"He is an innocent," she replies so quickly and with such ease it must be clear it's taking no thought. If anything, she sounds maybe a bit offended. Why else would she be volunteering to go and fetch him? "I'd protect him with my life."
That's what she's always done, or at least tried to do. Even so far north the sun stopped rising for months on end when she had to be brutal and swift. There could be no shame in giving her life to ensure Tommen's safety, only honor. Allegiances don't matter to Brienne. The rules, ultimately don't matter. Trying to put good into the world and keeping to her word. Those are the things that she will die for.
JAIME LANNISTER
...because she wanted to see her father? Isn’t that what people do whose fathers were not Tywin Lannister, didn’t they harbor desire to see them again instead of fear of what they would say (or do) in response to their rebellious actions?
Jaime surges forward again, this time to grab her by the back of her neck and haul her towards him to meet his kiss halfway.
BRIENNE OF TARTH
She's pitched forward, slotting into the space between his legs as their mouths slant against each other and her hands brace atop his thighs for purchase. It's been odd, getting used to his familiarity in public, but this is comfortable and easy now.
Brienne tilts her head back to enjoy the sensation of kissing him from below, and her tongue darts out to swipe against his lip. She'd come here on pure adrenaline and wound up having nowhere to put it. Kissing Jaime like she needs it to breathe seems like a good outlet.
JAIME LANNISTER
He’d meant for that kiss to be just a simple kiss, but all thought of drawing away from her dissolves when he feels that swipe of her tongue.
Jaime groans against her mouth, grabbing hold of her arms as best he can while down a hand in a bid to bring her up, closer, and quite possibly into his lap.
BRIENNE OF TARTH
She lets him guide her. Brienne's hands move from his thighs to his chest and then around his neck as she rises to climb into his lap. She's quick to close the distance between them, eager to resume kissing him whenever she has to pull away.
At no point while they were discussing her father's arrival did she even think to stop. That's the reaction this news should have had, and yet all she wants is to drag Jaime back to her quarters and tuck him into her bed for the night.
JAIME LANNISTER
It really ought to have been the moment he suggested they tug on the reigns and suspend this liaison of theirs, that no more rendezvous — secret, public, or otherwise ought to take place until after her father departed. But, when would that be? Would they be dooming themselves to a fate wherein they had backed themselves into corners, unable to touch one another until death befell them all when the Others arrived with their army of reanimated corpses? They both know that part of the reason this works is because there may not even be an after. This may be all they have, and what’s the point of even starting this, of indulging in it, if they stop because they fear her father scowling at them in disapproval?
That should be reason enough, especially for someone who claims to have a deep sense of honor buried beneath all the horrible, terrible things he’s done that sully what people see of him on the outside. A good knight would not be bedding an unwed heiress, would not have ruined her and thus made future marriage prospects for her practically unobtainable, but he’s not a good knight and he genuinely lo—
Jaime’s arms slip beneath her bottom as he rises from the chair, holding her against him as he strides the few paces it takes him to reach the desk. He sets her upon it and resumes kissing her without a care for who might be looming on the other side of that deadbolted door.
BRIENNE OF TARTH
She holds fast to him as he gets up, in part because she still feels too big and too heavy and she's not sure anything will break that particular instinct. But she also relishes the kind of closeness it provides alongside the feeling of letting go. The same rush she'd felt after her disbelief of Jaime's utter bald arrogant stupidity landed him in the bear pit with her, that he doesn't have to do things like that. And yet.
Giving in, giving these things to Jaime, she once believed was about "feeling like a woman" back when her mind only conjured these sorts of dreams for her. His mocking words would reverberate in the chamber of her heart and she'd force herself to admit that it was true when she was alone with her thoughts of him.
But when she tilts her head and clings to him where he stands, smelling of sweat and leather underneath that probably abhorrently expensive oil they rub into his skin daily, it's more about choice than about feeling. Another thing Jaime had said to her that she needed to hear and yet no longer believes: she has chosen who she loves many times over.
Her hands slip around his body to pull him as close as she can while she kisses him fervently. Kisses him like maybe if she does it enough it'll keep her father at bay. She knows what he will say to her of this. That she's too good for the Kingslayer and that she's thrown away everything for the attentions of an oathbreaking sister-fucker. She doesn't know what she'll do when the time comes, but stopping isn't an option. Not after what she's seen out there.
JAIME LANNISTER
It’s a hollow sense of security, knowing that because Jaime surplants him in the hierarchy of Westerosi society as a head of state, Jaime is free to do whatever he pleases with Lord Selwyn’s daughter, even if he disapproves. Were he merely a lord on equal footing with the Evenstar, it would be an issue he could press, but beyond urging them to cease their affair, there’s not much he can do — especially within the scope of the laws that govern the Westerland court. He recalls his grandfather having taken a...
Well, fuck.
She’s more than just his trusted, beloved paramour in the eyes of his people. Belatedly, he realizes that having acknowledged his affection for her openly meant that he had unknowingly given her the title of Chief Mistress.
Fuck.
That certainly complicated things, and he was going to have to tell her about it soon, but he would rather not release her mouth in favor of speaking when he oh so enjoys the feel of her own moving against his.
BRIENNE OF TARTH
The part of Brienne that's still a little girl is sad to be disappointing her father (and her island as a whole) once again. She doesn't take joy or pride in it, this failing of hers that brought her to this place. But Brienne isn't ashamed to be here, either. Not when he treats her with kindness and familiarity in front of others, and not here here where she's panting against his mouth and desperate for more despite the fact that this is exactly not the time to ask for it.
She hums, fighting the desire to wrap her legs around him and hold him fast to herself, and pulls away to look up at him. It's not warm in the armory but her cheeks are flushed with their shared heat and her lips are kiss-bitten and sore and she finds the faint sting pleasurable.
"We should go to Lady Sansa," she manages to say. She doesn't release him right away, but she says the words at least. "She'll know how to proceed, and she'll need time to arrange whatever needs doing."
JAIME LANNISTER
At first, he chases her lips when she draws back, stealing additional kisses between sentences. Much as he would love to indulge, to tell her in hushed, conspiratorial tones that they had to be quiet and fuck her against this table in this cold, tiny room, there are other more important matters at hand than getting their rocks off.
His son. Her father. Stannis Baratheon.
His son.
Jaime sighs, resting his forehead against hers and breathing out a warm sigh.
“Sansa and Jon,” he says. “I trust him. He deserves to be included. Bran Stark, too.”
BRIENNE OF TARTH
It makes her smile, the way he makes her feel wanted by following after her. If he'd pressed it, Brienne would have certainly given in, but she's so glad for his agreement too.
Her face drops at the mention of the others before she schools it away. It's been difficult returning to herself upon coming back to Winterfell, and even more still now that she has begun removing the metaphorical armor she wears in Jaime's presence.
But this is not her keep, and Jaime's family is his business, and she reminds herself that she's here to serve when it comes to matters that affect everyone. So Brienne does school the argument away, the same way she does when Tormund is advocating on behalf of the free folk and the way she does when Sansa reminds her that her duty is foremost to her liege lady.
She takes a breath and nods. "All right."
JAIME LANNISTER
Adept as ever when it comes to cluing into her discomfort, Jaime immediately amends his statement: “After. We’ll discuss this with Sansa first, and then Jon and Bran. I can speak to them on my own, if you would be more comfortable with it. I want Bran to have eyes on them — on both Tommen and the Evenstar.”
And you goes unsaid, but is certainly implied. Jaime will feel better once she’s off to meet with them knowing that he can check in with the Three-Eyed Raven and receive real time updates on them.
Reluctantly, he draws back, holding out his hand to help her off the desk.
BRIENNE OF TARTH
For a woman who most people see as dim, simple, and quiet, Brienne always has thoughts on the things she's witness to. In most situations, she's already in a position to school away any opinion that might show on her face, already in a mindset of duty and service. She's judgmental, but she knows her judgment is not always right.
So it's difficult to shift herself against Jaime in the myriad ways she needs to now that they're indulging in this intimacy which breaches every social boundary she's held to in the past. Her scowl softens a little because he's relenting without her having to say a word, but it doesn't melt away completely. She's still unhappy, especially with potentially taking Bran's focus away from more important threats in the north.
She reaches out for Jaime's hand anyway and gives a curt nod.
"I should go to my quarters and retrieve our other letters. Plans for how to proceed once the Stormlands were free to start funneling resources here."
JAIME LANNISTER
He keeps a hold of hers, needing to tell her this now, before he forgets. Before someone else unknowingly informs her of something they thought she was already aware of. He might have just blundered into the realization himself, but it’s something his people have clearly been aware of, thinking back on the way they’ve regarded her.
“Brienne, there’s something you should know. About us. About the... courtly customs of the Westerlands. I swear to you, I did not realize until now, with talk of your father, that I had inadvertently done this... but there are old rules, rules that still linger from the days of the Kings of the Rock. Rules my grandfather evoked, but my father refused to. Acknowledging you as openly as I do has named you Chief Mistress. It is, more or less, an official ranking position within the court of Casterly Rock.”
BRIENNE OF TARTH
She blinks, mind coming to a screeching halt.
Brienne opens her mouth, then shuts it. Then she opens it again, and a laugh barks out of her, disbelieving.
"I'm not a mistress." They're staring down an uncertain future, not establishing hierarchies for who's fucking who. She laughs again, thinks of all the women Selwyn took to bed and ejected within a year.
Brienne releases his hand to turn and brace both of hers on the desk.
JAIME LANNISTER
“I know you’re not.”
Jaime comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. His chin rests on her shoulder, a kiss pressed to the shell of her ear.
“You’re not, but it’s the perception my people are going to hold. I don’t regret publicly acknowledging my affections for you, nor am I shamed by them in any way, but it occurred to me what impression I had given them, and I wanted to make you aware of it before one of them said something to you. Or your father.”
Sighing, he bows his head and presses his forehead to her shoulder.
“It was never my intention to shame or insult you. You’re not my mistress. That’s not what I want you to be, that’s not what you are to me.”
BRIENNE OF TARTH
Her father would have been disappointed in her already, but this might make him finally disinherit her completely.
Jaime's words register with her, but she can't focus on them enough to have a coherent response. He feels far away despite touching her and speaking into her ear. He's saying sweet things, and she knows that when it comes to their bond there don't seem to be words adequate enough to express it.
If she'd known this was what would result in throwing caution to the wind, would she have changed her behavior? If she knew that her father would be here to witness her turpitude in person, would she have denied Jaime? What did she expect to come out of all of this?
"Thank you. For informing me," she says, and she doesn't like how stiff the words come out. She thinks he won't like how formal she sounds, but she'd been moments away from putting herself together to meet with Sansa. She tries to soften again, putting a hand over his where it's wrapped around her waist.
JAIME LANNISTER
To anyone else, perhaps the formality would feel strangely out of place, but Jaime is Jaime and it makes perfect sense to him that she would come off as prim and proper in this moment instead of sounding more like the woman he’s taken to bed. He doesn’t take offense to it. Not in the least.
He does turn her around — or try to, anyway, trying to get her to turn about in his arms so that she’s facing him.
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3 -- DONE
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