muted laugh.
“It would have worked,” he argues.
But then he remembers why it didn’t work. He remembers Brandon Stark sitting there in his chair, the chair Jaime put him in, waiting for his arrival.
The memory of what he did to him, to a child, threatens to overtake him, but is stopped by strong hands in his hair. Brienne runs her fingers against his scalp and he leans into the touch.
“Except that it didn’t,” she argues.
And this is better. A touch of their old back and forth.
He’s unable to give a rebuttal as his head is pushed back. Gently she works oils through his hair, stroking his scalp, and sending shivers through his body.
“Down,” she whispers, before pushing his head underwater and washing away the darkness.
As he blinks the water from his eyes he finds that she’s still watching him. Her hands are still on him, rough with calluses, but pleasant all the same.
Jaime wonders what she sees when she looks at him. The Golden Lion. The Kingslayer. The Oathbreaker. She’d called him a man of honour; he wonders what she would say if she knew about the Stark boy. If she would be able to look at him with gleaming, hopeful eyes like she is now.
“Jaime…”
Brienne’s eyes follow her hand as it trails down his arm, briefly pausing at the straps holding his golden hand. She makes quick work of them and delicately places the hand down atop his discarded clothes. After, she holds his stump, more gentle than he can ever remember being touched in his life. He doesn’t stop her at any point during this and he keeps waiting to be bothered by the action. That feeling never comes.
“Will you ride south to take King's Landing?” Jaime asks.
“If Lady Sansa asks it of me,” she replies.
He thought as much.
“And if she wishes you stay here?”
“I can make Winterfell my home.”
He knows she could. She’s cared for here. Has a purpose and a place where she is always welcome. Jaime wonders what that must feel like.
“What about you?” Brienne counters. “You pledged to fight for the living and that pledge has been fulfilled. Where will you go now?”
Jaime considers this. He’d left the Kingsguard. Whether the Dragon Queen or his sister win the coming battles he felt certain there would be no place for him in their council. Even with his brother there, the thought of serving under the Mad King’s daughter made him queasy. No, that certainly wasn’t an option. The most logical step seemed to be going back home. Taking over the Rock as his father had always wished. Marry some highborn Lady and carry on the Lanister name. This filled him with more dread than the thought of guarding the Dragon Queen.
“You could join Daenerys and serve in her council.”
“I could.”
“Lady Sansa might let you stay here. You served her well.”
“Perhaps.”
“Or…” Brienne hesitates now, pulling back from him. He goes to reach for her hand before remembering that he doesn’t actually have a hand to grab her with. “You are now the Lord of Casterly Rock. You could go back. Get married. Find some happiness.”
Jaime watches her now. Her hair is beginning to dry in soft waves around her face. She’s looking down and off to the side, away from him. In profile he can just barely make out the line where her nose had once been broken. The lashes of her eyes casting her face in shadows.
Brienne the beauty, he thinks wistfully.
“Yes, I think I will.”
Her face whips around to him now, looking sad, but unsurprised. Resigned.
“Only if you think Lord Selwyn will accept.”
Jaime can see the exact moment that his words register. Her eyes widening in shock; her mouth falling open, and then shut, gasping at him.
“Wh–What?” she stutters.
There’s this frightened look in her eyes, like a deer before the slaughter.
“The only bride I wish to have is right in front of me.”
Brienne is shaking her head before he even finishes. With his left hand he grabs hers where they lay in her lap.
“There is only one place in this world I want to be, Lady Brienne, and that is by your side. I don’t care if that’s here in this snow-covered wasteland or across the narrow sea.”
If she’s registered a word he’s said she doesn’t show it. He can feel her hands trembling and her chest is rising and falling rapidly, but she makes no other movement.
The crackle of the fire is the only sound aside from their breath. And then, “no.”
Jamie flenches as if struck.
“Brienne…”
“No,” she says more firmly this time, pulling her hands away as she stands.
He stares in the flames for one breath and then another.
Of course she didn’t love him. How could she? There was nothing there to love. Even after all he’d done to try to redeem himself it was never going to be enough. Brienne was brave and noble and everything he wasn’t. She deserved more than him.
With misty eyes he clamors out of the cooling bath. He’ll dress and leave, soaking wet or not.
“I couldn’t…” Brienne whispers.
The sad note to her voice stops him in his tracks as he’s reaching for his clothes.
“It’s alright,” he tries to reassure her, his own voice cracking. Stupidly, he refuses to cry in front of her. She’s crushed his already battered heart, surely tears wouldn’t change anything. Even so, his fathers teachings about men and crying are hard to shake.
“A marriage proposal is not a joke.”
Brienne turns to him now, her face streaked with tears. The realization comes to him then. She thinks he’s being dishonest. Thinks he’s playing some cruel game with her. His vision blurs. He hates that she would think this of him, but the cruelties of the past were like an old wound. Just when you think it's fully healed the ache returns just as strong as the day of the injury. Jaime knows this better than anyone.
Not trusting his voice, he steps forward.
She doesn’t move. Her face stoic as she looks down at him. Even with her tears she looks stubborn and strong. Or perhaps because of them.
He needs her to know he meant it. Needs her to know what she means to him. That when he thinks about his future, she is all he sees.
When he pulls her in for a kiss it's on his tiptoes and he almost misses her mouth, but his hand is steady where it cradles the back of her head and when he goes in to try again, she meets him.
The soft fabric of her robe tickles his nakedness as they press together. His right arm pulled her in by the small of her back. Though nothing about her could ever really be called small.
Her hands are in his hair, cradling his face. She kissed him more delicately than he’d imagined. (And he had imagined.) Her lips are soft and fit against his own like they were made to be together. There was a time when he’d thought that about his sister, the only other woman he’d kissed, but he’d been wrong. Now he gets it. This feeling grew in his chest. Something light and hopeful and terrifying.
He’d never felt this way before.
After repositioning his hand Jamie shifts his weight and lifts her up, carrying her over to the bed. Brienne gasps in surprise, her legs wrapping around him, thighs squeezing his hips. She’s heavy, but he’d always been strong.
Tenderly, Jamie lays her down against the cushions.
It hits him then that this is actually happening. Brienne is beneath him, her beautiful blue eyes wide and her pale skin flushed. His own skin is still wet from the bath dripping onto her like rain. Her legs still surround him and as he kneels there hard and eager The realization comes to him that he’s nervous. Afraid, even. Of how much he cares about the woman below him and how much he wants to do right by her.
Something must show on his face because Brienne turns her eyes from him.
“If you’ve reconsidered–”
“Shut up.”
He doesn’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it does, but he softens the words with a kiss. Lets himself open her robe and caress the curve of her breast. A promise that he wants this. Wants her.
Jaime presses himself against her. Can feel her breath catch as his cock pressed against her. He imagines how it would feel to be inside of her. The strong muscles of her squeezing around him much like her thighs grip him now. But he stops himself.
“You will be a maiden until our wedding night,” he promises her. Kisses the vow onto her lips, her cheeks, down her neck, on the scars there. It’s what she deserves. To get a love like the songs. To get courted and asked for. Jaime finds himself excited for the day he can ask her father for his blessing.
“But Jaime,” she pleads, gasping.
He shushes her with another kiss.
“There are other ways,” he reassures her.
Jaime wants to take his time–wants to kiss every inch of her skin until she’s begging for him–but he’s eager to taste her. Eager to hear how she sounds as he brings her to her peak. Reassures himself that this is only the first time, not the last, and that he will have plenty of opportunities to savory this.
Strong hands grip him as he presses his mouth against her wetness, drinking her in. Like a man deprived of water. Her sighs and gasps spur him on. He pauses only when he notices her hand on her mouth attempting the quiet herself.
“Let me hear you,” he insists, before continuing.
She doesn’t hold back then, her moans filling the room. The way she presses down onto his tongue, her hand gripping his hair, makes his cock leak against the bed sheets. He loves the way his name sounds on her lips like this. Like a promise.
He finishes onto the animal skins before he can stop himself. It catches him by surprise in a way he can’t ever remember happening, but the way Brienne is surrounding him, the feel of her, the sound of her, the taste of her, is all too much.
This barely slows him down though, and it’s not long before he can feel her peak starting to arise. In the twitching of her abs and her thighs, in the way her breath is shortening, in the way she’s saying his name over and over again like it's the only word she knows.
Jaime. Jaime. Jaime…
He imagines how good it will feel when she finishes with him inside her. How she’ll clench around him and stutter out soft gasps like she is now. He wants to press a baby into her on their wedding night. The thought doesn’t scare him in the way it once would.
In fact, it makes him smile as he crawls up the bed. Lays his head in the crook of her neck as her breath steadies.
“Should I…” she trails off reaching for him.
Jaime grabs her hand, his cheeks warming, “I already…” he trails off as well.
It’s now Brienne’s turn to blush as she looks down at him.
“During?” she asks, her voice steady, but her flush is now reaching down her neck and onto her chest.
“During,” he confirms.
“Oh,” she says, her voice small.
“I…you were…I enjoyed that very much.”
She kisses him then, lazily and relaxed.
They curl under the blankets. The moon is high in the sky and they’re both exhausted, but neither seems to want this moment to end. Jaime is glad when Brienne curls in closer until their noses are touching and says: “there were always songs.”
Brienne whispers this to him. The fire has died off to basically nothing, but the moonlight paints her in a brilliant blue glow.
“That’s what I remember most about Evenfall Hall. I fell in love with the songs and would sing them to myself when I was away.”
Now that she’s started the words seem to spill from her.
“It was always so green everywhere you looked,” she said with wonder in her voice. “Meadows and flowers covered every swath of land that wasn’t covered in water. There’s a gorgeous waterfall not far from Evenfall where I used to go to practice swordplay before my father got me a real teacher.”
She continues, telling him tale after tale of the Sapphire Isle she called home.
“I can’t wait to see it,” Jaime says.
Brienne reaches out to stroke his cheek, a smile on her face.
“I can’t wait to show you."