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The wench stood before him with an ugly scowl painted on her face. Her cheeks were flushed bright pink, her river blue eyes flashed with disgust and her pale gold hair shone like a fiery crown resting upon her head.
“Marry you, ser?”
“Aye! Marry! A fair wench such as you would so be fortunate as to wed someone like me.”
“Someone like you? A wench shall find more fortune wedded to a blind and gelded horse than the likes of you!”
“I will have you know that I am a good, honorable knight, m’lady.”
“Seven save us if the likes of you are considered to be a ‘good’ and ‘honorable knight’. Why, the only honor that you will ever know, ser, is by leaving this establishment at once as I bid you a ‘Goodnight!”
The audience members started to laugh once the knight’s jaw fell open with a rehearsed devastation. The wench on stage crossed her arms with a jaunty smirk on her lips.
Waiting for the laughter in the audience to die down, the comely mummer flipped her golden curls over a shoulder once the shambling, hideous knight started to feign tears of devastation and heartbreak. When the audience had finally quieted down enough, the wench spoke her next line, telling the homely knight that he was about as enticing to her as a saddle of rotted mutton. From that line, a small little dog quickly charged onto the stage and began to attack the ugly knight’s leg. Everyone in the audience began to laugh and cheer once the rejected suitor crawled off stage on his hands and knees while the little dog continued his staged assault.
From a great distance away, high on a lonely, snowy hill, Brienne looked down and watched the mummer’s show with a slowly fading smile. Her cheeks had been sore from laughter, but once the tavern wench had rejected her suitor’s advances she felt a stab of pity for the heartbroken man. With an uncomfortable silence, Brienne watched the remainder of the play with a tender heart for the ugly knight. Though it had seemed hopeless, by play’s end both the tavern wench and the knight had fallen hopelessly in love with one another and were soon married. Young girls in the audience sniffed their noses and dabbed at their eyes while young boys started to gag out loud when the two mummers kissed at the end of the play.
Incapable of applause, a warm chuckle filled Jaime’s chest as he watched the assembly take their final bows; a fair shower of copper stars and even a few stags were tossed onto the stage by the audience as a sign of gratuity for the performance. Bouncing, thin copper stars rolled around on the stage and pooled at the mummers feet while a smattering of whistles and cat calls filled the air. Brienne had to smile; though she would never have admitted it, she enjoyed the play. In spite of everything she had been through, the maid was still a romantic at heart.
As the crowd surrounding the clapboard dais began to thin out, Jaime stood up and offered his hand to his wench with a shy grin. From their seats on the frosted boulders, Brienne looked up at Jaime and happily accepted his hand with a nervous smile. Without a word, the two walked away in a comfortable silence while their arms brushed up close to one another. After several minutes, Jaime looked down at the maid’s curled fingers by her side; as he held his breath, he slowly reached down to grab ahold of her hand. Brienne never took her eyes off the road but she did smile bright and wide once his fingers carefully slid in between hers; soon after she happily squeezed his hand in turn. In the silence they shared, the maid could feel her cheeks begin to flush with nerves as a flutter of excitement started to purr in her belly.
After a while, the maid began to hum a soft, pretty tune to herself. It was at that moment when Jaime suddenly remembered to breathe while a slow smiled crossed his cheeks as well.
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In the days following his deathly illness, Jaime made a slow yet gradual recovery. He had lost a lot of weight, his muscles were slack and even at times his breathing sounded heavy and labored, but still...he lived. And with Brienne at his side—his dour, stubborn wench—he felt like for the first time in years he was truly living instead of existing.
For several days after their first kiss, the two remained happily settled in the snug little room at the inn. Still frail from his illness, Jaime spent most days sleeping on the lumpy straw mattress, hoping to regain his strength and health back before long. Timid at first, Brienne would sometimes crawl into bed with him and tuck herself close to Jaime’s side while her heart raced and a nervous smile flitted over her lips. Every time he woke next to her, he’d often found the maid curled up behind his back, holding him snug in her arms while she tried to catch up on some much needed sleep. Sometimes he would fall back to sleep as he lied there in her arms, feeling fulfilled and protected; sometimes he would watch her instead with a thin smirk on his lips while she gently snored into her pillow; on occasion, he even found the courage to kiss the maid’s sleeping face until she had finally woken from a dreamless sleep.
Nothing beyond kisses had transpired between them, but it was during their final night at the inn when they had experienced their most amorous encounter. They had been sharing a meal together by the fireplace; Jaime was making Brienne snort into her napkin as he told her stories about the pranks he and Tyrion used to play on each other when they were children. With a wide smile on her lips, Brienne started to absentmindedly brush away bread crumbs and droplets of stew that had gathered in his beard while he spoke. Moved by her sweet, fussing nature, Jaime’s words began to falter; before she had realized what she was doing, he stilled her doting hand and held her wrist in a firm grip. Their smiles began to melt once he heard Brienne’s maidenly gasp fall suddenly from her lips.
All of their levity quickly burned to cinders once his warm eyes locked onto hers. A quiet moment had passed; the gentle sounds of the fire, with all of its soft cracks and hises, began to sound tremendous in the thick silence of their room. Without breaking eye contact Jaime slowly turned Brienne’s hand over and brought the inside of her wrist up to his mouth. He gave the translucent flesh there a sweet, chivalrous kiss. As he pulled his lips away, stroking his thumb over the soft skin of her wrist, Brienne could feel her heart jump into her throat once he lowered his eyes down and gave her open palm a deep and loving kiss.
“My lady.”
His voice had been just a low, rasping murmur. Feeling her heart start to swell with love, Brienne quickly leaned forward and gave his mouth a soulful kiss in turn. With their meals forgotten entirely, Jaime eventually led the maid down to the floor while they explored each other's mouths with an innocent, slow burning joy.
Soft, exploratory kisses had blended into something that was far less innocent once they started to roll around on the floor with the sounds of warm hums and thick moans filling their ears. In between gasps for air and heavy, panted breaths, Brienne looked up at Jaime with hooded eyes and felt exposed and protected; instinctively, her thighs began to part for him as he crawled over her to fold his body between her long legs. Lost in the pulls of another kiss, Jaime gradually pinned the maid’s arms down to the floorboards by the sides of her head. Brienne started to feel a growing hardness press into her hip while Jaime's probing tongue swept her mouth fully, leaving her feeling wild and incendiary.
But before anything could be done, a great commotion outside in the courtyard began to fill their quiet room. The clipping sound of horses and the sour noise of grumbling men started to boom and echo once the clamorous riders brought their whinnying mounts to a standstill. With a frustrated growl buried deep in her neck, Jaime slowly pulled himself away from Brienne’s warm, panting body; eventually, he offered her a hand up once he untucked his tunic from his breeches. From their window they could see nearly a dozen Lannister soldiers dismounting from their weather-beaten horses.
With a chill running down their spines, the two quickly got dressed in a flood of terror before sneaking out the back of the dye shop. Though Jaime’s health had improved considerably, he was still weak and in need of more rest. But onward they continued, much slower than before, but only for Jaime’s sake; Brienne wouldn’t have had it any other way. Together they had survived being captured; they both knew the agony of starvation and illness; they had endured unspeakable violence, insults and cruelty and they had miraculously survived a famed and legendary war together. For them to survive it all and then to finally have each other… neither one could entertain the cruel thought of losing the other one now.
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Once they had walked a fair distance from the crowds they began to make their way down a steep hill that led them towards the dirt road they needed to travel on. Inside the folds of a long silence, Jaime’s thoughts on the play quickly turned to a conversation he once had with Ronnet Connington; annoyed by this pestering memory, Jaime decided to broach a delicate question to his friend that plagued him for some time.
They had only glossed over the topic of arranged marriages once before when they had been forced to share a makeshift bed in a frozen cellar; to his dismay, they had never spoken on the subject again. Jaime wanted to hear the maid’s account of all that had transpired between her and the three failed betrothals Connington had only mentioned to him. With a nervous flip of his stomach, Jaime searched for the words he wanted to say. He decided it would be safest for him to play ignorant and ask Brienne an otherwise harmless question; he knew what her answer would be—but still, he could think of no other way to begin such a sensitive conversation with her. He couldn't explain it; somehow, Jaime suddenly felt inspired to broach such a personal matter with his maid.
“I was curious, Brienne...how many times have you been proposed to?” Glancing over at her, Jaime tried to read Brienne’s quiet, thoughtful expression. He carefully glanced at her while she chewed on her lower lip as they walked close together; he could see that the lady of Tarth was lost somewhere in the tangled mire of deep thought. Without joy, Brienne was suddenly reminded of the homely knight from the play they’d just saw.
“Four.”
Jaime silently balked. Connington had only spoken of three arranged marriages for Lady Brienne; not four. While his eyebrows started to climb up his forehead, Jaime soon noticed a strange churning in the pit of his stomach. “Four, my lady?” Brienne glanced at him with a curious look; with a slow horror she watched the blood drain from his handsome face. “Are...are you certain that number is...correct?”
Brienne’s face started to blanch with confusion as a small seed of resentment began to take root in her. “Are you confident that I miscounted ser? Does this number I speak of give you offense?” Jaime fumbled for a reply. “Why do you assume—”
“I—I don’t assume anything, Brienne.” Both paused once they had reached the frost covered road. Befuddled, the maid turned around to face him while her forehead started to ripple with frustration. “I...I had been told that you’ve known the honor of only three arranged marriages, my lady. Not four.” Licking her dry lips, Brienne let out a small huff of displeasure before she replied.
“Ser. You’d asked me ‘how many proposals I’d received’; not ‘how many arranged marriages I’ve been subjected to’.” Jaime’s pine green eyes started to flutter shut with a growing sense of unease. Seven save me... “By whose word do you give such credence over mine?” With a hard lurch in his throat, Jaime clenched his jaw while a mist of panic started to bathe his skin. He could tell that they were about to have their first argument since their kiss at the inn. With a heavy sigh Jaime quietly disclosed the details of his conversation with Connington during his campaign in the Riverlands. Jaime carefully explained how he found out that Connington was the second of three suitors who were once betrothed to her. Wincing in humiliation, Brienne stood in profound silence once he finished speaking—for some reason, Jaime couldn't bring himself to mention the excellent crack on the jaw he had blessed Connington with at Harrenhal.
“Well…” The maid sighed with a gradual defeat. “If it's of any use, only three marriage proposals were formally accepted by my lord father. The fourth proposal really needn't count; the fourth had been glib and done in poor taste.”
With that, Jaime decided that he needed to hear everything about this latest proposal he had not been made aware of. With a mumbled voice, Brienne awkwardly described the tepid proposition she endured from the likes of Hyle Hunt at the Crossroads Inn. Brienne failed to notice the look of disgust that spoiled Jaime’s lips; at first, it was the very thought of Ser Hyle speaking to the maid in such a plain, familiar tone that left a bitter taste in his mouth. Brienne finished her story while looking at everything that surrounded her except for Jaime—for some reason, she thought it best not to mention the mortifying wager Ser Hyle had been part of at Renly’s camp. Finally, with a snort of derision, Jaime responded to Brienne with acid lacing his tongue. “He proposed to you, wench. Of course it counts.”
The maid shook her head slow with a dull look on her face. “I disagree.”
Jaime’s anger had mostly stemmed from his disgust at Ser Hyle; but it wasn't just how he proposed to her, it was also the fact that Ser Hyle proposed to Brienne after they parted ways in King’s Landing. What if she said 'yes' to him? With a cold knot of nerves, he tried hard not to imagine such things. Brienne had misunderstood the source of Jaime’s ire; she irrationally assumed that he was disgusted by how many times she’d been rejected by pitiful matches, a rather sore topic that she had yet to come to terms with.
Wanting nothing more than to beat the living tar out of Ser Hyle, Jaime buried his face into his hand and tried to massage the sudden ache in his pounding temples. “He proposed bloody marriage to you Brienne, regardless of what manner it was done. It still counts.” He walked past her, fervently wishing he could witness Ser Hyle taking his last breath at the end of a hangman’s noose.
"What do you mean ‘it counts’?"
Throwing her question at the back of his diminishing form, Brienne heard Jaime’s reply once he turned his head around his shoulder and barked at her with wounded pride. "'It counts’ means 'it counts'...wench."
Off in the distance, the growing sound of ominous hoof beats started to roll through the hills above the frozen road. Flashes of burgundy armor blurred past a line of dark trees as they rode through the narrow path buried in the upper hills. Brienne and Jaime quickly searched the road for a place to hide.
To her left, the maid had spied a fallen hemlock tree that was partially concealed in a dense bank of snow. To Jaime’s right, he saw a rocky ledge buried next to a tower of icy blackberry bushes. Grabbing a hold of her hand, Jaime was about to tell the maid to follow him. Holding onto his, Brienne pulled on his hand so he could follow her.
Somehow, in the thick of panic, they managed to let each other go.
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Climbing onto the fallen branches of the ice glazed hemlock, Brienne managed to avoid leaving her footprints in the unblemished snow as she scurried for a decent hiding place. She assumed Jaime followed close behind while she ducked beneath a thick canopy of dark branches. With a surge of adrenaline running through her, the lady of Tarth settled herself beneath the concealing branches only to realize—too late—that Jaime wasn't there with her. Blue eyes, wild with fear, searched all around her; Brienne swept the dense overhang of vertical branches in vain. Still, she could not find Jaime.
The growing sweep of fast approaching horses began to swell; across the frosted road, she finally saw him: Jaime was crouched down low in a rocky trench that was mostly concealed by a thicket of blackberry bushes; his face looked panicked as he tried desperately to find her. A familiar sound filled her ears; it was the shattering clamor of soldiers riding hard on their destriers.
Their burgundy armor was dented and scratched; some of it was obviously assembled together piecemeal from what remained after the punishing battles of ice and flame. Some men wore fire scorched helms, breastplates and gorgets; it was obvious that they were survivors of the great war in the north. There was no doubt that their armor had been assembled from the remains of the scattered dead who had once been their brothers in arms. Brienne fervently prayed to the gods that the men would not find Jaime; she prayed that the soldiers would ride through the road quickly and leave them in peace. To her horror, she could hear the men begin to slow down once their horses landed on the road.
Four men, lean and desperate, rode through the frosted road with dark, searching eyes and thin, puckered lips. In all likelihood someone at the inn had recognized either Jaime or Brienne and sold them out for just a few coins of silver. Brienne knew they shouldn’t have stayed for as long as they had but it was a calculated risk that she had been willing to take: either they suffered the risk of being discovered at the inn or it was certain that Jaime would’ve died sick and cold in the frozen wilderness.
If they find him—if they hurt him…
Brienne kept a firm grip on the pommel of Oathkeeper.
With her shallow breathing slowed and in control, Brienne peered through the dark needles of the branches; her eyes locked onto the sight of the four soldiers as she tried to formulate a plan of attack should they discover Jaime. To her horror, she could hear their horses slowed down to a halt only several feet away. One man dismounted from his mare and proceeded to walk softly down the road. Each step was an icy drag against the frozen ground, cool and calculating with a searching, thoughtful pace. Thick splatters of dried blood were caked onto the calf of his left boot; the seams of his heel had started to feather apart and turn loose from neglect. The soldier’s footsteps began to falter once they closed in on the snowy banks surrounding the fallen hemlock tree. Brienne closed her eyes briefly; she could feel her jaw began to tighten.
Sweet memories of kissing Jaime started to flood her mind.
Offering up one final prayer to the gods, Brienne felt her fingers coil tight around the hilt of Oathkeeper; slowly, she began to pull out the silvery edge of her fine blade. It was in that moment she heard it; the sound was at first a trickle...and then it turned into a heavy stream.
It was a thick flow of sickly brown urine that started to rush out of the dismounted soldier; Brienne could see heavy steam rise up from his forceful piss just a few feet away from her. The maid quietly sighed once the soldier started to bounce on the balls of his feet while the last trickles of urine began to sputter out. At a distance, where the remaining soldiers had still been mounted, Brienne could hear two of the men bark out with a foggy laughter.
“He’s such a pretty lill’ maid.’
“Shut it.”
“When ya’ piss, do you also hold onto your cock with your little pinkie stickin’ out? Kinda like how those high born ladies like to drink their mead?”
“Shut. It.”
“Yeah shut it, Willem. I can’t piss with others watching me too.”
With the rustle of frozen leather and fire charred steel, the maid choked back a sigh of relief once the fourth man climbed his way back onto his horse. While the Lannister soldiers snarled and bickered at each other like children, Brienne felt as if though she were about to faint in gratitude once the sound of cantering hooves began to fade inside of a cold wind.
Once it was clear, Brienne tried to climb out of the hemlock mantel but soon found that her boot was stuck; she had somehow managed to wedge it in between twisted branches and the craggy edge of a large rock. Once the air finally turned silent she could hear the rattle and crunch of loose rock and stones clacking together while she tried to dislodge her foot from the wooded tangle.
“Brienne? Brienne?” Jaime’s voice was sharp and his breathing seemed shallow. Hearing him climb out of the rocky ditch, she heard his voice burn clean with fear as it rang out in near desperation. Through the dark needles of the tree, the maid saw how rattled her friend was. “Jaime?”
In the center of the road Jaime paused at the sound of her voice; without a moment's hesitation he ran towards the fallen tree in a blind, frenzied panic. He called out her name with a cautious, doubtful tone. Replying to his pleas in a calm voice, Brienne watched Jaime slide down to his knees from a scrambled run and land deep into the wet snow to search for her. Knocking back a dense curtain of hemlock needles he promptly found her and extracted her boot from the gnarled tangle of branches and jagged rock. Jaime’s breathing sounded timorous while his hand began to shake. Once he freed her from her wooden snare he held her cheek in his hand and searched her with darting eyes and bloodless lips. He slammed her body close to his and fiercely held onto her.
Only moments ago Jaime feared that he was about to witness the slaughter of Brienne at the hands of Lannister men...he was only seconds away from giving himself up in total surrender should they have rooted her out. While the maid mumbled her tender assurances into his neck, Jaime could hear precious little over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. Without a second thought he crushed his lips against hers as he held onto the back of her head; he then littered her face with the dry, anxious kisses of a fear abated. Only one thought tumbled through his frantic mind as he kissed her perfect mouth once more:
I should never have let you go.
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They walked together, hand in hand, during the gloaming hours of evenfall on the great dirt road; from a distance away they could see a town nearby the river that was lit up with scores of cheery bonfires dotted along the shore. Just a half mile outside of the town gates Brienne found a thin little boy with one eye and burn scars on his face, begging for a crust of bread; he was another unspeakable casualty of the infamous war.
Offering the boy payment of a gold dragon, Brienne first gave the boy a stag and told him to go into town to find out what had been the source of so much celebration. The maid swore to the boy she would uphold his payment, provided he came back with an answer and reported if there were any soldier's lodging inside the township.
Waiting next to a fire charred bridge for over an hour, the burned child returned to Brienne and gave her his full report. He told her that a great raven had been sent from the Citadel that morning; it was a formal announcement by the Grand Maester that winter was at an end and spring was fast approaching. Choking back on unexpected tears and lingering doubts Brienne thanked the lad in a watery voice while she paid him in gold with numb fingers. Only as an afterthought, the lad reported that the only soldiers found inside the gates were hundreds of drunken men from the Night’s Watch; they were celebrating the good news from the Citadel along with the rest of the townsfolk. Brienne smiled; it was then she knew that there was no way Lannister soldiers would dare cross the town’s gates while crows were present.
Turning towards Jaime in the shadows of the bridge, the two held back incredulous smiles once the child finally left; together they traveled past the merry bonfires at the gate, hand in hand, with reserved optimism. By the time they got close enough, there was no doubt that what the boy had said wasn't true. Everywhere they looked people had been cheering and dancing, singing and kissing without shame or question. In a swell of jubilee, Jaime locked his eyes onto Brienne. Neither one actually believed that they would ever live to see spring. As he held her close, not a sound could be registered once a kiss beneath the stars had started to unfold. Bonfires burned bright, wine had flowed, songs were sung and people danced while the sweethearts kissed and the lovers made love. Neither Brienne nor Jaime had given any notice to them—all that existed in that joyful moment was each other.
Without a word, the two slowly parted their love drunk lips and carefully walked their way through the moving crush of cheering townsfolk in a swarming crowd of celebration. Elated, the entire world wished to celebrate and cheer for the end of winter; exhausted, all Jaime and Brienne wanted was a hot meal and a warm bed for the night.
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The great inn they had chosen to stay at was just as loud and rambunctious as any other establishment found in the city gates. At the center of the inn, there was a grand, tavern floor that was swollen and thrumming with the pulse of song, laughter and joy. All were eager to celebrate; they were now the precious few who had the privilege of saying they’d lived to see the end of a dark and godless winter that was filled with white walkers and dragons.
Seated next to a dark window, high above the tavern floor with their bellies filled with roasted chicken and fried bread, Jaime tried to entice the maid into having a celebratory cup of wine with him. With the dark memories of a violet splattered hangover still clinging to her mind, the maid of Tarth politely refused his offer but agreed to just a tankard of ale instead. Jaime smiled and ordered one for himself as well.
Over the railings of their dining floor, a joyful song was playing that was sung from every floor of the spacious inn; it was a merry tune called A Dream of Spring; it was a song that could only be sung at the end of winter. The bright song fostered a towering crescendo of voices that started to climb high into the rafters with a boisterous, sparkling levity. The rich layers of the beautiful, chilling harmony fluttered and crashed with the rise and fall of lyrics wrapped inside of a bubbly, infectious chorus. Common folk and lords, maidens and the elderly, children and tavern whores were all red cheeked and smiling between the watery choruses of joyful lyrics. Every wooden rafter shuddered and trembled; a fine dusting of chalky plaster snowed down upon every patron from the pounding tremors of their revelry. The impact of stamping feet was accompanied by the dull crash of wooden tankards and steel plates, joyfully being crashed against the surface of oaken tables; it made the whole inn shudder and tremble like the rattling wheeze of a dying old man.
Evaluating the jovial scene with a contented sigh and a full stomach, Jaime snuck a glance over towards the maid. Her hair was windblown and messy, her eyes shone bright while her horsey teeth flashed in a breathtaking smile; though she grinned, it was to his dismay that Jaime noticed Brienne was mute between the mirthful peals of her laughter. “Why aren't you singing?”
“What?” The tavern song was near deafening; eager to bring his mouth close to her ear, Jaime repeated the question once more as he leaned over their table. Without taking her eyes off of the spectacle in the tavern Brienne slowly replied. “How do you mean?”
A thundering shower of applause, cheering and whistles filled the room once the song had come to an end. Waiting for the lull in the crowd between songs, Jaime started to explain his question to her while the sounds of wooden pipes began to chirp out the opening notes of the next song. “Well…” Nervous, he tilted his head off to the side, shrugging with a coy smile once her baby blues fell upon him. “I’ve noticed that you like to hum.” Brienne's sweet face quickly turned ashen followed by a gradual flush of rose-pink shame. Jaime had to grin; he loved seeing the innocent expression on her face start to unfold.
Watching his smile spread to his cheeks, Brienne suddenly felt a compulsion to look down at their table; nervous, she started to wipe away a small puddle of ale with her sleeve. “Don't tell me you didn't realize it.” Brienne glanced over towards the melting icicles that hung from the roof outside of the inn. In the dark reflection of the window Jaime could see her face cringe painfully.
“There's nothing to be ashamed of, wench.” A small, unexpected laugh started to tumble from his mouth; reaching across the table, Jaime started to play with Brienne's cool fingers as his quiet way of assuring her. She glanced down at their joined hands with a curious smile; Jaime continued. “It sounds pretty; I’ve been hoping to hear you sing for some time now.”
With that, he watched the maid's bright eyes start to flutter and dim; Brienne was soon lost within the serpentine corridors of dismal memories. “I haven't sung since I was a girl.” Nonplussed, Jaime remained quiet; he had hoped that his blatant silence would encourage his friend to continue, but she would not speak further. Determined not to let it go idly by, Jaime feigned indifference; casually, he searched the room with his eyes before he finally continued. “How come?”
His question was simple, his tone was breezy but his insistence had remained. He couldn't help it; there was something about how Brienne answered his question that nagged at him. The maid glanced back down at the table; Jaime was skimming the inside of her palm with a playful, calloused thumb. She sighed before giving him a warm look.
“When mother died, father did nearly everything he could to make me happy. Each year, a new singer would take residence at Evenfall by his leave. When I was eight, one of the singers had sought out favor by my father so that he could remain at Evenfall for the coming winter. So, the bard decided to offer me lessons on how to sing.
“One night—after countless lessons—he invited me up to accompany him in the great hall to help him sing for all of our guests. Father…” Brienne's voice started to trail off as if she were reliving the moments once more in memory. “Father was not pleased.” Jaime fought hard not to wince. “He marched out of the great hall soon after I had begun singing. And then...after that night, he’d started to leave any room I was in once I began to sing. After a while I just...stopped.”
With a small, oddly charming smile, Brienne nervously picked at the wooden handle of her tankard with her empty hand; her eyes were locked onto the foaming ale before she brought it up to her tight lips. After a moment of silence between them, the chipper, pipe filled song came to a blessed end; boisterous laughter and roaring cheers rattled the inn, swallowing the warm air of the establishment with a grand storm of crackling applause. Grateful to have the awkward silence finally broken, Brienne glanced down at the tavern floor to watch the cheering patrons with a wide, honey drenched smile; she had hoped to convince Jaime that there was nothing amiss with her.
With a cool, detached face Jaime considered Brienne’s mask of feigned mirth with a stab of heartache; he could see right through her false smiles. The shadows of a frown started to pull at his mouth; quietly, Jaime damned Lord Selwyn Tarth as a noble bastard under his breath. He suddenly wondered in a flash of regret if he’d ever get the chance to hear Brienne sing.
While the next song played, Brienne felt lost in the foggy trance of unfiltered questions. She could feel Jaime's fingers dance over the skin of her wrist and tried to hold back a smile. Not seeing her face for some time, Jaime wished for Brienne to turn back around at him so he could tell her that he loved her. In that small, private moment, the lady of Tarth made a quiet yet momentous decision on her own. Offering up just a faint excuse, Brienne walked away from their table without any eye contact and headed towards the tavern floor to use the privy.
Throwing back the dregs of his warming ale, Jaime considered his words and wondered if he spoken anything that may have offended Brienne. Several minutes passed before the maid walked back up to their table and made a quiet announcement. “I—I think I’d like to turn in after a bath.” Jaime instantly felt his neck grow warm. “Would...would you care to...turn in as well?”
Feeling dumbfounded, Jaime mutely nodded his head before taking his friend’s hand. As they approached the inn keeper, Jaime mumbled out his soft pardons to Brienne before he stepped away; she patiently waited in the center of the lobby while Jaime approached the clerk's desk to request a room for the night. “No worries about that...you’re wife already has the key to your room.”
Jaime blinked with confusion at the distracted innkeeper. “I’m sorry?” Feeling dense, Jaime thought he needed to repeat his question before it had all been explained to him.
“My apologies; your wife already has a room set up for you two already.” The clerk jerked his chin towards the center of the lobby where Brienne had waited. “She booked your room and sent up your bags just a few minutes ago.” As a dawn of understanding began to rise in Jaime’s mind he looked over and saw Brienne nervously stare down at her boots. Before long she nervously looked up at Jaime from his place at the inn keep’s desk; her mouth was soft, her cheeks were pink and her pale blonde hair were swept with lazy, windblown curls. “Your wife also requested hot water for just a small bath in your room...I assumed you already heard.”
Amazed, Jaime never took his eyes off the wench while he felt his stomach drop with anticipation and a flash of knowing. “Did you need anything else then?” Jaime flinched; the clerk had just asked him a question.
“No…” Brienne’s eyes carefully locked onto his before he slowly replied. “No...everything’s perfect.”
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They each took turns bathing behind a wooden screen that was propped up close to the fireplace. The maid had gone first; Jaime tried hard not to listen to the arousing sounds of her clothing falling down to the floorboards. Nervous, he told Brienne he would return as he fumbled for an excuse about needing to hear more about this raven from the Citadel.
By the time he had returned, the maid had seated herself by the fire as she happily sharpened her dagger with wet hair and a heavy blanket covering her lap. Jaime smiled with a faint grin before he made his way behind the screen to wash himself before bed. Their bath was only a kettle of hot water along with soap, a wooden bowl and a fluffy yellow sea sponge.
His body was still thin and battered; his arms and chest had random, unexplained bruises all over but with the miracle of hot water and soap he managed to reclaim his humanity with the sloughing off of thick grime and crusted blood. Freshly washed, he stepped away from the screen wearing only his smallclothes and a thin blanket draped over his body. The maid was already in bed...quietly waiting for him. By the light of the fire Jaime shrugged out of his blanket and crawled into bed with Brienne. He soon discovered with a heavy sigh that beneath the fur blankets, the maid slept in only her smallclothes and a threadbare tunic.
Brienne delighted in the lovely weight of Jaime’s body as it coiled up tight around hers. Quiet thrills rang bright and clear in Jaime’s mind; Brienne felt so strong but her skin was clean and deliciously soft. Once her head shifted close to his face he felt a sudden need to bury his nose deep into her freshly washed hair.
She smelled of wood smoke, ale, the scent of almond oil from the soap and the indescribable, woodsy fragrance of her skin. Her scent was slowly driving him mad with a haunting wonder. He knew he recognize her scent—it was known to him—but he still couldn’t figure out what it was yet. Unbeknownst to him, he burrowed his nose deeper in her hair, rooting out and searching her scent until the tip of his cold nose tickled the long lines of her blushing neck. From that sudden, unexpected contact, Brienne let out a small, virginal gasp.
Instantly, Jaime’s cock began to stir; the innocent, breathy sound of the maid’s gasp was thrilling for him. With a flush of surprise, Brienne felt the evidence of his arousal stir at the small of her back. In a mounting dread, Jaime permitted himself to savor the feel of Brienne for only one moment before he pulled himself away. In the darkness, Brienne’s face started to dissolve with a sharp wash of disappointment; she instantly mourned the loss of Jaime’s body against hers. Feeling her heart beat wild in her chest, Brienne was tempted to seek him out. I could have lost him today. Brienne licked her wide lips. I'm tired of being alone…
Unbeknownst to Jaime, in his arms, the maid of Tarth was slowly relinquishing her title.
Bright blue eyes, wide and unblinking, darted sightlessly in the cool shadows of their room. With a foreign courage, Brienne slowly pushed her rear back, seeking out the firmness that enticed her just moments ago. Quietly shifting her hips further down the bed, her rear began to faintly brush against the length of Jaime's cock. She held her breath with anticipation once she carefully made her movements against his arousal both firm and deliberate. A sudden pool of her own arousal began to stir between her lean thighs.
Fighting back a deep sigh of pleasure, Jaime could no longer pretended that he was asleep; every cell of his being sang with a thrill once Brienne’s firm body brushed up close to his. As the fullness of her ass settled firmly upon his rising cock, it was his turn to gasp. His mouth fell wide open as his eyes slammed shut. Holding back a deep groan, he buried his face into the slow forming curls of her damp hair. It’s a mistake. This is all just an innocent mistake. The wench is still a maid; she’s just an innocent. She has no idea what she is doing right now—
Before he could even finish his thought, Brienne rolled the lush softness of her back over his cock even harder, softly dragging herself against Jaime’s member like a primed cat longing to mate. Pushing her back against Jaime again, Brienne let out a thin gasp of air; his eyes popped open at the very sound of it. All at once a hard crush of arousal started to course through him, quickly drowning out all of his flailing denials. Oh gods...she knows exactly what she’s doing…
With a deep breath, Jaime gradually surrendered to the maid's less than innocent seduction; he placed his firm hand against her rolling hip, desperate to keep her still. Once more she gasped; this time, without thinking, Jaime started to carefully press his seeking cock into the warm creases beneath her ass. With his member teasing the soft entry between her thighs, Brienne felt her body start to shudder with anticipation that felt almost desperate and wanton. Nervous yet willing, she buried her forehead into the crook of her other arm with a small tremble; a sweet, breathy voice filled the air between them while she softly groaned out his name. “Jaime…”
Both knew that this wasn’t an innocent mistake made between two friends who were only sharing a bed. They now stood together on the narrow ledge of a precipice; this would be the moment that would forever mark a new chapter for them. Both were equally excited but terrified at once for what all that was about to unfold. Brienne closed her eyes and held her breath. I’m tired of being insecure… With a deep breath she turned her head and felt her trembling fingers place themselves over his wanting hips; with a firm grip, she quietly urged him to roll his body into hers while she leaned back into his panting chest. “Please, Jaime…”
Rolling his aching firmness into the soft, heated juncture between her thighs, Jaime let out a strangled moan into her neck once Brienne started to carefully slide her thighs apart for him; the heat of his breath against her neck made her want to beg senselessly for something that she did not yet understand.
Stilling their bodies before he embarrassed himself, Jaime fingers dug into the lean flesh of Brienne's waist. With several cleansing breaths, he started to drag a shuddering palm over her taught stomach while his long fingers started to blaze a trail along the waistline of her smallclothes; a single finger began to slide its way beneath the linen. Brienne held her breath as Jaime kissed and suckled at the pulse in her neck. He had wanted to kiss her mouth, but waited; the moments their mouths would meet he was certain that their fate would be written.
The gentle sweeps across her stomach began to falter once his second finger found its way beneath the hem of her smallclothes. Each time he grazed her hipbone, his fingers would effortlessly slip beneath the hem of her undergarment until finally, it started to skim over the soft hair between her legs. Mewling with anticipation, Brienne’s itching fingers longed to push his hand down further between her legs.
“Tell me to stop if that's what you want.” His voice was hoarse. “Brienne...please.” He kissed her perfect ear; he kissed the violent scar on her cheek. With a deep breath the maid slowly placed her hand over Jaime's; she guided his hand beneath her smallclothes, all the way down between her warm thighs. As his fingers brushed through the soft hairs of her mound, Brienne's chest went still once she heard Jaime mumbled incoherently into her ear. Stroking only the wet, tightly curled hair along her seam, she felt impatient by his teasing nature. Before he had a chance to clear his bobbing throat, Brienne removed her hand from Jaime's and started to push her smallclothes over her rear and down her thighs.
Groaning deep into her neck—at first from disbelief and then from knowing—Jaime watched the maid kick her under garment off her legs while twisting her head towards his face. His numb lips soon crashed over hers. It was then he realized that he was a man who had no chance and no choice: he was in love and he was never going to be the one who had control; that power had belonged to Brienne and Brienne alone. He knew from that one kiss that she would forever be the unflinching lord and master of his heart and he in turn would forever be her loving and devoted servant.
Mounting his body above hers, he kissed her wide lips as she sunk her head deep into the pillows. Propped up on his knees, Jaime loomed over her; he watched her face carefully. He lowered his fingers to the warm folds of her cunt and no longer felt like he was a worthless, soiled knight; he felt like a man that was somehow worthy of Brienne’s impossible honor; he felt like a king.
Slowly pumping his fingers inside her, he felt his breath turn even as he studied her blushing, responsive face: her eyes were closed, her mouth was slack and her forehead was pinched in a quiet, gasping wonder; Jaime could feel his strength began to subside for every moan and sigh she offered up to him. Fluttering her hands over his ribs, they finally wove together behind his neck, curling her fingers into his hair as she breathlessly chanted out his name. “Jaime. Jaime. Jaime…”
With a slick thumb he brushed up against the pink knot hidden between her folds. He saw her eyes flash open in both ecstasy and self-consciousness. A soft grunting from her throat filled the dark room. With rapid breathing and a gasping sound climbing from her chest, the maid quickly shattered and fell beneath him, feeling both broken and whole all in one perfect moment.
Between slow, cleansing breaths and trembling sighs, Jaime kissed Brienne’s sweet lips deep and without repentance. While her breathing steadied and cooled, Brienne returned Jaime's fiery kiss as he whispered her name between their soft moans. As his tongue folded around hers, Brienne reached down to cup his aching arousal with her hand. He soon brought their kiss to an end once his lower jaw fell down to his chest while a deep, satisfying curse fell from his mouth.
Encouraged by his reaction, the maid began to stroke him through his smallclothes. As his arms trembled and his head dropped low to her heaving chest, Brienne started to unlace the thin string binding his undergarment together. With green eyes, wild and darting, Jaime watched in amazement once the maid reached into the tented linen to free his cock.
“Are—are you sure?” Jaime would not allow himself to believe that this would actually happen. But as he looked down, expecting to find both fear and doubt in her pretty eyes, he instead found the maid shifting her body closer to his so that he could rest fully between her thighs. Pushing his smallclothes down his hips she quickly stripped them from his long legs using only her curled toes. Brienne quietly whispered ‘Yes’ into his ear before she pulled her tunic over her head.
It was everything and nothing Brienne expected it to be. It was the hot, panted verse of a sweet ache they shared; it was the broken chord of a nervous alto accompanied by a shuddering baritone. It was the painful wince of an innocent giving her maidenhead to someone she trusted; it the darling, nervous chime of apologies he murmured into her ear once he saw the sharp cringes on her face. It was the slow, awkward duet of bodies that’d spend the rest of their lives knowing they’d never be whole without the other. It was the gentle chorus of wordless vows that rolled into a perpetual canon, seamlessly looping with soulful gasps and endless kisses. It was the perfect, radical acceptance of two people who were as far removed from perfect as anyone two could be.
With slick bodies and enduring kisses, Jaime slowly buried his face deep into Brienne’s neck and held on to her tight. With the gradual collapse of his trembling arms and her shaking legs, he pulled her close to his chest, curling tight behind her while he nuzzled the back of her head. The remainder of Jaime's right arm came to rest in the cool, damp valley between Brienne's breasts. As her breathing slowed she cradled the end of his mangled wrist there; her thumb rhythmically stroked and skimmed the shiny, puckered flesh while she smiled. In between the sweet kisses he gave to the back of her head, both started to drift off to sleep while the world outside of their room celebrated the advent of spring with bonfires, singing, drinking and dancing.
In the perfect, healing darkness of their room, a soft cadence of both love and devotion was whispered by both. It had seemed as if they were the only two people left in this world who were worthy of singing such beautiful and impossible things.
---------------------
Though the two had slept all throughout the night with the sounds of drunken revelry thundering outside, it was the quiet sounds of Brienne's soft humming that had slowly woken him up.
Boneless from sated pleasures, Jaime slowly turned his head on the sunken pillows to find that his right arm no longer held Brienne. He didn't have to look far for her; with muted sunlight straining through the shutters he could see her feet behind the privacy screen. With the sloshing sounds of water lapping in a wooden bowl, he knew that the former maid of Tarth was now bathing herself.
He was tempted to surprise her but decided to give her at least a modicum of privacy. With a contented sigh he sank his body deep into the bed while listening to Brienne's pretty hum flit over his ears. Before he had curled over to his side, something astonishing happened: carefully, with a soft and delicate voice, Jaime began to hear Brienne sing behind the panels of the screen.
“Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool…”
Incredulous, Jaime quickly propped himself up with one elbow and eagerly strained his doubtful ears to hear. With the sounds of a sponge being wrung out, the lyrics to the song continued once more. A drowsy, heady grin started to crease his face; hearing her finally sing felt more beautiful to him than the announcement of winters end; it felt like a miracle to him. His stunned eyes started to fall heavily as he absorbed the quiet joy of hearing Brienne's lovely song. Lying back down onto the bed, feeling his smile pull at his cheeks, Jaime felt his heart start to race with happiness while Brienne unknowingly continued to sing for him.
By the time her melody had ended, Brienne had finished drying her hair after she slowly got dressed. Humming the chorus of the song to herself once more, she padded from behind the wooden screen as she scratched the back of her neck. She couldn't help but wonder if she had been recently scourged by Jaime's fleas.
Dressed only in her long tunic, Jaime smiled brightly as he followed the sculpted lines of her beautiful legs; he felt his arousal began to stir once he saw that the end of her tunic had barely grazed over the crease of her firm rear. When her eyes discovered his, the humming abruptly stopped. A slow, lazy smile crossed her mouth; Jaime beamed as he rolled over to his side just so he could memorize the way she looked just then in the pale sunlight.
Thoughts of her rejected suitors briefly crossed his mind but they all soon fled; with satisfaction he realized that none of them would ever get to have this moment with her; none of them would ever see all the beauty that he could see now. His voice still croaked with sleep but his sea-green eyes were alert and mirthful. “Hey.”
Ceasing the scratches at the back of her neck, Brienne’s calloused hand drag its way down her other arm, stopping firmly at the bend of her elbow; she tried hard to reign in her innocent, maidenly smile. “Hey.”
Holding out his arm for her, Brienne walked over to their bed while the shadows of modesty stubbornly clung on to her. While managing to sit with demure grace on their bed, Jaime's fingers threaded themselves into hers while the faint sound of laughter rung in his voice.
“You are...a lovely singer.” Brienne looked down at her knees with a slight grin while Jaime tugged her body closer to his chest. Falling into his sleep warmed arms, the lady of Tarth’s face loomed over his; a stubborn lock of lazy, pale blonde curls tried to obscure part of her face from him. Using the wrist from his shortened arm, he awkwardly tucked the rebellious locks over her hunched shoulders. “I was afraid I’d never get to hear you sing.”
Dropping her blushing face close to his chest, Brienne failed to pay much attention to all of the silver hairs that were scatter on his breastbone. “I would hardly call that singing...my voice is quite rusted from years of neglect.”
Dragging his fingers over her parted lips, Jaime spoke in a grumbled whisper as he smirked at her. “It counts.” With her eyes locked onto his, she closed her lips to peck at his stroking thumb; Brienne eventually murmured her reply with a soft, nervous laugh. “What do you mean ‘it counts’?
Watching her face lean in close to his mouth, Jaime's hooded eyes began to squint up at her with a sly quirk of his lips. With her blue eyes closed and her full lips ghosting over his, he answered her with a flirtatious growl just as his lips started to tease hers in return.
“‘It counts’ means ‘it counts...wench.”
Smiling into his languid kiss, Brienne smoothed her hands over his chest while her lips happily sank themselves deep into his. As the slow tempo of their love accompanied the faultless harmony of a newfound world, Jaime finally wrapped both arms around Brienne’s shoulders and held her close to him.
He never wanted to let her go.