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herewegoagain999 · 4 years

Text

Warning- crude language ahead.

Part 3 of Tom getting stuck in the elevator with dear old Yassen.

One Hour Stuck in the Elevator~

"It's just a question."

"A dumb question."

"Still a question, mate."

"Tom, if you want to live to see your friend again I'm going to have to ask that you remain silent until we are rescued."

This had been the way the conversations have been going on for the past hour. Tom Harris stuck in a hot and dark elevator with a trained assassin.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I don't have an answer."

"Everyone has an answer."

"I don't."

"You're honestly telling me you don't have a favorite color."

"Yes."

"I refuse to accept that."

Yassen let out a heavy sigh as he glared a hole at the door of the lift.

~Two hours stuck in the elevator~

"Okay, fuck, marry, kill...Emma Stone, Emma Watson, and that bird that plays Cersei Lannister on Game of Thrones."

"No."

"That's not- oh. Okay. I got it. No problem. Fuck, Marry, Kill...Chris Evans, Brad Pitt, or that bloke who plays Robb Stark on Game of Thrones." Tom amended.

"No." Yassen answered a bit more forcefully.

"...Are you not answering because you don't know how to play or because you don't know who the people are? Because I can google the names for you."

"No."

"Then what do you propose we do until we get out of here?" Tom asked, finally irritated.

"We sit here quietly." Yassen replied.

"Mate, I've been cooped up in school all day and I had two candy bars before I got here. 'Quietly' isn't an option."

"It will be if you find yourself unconscious."

"...See that's just rude."

~ One and a half hours stuck in the elevator~

Tom smiled smugly as the Mission Impossible theme song began to ring from his mobile phone in his pocket. He chose to ignore the pointed look Yassen was giving him and his phone.

"Tom's super secret club house. What's the password?" The boy answered more cheerfully than he felt.

"You haven't gotten yourself shot yet have you?" Came Alex's first question.

"Not yet. Did you know Yassen has no favorite color? And that he doesn't even watch Game of Thrones?"

"Tom, please don't annoy him. If he kills you I'm more than likely going to die trying to repay the favor. And I don't wanna die quite yet."

"I'm so happy to hear that you're willing to die to defend my honor, mate."

"Tom..."

"Relax. He'll barely talk to me anyway. He's surprisingly a really boring person despite his job description." Tom replied casting a sideways glance to the man beside him who had his eyes closed and appeared to be meditating.

"Listen, Blunt will have the elevator running soon. Don't worry and don't cause any trouble."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bye! Yassen sends his love." Tom said as he hung up, which caused the assassin to finally open his eyes.

"Have you known Alex long?" Yassen questioned.

"Of course. Since we were young. He stopped a bunch of bullies from beating the shit out of me when we were younger. Ever since then we've been besties. Did you have a best friend growing up?"

Yassen was silent.

"Oh, come on. This is very one sided. I answered yours. You answer mine. That's how a conversation works." Tom objected.

Yassen was quiet for a moment more before he turned to the teen.

"Yes, I did. He was a lot like you in a way."

"Awesome?"

"Irritating."

Tom glared at the man.

"Are you still friends with him?"

"No." Was the man's only answer and even Tom recognized that it was time to drop the subject.

~ Half an hour later~

"Alex's version of 'soon' sure is taking a long time."

"I'm sure he's doing all he can." Yassen offered.

"Can you run out of air in a elevator?" Tom suddenly asked panicked.

"No. We'll be fine."

"We can starve though. I'm hungry."

"You said you ate candy before you got here."

"Yeah, but that was forever ago. I bet if I ordered a pizza it would get here quicker than MI6 would."

Yassen smirked.

"You do not like them."

Tom's expression turned dark.

"They're hurting my best friend."

"He could just tell them no."

Tom barked out a laugh.

"Could he? That easy, huh? Blunt's threatened to throw him into a orphanage and ship Jack back to America. He's doing what he has to so he can keep some semblence of his life in tact. Don't talk about what you don't know Mr. Killer Guy."

Yassen was mildly impressed by the teen's boldness considering his earlier fear.

There was another round of silence this time somewhat comfortable as an unspoken truce was formed. One thing was certain. Both killer and teenager had loyalty to the Rider family.

~ Forty five minutes later~

"And then-"

"Tom." Yassen interrupted the boy as he retold at great length how his past relationships had ended.

"Yes?"

Yassen wished for the millionth time that it had been Alex that had been stuck in here with him. He'd take an angry glaring teenager over this chatty hyper active one any day.

"You share too much." He finally answered the boy.

"And you too little. If it wasn't for me this entire adventure would have been a complete bore. You're welcome."

"I wouldn't call sitting in an elevator waiting to be rescued quite an adventure."

"Not all of us can have a secret spy life uncovered at fourteen. I'll take my mediocre and relatively safe adventures where I can get them." Tom defended.

"I suppose that's-"

"What is it you want to talk to Alex about?" Tom asked suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"Blunt said that you wanted to talk to Alex before they helped you retire. What was it you wanted to say to him? Because the last time you told him something he and I ended up crashing a SCORPIA party and then he disappeared for a couple weeks only to return with a bullet tearing through his chest."

Yassen ignored the accusatory tone.

"I believe that's between Alex and myself."

Tom laughed.

"And me as soon as we get back to his house. What part of best friend don't you understand? He tells me every thing...well not entirely everything. Not enough for me to be useful to any asshole trying to kidnap me for information about him."

Yassen considered the boy sitting across the elevator from him before closing his eyes and answering some of the boy's question.

"Blunt told him one of the reasons I was helping MI6 was to get myself away from SCORPIA. Which is true but not the full extent of my conditions."

"What is the full extent?"

"Alex can tell you after we get out of this wretched elevator I suppose."

It was in that moment that Tom realized that Yassen was actually trying to kill him. This man was trying to bore him to death and was very near doing just that.

But Tom Harris was determined to go down fighting.

"So... is it true you used to have a thing for Alex's dad?"

#Alex rider #yassen gregorovich #tom harris

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aviss · 3 years

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a year-in-review meme - for writers!

I thought up this writing meme for fic writers who might have been staring at the artists having their lovely and well-deserved collages of their work through the year - and wanted to join in the fun! also this works as a great reminder for those of you (and me) who’ve been thinking that they haven’t been writing as much as they want to, and allows you to go back to enjoy your old fic ;D

Rules: pick your favourite sentence from a work you posted / wrote during a month of 2020! if you didn’t write anything in any particular month, don’t worry! tell us what you were doing or use it as free space for runner-up sentences. after that, tag 8 people or more to do the meme!

I was tagged by the lovely @ladyxxdaydream so here is mine:

January:

Matchmaker - Kakashi/Iruka - I just love soft, established relationship for these two. Especially when they have a mischievous side.

On the way back to the living room, Kakashi grabbed him by the waist and pulled until Iruka was wedged between his legs and the table. "Are we going to tell him?" he questioned with a mischievous smile. He moved his hands to cup Iruka's ass, food apparently forgotten, and pressed his face against Iruka's stomach.

"Eventually. We can tease him a bit first."

Iruka felt the vibrations of Kakashi's chuckle against his abs, the warmth of his breath and the fingers pressing just barely on the cleft of his ass incredibly arousing. "You're evil," Kakashi said, approving. "I knew there was a reason I loved you."

"I thought it was because of my ass."

February:

Westeros Most Haunted - Jaime/Brienne - What can I say, I love horror stories.

They walked as quick as the darkness permitted, running there was as bad an idea as staying still, and clutched each other's hands. "This is the last time I'm filming without a full crew," she said, and as soon as she spoke there a single note began to play, softly at first but gaining volume the same as the noise had before.

She liked it even less than she had the noise.

Jaime's hand squeezed hers hard enough to hurt but she didn't complain. "Oh fuck," was all he said when a second note and then a third followed, then he was moving faster and pulling Brienne with him. "Run, Brienne, run!"

She did, she knew what song was beginning to play and she knew the doors would close when it did.

They didn't want to be trapped on this side of the door.

March:

Ghost in the Machine - Jaime/Brienne - WestWorld AU, because they made it too easy for me to go there.

"There is a war coming," Maeve said. Jaime wasn't surprised. There was always a war, somehow. That thing in Westworld the man had been talking about, the fear in his voice when he had spoken about it that Jaime had ignored at the time. "And I can't fight it on my own."

"Why me?" There had been so many like him, so many other hosts. Jaime knew about war, but only in his little place, in this little fantasy world someone had written for them.

Maeve could have chosen anyone to fight with her.

"Because you are like me, you fought your programing to get back to her the same way I always tried to get back to my daughter. If they hadn't closed this park, you would have eventually got there on your own, I just got you there faster." She handed him the tablet.

April:

D-Rank mission scrolls - Kakashi/Iruka - Iruka in sexy lady clothing, enough said.

Iruka thought about his options; he could run back home and hide under the bed, pack his belongings and flee the village in the middle of the night. Naruto would miss him but he'd always thought he'd make a pretty good missing-nin, though they'd probably send Kakashi after him and he'd die of embarrassment without even giving him a fight. He could also pretend there was nothing out of the ordinary with his attire, as if academy teachers usually dressed in sexy female clothes, apologize to Kakashi and knock on the next door, hoping this time it was Raidou's house. He could also murder Kotetsu for having such appalling penmanship, and the rest of his friends for not being where they should have been.

May:

In Vino Veritas - Kakashi/Iruka - Another of my favourite tropes, second chances

"I almost proposed, once upon a time." He downed his glass and refilled it, using the last of the second jar and signalling for a third. He was feeling the effects of the drink, his tongue loosening, but he didn't mind. Not if it was with Iruka.

Iruka's eyes sharpened on him. "You did? To whom?" There was something in his voice, curiosity and sadness and maybe some jealousy. It was that what made Kakashi think, fuck it, and throw open the can.

"To you."

Iruka closed his eyes as if in pain and downed his glass, refilling it and downing it again.

"I would have said yes." It was Kakashi's turn to drink to ease the lump in his throat. "Do you remember why we broke up?" he finally asked, as if the sake had given him the courage he needed for the question.

June:

The House on the side of the Road - Kakashi/Iruka - again, horror story. Tooke me over four years to finish, but it was worth it.

It was raining. Again.

It was the thing Kakashi hated the most about autumn. The rain, and the chill that settled in the air and made people's mood turn foul, and the fact that Umino Iruka had disappeared on a day not unlike this one, windy and chilly and rainy.

It had been a year since Iruka had failed to return from his mission, practically vanishing into thin air on the road between Ame and Konoha. That same road Kakashi was travelling through now. Kakashi could still remember everything about the day Iruka had been declared MIA, the search party that had been sent to Ame to look for either him or his body. They had returned empty-handed, shaking their heads and declaring Iruka had just vanished into thin air. Without a body, without proof of any attack on him, Iruka couldn't be declared dead. The conclusion, one that didn't sit well with anyone who had ever known him, was that he had deflected, gone rogue.

July:

This Above All - Jaime/Brienne - Jaime coming out as genderfluid with his own parade

That's not the main thing, though. Seeing it like that, hearing the same things Cersei used to tell him growing up has done for Jaime what years of therapy have not managed. He's spent years and thousands of dragons coming to grips with the fact that he's not a freak for feeling sometimes like a woman and wanting soft things for himself, but he hadn't yet found the resolve to take the last step to be fully himself in public and bring the wrath of Tywin over his head.

Now he's angry enough at the treatment of his nephew to get the heir of the Lannister empire, at least until Tywin sees this, on the front page of all magazines dressed as a woman on the pride parade. He has a plan, he's kind of constructed his career around this moment without acknowledging he was doing it, has put the money his mother let him towards his own architecture studio and other small-time investments. Small-time for a Lannister but enough that he doesn't have to fear being left without resources. And neither does his cousin.

Jaime's also contacted an old friend and knows there is a place in the Martell float for him, ensuring maximum visibility because Jaime can do nothing by halves; if he's going to set his life on fire, he wants a bonfire the Seven can see from the heavens.

August:

Just as Sweet (just as thorny) - Jaime/Brienne - Secret identities, second chances, competency kink. It has all my faves

Jaime shouldn't be doing this.

He's going to be fired or punched, more than likely both. It will be no less than he deserves, he's broken the one rule of his department and he was already on shaky ground with Selmy after the whole Baratheon operation fuckup. If this gets back to him, and he doesn't fool himself that it won't, Jaime's as good as out of a job and not even his family name can save him this time. At the very least he'll be reassigned to the fucking Wall unit, something Selmy has been threatening to do for years when Jaime becomes especially obnoxious.

He looks at Brienne, her blue eyes wide and filling with tears, her entire posture radiating hurt and shock and anger and he couldn't care less. If she forgives him and gives him another chance, Jaime will present his resignation himself.

"Jay?" Brienne asks, her voice lost in the din of the club but he's seen her mouth shape that name enough times he can hear her voice in his head, down to the break at the end.

He leans forward again. "Jaime, my name is Jaime."

That's when she punches him.

September:

Skin Deep - Jaime/Brienne - Brienne owns a strip club asn it’s the most oblivious person on earth.

"She shook my hand," Jaime moans into his drink while Pia and Hilda laugh at him. It's Brienne day off and Jaime is there, sitting in her club surrounded by her employees and friends and missing her. Maybe she's really not interested, though he's seen her looking and there have been times when she was blushing and looking at his mouth, that Jaime was convinced he could just lean forward and kiss her and she'd kiss back, then those moments pass and he's back to wondering if he really is so out of practice flirting that she's not realized yet. If she wasn't interested she would just reject his advances, wouldn't she? "You all suck as wingmen and Brienne is the most oblivious person on earth. What do I have to do, dance naked in front of her so she realizes I want her!"

He groans into his drink when he sees the look Pia and Hilda exchange. "That's an excellent idea, Jaime. Roz! Satin! Come here!"

Jaime looks from one to the other and shakes his head vehemently. "No way. I am not doing that."

Famous last words.

October:

Hollow - Jaime/Brienne - The FMA AU I am not writing (and I keep not writing). This one is not posted because it insists on being a multichapter and I refuseto post it until I have at least another chapter done.

"Another fool," a voice says, low and all encompassing, and Jaime turns in the direction it came from to find nothing but a vague shape of a person, almost like a cutout of lines in the whiteness except for deep red eyes and the biggest ruby ever where its throat should be. "Who are you looking for, fool? Lover or family?"

Jaime narrows his eyes at the speaker. "Neither," he says, because Brienne is almost one of those things, but he's never had the courage to examine which one. "Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter, I've had many names since the beginning of time. I'm the World, and The Flames, and Truth, and Magic and Alchemy. I'm Everything and I am Nothing. " The eyes move past Jaime's shoulder and he turns to look, where there was nothing before now a huge door wreathed in flames stands. "And you, fool, are about to learn all I know."

November:

The Drowned Heart - Jaime/Brienne - an Old Guard AU where I make them suffer a lot.

Brienne pushes herself up on her elbows to see him better. "Will I see you again?" she asks instead of asking him to stay.

"Of course you will, wench, I don't think I can stay away from you forever." He looks at her with some chagrin. "I might kill you again when I do."

"I don't mind," Brienne says, it's the truth. "As long as you kiss me again when I come back."

Jaime closes the distance between them in two quick strides and kneels next to her, hands tangling on her head as he presses their lips together. This kiss is the kind she remembers, the kind they have shared a million times just because they could. It's gentle and sweet, a slow exploration of her mouth, his tongue probing and teasing, and so very arousing. He kisses her, and kisses her until they both run out of breath, and then puts their foreheads together and the look in his eyes is so full of love she wants to cry again.

"I will always kiss you again."

December:

The Prodigal Son - Jaime/Brienne - A view of a good future through the eyes of an outsider.

Spring had finally come to the Westerlands after the longest and harshest winter in memory, something Celys had not been sure they would live to see. The realm had been ravaged by war and cold and famine, too many people had died during that time, and even those living in Lannisport and the small towns surrounding Casterly Rock had felt the bite of hunger, something not even the Lannister gold had been able to keep at bay.

Now the snow had melted and the sun warmed them again, a new crop had been planted and there was a new Targaryen King in King's Landing, one with the blood of the dragons but raised as a northerner, and the Lord of Casterly Rock was his Hand.

And tagging @albatrossisland @ddagent @sdwolfpup @nire-the-mithridatist @scoundrels-in-love @wildlingoftarth @slipsthrufingers @angel-deux-writes and whoever else wants to do it!

#tag games #My writing #Jaime x Brienne #kakashi/iruka

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ddagent · 4 years

Note

Jaime is a fan of actress!Brienne and her show Oathkeeper, even going so far as to cosplay at events she attends. He is not, however, a fan of her love interest, played by Hyle Hunt. YES PLEASE

“Seven Hells, mate, you look exactly like Goldenhand!”

Jaime grinned at the man ahead of him in the queue. He looked down at his breastplate; the burnished steel and actual gold lion heads. “What, this old thing?”

“Um, yes! You look more like Goldenhand than the guy they got to play him on Oathkeeper!”

As his fellow con attendee nudged his friends and pointed at Jaime’s breastplate and broadsword, his brother sighed. Jaime frowned. “What?”

“You know full well that you look exactly like Goldenhand the Just. Not only because Goldenhand was a Lannister, but because you spent more than people spend on a house on your cosplay.”

Jaime shrugged as best he could in his armour. “You’re always saying I should live a little.”

“Yes, but buy a yacht; a round of drinks in a bar. Not a historically accurate suit of armour and an actual Valyrian steel blade.”

“It’s foam. Wouldn’t get through the metal detectors otherwise.”

Tyrion hung his head, but quickly lifted it as the doors to King’s Landing Comic-Con opened. Jaime did not share his brother’s love of wine or women, and Tyrion did not share his love of fencing or boxing, but the television show Oathkeeper was something that they could enjoy together. They had viewing parties every week, and were now attending their first convention in the hope of meeting the cast and crew. Tyrion, and no doubt most of the men in the queue, were hoping to meet Margaery Tyrell, famous for playing Queen Rose on the show.

Jaime, however, had his eye on someone else.

As the queue progressed inside, Jaime rested his hand on the scabbard he hoped to get signed by Brienne Tarth, the actress playing Lady Alysanne, who would later become the Blue Knight. As a child, Jaime had been fascinated by stories of Ser Blue and Goldenhand; as an adult, he had devoured a series of historical fiction novels set in the period. The show was...okay. Far too much nudity; several factual inaccuracies that Jaime did not care for at all. But Brienne Tarth was perfect.

And today, he would get to meet her.

The line pitched forward, and the Lannister brothers entered the exhibition centre. The cast and crew of Oathkeeper were sat at a string of tables on the east side; queues already forming for autographs and selfies. Tyrion pointed at the furthest table. “There she is. Margaery Tyrell.”

“And Jon Snow beside her. He looks confused.”

“Probably can’t remember what show he’s on.” They shared a laugh. The Wolf King and the White Walkers were the most boring storyline on Oathkeeper in Jaime’s opinion. “And there’s your least favourite person.”

“I’d give up my entire inheritance to see Cersei at a convention, but I don’t think that’s her.” Tyrion rolled his eyes and pointed at the table closest to them; sitting behind it was the actor who played Goldenhand. Hyle Hunt. “Oh, that least favourite person. Smith save us all, he’s terrible. I don’t know why they haven’t fired him. He can’t act. And he has no chemistry with Brienne. None.”

“You know, I think I might have heard this before. Was it the critical reviews of last season? The online fan boards?” Tyrion tapped his thumb and forefinger on his chin. “No, I think it was you during every episode.”

Jaime glared at his brother. “Don’t you have Margaery Tyrell to meet?”

His brother grinned. “That I do. Meet back here when we’re done? We can have a look at the stalls before the photo ops.” Jaime nodded. “Fare thee well, Goldenhand. Go get your maiden.”

He flipped his brother the finger; Tyrion cackling as joined the throng of people desperate to meet the beauty playing Queen Rose. Jaime had no interest in Margaery Tyrell. Or, in fact, any of the other actors from Oathkeeper signing at the convention that day. He only had eyes for Brienne Tarth. Fuck. Jaime wiped his damp hand on his historically accurate breeches and tried to recall his plan of what to say. He’d been practising it in the mirror for months ever since Tyrion had sent him a link to the con. At least he’d have some time to wait in the queue to collect himself.

But, as Jaime approached Brienne Tarth’s table, he saw that no one was waiting. Margaery Tyrell had a ticketing system attached to her signing. Even Hyle fucking Hunt had a queue of ten people. But no one wanted to talk to the woman playing the first female knight. Fuck that.

Jaime approached the desk. Up close, he could see the freckles adorning her cheeks in a way that an HD television could never represent; the white scar above her lip that they covered with make-up. And when she lifted her head, bemusement crossing her features at his presence, he realised that Brienne’s eyes really were that blue. Fuck.

“Hello,” she greeted, and Jaime lost all power of thought and speech. “Would you like an autograph?”

He wet his top lip, struggling for the words. All he could think was blue. “Yes,” he managed to get out. “Yes, I would.”

Jaime handed her assistant a twenty dragon note. He’d intended to get the scabbard signed, but instead, he looked at the array of stills in front of Brienne. All were group shots; some of the cast, two of her and Hyle. None of Lady Alysanne. He frowned. “Do you have any stills of just you?”

This time it was Brienne’s turn to lose the power of speech. She glanced at the photographs in front of her, muttering to herself, “No one really—” before cutting off her sentence and turning to her assistant. “Podrick, do we have those stills from last season?”

“I think so; let me check.”

Podrick, good lad that he was, produced a slim stack of production shots of Lady Alysanne: one at Queen Rose’s wedding, and one in her blue armour; a gift from Goldenhand. Jaime chose the armoured picture. Brienne beamed, and warmth spread through him at the sight of her smile. “That’s my favourite, too. What’s your name?”

“Jaime.”

Brienne laughed, immediately clamping her hand over her mouth as she did so. Her blue eyes widened; her hand resting upon his wrist in a gentle touch. “I am so sorry; I didn’t mean to–it’s just, you’re dressed as Goldenhand, and canonically, Goldenhand’s name was—”

“Jaime Lannister, I know.” He grinned, staring down more than once at Brienne’s hand on his wrist. “I’m named after him. And you’re named after the Blue Knight.”

At that, Brienne retreated, leaning backwards in her seat. “I’ve never said that in any interviews.”

“You didn’t need to. I know my history. Better than the Oathkeeper producers that’s for sure.”

Brienne snorted, betraying her own opinion, but quickly composed herself as she scribbled on the still of Lady Alysanne. She handed Jaime his autograph. “I really like your cosplay, Jaime.”

“And I really like you—” Fuck, Jaime, don’t be weird. “—your portrayal of Lady Alysanne. She’s my favourite character.”

Behind him, someone cleared their throat. A couple of people had joined Brienne’s queue, now; group stills requiring Brienne’s signature clutched in their hands. Jaime nodded at Brienne and left her to continue signing. When he was out of the pit, he looked at the autograph Brienne had given and grinned.

To Ser Jaime,

You are truly a knight of the Seven Kingdoms; thank you for your bravery in approaching my table when few else would. Enjoy Season 3.

Lady Brienne of Tarth

Jaime couldn’t stop smiling, even when Tyrion returned clutching his own autograph.

#braime #jaime x brienne #ship: braime #remuslovestonks #mine: paragraph prompts

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thetrailofyourbloodinthesnow · 4 years

Photo

for the prompt Joanna and children

for @incurablescribbler

The song of steel lures Joanna to her window. In the distance she can see the large figure of the Master-at-arms, looking over two boys clashing swords: a tall one with dark brown hair and a smaller one with golden curls whose back is turned to Joanna. The swords they use have dull edges, fit for practice, yet, the sight of them still makes Joanna nervous. Perhaps she’s being overprotective, but she can’t shake the feeling than her son is too young for steel and that he’ll should be sticking to wooden swords. But Jaime had insisted – and the Master-at-arms had backed him – that he was ready for them, and seeing him practicing, she admits that he was right; the boy he’s fighting with is older and already a squire, and yet he’s getting bested by her son.

He’ll make a great knight one day. Usually that thought makes her chest swell with pride. Instead, right now, it makes her sad and she can’t understand why. Is it because she can feel him slipping away from his mother’s arms into a world of swords and horses, jousts and mêlées, blood and sweat, a world in which his mother has no place?

It’s a somber thought, that kind of which have crossed her mind more often lately. Is this room. I'm not made to be locked in here. She’s used to roam the castle, giving orders and making sure they are followed through, or holding court in the audience chamber, or greeting guests in the courtyard, anything but staying in her chambers staring at the ceiling all day. She wishes terribly to go back to her routine, but the Master had been firm in his orders that she keeps to her chambers resting; for her own sake and the sake of the child she carries. I wouldn’t be able to do much anyway, she thinks resigned. My belly is so swollen that even a small walk would leave me gasping for air.

Even then, the boredom of her enclosure doesn’t weight on her as much of the loneliness does. If only her husband was at her side. But Tywin is away at King’s Landing, handling the realm in the name of a king that mistrust him more every day. At times like this she wants to ask him to renounce his post, to stay with her ruling Casterly Rock together as it’s meant to be. But she knows it’s a lost cause, that he trusts her to rule alone over their lands. As well as over their household, their family and over herself. So, she never lets her desires show on the letters she sends him regularly, and resigns herself to keep missing her son and her husband.

At least she has her daughter. Her Cersei comes to visit her every day and Joanna tries to teach her the business of being a lady. It was easier before, when she could teach her by example – she would go about her duties with her daughter trailing behind, following her mother into a world of dresses and ornaments, balls and drawing room gatherings, courtesies and good manners, and blood and sweat too, but of a different kind. She would set a small chair besides her High Seat so Cersei could accompany her while she listened to the petitioners that came to the Rock. She would announce her verdicts and explained the reasoning behind them to the girl, who was quick to understand. The memory of her daughter sitting next to her – her back straight and chin up, trying to look imposing at eight years old – brings a smile to Joanna’s face. She will make a fine lady one day.

Or a queen. Tywin hasn’t said it yet, but Joanna is not blind to her husband’s ambition. She knows he would like to see his daughter wed to young prince Rhaegar, and one day his grandson on the Iron Throne. It was that type of ambition that draw her to him in the first place; that impulse of climbing higher and having the guts and the cunning to reach the top. It was his ambition that brought back the prestige of their house after Lord Tytos made them the laughing stock of the realm. But Joanna worries that her husband might be overreaching. For another King, a daughter of House Lannister would make a fine match for the Prince of Dragonstone, but is Aerys they are talking about – capricious, envious, prideful Aerys – who would likely reject the alliance just to slight her husband, as he so delights in doing.

She can’t forget how he humiliated her at the Anniversary Tourney. Remembering it still makes her teeth grind. He had asked her (with his wine-stinking breath) if giving suck to her twins had ruined her breasts, “which were so high and proud." Tywin was so angry that he presented his renounce, but the King refused to accept it. And, to Joanna’s frustration, he stayed in his post to this day. But she knows he hasn’t forgotten either, not that nor any other slight. He remembers them all and will remember to pay them back twofold. A Lannister always pays his debts.

Yet, even knowing that, to think of her daughter being in the vicinity of that man sickens her. A crown is no less than Cersei deserves, but if to have it she must go to the wolf’s den then Joanna would prefer that she stayed crownless in Casterly Rock forever.

Crown in her future of not, there’s still a lot that she must teach Cersei, and it seems she should start with how to keep one’s temper. She’s pleasantly surprised when the groom announces – hours before she expected them – that Cersei and her Septa request entrance to my lady’s chamber for their daily visit. Her smile disappears, however, when Septa Lynora enters her chamber with a sour expression, carrying her daughter by the wrist, who looks at the septa as if she wants to grind her to sand. Oh, now what?

"My lady, forgive me for bothering you by coming here early. But I’m afraid your daughter needs to be disciplined.”

“And why don’t you discipline her yourself, septa?” Joanna asks, irritated. “Isn’t that your job?”

“I...” Septa Lynora seems to lose her voice. And Joanna catches Cersei trying to hide her smile at the older woman’s plight.

“What did she do?” Joanna nods at Cersei who immediately loses her glee.

“She pushed Ella Marbrand into a mud puddle,” the septa replies. Ella Marbrand was the newest of Cersei’s companions. She and her brother Addam had arrived at Casterly Rock barely a fortnight earlier. And while his brother (who served as a page) and Jaime had become fast friends, she and Cersei were having more of a rough start.

“She deserved it!” Cersei stomps her feet in the ground. “She was being such a pretentious moron.” Her daughter then goes on a long rant about the girl; how she’d been bragging all day about the things she’d brought with her from Ashemark: fine dresses, rare jewelry, exquisite perfumes, and so on and so forth. She also presumed of her relatives; their position at court, their ancient and exalted lineage, and their connections with other Houses. Especially with the Lannister themselves. Who could forget that lord Tywin’s mother was born a Marbrand? “She even said that we should strengthen the ties between our families by having the heir of Casterly Rock married to a Marbrand again,” Cersei sounds outraged. “She meant she should marry Jaime!” she crinkles her nose at the idea.

Joanna lets her rant, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Petty fights between girls were the least of her concerns. And really, her daughter should learn to ignore silly comments from a girl who clearly has more ambition than brain.

“And you know what else she said?” Cersei doesn’t seem to notice her mother’s lack of interest and continues unrestrained. “She said that father seems to be getting too full of himself, thinking he is the king instead of Aerys. That, as capable as he is, someone needs to remind him that he is really just a servant to the Iron Throne.”

“She said that?” That does piques Joanna’s interest. The words of a child are of little importance, but children often repeat the words of their elders. House Marbrand had been a loyal vassal to the Lannister in the past, but loyalties could change like the weather. She makes a mental note to mention it to Tywin in her next letter. “Did she mention hearing that from someone else?”

“Yes, she said she heard it from her cousin who lives at court, and that many others agree. Such a liar.” She lets out a huff. “That was when I pushed her into the mud.”

Joanna can’t help feeling a certain pride at her daughter’s fierceness in defending her father – a true lioness – but she knows she can’t let that behavior carry on.

“You are a lady, Cersei. You can’t toss your friends in the mud. No matter what they say”

“She’s not my friend! She’s a horrid little airhead. I don’t like her at all, can’t you send her home?” Joanna knows her daughter is truly upset, but her little pout is rather adorable. It does a lot to ease her annoyance at her childishness. After all, she is a child. She just needs to be taught better.

Joanna asks the septa to leave them alone and gestures Cersei to sit next to her.

“I cannot send her home; it would be considered an insult by the Marbrands.” She explains calmly. “Furthermore, there’s something you need to understand: whether you like her or not plays no role in her being your companion.” Cersei starts to protest that, but Joanna carries on, “She is your lady because is critical for our House that we foster good relationships with our vassals. Is important that you are her friend, or at least that you’re cordial to her. Chances are, you will know ladies that you like even less than Ella Marbrand, but you must always be courteous no matter what. You, my love, are a daughter of House Lannister. You carry our reputation on your shoulders. You must never lower to the level of any ‘little airhead’, understand?”

“I guess…” Cersei admits reluctantly.

“And more importantly,” Joanna continues, “The maidens that you befriend today will one day become the wives of your brother’s Bannermen and the mothers to their heirs, and they will have influence over their husbands and sons. You will find that the connections you form now will come very handy once you’ve grown.” She thinks of her friend the Princess of Dorne; how they had met as young girls serving as ladies to princess Raella, and how beneficial that connection was turning out to be. Tywin wasn’t the only one who had plans for their children’s future. “So, you must make peace with Ella Marbrand.”

“But mother…”

“No buts. You will apologize to her before the day is done. That’s an order, Cersei.”

Her daughter’s jaw clenches tightly for a moment before begrudgingly saying: “Yes, mother.”

“Good girl.” Joanna runs her fingers through Cersei’s golden locks, but she stays stiff, unacknowledging her mother’s caress. “I know you’ll become a great lady. You’ll make your father proud.” That manages to bring a smile to her lips, and she lets Joanna pull her closer and place her arm around her little shoulders. “Now, tell me what else happened to you today.”

Cersei leans her head upon Joanna’s shoulders and begins describing her lessons with the Maester, her horse ride through Lannisport, her games with Jaime, and all her other activities, while Joanna listens attentively and feels glad that her daughter’s life is full of joy and innocence, where the only thing that can bother her are petty fights with other girls than can be easily resolved. Spending those moments with her daughter, talking and laughing with her, is enough to wash away the gloomy mood that had taken over her earlier. She bids goodbye to Cersei for the afternoon with a kiss in her forehead and an exhortation to apologize to Ella Marbrand before the day is done.

Alone again, Joanna rests upon her comfiest couch and begins going through the account books that the Steward had left her. Then, a sudden drowsiness assails her, the numbers begin to blend before her eyes and her eyelids close on their own accord.

A tapping on her door awakes her. She doesn’t know how long she slept, but a quick look at the window reveals her that is beginning to dusk. She allows the caller to enter, and it’s the groom, who announce her that Septa Lynora once again request entrance in her chambers.

Joanna’s first thought is that Cersei’s apology must not have gone as well as she had expected. The septa’s face is ashen and somehow seems more winkled than earlier (something Joanna wouldn’t have thought possible). But the girl who accompanies her is not Cersei. Rather, is a scrawny girl who wears a handmaid’s attire. She’s casting nervous glances upon every place in the room except for Joanna’s face.

“My lady, forgive me for bothering you again,” begins the old septa. “But there’s a grave matter that I must inform you of.” She beckons the reluctant girl to stand next to her and continues: “This maid came to speak to me about something she saw today.” Septa Lynora swallows audibly as she struggles with her speech. “She says that she surprised my lady’s twins doing some… unspeakable acts.”

Unspeakable acts? Joanna knows that the septa has an inclination to dramatics and might use that term for any childish misdeed. But something tells her that wherever Jaime and Cersei were doing was grave indeed. Though she cannot imagine what it could have been. “What did she saw them do?” she asks.

“It’s better if you explain it yourself,” Septa Lynora tells the girl who answers her with a look of dismay. “Speak, child,” the Septa commands the servant, and speak she does…

Joanna listens incredulous to the girl’s tell. Her mind struggles to even imagine it. Cersei and Jaime… But they are just children… No, they couldn’t have been doing that… Impossible, no!...

After the servant finishes speaking, Joanna stays sitting there, unmoving, staring at the distance. After a few uncomfortable moments, Septa Lynora clears her throat and inquires, “My lady, are you all right?”

Joanna turns her eyes to the older woman. “Do you believe this? Did you speak to them?” she asks in a taut voice.

“I did speak to them, my lady,” the septa replies, while fidgeting with her woven belt. “They denied it at first, but I saw the fault in their faces, especially in young Jaime’s. It was only after I promised that I wouldn’t tell you that they confessed,” she looks into Joanna’s eyes. “Their confession matched this handmaid’s story. It’s true.”

It’s true. It’s true. It’s true. Those words keep echoing in Joanna’s head as the world begins to whirl around her. Shock, horror and disgust battle for dominance inside of her. Her stomach flips. She gets up abruptly – startling the two other women – and staggers to reach the chamber pot at the side of her bed. She falls heavily to her knees and empties her stomach into the pot.

“My lady!” she hears the septa shriek, and a moment later she feels someone sinking next to her and holding her shoulders, and someone else holding her hair back from her face. Joanna’s stomach keeps on contracting violently and choking her with vomit until everything is finally out.

When she’s able to breathe again, she looks to her right and sees that is the girl who is holding her. Joanna shakes her hands off and turns her eyes from her. She can’t even look at her; that dark raven, bringer of dark words. Her eyes swarm up with tears. “Leave,” she orders. She once told Cersei that tears were a woman’s weapons, but she doesn’t feel protected by them now. In fact, she only feels the humiliation of being seen so vulnerable. “The two of you leave now!”

The girl doesn’t need to be told twice, she rises from the floor and after curtsying practically runs out of the room. The septa stays where she is, thought. “My lady, shouldn’t I call the Maester? You’re not well…”

“No!” She can’t stand someone else seeing her like this. “Just leave me alone!” After a final look of concern, Septa Lynora curtsies and turns to leave as well. “Wait!” Joanna stops her right before she closes the door. “The children. You must separate them. Place Jaime’s room far from Cersei’s.” The septa nods and finally leaves.

Even after they had left the nursery, the twins couldn’t stand to be apart. So, Joanna had placed their rooms across from each other, and they had the custom of staying in each other’s bed at night. And she had allowed that, thinking they were still too young for it to be inappropriate. She feels sick thinking about it.

Her twins. Her precious babies. They had always been so alike that only their clothes told them apart. Together everywhere they went. Seeming to understand each other without the need of words. Their connection had always seemed so sweet to Joanna. She’d been glad that, despite their difference in gender and personality, they always got along so well.

Now, she didn’t know what to think. How couldn’t she have noticed it? Had she unknowingly allowed it or even encouraged it? She doesn’t know and that’s the worst part. This revelation makes her doubt herself and her motherhood at the worst possible time: when she’s about to bring another child into the world.

Joanna stays curled up on the floor of her chambers, pressing her head against the side of her bed as the sobs bust up through her throat. A long while after, when her crying has subdued, she gets up with great difficulty and sits upon the bed, drying her tear-stained face. Her breakdown passed; she takes a decision. She couldn’t prevent what happened, but she can still fix it.

It’s past sunset when she has the maid brought back to her presence. Joanna is the image of composure and pose as she politely thanks her for her services to house Lannister, and informs her that said services will be no longer needed. The girl protests at losing her job, saying she has done nothing to deserve being dismissed, that she was only warning m’lady of what she saw. Joanna interrupts her; she doesn’t want to hear again about what the girl had seen. She would rather forget that she ever heard it.

She hands the maid a leather pouch. The girl opens it; there’s a pause and then her lips curl at its content.

Joanna hates that smile. She imagines the wench in a filthy tavern, presuming of her gold, telling everyone within an earshot how the Lady of Casterly Rock had given it to her to keep her children’s dirty secrets.

She yanks the maid’s arm and lowers her to her face. The girl cries out as Joanna’s nails dig into her flesh.

“You won’t say a word of it,” she orders. “You understand? Not a word, or I will have your head!”

“Y-yes m’lady,” the girl’s eyes are wide with terror. “I won’t say anything.”

Joanna lets her go and the girl scurries off the room without looking back.

When she’s alone again, Joanna shrinks in her chair with a sigh, it has been a long day and she feels dreadfully tired. What she wants more in the world right now is to lay in her coverts and sleep – hopefully she will awake to find out that it has all been a nightmare – but there’s still something she must do before the night is over.

Joanna makes her way to Cersei’s chambers; a guard has been posted at her door to make sure her twin doesn’t get in or – more likely – that she gets out. Inside, it looks as if a tornado has rampaged the room. Tables have been turned and curtains have been ripped, the articles of Cersei’s vanity have been tossed around and her garments sprawled across the floor. Even her favorite dolls have not survived her fit. Finding nothing else to target her anger at, Cersei finally resigned to sit by her window, frowning at the glass as if trying to break it with the sheer force of her glare. Septa Lynora is standing at her side chastising her, but Cersei simply ignores her. Until she sees Joanna's reflection in the glass and rushes to her.

“Mother!” She tries to wrap her little arms around Joanna’s middle, – something made difficult by her protruding belly – sure that her salvation has finally arrived. “Mother, Septa Lynora has looked me in my room. She doesn’t want to let me see Jaime. Mother, tell her to let me out.”

But she is left cold when Joanna doesn’t immediately return her embrace to comfort her, bad mouthing the Septa for mistreating her child. Instead Joanna looks hard at her and crosses her arms. “Septa Lynora has only done what I order her to do.”

Cersei steps back as if she’s been struck. “But, why?” she whines outraged.

“Don’t play fool, Cersei. You know exactly why.”

“I’ve been trying to lecture her on the grievous sin she has committed,” Septa Lynora intervenes. “But she resorted to storm her room in a rage, as my Lady can see,” she gestures at the surrounding mess. “Even when I told her that we could pray for her forgiveness…”

“I don’t need to pray for forgiveness, you old hag!” Cersei snaps. “I already told you, we did nothing wrong!”

“That’s not what the servant girl saw. Nor what you admitted to Septa Lynora earlier.”

“I lied, mother. Septa Lynora was yelling at me to admit to whatever that girl said she saw. I got scared. I only said what she wanted me to say.” With her watery eyes and lip trembling, Cersei is rather convincing. Joanna wants to believe her, but she knows her daughter; Cersei has sufficient stubbornness in her to look at the blue sky and claim it is green. She can’t have suddenly become so afraid of her Septa – who never had much power to intimidate her before – that she would admit to something she hadn’t done.

“Really?” Joanna asks in a sarcasm-soaked voice. “Or was it that you believed the Septa’s words that she wouldn’t tell your mother if you admitted to her what you did?”

“N-no, mother,” Cersei stutters. “She said that? She lied to you. They both did.”

“So, everyone always lies except for you, Cersei. Is that’s how it is?”

“Yes! I mean, no. I mean…” she’s babbling in a way she rarely does. Except when she knows she has been caught.

“And tell me, why Septa Lynora would want to inculpate you with something like this?” Joanna can feel the anger building up inside her, forming a tight burning ball in her guts. But she wills herself to keep her voice calm. She doesn’t want to scream at her child. She only wants the truth. “What will she gain from it?”

“I-I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her? She’s…”

“Enough!” Joanna snaps and immediately regrets it when Cersei recoils from her. She breathes deeply and says evenly: “Cersei, you already are in a truly serious problem. If you don’t want to make it worse, you must be honest. Don’t try to deviate from the subject or blame others. Just tell me the full truth.”

Her daughter stays quiet, her face turning pink and her eyes cast down, unable to bear the burden of her mother’s stare.

“Won’t you say anything?” there’s an edge of desperation in Joanna voice. Because she truly wants Cersei to deny what she’s been accused of, and for her denial to make sense, so she can believe her. She wants none of this to be true. But Cersei is silent as a grave. Joanna sights again, “Very well, since you won’t speak to me, I will go. I’ll come back tomorrow and see if you’re willing to tell the truth. You are not allowed to leave your chambers till then.”

Cersei’s rage reawakens: “That’s not fair!” tears of frustration start to stream down her flushed cheeks. “Why don’t you believe me, mother? That serving wench lied to you. We did nothing wrong!”

Joanna is not listening anymore. She turns back and leaves the chambers without another word. Once outside, she begins her trek to the other end of the Rock, where her son has been housed. She has to stop several times on the way to catch her breath and give some relief to her swollen feet that makes every step feel like she’s walking on spikes. After what feels like an eternity, she reaches her son’s door.

Unlike his sister, Jaime receives her without objection. He doesn’t say much, and keeps his head lowered, seemingly unable to meet his mother’s eyes. Seeing him thus makes Joanna’s heart ache even more than Cersei’s harsh words, for she sees an admission of guilt.

“Jaime, look at me,” she keeps her tone calm, but firm, she wants him to know she’s not there to scream and rage at him. Her son looks up tentatively from beneath his eyelashes. “I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be fully honest with me. Were you and Cersei doing what that maid said she saw you do?”

Jaime averts his eyes again and nods. “But we were just playing,” he explains. “We saw the dogs in the kennels doing it, and the horses too. We were trying to imitate them, and it felt good, so…”

“Those aren’t games, Jaime.” Although she feels relieved to hear him describing it as such. They were just children plays; misguided but innocent. Not the unnatural sinful tendencies that Septa Lynora had made them out to be. They are children; they just need to be taught better. “You are not dogs or horses. Children should never do those things, especially if they are siblings.”

“W-we didn’t know that,” he murmurs meekly.

“I believe you,” she says, and Jaime sights relieved. “But, remember what your father said to you the last time you saw him?”

“He said that I was the Lord of Casterly Rock in his absence, and that I had to protect my mother and sister,” he recalls solemnly.

“Precisely. But you did the exact opposite of that today.” Confusion and dismay are plain in Jaime’s face. He knew that he had done wrong, but he hadn’t realized how he had failed his father. “If these were to be known, her reputation would be ruined. She wouldn’t be able to find a good husband.”

“Does she have to get married?”

“Yes,” Joanna’s tone leaves no room for debate. She remembers Cersei’s outrage at the idea of Jaime marring Ella Marbrand; it doesn’t seem so innocent anymore. “It’s inevitable. When she’s of age, she will marry and start a family. And so will you. Or would you have your sister be a spinster?” She makes it sound like a fate worse than death.

Jaime shakes his head. “No, I don’t want that.” His lip trembles and tears began to flow from his emerald eyes. “I’m sorry,” he sobs.

“I forgive you.” Joanna draws her handkerchief and wipes away her son’s tears. “Wrongs done in ignorance can be forgiven. As long as you don’t repeat them. Listen, I know you love your sister. I understand that you feel like you’re two parts of a whole. It makes sense; you’ve been together since before you were born. But there are things that you cannot share with her. Your bond has a limit, and today you have crossed it.” She gently lifts Jaime’s chin with her hand, looking him straight in the eyes. “Promise me, Jaime, that you will never do that again. Or I will have no choice but to tell your father.”

“I promise,” he’s so serious when he says it that Joanna believes him hole-heartily. She draws him to her arms, tucking him under her chin. She begins to rock him gently, letting the warmth of his body permeate her own, overturning all the doubts and fears that besiege her. She feels assured again.

Jaime will be a great knight one day. Cersei will be a great lady. And the child that is coming will follow their lead.

As long as the Gods give her breath, she’ll make sure of that.

#asoiaf #asoiaf fic #joanna lannister #jaime lannister #cersei lannister #my edits #my fics

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themidnightfarmer · 4 years

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Gentle souls || Simon & Jared

Location: Simons house. Involved: @inconvenientsimonstrocity and @themidnightfarmer Description: Simon contacted Jared for a little aid with some resident chickcharney. Triggers: n/a this shit fluffy af

He wasn’t usually so forward with his requests but the past couple weeks made Simon realise that perhaps he should start cleaning his house up - making it presentable for company, and looking a little less like it was a hobo’s establishment, a halfway house for a displaced werewolf. His house already carried the stench of dog and old carpet that he couldn’t seem to get rid of - he should invest in a clothes washer and dryer, he imagined - and the weather getting warmer meant the birds were… molting or whatever they did, sprinkling more downy feathers all over the corner of his living room. They still talked to each other all the time and while they’d grown comfortable enough to eat meat directly from his fingers, he was still a little unnerved by them and the horror stories his mind had formulated from the consequences of moving their nest. He was outside that day, sitting on his creaky porch and observing the stone he’d ordered from Morgan’s Etsy in anticipation from the… farmboy.

Jared was always eager to encounter and aid anyone with one of the more interesting creatures that could be found around town. While he was a little concerned that he was picked out so quickly by this stranger for what he was so well versed in -he’d have to keep an eye on himself online if he was so easily found- he was overall pleased that he was going to potentially be helpful. His truck rolled up to the house in question and he took a first look at the guy who’d asked for the assistance. Jared plastered on a smile and rolled down the window as he turned off the engine. Just to be on the safe side he called from the cab. “Needed a hand with some birds, bud?” He heard the noise of the car approaching the driveway first and Simon glanced up from the mineral to regard the kid. Not too old, had a friendly face. He offered his own small smile as he got to his feet and put the stone in his pocket. “Aye,” He replied lightly as he approached the car, putting a hand in his pocket and leaving the other one out for a handshake when the other got out. “I do apologise for my direct approach; normally I… uh, well.” He faltered and dropped his gaze to the ground, deciding to focus on some… dirt, yeah. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to--” He cleared his throat. “So… chickcharneys. You’re familiar with them?” He knew the answer to that but he wanted to be casual. Don’t be weird.

Jared registered the smile and his own became a little easier to maintain. He wasn’t sure who he’d be meeting but the smile said everything he needed. The stuttered sentence also did wonders to ease his mind that the guy really did just need some help with the birds. Jared got out of his truck and took the offered hand giving it a hearty shake. “I’m familiar, had a flock pass through last spring. They’re incredible, but a bit of a pain if you need in and about where they’ve nested.” He said, the other likely was very aware of this per the two he’d been called about. “Lead the way bud, I’ll see what I can do. Figure out if they can be dissuaded from staying longer than necessary.” Jared’s friendliness in turn made Simon relax himself as he felt camaraderie in the handshake. Loosening up slightly, he turned to lead the way to the admittedly-small interiour of the house. “Oh good,” He replied as he opened the door to allow Jared passage, pointing to the mess in the corner of his house where it appeared obvious that there was at least one fluffy black bird that hung out around there and sure enough, there were two small, round birds with open jaws and glittering white eyes chittered to each other as they rested on his TV. “Their names are Stark and Lannister, for what it’s worth.” He knew they were wild animals and didn’t respond to names but he’d been with them for two months now so he might as well personalise them. “And I’m trying to clean up a bit - have a dog coming in a couple days so I don’t want him to upset them.”

He was unable to help himself as he passed into the house and spotted the birds perched on the television. His smile grew still as Simon introduced Jared to them. He was confident a little attachment was well worth it. Although then again with his ties to the most vicious of beasts he was definitely biased. “Which one is which?” Jared asks skirting around against the walls to get a little closer for a look without disturbing their perch. He spared a glance at Simon. “Getting a dog huh? I’ll see what I can figure out. I don’t think it’d be good to lift their whole nest from where it is, that’s surely going to upset them irreversibly. Been lying with them a while? Think you could stomach another few days? We can try to make the place unattractive for them to stay and hope they move on? What do you think, bud?” Jared flicked his eyebrows questioningly. It was this man's house after all, he could attempt something more drastic if this dog would truly have an issue. A month ago, Simon wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between the two but he liked to think he spent enough time with them to know by now. “Lannister’s on the left,” He noted the one with slightly-bigger teeth. “Stark’s the other one.” Stark had more white on its wings, subtle though it was. “Yeah, they were actually here when I moved in, but not, like, HERE.” He explained. “They know to go outside when I don’t feed them. And yeah, a few more days should be fine,” He replied; he’d been living with them for this long, so a few more days probably wouldn’t hurt. “The dog’s a… Westie, I believe, so he won’t be able to reach them.” He scratched the back of his neck as he regarded the birds. “And I think this ball’s in your court, sir,” He answered, turning his blue eyes over at Jared. To be fair, the place was already pretty unattractive… though that was part of the reason why he needed to clean up. “I don’t even know how they managed to build a nest in the chimney that gives them an out.”

Jared listened intently and nodded along, taking note of the birds given names by the other man and then looking over at the creatures as their situation was clarified slightly. “Will you miss them a little? You sound slightly fond.” he smiled as he asked the other man this. He always had time for people who held a good regard for the more dangerous of the animals on the earth. “So let’s think. Move out of the chimney without upsetting them too much. I wonder if the species has a herb they don’t like the smell of, or if there is a specific sound that would potentially make them move along.” Jared was spitballing solutions. He’d brought a few things in his truck, even the last resort option of catching and removing them. He didn’t wish to do that, it seemed so unfair to dislodge them like that. But if that was the result needed he was ready. “Have they had any reactions to anything you’ve done since you’ve been here?” He glanced over at Jared at the first question. “Well, sure,” Simon replied with a gentle half-smile. They were there when he got there and if he wasn’t getting the dog and had been exposed to the type of house he COULD’VE been living in through Lydia’s example, he wouldn’t have minded if they stayed… black feathers everywhere aside. “They’ve been here longer than me. Uh… the only reaction I’ve seen from them is that one flew IN when I opened a window to let the other OUT,” He remarked. He hadn’t tried more passive routes to get them to leave though they seemed nonplussed by loud noises caused by scaring, the smell of blood and a fair bit of talking. “They eat meat and things like seeds,” He added. He felt bad that he didn’t have more to offer in terms of ideas but… that’s what he was paying Jared for.

“That actually works in your favour bud.” Jared let Simon know. “The longer they’ve stayed the more chance they were planning on moving on. Have you seen eggs at all? Or shells of eggs past? If they've already produced a brood they’re very likely to take a little irritation and move along.” The nymph hummed and looked at the pair before jerking his head towards the door. “I brought some things with me, we’ll see what works, what irritates them the most without full on making them distressed. We’ll try smell first, then maybe move on to noises? Sound good? Got some stuff in my truck.” This was what he figured he’d do, but he would prefer the go ahead from the homeowner. He’d have to carry on whatever they decided on alone after all. He would’ve been lying if Simon didn’t say he felt relieved when Jared actually said something worked in his favour. That was unusual for him. “Nnnno, haven’t seen any eggs,” He replied with a small shake of his head, turning to regard Jared’s movement of his head to the car he came in. “Sounds like a plan,” He replied lightly though he could feel himself or… perhaps the thing inside squirming slightly at the concepts of using odours and sounds to scare away a couple birds. “Can I help out in any way? Maybe hold your… stuff or something?” He offered this time with a half-shrug.

“Well actually, I’ll need you to help me out a little more than holding things. If I can peak into the nest I’ll maybe get an idea of what we can do, what stage they’re at in the nesting process. They do move on at a certain point, closer to that point we are the easier they’ll be to encourage to move on.” Jared told the other as he walked towards his truck again. “So, you willing to take one for the team? Don’t need you to get too close, but maybe something I can give you can ruffle their feathers enough to be distracted.” He said, he kept a positive attitude and shot the other man a grin. “If you can avoid the teeth up until now you’ll be fine.” Simon listened carefully to everything Jared told him and the curiosity of ‘taking one for the team’ crossed his mind perhaps a bit too briefly before he nodded. “Yeah, no problem,” He replied; the birds WERE his burden, after all, so he was willing to take a few risks. And he was surprised at the realisation but he HADN’T been bitten, yet. That was weird. “All right, what’s the plan?” He asked, rubbing his hands together.

“Alright, plan is, I’m going to give you a small firecracker. It’ll bloom some red smoke. Don’t worry it won’t set off any fire detectors. It’s going to smell a little but it won’t last on furniture. You find the wall closest to the opposite side to the room from the nest and I’ll skirt the other side and try and see what they have going on. If they’ve got nothing inside I’ll snag the nest.” He offered this up to Simon as if it was set in stone. Only so that he wouldn’t have to think of an alternative on the spot. It was the only plan he came up with in the car for this eventuality. While the thought of his small house filling with red smoke didn’t really sit TOO right by Simon, at least it wouldn’t turn his furniture red and it seemed harmless enough. He wondered what it smelled like but he gave a nod to Jared’s idea, again trusting the younger man’s input over his own lack of ideas. “Yeah, let’s do it,” He gave a small shrug with a half-smile. The thought of getting the dog outweighed his second-thoughts for moving the birds - he was glad they got along when he first moved into town but they weren’t much for conversing with him. Well… that and he really didn’t want to get into the habit of feeding parts of people he’d killed to them to delete the evidence. He held his hand out for the firecracker. “Where am I putting it?” He asked. “...What kind of firecracker is it?” He found himself asking afterwards.

Jared grinned when Simon agreed to his plan. The smoke wouldn’t leave any lasting damage, it’d just hopefully encourage the birds away from their nesting site for a minute so Jared could get in there and see what was up. “You can just hold it, it’ll hopefully also make sure the birds don’t take a fly directly at you, hopefully they’ll exit out the door.” He handed the little stick over to the other man and shook his head. “It just sparks for a minute. Then smoke. It’s gonna smell pretty nasty, want to cover your nose before you light it up?” Simon glanced around briefly for something to cover his face with at the suggestion, eventually settling for the jacket that normally hung loosely around his frame when he wasn’t in his work attire. Holding his breath, he gave a small nod before starting. Sparks for a minute, then smokes. Just hold it, he could do this. Move to the far wall. Try to get the birds to leave. Piece of caaaake. He gulped and lit the firecracker, almost dropping the lighter immediately afterwards but managing to shove it in his pocket as he hastily reached up to bunch the material around his nose. Just as Jared said, the stick starting sputtering to life, sparking at the tip and he held it as far as his arm would extend. He thought the smell would come with the smoke; it didn’t and though he tried to block it out, it easily penetrated his senses and he felt his brow furrow in a wince, the stench of burning rubber making his eyes water. He did what he was told though and moved slowly about the house as the stick slowly started to smoke, a rich crimson in colour.

The nymph produced a rag from the back of his truck to tie around his own face. He knew that the smell was not going to be anything to laugh about. But that was the point. As he watched Simon light up he stepped towards the door again, eyes on the birds as they turned their heads to look at the sparking stick in Simons hands. The room started to fill with smoke and Jared stuck to the opposite wall as Simon moved around. One hand on the wall behind him and eyes watering very slightly from the smoke he made it to the desired place and stuck his head in and about the chimney to squint up at the nest. In a massive stroke of luck he noticed empty egg shells. The absolute best outcome that could have happened. Whispering a soft apology to the birds hard work he reached up and prodded the nest a few times so that it’d fall to the ground. He didn’t dare risk removing it altogether. He hoped the birds would feel the space unsafe for another brood if no obvious tampering was done. The smoke masked his escape back to the door as well. “ALRIGHT, OUT OUT OUT!” He called to Simon waving his arms through the thick smoke to be seen. “It’s all good!” He hoped this was working because Simon could feel himself getting more nauseous the longer the smell lingered and he lowered his head at least twice very briefly as if that would help get rid of it. Fortunately, the ordeal didn’t seem to take TOO long and while it certainly felt like forever in those short moments, he heard Jared calling to him and he glanced up, seeing just enough of the younger boy to get the memo… but which one. “You mean ME get out?” He called back, realising that they hadn’t discussed what was to be done afterwards. He also wished he didn’t open his mouth as the taste of the smoke wasn’t all that great, either. Was he supposed to throw the firecracker out? Did that mean the BIRDS were out? He was confused.

“You out! Firecracker out! Birds still in but hopefully out soon!” Jared yelled into the smoke before deciding to duck back in at his own peril to grasp at Simon's arms. The nymph choked on the smoke a little and coughed but managed to make it to the other man and pull him towards the door. Jared took custody of the firecracker again and tossed it in the back of his pick up truck to dissipate. “Raging success!” He informed Simon with a laugh that turned into another round of coughing to rid his lungs of the residual smoke. His plan had worked, but every time he used a little firecracker like that he underestimated how awful it was going to be. Not that he was going to apologise. No real harm done in his eyes. “I knocked the nest, they already had a brood so they’re so likely to skip out now the nest is grounded.” Though Simon didn’t know what he was doing, Jared jumped back into the fray and helped pull him out. Grateful for the fresh air, once Jared took the smoking item from him he also broke into a paroxysm of coughing, resisting the urge to gag now and then as he subconsciously gave several doglike shakes of his head as if trying to shake the smell out of his nose. “Well,” He coughed. “I’m glad it worked.” He stuck his tongue out briefly in an ‘uagh’ motion, wiping the tears from his eyes then moving his hand down to rub at his nose; it felt like IT was burning like the tires. “Okay so… bad news, the nest is still inside,” He inhaled deeply once he got his breathing more under control. “Good news is that they’ll probably leave?” He asked, glancing at Jared, also not expecting much of anything; he had a plan, it worked and yeah, he’d probably be smelling and tasting that odour for the rest of… the week, maybe, it still worked to their knowledge.

“Yeah, nest inside. The smell and the smoke will clear out in the next ten minutes, it was mostly for cover and also to get them away from the nest. They flew out when it started so all is good. When they come back the nest is grounded so they’ll likely pick up and leave.” Jared explained. He rubbed his eyes of the tears that had accumulated and laughed a little. “That is always worse than I remember. Every single time.” he joked lightly. “But it’s for the best. They’ll vanish without a fight and it was only three minutes of disorder.” Finished wiping away the tears Jared looked up and the glamour he had on hid any redness. “If they don’t push off, I’ll come back and manually remove them.” the idea didn’t sit quite well with Jared, but he knew more about Chickcharney than others might, so it’d be safer left to him. Ten minutes before it went invisible, maybe. Not to self; need to pick up some air fresheners. Still though, this seemed to be the best, least aggressive way to do this and Simon was overall very satisfied. “Well, all right. Sorry it had to come to this, Stark and Lannister… I hope you’ll find happiness somewhere more natural,” He said with almost a somber air before returning Jared’s laugh with a small smile of his own and he turned back to face the house. “Hopefully you don’t have to do that that often,” He mentioned absently before giving his head another sharp shake and reaching into his pocket. “So how much would you like to be compensated?” He asked, pulling out his wallet and casting his own red-eyed gaze to Jared.

“If I thought they’d stay I’d have taken them to my farm. But the species is a little picky. Very particular about where they nest. They’d fly away instantly.” Jared commented lightly. With a grin Jared clambered back into his truck now that the issue would sort itself out -the smoke already dissipating quicker than he’d expected. “I changed my mind, no charge. I set off smoke in your house I think we’re even, no? They’ll move on and you’ll forgive me for making you cry. What do you say?” He held his hand out for a last handshake. “Any other critters giving you bother message me again, I’m more than happy to come out and give a little attention if it means you don’t call animal control.”

#C: Simon #inconvenientsimonstrocity #C: Jared #P: Chatzy

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shipping-receiving · 5 years

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Fictober 2019 Day 29: “I’m doing this for you.”

Rating: T | Word Count: 2821 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones Relationship: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth Tags: Alternate Universe – High School Notes: A continuation of yesterday’s story

(read on AO3)

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At 5.57 pm, Jaime pulls up in front of the modest single-storey house that Brienne shares with her dad. He checks his reflection in the rear view mirror—eyes still as green as when he last checked, and not a single strand of golden hair out of place. He takes a deep breath, and gets out of the car.

Just to be safe, he checks his reflection again, or as much of his reflection that he can see in his car window. He’s wearing his navy blue suit with a deep maroon tie—he’s still a Lannister, after all, he has to have some shade of red somewhere—and he thinks he looks quite dashing, thank you very much. But he has no idea what shade of blue Brienne chose in the end, or if she’s even actually going to wear blue like he asked. She’s evaded or flat out ignored every text he’s sent this past week to ask her what she’s wearing. He has three different blue suits, for Seven’s sake; he needs to pick the one that matches best. In the end, he decided the navy was the most neutral option, and he’s now marching his navy-clad self up to Brienne’s front door.

His finger has barely even touched the doorbell when Brienne’s dad flings the door open. Jaime straightens his back immediately.

“Good evening Mr—”

“Yes, hello Jaime.” He shepherds Jaime into the house and into the living room with an outstretched arm. “Let me get one photo of the two of you before I leave.”

“Um—”

“BRIENNE!” he shouts. “JAIME’S HERE!”

Jaime thinks he might have heard a muffled groan, then— “COMING!”

He hears her footsteps coming down the hallway, but just as he’s expecting her to round the corner into the living room, he hears: “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?” Jaime asks, at the same time that her dad says, “You look lovely, Brienne,” in that tired way of a man who has said those words to his disbelieving daughter too many times today.

“I don’t—” he hears, and then there’s another groan, and then he sees a corner of navy blue cloth peek out around where he thinks her knee should be. Navy blue is good; navy blue matches his suit. But that corner of navy blue isn’t moving.

“Gods, Tarth, just—”

“Fine!” she exclaims, as she steps out from behind the wall.

Oh.

She’s wearing a sky blue shirt—he thinks it might be a men’s shirt, but it fits her well—with the sleeves rolled up neatly to her elbows. She’s left two buttons unbuttoned so he can see her collarbone—and considering she wears crew neck t-shirts pretty much all the time, he almost feels embarrassed to be able to see her skin there. It’s tucked into a navy blue A-line skirt that hits just below her knee, and it flares out enough that it’s a nice balance to the breadth of her shoulders. Pinned to her shirt is an elegant brooch, a golden starburst set with tiny sapphires, and she’s put a couple of golden bobby pins in her hair, too, just to pin it back from her face. He knows she refuses to wear makeup, and he didn’t expect her to, but her lips look just a touch pinker than usual. And then he looks at her feet and wants to laugh in delight because she’s wearing navy sneakers with white laces, and it works somehow, it works for Brienne, and she probably doesn’t even know it. It’s—the whole look is—well, it’s hardly conventional at all, but Jaime thinks—

“Brienne, you look—”

But before he can even pay her any compliments, she just starts rambling.

“Shut up, Jaime. I’m doing this for you. You asked me to prom. You told me to wear blue. Well, I don’t own a dress, and I couldn’t find one off the rack within my budget, let alone a blue one, and I know this isn’t what girls usually wear to prom but I had to improvise, I don’t even have the right shoes and I’m pretty sure I wore this skirt to a funeral once, and the brooch was my mom’s and it’s the nicest thing I own—”

At that point he grabs both her wrists, and she goes quiet immediately. “Brienne,” Jaime says, in earnest, “I was going to say you look nice.”

“... Oh. Um. Thank you,” she says, stiffly, but there’s a bit of colour to her cheeks now that wasn’t there before. “You—you look nice too.”

Jaime flips his hair dramatically, and flashes her his most winning smile. She rolls her eyes at him, but he swears the colour in her cheeks is three shades darker than it was three seconds ago.

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his back swivel him around.

“Alright, one photo before we all have to get out of here.” Brienne’s dad is definitely pressing the button on his phone for far longer than it takes to take one photo. “Smile for the camera!”

“Where’s he going?” he asks Brienne from between his teeth. He puts his hand around her waist.

“Date,” Brienne mutters under her breath. She squirms beneath his hand.

When her dad is finally done taking probably a hundred entirely identical photos, he gives her a huge hug and says, “Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Jaime bites back a smile when he sees Brienne’s eyes widen, as if she’s thinking, but you do a lot of things, Dad. Then, they’re ushered out the door, in the direction of Jaime’s car.

Jaime thinks about holding her hand, just the short way from the front door to his car. But then he thinks of her squirming beneath his hand on her waist, and doesn’t. He uses that hand to open the door for her on the passenger side.

For the first half of the drive to school, neither of them say a single word. Jaime notices that Brienne seems to be taking very deep breaths.

“Are you nervous, or something?” Jaime asks, finally.

“What do you think?” she snaps.

Hells.

“It’s just prom,” Jaime says. He feels stupid already, saying something like that when he’s dressed in his navy blue suit for the occasion.

“What do you mean, it’s just prom?” she scoffs. “How can it be just prom when you know you’re definitely going to be crowned Prom King?”

“Not definitely.”

“Definitely.”

“Since when do you care about that kinda stuff, Brienne?”

“I don’t care, I’m just—but I’m your—don’t you care?”

“Not really.” Okay, he might care a little bit, but not really accommodates a little bit of caring, right? “I just want to have a nice night with you.”

Brienne doesn’t respond.

They’re at a red light right around the corner from the school now, and he can already see everyone making their way inside. He looks over at Brienne, at how her eyes are fixed on them, in their dresses and their suits. Then, she stares down at her skirt, where her hands are bunched up tightly in the fabric.

They don’t speak again until he’s parked the car.

When he gets out, Brienne is still sitting in her seat, not moving. It’s not that he doesn’t want to open her door for her, it’s just that the few times she’s been in his car, she’s never waited for him to do that. But it’s prom night, right? He wants to do this for her. Yet, when he opens the door, she’s still frozen in her seat.

“Brienne.”

No answer.

“Tarth!”

She startles, looks up at him. “Sorry. I’m. I’m ready.” But then she turns her head back to the dashboard, and she’s still not moving.

“Are you okay?” Jaime puts his hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, as if she wants to crawl into the glove compartment and hide there. “I’m—it’s nothing. Let’s go. I can do this. I—I want to do this for you. I don’t want you to miss prom.”

“Why do you keep saying that? You’re doing this ‘for me’? If you didn’t want to come with me—”

“No—” She looks up at him again, eyes wild with alarm. “it’s not that I don’t want to go with you. I just—it’s a lot of people. A lot of dancing people. A lot of girls in dresses a lot nicer than what I’m wearing. A lot of people who don’t—think very much of me.” She worries at her lip for a few seconds, then says, “These people also think very much of you.”

“I don’t care what they think.” It’s not entirely true, but it’s truer than it was before he became friends with Brienne. “Since when do you care what they think?”

“I don’t! It’s just—too many people who’d be looking, and whispering, and I’m not even in a dress—”

“I think you look great!” Should he be more descriptive? He can absolutely be more descriptive if that’s what she needs.

“I know you do!” She takes another deep breath. “But—look, it’s fine, give me a second and I’ll, I’ll get through it.”

“Don’t—” Don’t torture yourself for me, Jaime wants to say. But Brienne has already swung her legs out of the car, and is striding with purpose towards the school.

Then, as they get nearer to the entrance, he sees it. The way people turn to look at her, and at him right next to her. He sees exactly what she was so nervous about.

Brienne’s strides are a little less purposeful now.

“Brienne.” He tugs on her arm. “Why don’t we just—go somewhere? Away from all of this?”

She turns back to him. “I don’t want you to miss prom!” she repeats, helplessly.

“We don’t have to go far. Somewhere in school. I’m sure there has to be a classroom that isn’t locked. Or your corner, where we used to study.” Where I asked you to prom.

Brienne stares at him for a long while. “The library,” she says, finally. Then she turns, and walks away.

——————————

This is so stupid, Brienne thinks, as she keys in the door code to the library. That part isn’t the stupid part—she got the code from the librarian barely two months into her first year, because she’s smart and she uses the library diligently for its intended purposes. The part that is stupid, is how she just basically panicked just before she was about to go to prom with Jaime. How many girls in this school would die to be in her position?

She switches on the lights in the far corner, where there’s a couple of comfy couches. Jaime is following close behind her as she walks towards them. She sits on one of the couches, and expects him to take the other, but he settles himself right beside her instead. It’s snug, and their arms touch. It’s not even her skin against his; he’s wearing his suit after all. She tucks her arm into herself anyway.

“How do you know the code?” he asks, moving closer to her.

“The librarian likes me.” She can’t move further away, unless she devises a way to melt into the arm of the couch. “Sometimes I stay past opening hours to study.”

“Nerd,” Jaime says, and there’s no cruelty in it at all.

“Guilty as charged,” she replies, with a small smile.

She leans back on the couch, stretches out her legs, and Jaime mirrors her. She looks over at him, all dapper in his navy blue suit—it had taken all her willpower not to collapse in the living room when she saw him—and then she looks down at her own outfit, cobbled together from so many random parts. She’s wearing sneakers. And she’s supposed to be at prom with Jaime Lannister.

Brienne needs to know, and now’s no better time than any other. “Why did you ask me to prom, Jaime?”

He turns his head to her. “Why not?” he asks in return, as if she’d just asked him the most ludicrous question.

“I’m—I’m Tarth,” she insists. Like that would explain everything.

Jaime just laughs. “That’s why I asked you. Because you’re Tarth. Because you’re Brienne, and I like you, and I don’t want to go to prom with anyone else.”

Wait.

“Um.” She’s gripping the fabric of her skirt again, though she’s already creased it in the car. “Can we rewind just a little bit?

“To which part?”

“To that part where you said… you like me?”

“What about it?”

“Could we just—make that crystal clear?”

“Um. I… like you? I’m not really sure how to be anymore straightforward about it.”

“Like… as a friend?”

“No…?”

“Oh.” Oh gods.

“Yeah. I know I haven’t really said it, but. I was kinda planning on doing that later tonight. During prom. Or after, maybe. Your dad didn’t actually give me a time to have you back home.”

“Oh—uh—he usually doesn’t have to worry about that.” She’s usually the one wondering when her dad will get back from his dates, actually.

And then Brienne looks down to where her hand is gripping her skirt. Except she’s not gripping her skirt. She’s gripping Jaime’s hand.

When did that happen?

“I’m going to assume,” Jaime says, tentatively, “since you haven’t let go of my hand yet, that this is fine with you.”

Brienne just nods. Is it very warm in here? It feels very warm. It feels like her shirt is sticking to her back.

“And just to be crystal clear—” he nudges their linked hands— “do you like me? Or are we just sitting here, on a couch in the school library on a Saturday evening, holding hands as friends?”

All this time, all the time since she became his friend, Brienne never dared to ask herself that question. Does she like Jaime? She would have been terrified of saying yes, even just to herself. But if she had said no—it would have been a lie. So she just… didn’t ask.

But now, now she just nods again. She does like him. Until she realises he asked two questions. She forces herself to look at him, look into his eyes. “Yes… to the first question.”

Jaime is breaking into a grin now, the stupidest, widest grin she’s ever seen on his face. It must be infectious, because he’s teasing her with, “I’ve never seen you smile that wide before.” And then, of course: “The blush is pretty standard though.”

“Shut up,” is all she can say.

What a witty comeback, Brienne. You don’t deserve the door code to the library.

“How are you feeling now?” Jaime asks.

Deliriously happy. “I’m okay.”

“Are you ready to go?” Gods. Prom. Of course there’s still prom. She can hear the music sounding faintly from the school hall.

She’s trying to nod again, but she’s pretty sure she has a pained expression on her face.

“You’re a terrible liar, Brienne,” Jaime smiles. Again, there’s no hint of cruelty in his observation. Just—something like affection.

She sighs. “I really don’t want you to miss prom.”

Jaime shrugs. “And I don’t want you to suffer through it.” He sinks further into the couch. “This is really quite comfortable. Do people study on these? I’d fall asleep in seconds.”

“It’s a prime spot, actually,” Brienne retorts. “Which you’d know if you had used this library for something other than talking to Addam.”

“We were whispering!”

“It was louder than actual talking, Jaime.”

Jaime just rolls his eyes at her. That’s supposed to be Brienne’s move. She’s the eye roller in this—this—well, she supposes it’s no longer a friendship, as of three minutes ago.

They sit in silence for a little longer, still holding hands.

Eventually, Brienne asks, “So what happens now?”

Jaime doesn’t answer immediately. He lets go of her hand, shrugs off his suit jacket, loosens his tie. “We don’t go to prom, I guess.”

“Are you sure—”

“I’m sure. I’d rather be here with you.” He’s stretching his arm across her shoulders now. “In your natural habitat.”

“So we’re going to just sit here?”

“Well.” Jaime wraps his fingers around her upper arm. “There’s other things we can do.”

“Oh.” Brienne looks around at the shelves upon shelves of books. “Like… read?”

“Um.” Jaime seems almost caught off guard by her suggestion, but they’re in a library after all. What else is there to do in a library? “I suppose we could read,” he accedes. “Or I could kiss you. If you want.”

Oh. That would be a misuse of the privilege of knowing the door code, wouldn’t it? But Brienne supposes it’s fine, when it’s just a Saturday evening. When it’s just the two of them. There are hundreds of other students, dancing and maybe even kissing too, in the school hall not too far away. It’s just the two of them, though, in this corner of the library.

She would have gone to prom with him, eventually. She would have done it for him. But then he offered to skip prom, for her.

So she lets him kiss her. She lets herself kiss him. After all of that—it’s the least she can do.

#fictober19 #jaime x brienne #braime #my fic #i'm tired this might be terrible #also i nixed corsages/boutonnieres because i'm not familiar with the etiquette

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theredwolfinthenorth · 4 years

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The assassin isn’t as skilled as Cassana thought her mother would send after her, but the damage is done and she holds her slightly swollen belly as the bath water slowly turns red. The maester had said the bleeding wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon, and yet she cannot bring herself to get out of the water and she cannot cry.

She wants to. She wants some outlet to the wrenching agony over loosing her child in her womb. But no matter how much she wants to or how great the pain is she can’t bring herself to cry. She feels that tears would only make it real.

Catelyn comes in carrying fresh linens and a heartbreaking attempt at a smile. It isn’t the smile she’d had when she’d watched her oldest marry, or when Cassana had told her she was with child. It’s the smile she’d tried to send Bran when news had come of Neds imprisonment and Arya’s loss and Cassana doesn’t feel anything other than the cramping of her gut and the horrid feeling of loosing her child with the blood that seeps from her body.

“Are you ready to get out?” Distantly Cassana is grateful that Lady Catelyn hasn’t asked if she’s alright. She isn’t she doesn’t think she will be for some time.

Nodding for speaking is beyond her at the moment Cassana tried to brace herself and stand only to gasp as the renewed throbbing of her right wrist reminds her of the broken bones, and it’s this small reminder of the violence of her encounter that breaks through the dam over her emotions.

She cradled her wrist to her chest as tears well and she whispers to her good mother “I lost my baby”. She sobs brokenly when the words truly register because as much as she’s known she was loosing the babe it hadn’t really hit her that the little one in her belly was no longer there. Her little wolf her son is dead before she ever felt him quicken.

Catelyn drops the linens and gathers her into her arms heedless of the water soaking her gown and drenching the floor. “No, sweet girl. You didn’t loose this babe. He was taken from you.” It’s with one last sob that she lifts her head and looks into her eyes, she has to see it to see if the blame she feels she deserves is in Lady Starks eyes.

There’s nothing but kindness and understanding looking back at her from the Tully blue depths. “It will take time for you to truly feel that you aren’t to blame, I will help, Robb will help.”

It’s with this that Catelyn finally manages to get Cassana out of the tub and into a new gown her small clothes padded heavily, and already sticky with blood.

Jamie knocks at the door and then strides through, ignoring lady Starks scolding until he is less than a foot from Cassana. His hands still covered in the assassin’s blood from what ever brutal torture he and Jon have inflicted to get information come to hold her cheeks. She leans her face into her uncles hands and breaks just a little further. Jamie looks so much like her mother that sometimes it hurts to see the care he has for her, the stark difference in the way Jamie clearly adores her and Cercie loathes her.

“My sweet lion cub, I’m so sorry.” And the thing is he does sound sorry for what Cercie has done, for the way his face hurts her to look at, for her loss she’s sure. “I never thought she’d do this.” Cassana had known from the moment the assassin had stepped into her rooms who had sent the bastard but to hear Jamie confirm it verbally it knocks the last bit of grief from her and sends her straight into rage.

Cercie had always wanted Cassana to be more like a lion. Then she’d sold her to the wolves so that her precious Joffrey wouldn’t have to wed Sansa. Cercie wasn’t going to get a Lion coming to call no she was going to get the Wolves and the entire north with it.

Sterling herself and pulling away from Jamie she looks to Catelyn. Lady stark has always been beautiful but here she looks wan and weary from worry and her own grief. They have both lost children now. It is a pain only another who has felt it can ever understand.

“Are the lords still gathered?” Robb had been sequestered with the other lords of the North while they debated and talked about what they were to do with the situation with Ned. But now with this declaration of war from her mother Cassana plans to take the battle to Cercie.

“My father has declared my siblings to be bastards of my mother and her cousin, my uncles refuse to declare for a girl and yet I am the only true born heir to the throne,” here she looks Jamie in the eye the green so like her littlest siblings, innocent children about to be plunged into the deep waters of war and yet her uncle looks ready, he is braced for what she is going to say next because he knows. Cassana May have always looked like her father and may have preferred riding to stitching and adventures to dancing but she is her mother’s daughter.

“If it is a war the queen wants then it is a war she will get. Take me to my husband. It is time we put an end to this.” Catelyn looks as if Cassana has gut punched her and Jamie looks fiercely proud.

The walk to the great hall is short and no one stops her for which she is grateful. She knows exactly what she will say and she knows that any who dispute her claim or tries to talk her down will be met with the brutal truth.

Lord Stark is as lost to them as Arya, she is sorry to think it, but it will need to be said. She has lost the heir to the North with her mother’s actions though if Jon hadn’t stood guard she would be dead and the North would already be at war. She has much to do, but it all starts with convincing the stubborn pigheaded Northern Lords to follow her.

She never thought herself one for dramatics but she bursts through the doors between her and Robb her eyes sweeping the gathered lords. The lady Mormont catches her eye and Cassana draws strength from the lady bear, the North is no stranger to strong women. To Ladies who fight tooth and claw for their homes.

Robb grimaces when he sees her his face wrenching in pain even as it softens in love. Oh how lucky she was to have a wolf for a mate. Striding to him she tilts her head a subtle ask for the floor and he bows his head and ghosts a kiss to her cheek his lips coming away red from the blood still drying on her face. She had forgotten that Jamie had held her cheeks with his red soaked hands. It’s too late to wipe it away and she thinks it will help set the tone for this meeting. The lords are either for her or they will be against her.

Without turning she addresses the crowd her words strong and sure “lord Stark is lost to us. My half brother is a bastard who sits a throne not his own and my uncles plot to plunge the realm into a three way tug of war.” Turning now and twisting her hands behind her to hide her nerves Cassana looks each lord in the eye. Lord Glover looks like he wants to bundle her up in furs, lady Mormont is clearly pissed the hells off. The Greatjon looks angry but she can’t tell if it’s a different anger to his normal or not and the rest of the lords look torn between asking why a woman is speaking and wanting to tell her to sit down.

“I am my fathers only true born heir. My mother sent an assassin to kill me today and failed. She has succeeded only in killing my babe and inciting my wrath. I care not for some throne that was never supposed to be mine, I care not for southern politics but I loved my son and I love my people. My mother will burn whoever opposes her, she will destroy The Northern houses loyal to house stark and put some glorified traitor in winterfell.” Taking a deep breath Cassana can see the lords are all interested now “the Queen miscalculated. She thought she was still dealing with a lion cub but what Cercie has failed to realize is that she is poking a wolf and when you arouse the anger of one you awaken the pack. I will kill Cercie for what she has done this night, and I will take the throne from the pretenders and I will bring justice for her actions against house Stark. I will be Queen what I’m asking you is will you follow me? Will you swear yourself to house Stark?”

Her uncle looks torn for this will mean the deaths of his twin and his father, but Cercie has made her opinion of Jamie and Cassana clear when she sent someone to kill her and frame him for it. And he is proud he wears it like a cloak the pride he has for her.

Lady Mormont stares her brows knotted, she bangs her cup against the table once drawing the murmurs to a close as everyone turns to her. “You say your mother expected a lion cub and got a wolf instead. You have asked us to declare for house Stark are you renouncing you’re tied to houses Lannister and Baratheon?” She doesn’t sound accusing merely curious.

Cassana knows how she would answer the question if some southern lord or lady asked it, but looking at Maege Mormont she knows the only answer she can give is the honest one. “I have never been loyal to house Lannister except to my uncles who have supported me and loved me since my first breath. Stannis and Renly have both declared their own intentions for the throne, they do not believe a woman can rule.” Lady Mormont snorts at that and it is obvious what her own opinion is based on that alone. “I married the heir to Winterfell, I carried his son within me before my mother’s assassin killed the babe. House Stark has stood with me and loved me and taken me in as one of their own, I would have loved to live my life as Lady Stark here in winterfell with my children, but that was taken from me. I still bleed from the loss of my child whatever loyalty I once had to my birth family ended when his life did.”

Mormont looks satisfied at this, her head bowing and with a smirk she asks, “and Robb? Will he sit a throne beside you, or will he be your attack dog?”

Robb grunts affronted at being classified as her hound or at the notion of him as king she does not know. But she smiles unbroken hand reaches for Robb blindly behind her, he grabs it and placed a kiss to her knuckles before simply holding it. “Robb is my husband, my equal as it is supposed to be, he became a prince when we wed and now he will be a king.”

They kneel to her, to them and she knows there is much to be done before she can sit down and think of all she’s lost, of the family she is condemning to die, but it is the beginning.

#future jonsa #game of thrones #GOT #Robb Stark #AU

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onthesandsofdreams · 4 years

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Double Dates

Fandom: Pre-ASOIAF Modern Setting/Westeros. Pairing: Catelyn x Brandon, Ned x Cersei Rating: T Words: 2865 Notes: A request I got in my personal blog a few months back (I AM really sorry Anon), so here it finally is.

Read @ AO3

“So…” Brandon starts as he leans against the door frame of Ned’s room. “Is queen Cersei coming along?”

Ned doesn’t bother to hide his rolling eyes. “Yes. She would quite like to come, had she said no, I would have told you. I don’t want to be a third wheel with you and Cat.”

“Wise choice little brother.”

“That’s Ben.��

“Not to me,” Brandon snorts. “You’re all little to me. You know, being the oldest and such has its advantages.”

“One day, we’ll gang up on you and your body would not be found.”

Brandon lets a boisterous laugh. “You know,” he says still chuckling. “That would’ve been more terrifying coming from Lya.”

“Who do you think gave me the idea?”

Brandon says nothing, but his smile doesn’t fade. “Then, double date on Friday.” He says and leaves Ned alone.

***

It’s Friday night and Ned is going over his clothes. He was not a man for fashion, but he liked to be well dressed. And unless he was lounging in the apartment he shared with Brandon, or playing football with Robert, he wasn’t badly dressed; even his casual outfits were always clean and free of stains.

Cersei being the fashionable woman that she is, tries to avoid complaining too much, Ned's sure that she'd rather wear other (brighter) colors. Ned still wasn’t quite sure how he had managed to get Cersei to date him, but he wasn’t going to complain. They had been together for four months, and Ned felt that it was time for Cersei to meet both Brandon and Cat. So the idea of a double date came about. Ned had hesitated on introducing Cersei and Brandon, Cersei could be sharp tongued and Brandon did had an explosive temper on occasion, which is why he told one another that he wouldn’t introduce them until further down the road and now, the time had come.

Ned dressed in black slacks, a deep grey shirt that had been a gift of Cersei, belt and black shoes. He had trimmed his beard without removing it completely. Cersei liked the look, so he left it without allowing it to be too much. He applied cologne and looked at himself in the mirror, he looked fine and he was ready.

Ned took a jacket and left his room. Brandon was already there, dressed in dark grey slacks, blue shirt and jacket, he sat in front of the television switching channels. “Are you ready?” Ned asked his brother.

“Yeah little brother,” Brandon said and stood. “Let’s go and get Cat, and then your lovely Cersei.”

Ned drove, he refused Brandon touch his car. Not that Brandon was a terrible driver, but it was the principle of the thing. Brandon only drove his car if his own wasn’t available. Soon enough, they arrived to the house Catelyn shared with her sister. Brandon left the car and went to get Catelyn, returning with her on his arm a few minutes later.

“Hello Ned,” Catelyn smiled at Ned as she sat down on the back seat, strapping herself with the seatbelt.

“Hello Cat,” Ned turned and smiled at Catelyn. He liked her, Catelyn had managed to somewhat tame the wildness that was Brandon. “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, hey, watch it Ned.” Brandon said without any heat. “She’s spoken for, and so are you.”

“Oh Brandon.” Both Ned and Cately spoke at the same time, only to chuckle immediately after realizing what they’ve said.

Brandon rolled his eyes with humor. “C’mon, let’s get dearest Ned’s lady and watch the movie. I heard it has good reviews.”

The journey to Cersei’s home took longer, but it wasn’t bad, the three of them speak. Which is something that needs to be noted. Ned knows he’s very quiet, he’s on the quieter side of life and next to Brandon, his presence is usually not noted. But he’s built a soft rapport with Catelyn and Brandon seems to be listening more, so it’s good.

Cersei lives in the Lannister mansion, Ned knows that her twin, Jaime had invited her to share an apartment alongside Tyrion, but Cersei had shot it down. Ned was aware of the dislike Cersei had for her younger brother. Cersei didn’t like how he was always antagonizing her (at least in her view point, Ned doesn’t know nor has interacted with Tyrion much).

Ned parks the car and makes his way to the door, knocks on it and waits. It’s the butler who opens the door to let him in. The house is lavishly decorated, the Lannisters are wealthy and aren’t shy about it, Ned sits on the sofa and waits for Cersei. Fortunately, he doesn’t wait for long.

“Ned,” Comes the low voice of Cersei. “On time, as usual.” Cersei descends the stairs with an air that would rival any queen. Real or not. She’s dressed in a velvet green dress that brings out her eyes, hair loose and make-up impeccably done; her accessories match perfectly.

Ned smiles and stands. “I couldn’t make you wait,” he says and approaches Cersei. “Brandon and Cat are in the car, they’re excited to meet you.”

“Then, let us not make them wait,” Cersei all but purrs. “Let’s go and have some fun.”

Ned offers his arm and Cersei takes it and make their way to the door, only stopping when Cersei grabs a coat from the hanger near the door. Ned carefully places it around her shoulders and Cersei shoots him a grateful smile. When they are near the car, Ned hurries and opens the door, letting Cersei climb next to Catelyn and he closes it. Rushes towards his side and quickly gets in.

“Brandon, Cat,” Ned says as soon as he’s inside the car. “This is my girlfriend, Cersei.”

Ned knows that both of them know of Cersei by reputation. Daughter of a political figure and heiress to gold mines, Cersei has been named a catch by gossip magazines and who appears frequently on the social pages of the news.

“A pleasure,” Cersei speaks and extends her hand, first to Catelyn, who returns her greeting. Then to Brandon, who shamelessly winks at her.

“Ned won’t shut up about you, you know?” Brandon says as soon as the car is moving. “So, congratulations on making my brother speak more than one sentence at the time.”

Cersei arches her eyebrow, “Oh?”

“What Brandon means,” Catelyn hurries out as Cersei turns to look at her. “Is that Ned speaks quite highly of you. And we have been looking forward meeting you.”

“Thank you,” Cersei responds. “Ned has spoken about you both. All good things. Mostly.”

Ned, in the driver’s seat feels his cheek flush. “Ah, well,” he starts. “Good things about you Cat. Brandon comes and goes.”

Brandon’s indignant squawk makes both Catelyn and Cersei laugh. “Offended brother,” Brandon places a hand over his heart. “I have been so wounded. And here I was trying to make a good impression on your dearest lady.”

Ned shakes his head, amused at his brother’s antics. Grateful too, he knows that Brandon is simply trying to put Cersei at ease, Brandon has never liked to intimidate friends or family. “We know,” Ned simply says.

The rest of the car drive is made in quiet chatter. Catelyn and Brandon manage to make Cersei feel at ease, Ned knows it because he sees in the rearview mirror how her shoulders relax and the smile is not a forced one. Cersei has always one to care about both appearances and what people say about her. Ned doesn’t get it, but respects that and does what he can to make her feel at ease and comfortable enough to lower her defenses.

At the movie theater, Ned insists on paying for all of them. “My idea,” he simply says and purchases their tickets. Inside, it’s Ned and Brandon who get snacks for themselves and their respective partners. The movie they’ve chosen is a romantic one. Halfway through the movie, Ned’s hand is firmly held in Cersei’s and Ned can see that Cat is resting her head on Brandon’s shoulder. He simply enjoys the small display of affection that Cersei gives, she’s not one for overly romantic public displays and he doesn’t mind; he’s not one for them either.

Once the movie is over, Ned and Cersei walk out of the movie still holding hands. Cat has her arm entwined with Brandon’s as they quietly talk about the movie. Ned (after consulting with Brandon and Father) picked a small new restaurant that serves Essosi food. He knows that Cersei likes it and, according to Brandon, so does Cat. The place is small, but it’s quite a romantic spot, with a small bouquet of roses at the center of each table, small little candles lit and the lights are low. They order their food and wine.

“Tell me Cersei,” Brandon starts. “How did this one,” he nods at Ned. “Managed to get you to agree on a date.”

“Well,” Cersei arches her eyebrow and the left corner of her lips curl upwards. “He simply asked. And I knew of him - of course - and his reputation as a doctor, so I figured I’d go out with him and see what happened.”

“Huh,” Brandon says and Ned already fears the glint on his brother’s eyes. “Good! That’s great, Neddy here is always quite shy, very quiet. Mother would often try and get him to be more outgoing, but…” Brandon waved his hand around. “Never happened. Quite the shock when he first started dating as teens. Even bigger shock that he was dating you.”

Cersei’s eyes narrow, but she takes a sip of her wine and gives Brandon a look. “And what does that mean?”

“That you’re out of his league.” Brandon smirks. “He’s dating up.”

“Brandon!” Both Ned and Cat hiss.

“What?” Brandon is completely unrepentant. And Ned can see that Cersei is both amused and offended. “Telling the truth. You, little brother, lucked out.”

“Your brother is a good man,” Cersei says and Ned can make out the warning tone in her voice. “And I quite like him, treats me like a queen.”

“We’re happy for you both,” Catelyn says quickly and extends her hand, gently patting Cersei’s hand and smiling at her. “Ned’s happier than ever since he started dating you.”

Catelyn’s words take an immediate effect on Cersei, who lowers her shoulders once more and smiles demurely. “Thank you. He makes me happy too.”

The food arrives and Ned is grateful. The chatter doesn’t stop entirely, but there are quiet moments in between. Ned throws a look at Cersei from the corner of his eye, she seems calm and poised; her shoulders aren’t entirely down, but they’re not rigid. She’s taking small bites of her duck and his lips quickly curl upwards. Cersei looks amazing on this light. Her hair shines, even in the low light of the restaurant, she’s a head turner, she’s always been.

“Is the duck good Cersei?” Catelyn asks.

“Quite so, and this wine is fabulous, I must tell father about it. Is your food good Catelyn?” Cersei responds

“It is a good wine, and yes, the food is quite delicious.” Catelyn agrees. “And please Cersei, call me Cat.”

“If you wish so,” Cersei nods. Then she looks at Brandon. “How did you both find the restaurant? Ned mentioned that you both picked the place.”

“Ah,” Brandon nods sagely. “Because our father, he came here when it opened. And he mentioned it was a good spot for our date. We had other places, but father doesn’t give out praise lightly. So, we figured that if he liked it, so we all would.”

“My father isn’t one for compliments either,” Cersei said with a bitter twist of her mouth. “Unless your name is Jaime.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, fortunately, Catelyn recovered first. “Well, I think it’s impressive that you graduated top of your class Cersei, law must not have been a walk in the park.”

Cersei preened at the praise. “Thank you Cat. I want to take a stab at being Prime Minister further down the road.”

“Ambitious, I like it!” Brandon sent Cersei a rakish grin. “Nothing wrong with a woman…”

“Do not finish that sentence Brandon Stark.” Catelyn said sternly and glared at her boyfriend.

“I was going to say, being the boss.” Brandon shrugged. “You don’t graduate with Cersei’s qualifications and end up working on such a successful firm without having brains. So, go and get them Cersei.”

Ned smiled when he saw that Cersei looked quite pleased with the praise. Especially since he knew that Cersei appreciated that Brandon mentioned her being smart. Cersei got compliments all the time, but it wasn’t everyday that she was told that she was smart. Mostly because Cersei had few friends and didn’t tolerated fools willingly. Unlike her father, Cersei was pure fire and had quite the temper when she was angry.

The dinner went smoothly after that, they Ned and Cersei shared dessert and Cat got one of her own, Brandon declined any sweets. Once dinner was over, Ned paid (and Brandon would compensate him the next day) and they made their way back to their car. And back to Cersei’s home first.

“I had quite the lovely time,” Cersei spoke. “We should perhaps get together again. I know a great bar for drinks.”

Ned released the breath he didn’t know he was holding. For Cersei to extend the invitation unprompted, was big. It meant that she had enjoyed herself, that she hadn’t found Catelyn or his brother a terrible nuisance that she had to tolerate. Because Cersei Lannister mostly tolerated people. It was a very selected few she truly liked. Ned would count himself lucky, so far they had not clashed terribly. There had been disagreements, but nothing that would make either of them want to end the relationship.

“We’d love to,” Catelyn spoke.

“I hope that Ned will bring you around more often.” Brandon smiled at Cersei and winked at her. His brother was a complete flirt by nature, but Ned could see that he meant that. “I don’t know if you like hockey - you probably don’t - but Neddy and I are hosting a watch party next week, our team is playing in Essos. Maybe you’d like to come? Nothing fancy, just us having some beers and finger food. But hey, no pressure.”

“I’ll sleep on it. Good night Brandon, good night Cat.” Cersei said and she exited the car, Ned, who did so at the same time as her, walked her back into the mansion.

“You didn’t have to invite them for drinks,” Ned said carefully. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Cersei gave Ned an unimpressed look. “But I wanted to, they’re not terrible. And they’re your family, well Brandon is. Catelyn might be so soon enough too. And I don’t mind their company, they’re fine.”

Ned smiled, for Cersei to say that they were fine, it was the equivalent of high praise. She was a hard woman to please, Ned knew that she wasn’t impressed with Robert but tolerated him for his sake. “Thank you. Brandon’s invitation stands if you want. Jean and a tee, no worries, just the four of us yelling at the television. Lya might come too.”

Cersei drew near and whispered against his lips. “I’ll sleep on it.” Then she quickly kissed him, winked and rushed inside.

Ned stood frozen, but then shook his head with a chuckle and went back to the car. They made their way to Cat’s apartment, then it was Brandon’s turn to walk her home.

***

Only when Brandon returned did they speak again. “Your girlfriend’s not that bad,” Brandon said half serious, half joking. “You’re dating up.”

“You’re the worst.” Ned glared at his brother then turned his head back to the road. “But yes, Cersei’s the best.”

“It was a good outing,” Brandon admitted, not joking anymore. “Cersei’s isn’t bad. And I really don’t care who you date, so long as they treat you well.”

“Thanks. She’s not terrible, you know? She has a temper, but things are well.”

“A brother worries still,” Brandon shrugged his shoulders. “And I might act like I don’t care, but family is sacred, you know that. I’d go to war for any of you three.”

Ned knew that. Brandon was many things, and you could say plenty of others about him, but you couldn’t deny the fact that he cared about them and their father. “Thank you.”

“What are big brothers for?”

Ned smirked. “To be a nuisance.”

“Wounded Ned, wounded.”

Back at home, before Ned went to change into more comfortable clothes, Brandon spoke. “It was nice of Cersei to invite us for drinks, we really should. After all, today went well.” Brandon didn’t wait for his response and went to the bathroom.

Ned, standing near his door nodded. It had been a good date. And yes, they should try again. Maybe that way, Cersei would feel more at home with them, after all, Ned didn’t think the relationship would end soon. At least, he hoped.

#brandon x catelyn #ned x cersei #asoiafrare #brandon & ned #ned stark #cersei lannister #catelyn stark #brandon stark #pre asoiaf fic #au: modern westeros

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quantifiableme · 5 years

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Controlled

Jealous!Gendry and Oblivious!Arya as promised, plus some #PodtheRod to appease the masses!

***

“Ohhhhh ho ho ho, look at that!” slurred a very drunk Bronn. “Pod the Rod got himself a Lady!”

“Please refrain from giving my squire vulgar titles,” coldly commanded Brienne of Tarth. Gendry hadn’t noticed her there when he had looked out the window- a bit to focused on another sword-wielding Lady. “Once more, a squire cannot have a Lady. Not that Arya Stark would ever put herself in a position like that.”

“For that one she might,” responded Bronn. “Kid’s got another sword bigger than The Mountain’s. If you know what-”

“I believe we all know what you mean, Bronn.” Scolded Tyrion.

***

Gendry hit the molten steel into some formidable shape, letting his anger be the momentum for his swing.

He could hear Arya practicing just outside the forge, which he usually found comforting, but today just made him more frustrated. However, while he tried to convince himself that it was her that caused his current tantrum, he was really mad at himself.

The night before, Arya had come to the forge while the rest of Winterfell slept. Gendry had been putting the finishing touches on the sword she had asked for -- a project he worked on tirelessly since she brought him the design and left him breathless with her new found confidence.

She had changed since the blacksmith saw her last. Obviously, they both did, but Arya in ways Gendry hadn’t expected. Gone was the young boy-girl who let her emotions drive every decision she made, who it took a simple tease to burst into a fit of rage bigger than the girl herself was. While he was in King’s Landing, it was the thought of her little pout and infuriating stubbornness that kept him going -- kept him alive.

Her passion that he fell in love with was still there, but buried. No, not buried, controlled. She still a force to be reckoned with with her sword, only now it was tactful. Strategic. Instead of blowing up at Gendry’s M’lady comments, she smiled and gave a pitiful retort. Gendry was ashamed to admit that her simple calculated spin that night in the forge was enough to leave him without feeling in his legs.

He was terrified of her.

The night she came to receive her new weapon, she swaggered into the forge as if she owned it. Actually, reminded the asshole part of Gendry’s brain. _She did own it. _She had sat herself on his work table with the ease of a cat and held out her hand. Gendry laughed to disguise how loud his heart had been beating in that moment. When he handed in to her, she tugged it just slightly to make him stumble closer to her.

“Thank you,” she had said with a mischievously.

His vision was drowning in her grey eyes, causing the rest of his surroundings to disappear until he lost all feeling in his body. In his inebriated state, Arya took the moment to lay her finishing blow on his poor soul.

She gently placed her lips onto his, and suddenly Gendry only felt the warmth and sultry of her mouth, so different to the cold, dry air of the North. She moved in perfect rhythm against him, reminding him so much of the water-dances she practiced in the yard outside the forge everyday -- steady, circular movements that had no plan but to keep moving. It was strange for her to be so gentle, Gendry remembered. He never thought she could be gentle.

She moved to grab his shirt to close the distance from their bodies, but as soon as her fingertips grazed his chest, Gendry’s heart was shocked back to life. Immediately, he pushed away from the situation and stood staring at her.

“_A-arya!” _he had said, his voice higher than he intended.

She giggled. It was open and happy, and it made him want to kiss her again. The only thing stopping him was the reality of the situation.

_“You can’t do that.” _He forced his voice back down into its usual baritone. Firm.

“_Well obviously I can, since I just did.” _She replied casually, the giggle still present in her tone.

“_No, I mean you can’t do that,” _Even at the time, Gendry felt he was being too aggressive in the situation. “You’re a high-born, a lady-”

_“Gods, still on about that?” _

“Yes! It’s important!”

“Why? Danerys will legitimize you after she wins the war anyway, and she said to treat you as such.”

_“It’s still different-” _

_“Why?” _

Gendry banged his hand against the worktable, having just then realized he had been moving closer toward her the whole time. It was this, he realized, that he missed most. His attraction to her was deeply rooted in their shared desire to endlessly frustrate the other.

Arya hand’t even startled at the noise, despite it vibrating through the table she had been sitting on. As he looked at her, he sighed to calm himself down. She was right that he would soon be Gendry Baratheon, and with Davvos’s help he would try to regain Storm’s End after the wars were over. But no title was ever going to make Gendry a high-born. He missed his chance at that life -- a life with tutors and trainers, of men who could teach him to fight and how to act. He was an orphaned bastard who had to step over rivers of shit every morning to make weapons for people who would drink themselves stupid in bars.

And Arya deserved better.

“_You gotta leave.” _He looked across the room, at anything but her.

“You can’t be serious-”

_“Arya.” _His voice was stern. Stubborn and impassable.

He felt her eyes on him, but he only concentrated on the spot of the floor in front of her. After a moment, she stepped off the high counter -- like a cat -- and left.

Gendry had to work out his emotions on the singing steel until morning, and just when he thought he had control again, Arya showed up. The memory of last night was enough to reinginte the fire of Gendry’s anger, and he got back to work.

Out of pure exhaustion, he finally had to take a break and walked to the window he usually used to stare at the girl as she practiced. In a quick glimpse, he was able to see that she was fighting the squire-kid that followed the tall woman around everywhere. Gendry sat on the floor just below the window and listened to the sounds of their steels hitting each other in their battle.

At that moment, Ser Bronn and Lord Tyrion stumbled onto the floor on the opposite side old the wall. After reaching Winterfell, Brown had explained how Cersi sent him to kill the Lannister brothers. Ironically, his coming was evidence to the Northern Lords that Jamie was truly on their side, and once the Dragon Queen offered Bronn a good sum of money in exchange for not killing her Hand, he and Tyrion quickly made to reunite as soon as possible. Which for them, Gendry supposed, meant a lot of wine.

“Ohhhhh ho ho ho, look at that!” slurred a very drunk Bronn. “Pod the Rod got himself a Lady!”

“For that one she might,” responded Bronn. “Kid’s got another sword bigger than The Mountain’s. If you know what-”

“I believe we all know what you mean, Bronn.” Scolded Tyrion. The scorn lost it’s effect, however, when Tyrion burst into drinking giggles moments later. “Imagine how many cows would have to be killed to make the leather for that scabbard though!”

Both of the men laughed at their fairly terrible jokes.

“What are you talking about?” Brienne demanded.

“Your ‘squire’ has a bit more to offer than you are giving him credit for!” said Bronn.

“Years ago, when Podrick was under my... education, I had gifted him with some prostitutes after he rescued me from some rather dangerous situations.” Explained Tyrion.

“Best prostitutes in the land,” interrupted Bronn. “Not some tavern wenches or sloppy shit like that. Practiced. Professionals.”

“After the night, however, Podrick came to me the next day and gave me back the rather sizable amount of money I had given him for the services.”

“He didn’t do it?” asked Brienne.

“The girls wouldn’t take it!” said Tyrion. “Whores of King’s Landing, where a man would sell his son for a shilling, gave back the money I left them for Pod.”

“Boy’s got a magic cock,” giggled Bronn.

Silence overlapped the conversation, the sound of the dueling partners amplified.

“Podrick?” questioned Brienne.

Mummering of agreements came from the drunken men followed by more S_ting_ and Swang of the swords.

“Payne?” she clarified.

“I didn’t believe it myself when he first came back,” replied Bronn. “But then all the girls in the whore-house kept asking me where he had gone all hours of the day, and I had to believe it was true.”

Gendry sat stunned on the other side of the conspiring trio. Fear settled into his gut, a fear far deeper than the one he had felt the night previous. He thought about the squire -- full-faced, dark hair. Gendry’s first though of him was that he was a wimpy high-born prick, but if it was true that he saved Lord Tyrion’s life and that he had... other qualities. And Arya was a woman grown now, and one that obviously was thinking about the other qualities her opposite gender had to offer, if last night had been any indication. And Gendry had just sent her to the man with a magic cock.

He shot up at once. Screw being “good-enough” and high-born titles of crap. Gendry could live with Arya deserving better than him, because at the end of the day no one would ever truly deserve her. _Especially not this Pod-dick, _he thought to himself. What he could not live with, though, is her living with someone who didn't deserve her who wasn’t him.

_“_M’lady!” he shouted across the yard. Walking toward the sparring couple, Gendry felt the stares of the drunken men and knight woman on his back, and he even heard a slurred “Oh, the plot thickens!”

Arya swept Podrick off his feet in a quick motion, and then stood to face Gendry. Her face was pure anger, and the sight made Gendry’s pulse quicken.

“I told you not to call me- Gendry what are you doing?” The man in question had picked up the girl by the waist and turned to carry her away from the squire and his magic cock. Arya banged her small fists against his back and screamed at him to Put her down!.

He carried her to the Godswood and placed her in front of the vibrantly colored tree. It had reminded him of her, in a sense. A spark of fire in this wintery hell-scape. The whole scene was gorgeous.

She looked up at him, ready to speak something vulgar and hurtful, but before she got the chance, Gendry cradled her face in his hands and kissed her violently. He wished he could have been delicate like she was, but they were both in too high a state of anger to be anything but the emotional psychopaths they were. Arya kissed back with equal energy.

After a moment, the kissed slowed down to something softer. Still not delicate, but a controlled sort of chaos. When they finally broke apart, they each breathed heavily, but still close enough to not loose the intimacy.

“What the hell is g-”

“I’m sorry,” interrupted Gendry. She closed her mouth very quickly and stared at him. “I’m sorry for making you leave, and for being a fucking moron, just please don’t fuck the squire.”

“The squi- Podrick?!” Arya pulled away as she shouted, but kept her hands clasped around Gendry’s neck.

“Please. Just promise me.” Gendry’s voice was drenched in desperation.

She looked about to protest, but then stopped herself and made the pouty expression he had dreamed of for last few years.

“Fine, but on one condition,” she replied.

“What?”

“You have to kiss me like that again.”

#gendrya #arya x gendry #Gendry Waters #jelous!gendry #Arya Stark #gendry x arya #GOT #gotseason8 #podrick payne #lady brienne #tyrion lannister #ser bronn #gendrya fic #fanfic

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magalidragon · 3 years

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fire on ice | a crackish Jonerys drabble

Soooo... @moggett reblogged this post and well I felt compelled to write a drabble for one of those prompts so I give you this crack fic-- a funeral home meet cute!

I give you....FIRE ON ICE! And this is also partially @youwerenevermine‘s fault, lol, because we literally had same idea for one of the prompts.

“Thank you so much Mr. Snow.”

Jon nodded politely, solemnly, his gray eyes the perfect amount of sympathetic, sad, and he hoped the right amount of ‘normal’— lest people think him a total fucking creep—while he shook the hand of the Greatjon Umber, whose son Smalljon Umber had unfortunately encountered the wrong side of a chainsaw while out trimming trees.

Greatjon began to go into a tale about his son—who by all accounts had been a horrible person—speaking like he was the second coming of Aegon the Conqueror for all his ‘talents’ and ‘successes.’ “Hmm,” he murmured, walking him slowly to the door. “He sounds like quite a man your son, thank you Mr. Umber, we will speak later regarding tomorrow.”

“Of course, thank you again Mr. Snow.”

The door shut loudly behind him, Jon slumping against it, relieved. He glanced at his cousin, who had emerged from the basement, shaking her chopped bob out of its messy little knot atop her head. “He gone?” she demanded.

“Aye.”

“I had half a mind to sew his arm on backwards.”

Jon closed the doors to the viewing room where Smalljon rested in repose until tomorrow when he’d be taken to the Karstark’s castle for the final funeral and ultimate burial in the crypts, as was custom for the Northerners. He clicked his tongue. “Arya, be nice.”

“Remember when his wife died, and he squeezed my arse?”

“Aye, I remember.”

“Thought so.” Arya checked her phone. “Your beloved texted me. We have another on the way. This one fell from the Wall. Ygritte said he’s a fucking mess.”

He made a face; he hated that she referred to his ex-girlfriend as his ‘beloved.’ “Will you stop calling her that?”

“She works for the morgue Jon, what were you thinking?”

“It’s hard to find women in this line of work.” He heard the bell ringing on the other side of the old stone house that served as their place of business and home—the five-floor monstrosity he knew people in town referred to as ‘Castle Black.’ He did wear a lot of black. Came with the territory. He waved off Arya. “Just make sure you finish up with Mr. Lannister before the end of the evening.”

“The rich dude who died on the shitter? Yeah, no thanks, that’s all yours.”

“Do you want to take this one? Where the fuck is Robb anyway?” Robb was the master of this shit, not him. He was better with the dead.

Arya walked away before he even could try to play ‘Dragon, Wolf, Lion’ with her or answer as to where her eldest brother happened to have gone off. Guess it was all him. He caught his reflection in one of the mirrors in the hallway, adjusting his black tie at his neck and raking fingers through his curls. It did nothing to tamp them down. He schooled his expression, solemn, and pushed through the dark wooden doors from the funeral home side of the floor to the entry way. He let them swing back and folded his hands in front of him.

“Welcome to Three Wolves Funeral Home, may I help you?” he asked, voice gentle; you never knew who might be waiting to speak with you on this side of the building. He’d been accused too often in Robb’s post-services discussions of being too cold.

The woman standing in a dark red dress with long black overcoat was not someone who appeared to be in mourning, but then you never really knew, some people were good at masking emotions. Her silver hair was in an elegant, braided knot at the back of her head and she had large black sunglasses folded in her hands, gazing at the table with various brochures for caskets.

She turned, blinking wide violet eyes at him, her lips crimson, face pale. “Good afternoon,” she greeted him, eyebrow arching. “I’m inquiring as to your crematory services.”

“For yourself?” he blurted, before he realized how it sounded.

She smirked, while he flushed, thrown off by her stunning beauty. He tried to school his expression again; she could very well have been there for her husband, boyfriend, or other, he did not need to stumbling through this. He wished Robb was there. “That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? Well, I can assure you I’m not here to burn myself alive, but you know…” She inspected her hand, a couple rings on them glittering gold. She grinned up at him. “I have heard stories my ancestors were immune to flame.”

His throat constricted. “Apologies. Can I help you?”

“Your crematory services?” she wondered again, walking by him and into the showroom, running a finger over an ebony casket.

“Ah…I am afraid Three Wolves does not offer such services. We can, however, assist with selecting one, urns, and preparing a memorial service.” He wondered what she was doing; she was now leaning down to look underneath a massive white casket. No one really cared what the underside looked like. He gestured towards the office. “We can speak in private, if you wish?”

The woman shook her head. “No I’m fine, thank you. Just doing a little bit of research.”

“For a relative?”

“Something like that.” She wore very high heels, which clicked loudly on the hardwood. She glanced sideways; eyes shrewd. “Are you one of the Three Wolves on your sign out front?”

“Yes, Jon Snow, I’m the mortician.” It sounded so creepy like that, but it was the truth. Robb handled the hand shaking, the business side. Arya was their resident makeup artist—she could do wonders with faces practically taking them on and off—but he was the one who handled everything else.

“Hmm, yes I heard of you.” The woman offered her hand. “Dany.”

“Jon,” he repeated, like an idiot. He was put off by her beauty, rather disarming. He swallowed hard again. “Nice to meet you. Is there…”

“This was enlightening Mr. Snow. I’ll be back.” Dany wiggled her fingers, waving, striding out decisively. “See you later.”

What the seven hells was that about? He spun on his heel, about to ask her what else he could help her with, when the front door slammed shut, bell ringing on her exit. He heard the door from the services wing open, Robb walking in. He scowled. “Where were you?”

“Talking with the Umbers, heard it went well, did we have a customer?” Robb adjusted his tie, eagerly seeing dollar signs. “Where are they?”

“They left.”

“Damnit Jon!”

He rolled his eyes, storming by. “I’ll be downstairs.”

“With Tywin Lannister? Better make him look good, the Lannisters are paying through the nose for this.”

“Aye,” he said idly, heading downstairs and to his ‘lair’ as Robb referred to it. He shook his head, preparing in the locker room, putting on scrubs and his protective gear. When he tugged on gloves, walking over to the block of freezer drawers, he rolled his eyes again, making another face. He was better with dead people anyway.

-----

A couple of weeks later, Jon saw the beautiful silver-haired woman again, this time from the front step of the funeral home, while Arya sat on the railing, Robb in shocked horror as the sign went up across the street.

Dracarys Funeral Home and Crematory Services

“How did this happen? We had the run of things here!” Robb exclaimed.

Arya cracked her gum. “Want me to get info?”

The silver haired Dany waved from the front step of her home. “Hello Starks!”

Jon shook his head, appalled. “I thought she was just asking because someone died…like they all do.”

“You didn’t think that she was scoping the competition?” Robb shouted.

“I told you I’m better with the dead than I am the living!”

“Oh leave him alone,” Arya chided. She rubbed Ghost’s ears—his great white wolf—gazing across the street again, shrugging. “Maybe we can make this work. Jon, you were the one who met her, maybe you can get some more info. They do crematory, we don’t. Maybe we can make a deal or something.”

Robb nodded, poking his shoulder. “Go over there, find out more.”

Jon sighed. He really didn’t want to do this. “I have that Wall guy to deal with.”

“Jarl will keep, go find out more.”

He slid away from the column, clicking his tongue for Ghost to follow him, the two of them crossing the street and up to Dracarys. He entered into the front room, seeing that everything was a shade of black and red. He glanced at Ghost, who was scanning the space with his bright ruby eyes, white fluffy tail wagging slowly. “What do you think?” he mumbled.

The walnut wood stairs creaked in the back, drawing him towards the door leading away from the showroom and sitting area. He peeked into another part of the old house, just like how their business was set up, with a viewing room and seating area. He moved to another door, which was open, leading down a set of stairs.

A massive black cat yowled from a sunbeam near the door, hissing at Ghost and running off. Ghost didn’t bark but took off after the cat. He sighed, calling out. “Please don’t kill her cat!”

He went down the stairs and pushed open a set of swinging double doors, pausing at the sight. It was state-of-the art and he scowled at some of the fancy equipment he’d been trying to convince Robb to upgrade to for the last year. He ran his tongue over his teeth, arching a dark brow at the woman who had been wearing head-to-toe designer when he’d met her and now was in black scrubs and protective gear, leaning over a dead man, a kit of makeup and brushes next to her.

“Jon Snow,” she called.

“Daenerys Targaryen.” He used her full name. The proprietress of the competition, he would not refer to her as Dany. “You could have told me you were moving in across the street.”

“And you would have shown me around? I think not.”

He stepped closer, curious at what she was working on. His eyebrows flew to his forehead. “Greyscale, huh?”

“Hmm,” Dany murmured. “Yes.” She looked up, grinning. “I saw you coming over, decided not to stop you from finding me. You’re not squeamish.”

“No I’m not.”

“They call you the King of the Dead.”

It wasn’t the worst thing he’d been called. “And you are?” he retorted.

“The Dragon Queen, I suppose you could call me. Or at least, that’s what they called me at mortician school.” She selected another brush, grinning. “I’m offering a service that your busines does not Jon Snow, that’s all.”

“The North doesn’t burn their dead.”

“I know, but many in the South do. There’s plenty of them moving up here.” Dany stood and pushed the gurney with the greyscale man into the freezer, closing the door. She removed her gloves and gear, walking by him, and began to wash up. She tossed a serene smile over her shoulder. “I think we can make this work Jon Snow. Don’t worry about it.”

“Robb isn’t used to competition.”

“And you?”

He shrugged. “I work better with the dead.”

“So do I.” When she finished, she studied him for a few seconds, which unnerved him. He tore his eyes from her, wondering what she was doing. She approached him, hands on her hips. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

He frowned, nose wrinkling, surprised. “Coffee?”

“A hot beverage, sometimes served with milk and sugar? Other times with various accoutrements like cinnamon or chocolate?” Dany’s smile softened. He saw then how gentle she actually was, how soft. It was comforting and he wasn’t even grieving. She must be very good at her job, he thought. He was numb, unsure how best to reply. She patted his arm, stepping by him. “Come on, I’ve got a lovely blend from Braavos.”

In the kitchen on the third floor of her house, where he assumed, she lived, she prepared the coffee. He wondered where Ghost had gone. “This how you get all the competition?” he managed to get out. “Ply them with coffee?”

“Just you.” Dany sat down across from him at a small bistro table in a large bay window, with a beautiful view of the mountains in the distance. She passed him the mug of coffee and used a small ceramic pitcher to pour milk into her coffee. Lifting it to her lips, she smiled again, warm and eyes dancing. “You intrigue me.”

He sipped his coffee—it was very good—a small smile on his lips. “You are an interesting one, Dany…if that is your real name.”

“Only my friends can call me Dany,” she mouthed.

“And we’re friends?”

“Well I hope we’re not enemies.”

Jon figured he’d have to wait it out and see for certain, but he didn’t think enemies was the best word for it. He was not good at this sort of thing, so he chose to continue drinking his coffee. He set the mug down on the table, sighing and cocking his head, a slight furrow to his brow. “I’m not good at this.”

“I know,” Dany shrugged. “But I am.”

Well that was that then, he figured, smiling at her.

-----

“So where did you two meet?”

Jon wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, as one of Sansa’s friends from King’s Landing had cornered him, trying to get info on Robb. “Where did I meet…?” he echoed, playing dumb.

Margaery Tyrell frowned. “Where did you meet Daenerys? Sansa didn’t tell me. In fact, she’s being really weird about things. Won’t even tell me what Robb does for a living.” Her eyes lit up. “I like a challenge.”

“Um, well…”

His wife of the last two hours emerged at his side, looping her arm through his. “We met at a funeral home,” she said, smiling at Margaery’s wide-eyed, horrified expression. Dany gazed up at him, love shining from her beatific face. “In fact, we contemplated holding the reception there, but figured everyone might think that a little weird.” She smiled even wider. “Also in the future, please keep the Fire on Ice Funereal Services in your thoughts for any funereal needs!”

Jon stifled a snort, glad to be rid of the odd questions. He smiled down at his beloved. “We didn’t actually consider the reception there or…did you?”

“No of course not, I don’t want to mix business and pleasure.”

“Isn’t that exactly what we did?”

“Nah, I came to scope out the competition and this really cute guy who couldn’t look me in the eye without blushing wandered in.” Dany rose on her toes, pecking his cheek. She patted her hand against his chest. She beamed again. “Best decision I ever made. I could have sent Viserys.”

At the mention of her annoying older brother, Jon shivered. He squeezed her close. “Very well then. Let’s at least try to figure out a better story, you’re scaring people.”

“Well it is the truth.”

Jon shook his head, but smiled anyway, his arm around her and hers around him, both of them walking off into the crowd of guests. He even thought that he overheard someone say the King of the Dead had found his queen. He kissed her temple, sighing. He certainly did.

THE END

#jonerys #Jonerys au #Jonerys drabble #worst prompts challenge ACCEPTED #I blame Erika for this one #crack fic totally

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sapphires-and-gold-fics · 5 years

Text

Fictober Day 23: “You can’t give more than yourself.”

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF

Characters: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth

Read on AO3

xxxxxxxxxxx

Brienne squinted at the phone screen as it lit up with a new call in the dark. She sighed and sat up in the bed, tucking a pillow behind her back. She flipped the lamp on and then swiped right to answer the call.

“Jaime you have to stop calling me so late.”

“Why?” His voice was quiet; he sounded hurt by why she said.

“Jaime, we talked about this. I’ve got a lot of work to do in the morning. Half the reason I left town was so that I could get that work done without interruption or interference.”

“Can I text you then?”

“Jaime.”

“I miss you.”

She swallowed hard. “I know, Jaime ...I miss you, too, okay? It’s… But you can’t keep doing this.”

“I need to talk to some body, Brienne.”

“What about Tyrion?”

“Still in prison.”

“You still haven’t gone to see him.” It was a statement, not a question.

“No… not yet.”

“And Cersei?”

“She’s the problem.”

She put a second pillow behind her back, sitting up straighter. “Right. Yeah, I know.”

“How’s the search going?”

“Slowly. I talked to a couple of witnesses who may have seen her but the details are really vague.” She heard something shuffling in the background like plastic crumpling. “Where are you?”

“The downstairs bathroom.”

“In… the bath?”

“I mean yeah but not like...I’m not naked.” She felt her face heat up. “Where are you ?”

“Um… bed?” The heat crept down her neck. “It’s 1 in the morning, Jaime.”

“No I meant--”

“--Oh, still in Duskendale - the Inn on Route 18.”

“That’s not far at all.”

“It’s not.”

“I could drive there.”

“Jaime--”

“ You could come back here .”

“ Jaime .”

“Cersei is making me crazy.”

Brienne pinched the bridge of her nose. “What’s going on? Besides the standard stuff.”

“She won’t leave the house.”

“I assume that’s a directive from your dad?”

“My father doesn’t care either way, he’s too busy with the ‘investigation’.”

She could hear the air quotes he probably made even though she couldn’t see him. “They took him off of the investigation, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, but he’s got a lot of--”

“--buddies, yeah of course he does.” She shook her head. “That doesn’t do Tyrion any favors.”

“I think dad is well aware of that.”

“Right. Okay so Cersei won’t leave the house - is that necessarily a bad thing?”

“She won’t let Myrcella and Tommen leave the house either. She thinks there was a conspiracy. I’m trying to be supportive, you know, for the kids. But it’s hard. I really think she’s losing it.”

“Are the cloaks still doing the welfare checks?”

“Twice daily.”

“Well that’s good - that’s about as much as you can hope for outside of convincing her--”

“--she doesn’t want me leaving the house either.”

“Ah… are you… regretting staying with them?”

“It was definitely easier when I slept at my own place. I miss it.” What precisely he missed went unspoken but she heard it all the same. She also missed having someone else next to her in the bed, even if it was platonic - or as platonic as they told themselves it was. “But I don’t regret being here for the kids. I just wish she would listen to me. Joff was clearly the target, the other two aren’t in danger.”

“Are you comfortable leaving her alone with the kids so that you can take a breather?”

“That’s kind of what I’m doing right now.”

“I mean is there a chance that she would hurt herself?”

“Outside of poisoning her own liver? No. She’s too narcissistic for that.”

“What about the kids?”

“She’s their mother.”

“But if she’s…”

“No I… I know what you’re saying but no, I don’t think… she couldn’t hurt the kids. Especially not now. She’s holding onto every bit of family she can.”

“Except Tyrion?”

“Except Tyrion. She doesn’t want me visiting him.”

“I can’t imagine what she’s going through; maybe once some time has passed… gods that sounds awful to say, but maybe eventually she won’t see Tyrion as the monster she thinks he is.”

“I’m doing all I can to press his case with her but…”

“It’s hard. And you’re already doing so much.”

“I wish it was enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“ I’m not enough. She’s leaning on me really heavily and..”

“You are enough, Jaime.” She heard him sniff and take a deep breath. “Are you sleeping okay?”

“Not really. I miss… She’s keeping me up at all hours. Ranting about how unfair it all is and how I’m not doing enough. By the time I crawl into the guest room to sleep it’s already daylight.”

“Jaime, you couldn’t possibly be doing more. You’ve taken a leave from work, you’ve moved into the house. You’ve been doing the chores and the shopping--”

“--I mean we’re getting it delivered but--”

“You’re doing all of that. You have made so many sacrifices to be there for her right now. You can’t give more than yourself, but somehow you’re managing to give 110%. That’s what you do, and I don’t know how. You can’t keep borrowing against your own well-being.”

“Yeah?”

“Jaime.”

“I know, Brienne.”

“You need to sleep. You need to take care of yourself.”

“It’s harder without you here.”

Brienne wiped what she thought might be a tear from the corner of her eye and frowned into the phone but didn’t respond.

“Brienne?”

“I thought it would be better now. You said Cersei was hard on you about me being around.”

“She was. She doesn’t like anyone taking my attention away from her under normal circumstances - you got to see that, before--”

“--Oh so that wasn’t just about the fact that it was me, then? I feel slightly better about her calling me a great cow now.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“That doesn’t--”

“You don’t need to apologize for her, Jaime. She’s a grown woman. I’m sure she’s said worse behind my back. It doesn’t matter.”

“When you were in town she would say some pretty nasty things, but not anymore. Since you left, she’s been almost… sweet? - at least until the wine comes out.”

Brienne shook her head and pulled her knees up to her chest.

“Brienne?”

“I hate the way she treats you.”

“It’s f--”

“No, it’s not fine, Jaime. She manipulates you and abuses you and uses you up--”

“She doesn--”

“I wish--” the words stuck in her throat. He listened as she took a breath and found them again, “I wish you could have come with me. I really… gods, Jaime, I wish I could have taken you away from there.”

“I couldn--”

“I know. I know . It was too soon. And with Tyrion… No, I know. And I know that my being there didn’t exactly help. I just wish there could have been another way. I wish it would have made sense for me to stay, but someone has to find that girl. I had to go.”

“I don’t want you here.”

That stung. “Oh.”

“Shit, that’s not - that came out really wrong. Brienne, I didn’t mean it like that. If I could, I would have you here all the time. You always know exactly what to do. And I - I want you here, Brienne. More than anything. I do. I just meant that I wouldn’t want you to have to deal with her… with Cersei being like this…”

Brienne didn’t respond.

“She’s awful, I know that. And yes, she takes everything I give, and then demands more. I know that, too. Now she’s talking about making sure Tyrion gets the death penalty… Brienne, I think I hate her.”

“She lost a child, Jaime.”

“Yeah, and what a child.”

“Jaime that’s really unkind.”

“So was he.”

“He was a boy. He… maybe he would have grown up and had better influences. Perhaps once he got out of Cersei’s sphere he would have been something better. We will never know. And for that I am truly sorry.”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Jaime?”

“Do you think she had something to do with it?”

“Cersei? Why--”

“No, Sansa. Do you think she did this?”

“Oh. No, Jaime I don’t. She’s a child, too.”

"Her family has resources.”

“Her parents are dead. She doesn’t have access to those resources. She doesn’t even have a credit card - that’s what’s making this so difficult.”

He sighed heavily. “You’re right. I know you are. Again.”

“Your nephew went to a private school where he was a terrible bully and probably did things to some of those kids that won’t come out for years - we’ll likely never know about them - I imagine there were a lot of victims’ families who had resources.”

“So you think it was one of them?”

“Well, I don’t think it was Sansa, and neither do the gold cloaks. They seem to really think it was Tyrion--”

“--But you don’t.”

“--but I don’t. But my opinion doesn’t matter. Whatever facts there are, they will find them.”

“Tyrion had a reason to do it. He certainly had the means.”

“Jaime, your brother couldn’t have hired someone to do this. He wouldn’t have. I know you know your brother well enough for that.”

“I just… Cersei really--”

“Jaime, stop.”

“...What is it?”

Brienne dropped her knees and sat cross-legged, pressing her elbows into the insides of her knees.

“You need to get away from her. For a night, maybe 48 hours, ask the cloaks to keep an eye on the kids. And then you need to go, sleep, and then go see your brother.”

“She’ll know.”

“Good! Jaime, Tyrion hasn’t stopped being your brother just because Cersei thinks he’s evil. Do you think he did it?”

He didn’t respond.

“Jaime?”

“No. You’re right. He wouldn’t.”

“He deserves to hear you say that.”

More silence. Another sniffle. Silence again.

“Jaime.”

His voice is raw now. “You’re right. I’ll leave in the morning before she wakes up. Should I… do you think I should take the kids with me?”

“Do... you think Cersei is a danger to them?”

“I think she might start throwing things when she realizes I’ve left, even if it’s temporary.”

“Okay. Let me think a second… would your father agree that she could get physically violent?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think he would.”

“Okay. Hear me out. Call your father.”

“Bri--”

“Call him. Right now. Wake him up. Tell him you’re concerned for his grandkids and that you want to place them with another family member until Cersei is well. Tell him you want him to get a social worker over to talk to Cersei tomorrow - but he’d better send a pair of gold cloaks with them just in case. Stan and Dav still live in town, right?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t spoken to Stannis--”

“I have - I spoke to them at the funeral. I’ll call them now - one of them is usually still up around this time watching those old pirate movies. I’m sure they’d take them in for a while. Just get yourself and the kids out of the house in the morning. I’ll ask them to drive by to pick them up around 7 if that works, and then you can go back to your place for a few hours. Sleep. The prison has visiting hours until 8pm, so you’ll have the whole day to get over there to see Tyrion.”

“This is what I’m talking about, Brienne. You always know the next right thing. You’re incredible.”

“I’m nothing special, Jaime. I’m just outside the situation, so I’ve got a different view of it, that’s all.”

“You significantly undersell yourself.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, but she felt her cheeks heating again. “Thank you. Now promise me you’ll get out of there.”

“I will - we will.”

“And promise me you’ll sleep.”

“I’ll try.”

“And then?”

“And then I’ll go see Tyrion.”

“Good.”

“Since I’m not supposed to call you, where are you going next?”

“I’ll be here through the weekend probably. By then I’m hoping to know whether I need to keep heading north or not.”

“Good. After I see Tyrion tomorrow, I’ll come see you.”

She was sure she imagined her heart skipping a beat. “Jaime I told you, I’m working.”

“Not when you’re sleeping, though. C’mon we both slept better with someone else in the bed, didn’t we?”

The tiny pool of sweat forming at the back of her neck was less imaginary.

“I mean not just someone, I-- Brienne-- I mean… I sleep better with you… there. It might help reset my um… what did you just call it?”

“Borrowing against your own well-being?”

“Yeah, that. I would very much like to do something about that. And I think seeing you would go a long way to help. Is that okay? If I drive up tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, Jaime. That’s… I think I’d like that.”

“Okay.” He was definitely smiling on the other end of the line.

She smiled back. “Okay.”

#fictober #fictober 2019 #braime #brienne x jaime #jaime x brienne #put me back together #ao3 #ao3 link #mine #Stannis and Davos are ABSOLUTELY perfect gay dads in this universe LET THEM LIVE

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wackygoofball · 5 years

Photo

Moodboard: Jaime x Brienne - Erin Brockovich AU

To send this ahead... I know that Brienne’s character is much different from that of Erin in the movie, but by giving some over to Jaime and twisting and shredding things, I found it a very intriguing plot bunny! :D

Brienne doesn’t have it easy lately. Just recently she had to move into a new, shabby house on the outer outskirt of King’s Landing. She can no longer afford her old apartment in King’s Landing after she was fired from her secretary job because she had to take off to take care for her foster children Arya and Sansa and the boss showed little understanding for a single parent taking care of two traumatized girls. And now she stands there with bills to pay and no one willing to hire her.

Sometimes she really wished Catelyn had chosen any other person to take care of her girls in case of her demise, but as things stand, there was no other way. Bran and Rickon are with Osha and Luwin whereas Jon could not possibly take care of his siblings as he was drafted for service at the Wall. Brienne wants to honor that vow since Cat helped her a great deal in the past, but she feels all the more like failing as she cannot provide for the girls what they would deserve after the losses they had to suffer: their parents, oldest brother, his wife, and their home in Winterfell.

However, Brienne won’t let this stop her, so she goes through advertisements and calls any office offering jobs in the hope to find something new. She applies for a job as a secretary in Tyrion Lannister’s law firm, a small thing that mostly runs itself as far as she can judge. Brienne is little impressed when she meets the boss, because Tyrion Lannister does not strike her as a passionate lawyer. Instead, he spends his time looking after women to check them out and drink from his flask hidden under the table.

Brienne applies not as “Brienne of Tarth” but “Brienne of Morne,” her mother’s maiden name. She would rather not, but whenever she applied for jobs she was linked to her father’s ruined company and her failure to ever become a top lawyer due to personal choices she made in the past. She applied for jobs in law firms as a lawyer again and again because she went to the best schools, had excellent grades, but her past continues to haunt her. She is either overqualified, they tell her, or she doesn't have enough courtroom experience, or they think she is a failure because her father's firm went downhill without her being able to stop it. Thus, she writes applications below her profile, leaves out most of her personal past and just hopes to finally get a steady job to provide for Sansa and Arya. She is desperate.

Tyrion is hesitant at first, arguing that he normally looks for "prettier" secretaries, but he has to give in eventually because Brienne won't budge and proves that she can do the job better than any of the other applicants. Sansa and Arya give her trouble too, Arya gets into fights at school whereas Sansa won’t stick to Brienne’s rules, stay out late and leave her guessing to where the girl is headed.

So no, things are not easy on Brienne, but she won’t let that wear her down as she, at the very least, finally got a job at the law firm to cover the costs. She works her ass off at the office until she stumbles over what seems to be a small case involving selling property to a big chemical industry called The Alchemists' Guild, a business that focused on wildfire and its derivatives. They want to buy properties close to their plant on the outskirt of King's Landing, in a very poor area not that different from the one where Brienne now lives with her girls.

Brienne asks Tyrion if she can look into the case, after all, she can tell something is odd with the numbers due to her experiences she did not list for her application. He handwaves her proposal, much more concerned with his pretty new “intern” Shae.

Fueled by her wish to finally do something close to her past in the law, Brienne heads down the dusty roads to meet the people The Alchemists' Guild wants to purchase the properties from. While most won’t speak to her at first as Brienne doesn't think she has it in her to make people listen to her, the young woman is surprised when people start to tell their stories. Sooner rather than later, they trust her because she listens to them and gives them the facts rather than what they call “lawyer talk”. Brienne continues to gather information, doing what she is accustomed to as a former lawyer: she talks to experts, puts together evidence, and essentially starts to build a case she has any intention to present to Tyrion once she made certain that she is onto something.

Back home, things don't look as bright, however. Her nanny quits on a whim, leaving Brienne with no one to pick up the girls, make them dinner and the like until she gets home. It gets so bad that one day, the woman she hired to look after Sansa and Arya just doesn't show up and leaves the girls to walk home all by themselves. She is in a panic until she finds them with the recently moved-in and to her mind totally annoying one-handed biker-wannabe Jaime. He has barbecue with them and particularly Arya seems to like the guy who insists on only being referred to by his first name. Ever since he said he took fencing lessons in his youth and would have no trouble teaching her the basics, the girl is sold on the wannabe-biker. Jaime and she thus suggest to Brienne that she should hire him as the new nanny.

Brienne doesn’t know what to do with all this because a man looking like this, acting like this, making lewd comments all the while supposedly being good with teenage girls? How does that fit? The two eventually agree that he gets a shot at taking care of the girls in exchange for a bit of extra money. Jaime says he can use it because with just one hand, working on the construction sites became difficult and the gigs are scarcer around this season.

And so, a truce is born.

Brienne continues her investigation and puts in all of her efforts as she grows increasingly aware of the sheer importance this case has to the people involved. She starts to piece together that the The Alchemists' Guild tries to cover up literal dirty business, relating to people around the area getting sick in large numbers and their usage of wildfire. Brienne suspects a pattern behind this and figures that there must be a connection between the water supply for the town and the plant.

Thus, Brienne wants to request the records to obtain copies. However, the lady sitting at the front desk of the archive won’t let her in. Brienne suspects that she is in cahoots together with The Alchemists' Guild. Brienne fails to charm her way into the archives, that’s never been her strong suit, which is why she heads back to the house feeling like an utter failure.

Back home, she sees that Sansa and Arya really take a liking to Jaime, who runs the house just fine, if a bit unconventionally. When Jaime sees Brienne drag herself into the house, looking like someone just took her favorite medieval sword fighting film away, he wants to know what's wrong with her. She won’t admit at first, after all, Brienne hates to show weakness, but Jaime won’t budge and continues to poke her for information until she gives in and admits that she failed today.

“The downsides of being as ugly as a mare: I can't charm my way into the archive,” Brienne sighs.

“You can be charming in your own way if you try.”

“Shut up. And anyway, it's a lady.”

“Doesn't mean you could not put on a flirty face. Maybe she's looking for a bit of an adventure after all. I don’t judge.”

She rolls her eyes. “I never should have told you.”

“Fine, fine, I stop. I stop,” he laughs. “But I may have a solution.”

“Which is?”

Jaime points at himself with a smug grin. “Me.”

“You are the solution how? No offense, but you don't inspire... confidence in your legal status, shall I say?” Brienne scoffs.

“You said it. It's about flirting. And I am really good at that.”

“Are you? I did not notice.”

“Because I have no intention of flirting with you. I am your employee after all. If you properly compensate me, though, I can do expand my services, only just for you, wench.”

“Compensate you.”

“Well, you will have to give me a bit of a starter to set things up. For that, you get all the copies you want so desperately.”

“You are supposed to take care of Sansa and Arya. That’s what the truce is about, remember?”

“And they will be gone for a whole week for that school trip, remember?”

“... I forgot.” Brienne grimaces. It rubs her in the wrong way that Jaime already handles things so well that she finds herself forgetting things she wouldn’t have, but the job consumes so much of her time that she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

“Thought so,” Jaime chuckles. “So I got nothing to do anyway. Give me fifty stags and I will get you those copies tomorrow after we dropped the girls off. Deal?”

“... What's the worst that can happen, huh?”

Brienne is to find out the next day, remaining rather irritated by Jaime’s cryptic messages who says he will meet her outside the archive and that she is supposed to wait for the “big show.” She doesn't know what to expect until a very suave looking Jaime walks up to her, dressed in nice clothes, his hair in a neat bun, beard trimmed, stump securely hidden away in his fancy jacket, looking nothing like the biker she got to know and yelled at the first time she met him.

Jaime is having his dear fun at Brienne’s ogling at him before proceeding inside and charming the lady into giving him access to the archives. Jaime pretends to be an “intern” working for some “nasty lady” who only ever treats him badly.

“She yells at me and only ever bosses me around. Can you imagine?”

“Oh, trust me, I can.”

Brienne is bound to wait until Jaime re-emerges with the promised copies, looking like he just won the lottery. Brienne almost feels tempted to hug him, but just almost. Jaime is feeling pretty ecstatic at her blushing and evidently checking him out. He tells Brienne she can request his services again any time she needs it.

“Though next time, you may have to take me out for dinner afterwards.”

“… We’ll have to see about that.”

Brienne finally feels a bit vindication when she comes to the office, ready to present her findings to Tyrion, but that hope is instantly crushed when she finds her desk cleaned, stuffed into a box, and the other employees looking at her with nothing but misgiving. When she demands to know what is going on, Tyrion calls her to his office to inform her that he can’t keep a secretary who doesn’t come to work, seemingly having forgotten that she told him she wanted to investigate this case, and to top it all, he does not appreciate that she lied about her identity. He reveals to her that he did some research on his own and figured out that she is actually the “infamous” Brienne of Tarth.

Brienne is enraged because he dug through her past without her consent, looking at what she tried to bury, all of that pain that cost her so very much, not just the family company, not just her reputation as a lawyer, but also her father who died shortly after he had to file for bankruptcy due to business partners making bad investments on his behalf. She storms out of the building, furious but also desperate because she just lost her source of income.

Back home, Jaime is fixing things around the house to the best of his abilities. Brienne loses her cool a last because she can't afford to pay him anymore, she can't do anything right.

“Everything I touch, it just breaks apart.”

She confesses to Jaime at last what went on in her past, tells him all about her father’s failing business, how her father didn’t involve her in the business until it was too late because he wanted to give her the freedom to follow her personal mission of defending those people in court who couldn’t defend themselves. She tells Jaime all about her father’s death, and how that left her with massive debts to pay, but despite her experience and education, she was forced into taking small jobs, hide herself, because she never made more out of herself when she still could.

“And now I am not just failing myself, I am failing Sansa and Arya. Seven Hells, I am even failing you. I am failing everyone!”

To her great shock, she finds herself in the arms of the man she has a truce with. Jaime comforts her and holds her close when her world is on the verge of falling apart. And for the first time in a long time, she simply lets go, allows herself to accept that comfort, to let someone else hold her when she is so used to keeping it together for others.

Jaime trusts her with some of his past at last, something she never demanded of him to know, how he lost his hand during his time in the military and returned a war veteran with trauma but no family to support him when it mattered. His father just wanted him to join the family company and his sister could not care less about him as she was too absorbed into her own affairs. Even his little brother, who used to look up to him, wasn’t there for him when it mattered. Jaime only ever found joy in riding his motorbike and eventually he was so fed up with the family that he could not take it anymore and simply started to drive, never looking back.

One thing leads to another and the two fall into each other’s arms and into the bed. And for a time, things seem fine again, however broken, because Jaime is all the things Brienne wouldn’t have thought him to be when they first met. He is soft and caring as well as witty and snarky. And Jaime finds that with Brienne, he can finally talk to someone who understands, who bothers to listen, who doesn’t look at him as a lesser man for the choices he made, for the hand he lost and the lifestyle he chose for himself. For the first time in a long time, neither one feels alone in this world.

Sometime later, Jaime takes the girls out for something fun to do so that Brienne has the house to herself and can make some phone calls to find a new job. Brienne is surprised when shortly thereafter, Tyrion winds up on her doorsteps. He says he read her report and finally understood that he was being “kind of a cock” for thinking she was taking time off without telling him and was indeed working this whole time as she had insisted.

“I just thought you were lying,” he admits.

“I don't, not when it comes to those things.”

“You lied about your name.”

“I put in my mother's name because whenever I applied with my own, no one would give me a chance. And I find that kind of unfair, wouldn’t you agree?”

“It is... So, can I come inside?”

“Under the condition that I will throw you out the moment on I am fed up.”

“I suppose I will have to agree to those terms, Miss Tarth.”

Tyrion and she sit down for a long overdue conversation about the case. Tyrion lets her know that he is now convinced that she is onto something big. He wants to work the case, with her, and have a look at the research she gathered but did not include in the report she left at the office before storming out.

Brienne, remembering Jaime's words about how she has to see more worth in herself, demands not just her job back, but to be accepted as who she is and what she is, lawyer Brienne of Tarth. And a raise. Tyrion likes the change of tone and agrees, telling her that he found a replacement anyway, in Shae.

“She does not know how to file reports, but she is good at making coffee.”

“I suppose that's not the only thing you see as being of merit.”

“Far from it.”

“Be it as it may... I have one more condition.”

“Which is?” he wants to know.

“If we go to court with this, if we really work this case, you will cut down on your alcohol consumption. I won't have a partner in on this case who sleeps under the office desk. The people I talked to, they matter to me, their lives depend on our success, and I won’t let someone in on the case who isn’t a hundred percent committed to the cause.”

“I am a very highly functioning alcoholic.”

“Cut it down or cut me out. Your choice.”

“You learn fast.”

“I may have a good teacher, though he still has to prove himself.”

Tyrion asks her to have another look at the archives because there must be more to what she currently has. Brienne says that she will have to ask her “friend” to do that, letting him know that she had no luck whereas her friend did. Tyrion is amused by the arrangement and jokes about how that sounds more like this “friend” is to her what Shae is to him. Tyrion suggests to her that he should meet that guy as well, to instruct him on what to look for. He has a greater knowledge regarding those matters than Brienne happens to have because he worked similar cases before. Brienne agrees to the arrangement.

That is the moment Jaime returns with the girls. Brienne tells him about the good news, only for him to go completely blank when he sees Tyrion and Tyrion sees him. Brienne doesn't know what's happening until both drop the bombshell that Jaime is Jaime Lannister and that this is his brother. Brienne never mentioned the name of the law firm to Jaime because he said he did not care.

As it turns out that the brothers were estranged after Tyrion took off to Essos to work for Daenerys Targaryen as a legal advisor when Jaime would have needed him most after the loss of his hand. When he made the cut away from Cersei and Tywin, Jaime thought Tyrion would stand by his side, but he did not. Instead, Tyrion rather kept out of the affairs and hid away in Essos. Jaime never forgave him that and broke with him the same way he did with the rest of the Lannister clan.

Jaime leaves the house in a hurry, unable to deal with his brother and his past catching up to him. Brienne goes after him and comforts him, to “return the favor.” While she won't ask him to go back to the archive and thus help his brother, Jaime says he will do it because he's seen what wildfire can do in the warzone under Aerys in particular, and he could not live with himself if he let people get away with using it.

“Just don't expect me to make peace with my brother.”

“I don't.”

“Then the truce remains intact.”

The work continues and the three work on their parts of the case. Brienne keeps gathering evidence and interviews to connect the dots, Tyrion preps up the battle tactic alongside her and gets back into his old game as the stellar figure he used to be in court despite his height, and Jaime ventures through the archives and on occasion charms his way into the hearts of the locals they have to interview when Brienne can't seem to get through to them.

However, big trouble is on the way and one set-back hunts the next. Running out of money, subtleties from the team of lawyers they are up against, files disappearing, threats, and unknown phone calls are only some of the problems they are facing.

The investigation starts to take its toll on Jaime’s and Brienne’s burgeoning relationship. Jaime doesn’t know whether he can commit to this kind of life he slipped into, after he embraced a life without strings attached for so very long. Brienne, for her part, can’t slow down and dedicates almost all of her time to he work. She would love to spend more time with Arya and Sansa, but she has a responsibility towards those people, she made a promise and has to keep it, has to, has to, has to. However, she also struggles with her feelings for Jaime because she doesn’t want to hold him back, well aware that he is still coming to terms with his PTSD he suffered in the war. She doesn’t want to burden him and doesn’t feel like she can make him stay. After all, she is not flirty, is not charming, and bad luck just keeps sticking to her flat heels.

And all of that happens in the midst of a legal war about to begin between The Alchemists' Guild and Brienne and her team.

But will they win?

Will justice win?

And what may be the costs of that battle?

Only time will show.

Additional Image Source: Erin Brockovich (2000).

#jaime x brienne #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #game of thrones #got moodboard #got aesthetic #moodboard #aestheic #wacky tries gimp #fanfic #in smol #wacky writes fanfic #erin is evidently very much unlike Brienne in character #but I found the story totally intriguing #and with a bit of a change-up we can actually make it work I believe #at least I like it

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justadram · 5 years

Text

A terrible song

[part two] [part one]

Summary: Jaime x Sansa on the eve of the battle for the dawn. An AU where Jaime arrives in Winterfell, previously having been married to Sansa instead of her being married to Tyrion.

...

Theon’s chin lifts to spy something over Sansa’s shoulder, straightening up as he squints into the darkness. The slight movement of his body puts a small distance between them, whereas they had been bent, heads close together, awaiting the end of all things. It’s the smallest of distances, but one she instantly resents. An almost overwhelming feeling hollows her out at the realization that she would pull him back in close if she could do so unobserved. Her hands fist in her lap, until her nails dig into the flesh.

Things might have turned out differently between them if there was more time. As it is, these few hours are all they have left.

Precious time someone has disturbed. She twists around to see who it is, and though the guttering torches provide the barest of light to cut through the claustrophobic murk, she can make him out: tall, broad with muscle, hair golden, but grey now at the temples, a grey that catches the low light just as well. The halo of the closest torch throws his face into relief as he cocks his head at the pair of them. He’s wearing a grimace, and she has no doubt that it is his glare that forces Theon to his feet. But she won’t stand for anyone making Theon feel unwanted, when he is.

She blindly extends her hand to stop Theon with a grip of his wrist. “Sit back down,” she says without looking away from the interloper.

Theon hesitates to follow her command; a vacillation that leaves him awkwardly bent at the waist somewhere between sitting down and standing to excuse himself.

“Pardon me. Do I interrupt a private moment, my lady?”

The lilt of Jaime’s voice narrows her eyes. “Yes, clearly.”

Her curtness is not enough to scare him away, however. She knew it wouldn’t be. He’s carelessly, stupidly stubborn, born of a lifetime of being too certain of his ability to fight his way out of whatever bad situation he’s stumbled into.

“Did you need something, ser?”

“I do in fact.”

She gives Theon’s wrist a tug, and he finally eases back into his place beside her. She bestows on him a soft smile: it’s as much for him as it is for Jaime Lannister’s benefit. The manipulation is petty, perhaps, but it serves him right for marching over here, spoiling her contentment.

Her smile broadens at Theon’s stiff shoulders and how his brows reach for his hairline, when she settles her hand on his knee.

Her attention swings back to the man throwing a shadow over them both. “Yes, what is it?”

His mouth purses, as his chest rises slowly on a purposeful inhale. “I require reassurance.”

“On what count?”

“Your safety.”

“That presents something of a difficulty, as none of us will be safe. Have we not already decided as much, ser?”

His boots scuff the stone floor, as he moves to stand feet astride next to her, his good hand on his hip. “Humor me with a little prudence. You’ll be safest in the crypts. You agree, don’t you, Greyjoy?”

His own desperate stab at manipulation.

Theon doesn’t venture to speak, but the sidelong look he gives her feels like a minor betrayal. He’s not allowed to side with her former husband. Sansa pulls back her hand.

Next he’ll have Jon up here, trying to order her about.

“I will stay where the people of the North can see me and take heart in my presence.”

“What comfort do you think they’ll gain from watching your pretty chest skewered atop the battlement?”

“I wear a breastplate.”

“Sansa,” Theon says, low enough that it could be a plea and not an order.

Either way, the two men are of one mind. She rolls her eyes.

Dying doesn’t sound pleasant, but then, she only wants to do the right thing. She wants to do what her lady mother would have done at a time like this. Or her father.

“Think of the women,” Theon continues. “They’ll be in the crypt, and they will need you.”

“Not all of the women will be hiding,” she argues, pulling her hands in closer to her middle.

Not Brienne. Or her sister. Not fierce little Lyanna Mormont. Or Daenerys atop her giant dragon.

“Oh very good, you and Brienne of Tarth then will protect the gate.” Jaime nods. “Can you lift a sword?”

“I have a knife if it comes to that.”

“Pray it won’t.”

Theon repeats his raspy plea, just her name and a shake of his head, and she replaces her hand on his knee to gently shush him.

Jaime’s gaze follows her movement, his jaw tensing. “See reason or I’ll haul you down there myself. Throw you right over my shoulder like a sack of grain. You wouldn’t like that.”

He sounds eager enough at the prospect that she suspects he’d do it.

“How gallant.”

Theon's lips part, as if to warn Jaime away from such an action, which only makes Jaime’s head tilt down in unconcealed mirth.

“Come now, don’t force Greyjoy here to come to your aid. We’re not supposed to be fighting among ourselves.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she says tightly.

“Good, you’ll swear it? My brother will benefit from your pleasant companionship as much as the women, you know.”

She looks from the stones beneath his feet up into his smirking face. It doesn’t reach his eyes: all this teasing is forced and fake. His eyes are painfully sharp with seriousness, the whites shot through with red.

Other people’s pain still finds its way into Sansa’s breast, urging her to acts of kindness. A concession to his wishes might be the wisest move. It also might be a kindness.

“I swear it.”

“Once the dead are upon us, you ought to lead a prayer. For all of us.”

That he’s playing a part even now, while the world hangs in the balance, is a pathetic kind of comedy, she has no desire to watch play out. She can be herself here alone with Theon. Who has Jaime to be himself with here? There’s only ever been one answer, and he left his twin. For her. Or his honor.

“You think the gods will listen?” she asks, straightening her skirts as she stands.

“No. Almost assuredly not.”

“Then my pious efforts will be as useless as you claim your martial ones will be.”

“I don’t like to think of my former wife showing me up, you understand.”

Theon schools his gaze to the floor, when she reaches up to brush at Jaime’s shoulder, as if to remove some perceived impurity. There probably will be no chance to tidy him into a semblance of his former self, despite her girlish notions to the contrary.

His figure is not so shabby in spite of it.

She pauses to commit him to memory. Like this. Not as he was when first she saw him in Winterfell at the king’s pleasure, not on their wedding day, when she could hardly make her feet move down the aisle of the sept and he looked nearly as miserable. Just like this, standing before her of his own volition.

“Fight bravely, ser.”

His smile falters, as his brows draw together. It’s too serious a look with the downturn of his mouth matching the sad severity of his green eyes. It harbingers things she can’t bear to hear. If he means to speak on things she hasn’t the strength to shoulder, she’ll be forced to take Theon by the hand and abandon the sanctuary of their quiet corner.

“Don’t die here. Do you understand?”

Yes, she understands. He’s advising flight if there is still some chance of it, should the battle go as badly as most of them fear. She doesn’t wager it will be possible. Every horse has a rider intended for battle.

“I shall do my best.”

“For the future of House Stark of course.”

As focused as she has been on preserving the North’s independence, she has given precious little thought to the future and Bran’s inability to produce an heir. That responsibility will necessarily fall to either her or Arya. Jon is a Stark, but his queen is not. Nor does Sansa have much hope for Daenerys’ security of the North’s freedom, which makes any child of theirs a threat. There’s Alys Karstark, but the Karstarks are a cadet line separated from her house too many generations ago for Sansa to feel satisfied with that solution. Never mind that Alys also might die tonight.

No, if they survive, Sansa will need to consider marriage again. Her stomach swoops. An odd thing to realize, while standing before the best of her former husbands, the one who seems so determined for her to live.

“Yes, you being so fond of my house.”

“Always. Or at least of its lady.”

A pretty lie. Jaime is capable of those—pretty lies from a handsome face. Sometimes he believes them too.

She presses her hand to his cheek. Once she would have had to stand on her toes to do so, but she’s not the little girl he once wed against his wishes. Her thumb arches over his cheek.

“They might not be listening, but I’ll pray for you nonetheless, ser.”

If he must die, let him die wrapped in whatever lies that might warm him. Some truths are too unkind.

#jaime x sansa #gotfic #fanfic #game of thrones #jaimsa

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romancingromanoff · 5 years

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Where Roses Grow (Margaery Tyrell x femme reader) Part 1/2

Back in King’s Landing with your older sister Sansa, Margaery Tyrell takes a peculiar interest in you. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

You knew your days were numbered, but you had no idea by how much. After your father’s execution Arya had disappeared and so Cersei was determined to keep you and your older sister locked up in the Red Keep. Sansa was no more than a year older than you, but out of the three Stark sisters you were the most rational and responsible. While Sansa had always been off dreaming of being a princess and Arya letting her hot-headedness get her into constant trouble, you had always acted like the calm, neutral mediator. Sansa and Arya always needed someone to balance the two of them, but with the younger of the sisters missing and the two remaining ones traumatized for life, you were finding it pretty difficult to think of ways that you and Sansa could defend yourselves against Joffrey and the queen.

You figured that the two of you would at least be kept alive and used as leverage in a trade after word came of your brother Robb capturing the Kingslayer. But then the Tyrells showed up to assist the Lannister forces in the Battle of the Blackwater and recently widowed Margaery was said to be looking for another husband. As much as you hated Joffrey and would rather die than see your sister married to that monster, you knew that after their engagement was annulled and Robb had refused to give up the Kingslayer that your use to Cersei had lost most of its worth. Since Sansa was the eldest you supposed that she would try to marry her off to someone else in court but as her younger sister you didn’t offer much.

If Sansa was wary of the Tyrells’ intentions to befriend her then you completely against speaking to them at all. However, it was a bit difficult for you to stick to your logical instincts when you couldn’t stop thinking about the Tyrell girl for the life of you. A part of you was secretly giddy that Margaery had invited you and your sister for some afternoon tea, not just once, but a couple of times since she had arrived at the capital. But as much as you wished to believe that she was just truly being friendly, you knew better than to expect that from the future Queen. She wanted something.

“Sansa, you really shouldn’t go. If anything, Cersei will make our lives even worse if she suspects we’re allying ourselves with the Tyrells,” you tried to reason with your sister.

“Elinor, you should give her a chance.”

“You’re not suspicious at all about this?”

“I am, but isn’t it a bit strange to you that some people trying to use us would be so polite about it? I’m just saying that if they wanted something, and I mean really wanted something, they wouldn’t have to go through all of this effort to get it.”

“Sansa!” you tried to grab her as she turned the corner and headed deeper and deeper into the gardens of King’s Landing. From behind a few bushes you could peak out and watch the scene unfolding before you. A couple of Tyrell girls (you believed were distant cousins of Margaery’s or of a lower house) were giggling about something. It made you think about how long it had been since you had seen Sansa laugh too. Needing to get a better angle, you tried to stretch out a bit to the side more. Unfortunately, your feet didn’t really want to cooperate with the rest of your body.

“Oof!” you hit the ground with a thud a lot louder than you would have preferred. Feeling your head spin as you realized you were on the ground, a voice from far away seemed to be calling your name, though you couldn’t make out who it was.

“Lady Elinor!”

She was rushing towards you a bit more quickly than a lady should have been running and the breeze that traveled with her smelt like roses and vanilla creme. “Are you alright? Here, let me help you,” Margaery’s soft voice sounded so worried that it made your heart skip a beat. All you could do was stare at her wide-eyed and as quiet as a mute as you allowed her to grab onto your hands and help pull you up. They were so soft and smooth under your touch that you wondered if a lady like herself had ever even felt the reins of a horse or the bark of a tree before.

“I-I,” was all you could force out while she continued to touch your body with her hands on your shoulders. You knew she was just trying to stabilize you but it was the most sensual thing you had ever felt in your life. How perfect it felt to be held by her even if only for a second.

“Your cheek,” ran her fingers down the left side of your jawbone causing your eyes to flutter. “You’re hurt. And bleeding. Quickly, someone fetch me some water and a rag,” she called to one of the servants nearby.

“Oh, no, my lady, I’m quite alright, I assure you,” your words slurred to the point where they were almost incomprehensible. “Please, I didn’t mean to cause such a scene.”

“Oh nonsense. It’s wonderful to finally meet you. Were you coming to join us for tea?” she asked with a slight hopefulness in her voice that matched her dazzling smile which seemed to make you forget why you had originally declined all of her invitations before. “I can clean your wound as well, it’s really no trouble. In fact, I practically insist. If you leave now I’d be terribly worried about you for the rest of the day.”

“Alright,” is all you can quietly muster up. If it was possible for her to smile even more than she already was then she did as she also took the liberty of linking her bare arm with yours. Her dress was… magnificent to say the least: Sleeveless so you could see her perfectly creamy skin against the rather dull gray colors of your longer sleeved norther attire. Gods, you wished that you could feel her skin on yours at that moment.

“What happened?” Sansa asked before you could sit down at the small table decorated with a variety of pastries.

“Your sister tripped and I’m afraid I couldn’t reach her in time,” Margaery took the liberty of speaking for you, thanks the gods, as the servant came back with a small bowl of water and a towel which she took into her own hands and started to wet. “Now hold still, this may sting a little.”

If it stung the wound at all you would have never known. You were too focused on the feeling of her other hand cupping your opposite cheek as she gently dabbed the towel against the small cut

“And I thought you didn’t want to come,” Sansa muttered to you and you tightened your jaw at her. Of course, she had to start some sort of drama.

“Well, I’m certainly glad that you did come,” Margaery said as she finished cleaning your wound. “I’ve been hoping to meet you two for quite some time.”

The conversation (which mostly consists of Margaery talking to you and Sansa) fades into muffled sounds as you lightly touch your fingers against the cheek that had been resting in her hand if only for a few seconds. There was something warm creeping up inside you that had you on the verge of reaching out and grabbing her hand in yours just like your heart was telling you too. You weren’t used to being under the control of your impulses and couldn’t trust yourself at this moment if your head wasn’t clear. With an abrupt “I’m sorry, please excuse me,” you got up from the table and picked up your skirts to run all the back to your chambers. Not once did you look back; and you couldn’t have even if you were brave enough to.

“Elinor!” you heard Sansa cry but then the sound of your own heart beating faster and faster as you pushed yourself to run without stopping took over. You needed to bury whatever it was that you were feeling immediately or you were afraid that it would kill you before Cersei got the chance.

A few days later, you’d managed to pull your emotions together and get back to a normal routine. It was almost luck that you had been so anxious after your first encounter with Margaery because your nerves soon caused you to fall ill and you couldn’t leave your bedchamber for the next two days. At least that made it easy to explain why you had run off so suddenly that day. “It’s my head and my stomach. I think it’s the heat,” you told your sister when she visited you. There was no reason for her not to believe you so she never asked again, but you worried that Margaery wouldn’t buy the same story.

Now that you could finally leave, (or at least as much as Cersei let you leave within the walls of the Red Keep) you took to one of the quiet courtyards and sat on a bench underneath the shade and propped open your drawing book. You began to draw one of the squirrels scurrying along from tree to tree looking for some food. The ones down south weren’t too different from the ones back home in terms of size, looks, and behavior, but they were a much more rich red color in the capital whereas you were used to drawing black ones.

“You’re very talented,” a soft but surprising voice caused you to jump.

Gods, of course it was her.

“Forgive me, my lady, I didn’t know anyone would come out here.”

“Please, don’t apologize. I should be apologizing for startling you. I’m sorry if I scared you, but I just couldn’t help but admire your drawings. They really are beautiful. I would never be able to create something so life-like it’s simply amazing the gift you have.”

“You are too kind, my lady.”

“Margaery, please,” she insisted.

“Margaery,” you tried your name on your lips and found that you liked the sound of it. “Well, then I insist that you call me Elinor. I’m sorry that our previous introduction was rather… unorthodox to say the least.”

“Don’t be silly,” she chuckled. “You were feeling rather unwell and both your sister and I were quite worried for you when you ran away,” her tone and facial expression took a turn and you saw something that looked a lot like sympathy in her eyes. What you couldn’t decide yet was whether or not you could trust them. “I was so relieved to hear from her that you were feeling better.”

“Yes, well, I have to thank you for being so kind to the both of us and especially my sister. It’s wonderful knowing that she has someone else besides me to talk to and she’s told me how much your friendship has meant to her. I can see it in her eyes too. It’s just been such a long time since she smiled so carelessly,” you smile back at her.

She took both your hands into her own and you tried to hold down a deep gulp of anxiousness and tried to concentrate on the ground. But somehow, her eyes had this magnetic ability that drew yours to look up at her. She was only a few years older than you but at least a good 5 inches or so taller. Unlike Sansa, you hadn’t been blessed with the tall Stark genes and resembled Arya and Jon when it came to height.

“I’d really like to get to know you better too, Elinor,” her voice was serious, but reassuring almost as soft as a whisper. “I know this place… these people have hurt you and your family more than I can understand, but I really am sorry.”

“I just… have to think for the both of us sometimes. Many of those people who seek to hurt us are good at hiding their intentions. And my sister is so naive sometimes that I need to be careful.”

“I understand,” she nods never taking her eyes away. “Sansa is so lucky to have you. I know she’s technically older than you are and we’ve only just met but I believe you’re much wiser than your years; my grandmother thinks so too. But I hope that I can earn your trust, if you’d let me. You’re so beautiful when you smile and I’d love to see that more. I’d love to see you happy.”

You blinked almost furiously just trying to grasp an understanding of her words. But you couldn’t stop the thoughts about her calling you beautiful from flooding into your mind and evolving into much more detailed, almost inappropriate, ideas.

“I think that I’d like that.”

Her smile was real. You didn’t doubt it.

So this was really fluffy I know but the next part is going to be a lot more detailed and explicit if you know what I mean.

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whitecrossgirl · 5 years

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Pressure

AN: Ok I am totally blown away by the amazing feedback and support that I’ve gotten for my fics, seriously, you guys are amazing. I hope you enjoy this update.

College AU

After three years of study at the University of the Crownlands; there were some things that Brienne had learnt that would stay with her forever. Such as the ability to endure a two and a half hour lecture whilst dying of a hangover, how to marathon a whole season in one day and of course, how to survive on a diet of noodles, toast and alcohol. However as March came to an end and their various deadlines for their dissertations drew closer; there was also a simultaneous lesson on how different people handled the stress, pressure and realisation that despite studying a degree for three years; they felt absolutely clueless about their dissertation topic. Fun nights out and lazy days chilling out and joking around in lectures had been replaced with study sessions, frantic journal searching and panicked tutorial sessions which seemed to do more harm than good.

Brienne seemed to be coping the best out of her friendship group; at least she presented it that way. Her stress manifested itself in the form of insomnia and she was surviving off of Red Bull and coffee. Her housemate Bronn challenged his energy into obsessively cleaning the house. Her coursemate Sam had all but moved into the library. Her other housemate Daenerys was suffering from panic attacks and meltdowns at the mere mention of a deadline. Daenerys’ cousin Jon was issuing daily (sometimes hourly) threats of dropping out and moving to Dorne to become a stripper. Brienne’s boyfriend Jaime was channelling any stress and anxieties into being childishly annoying. Whereas his twin sister Cersei, well…

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU JAIME! DON’T THINK THAT I WON’T!”

Cersei chose violence.

Brienne could hear Cersei’s demonic shrieking as she walked around the side of the Lannister’s town house/mansion. Cersei was standing by the pool holding Jaime in a headlock. Jaime was trying to free himself but Cersei’s grip tightened and his face was turning purple. He seemed to be trying to choke out words but instead sounded like he dying.

“GIVE IT BACK OR I SWEAR TO THE SEVEN I WILL PULL YOUR HE- oh, hi Brienne,” Cersei said, looking up to see Brienne set her backpack on the ground. Jaime waved a hand at her. Or he was begging for help. As an only child. Brienne knew better than to get involved with a sibling fight.

“Hey Cersei,” Brienne replied as Cersei turned her attention back to Jaime.

“I WILL PULL YOUR HEAD OFF AND SHIT DOWN YOUR NECK!” Cersei bellowed as Jaime managed to loosen his neck slightly.

“Alright you psycho, I’ll give it back.” Jaime rasped and Cersei promptly released her grip on him. Massaging his neck, Jaime crossed the garden towards where their gardener hand placed several large vases filled with flowers. Jaime reached behind one of them and produced a large, worn, slightly dirty stuffed elephant and walked back over the garden, offering it to Cersei. Cersei immediately grabbed the elephant, tucked it under arm and walked back inside without a word.

Brienne, who had in that time removed her shoes and socks and sat on the edge of the pool, dangling her legs in the water, rolled her eyes at Jaime. “You just had to steal her Nellie-phant, didn’t you?”

“She was annoying me.” Jaime justified as he sat next to her. He grinned to himself and Brienne raised a hand in warning.

“Don’t even think about it.” Brienne warned. “How’s your work coming along?”

“Terribly but better than Edmure’s. he had his tutorial before me, poor bastard walked out in tears.” Jaime replied. Admittedly, he was terrified of failing his dissertation; in their final year, their dissertation was an entire unit of study, one of four they needed to complete and pass in order to graduate. He had always struggled academically, especially compared to Cersei and Tyrion and he wanted to do well, to show he could actually get through his education.

“Poor guy,” Brienne said. “Daenerys had another meltdown, she’s putting herself under too much pressure.”

“Yeah but everyone is. It’s stressful,” Jaime reasoned and Brienne shook her head.

“No, this time she wanted to burn all of her work. She’s not been this bad since the exams we had at the end of first year. She actually set the kitchen in our flat on fire, remember?” Brienne asked, remembering the time Daenerys had left a chip pan on and open while she tried to revise. That was when they had all learnt that it was true, chip pans did easily catch fire.

“Oh yeah, didn’t she get like 97% in that exam anyway?” Jaime asked and Brienne shrugged; it was hard to keep track but that did seem accurate. Daenerys put herself under a lot of academic pressure and although she always got a high result; it couldn’t be doing her mental health any favours.

“Honestly, it will be a miracle if we all get through the next few weeks without someone dropping out, getting arrested or institutionalised. Or all three.” Brienne said and Jaime laughed.

“It’ll definitely happen. Depends on who’s first.” Jaime quipped as the patio door opened and Cersei walked over to them, Nellie-phant still tucked under her arm. “What do you want?”

“Dad’s working late so Tyrion and I are ordering from Hot Pies. Do you want anything?” Cersei asked the two of them.

“What are you getting?” Brienne asked, Hot Pies was their favourite takeaway; it was a standard pizza/burgers/kebab place but it did the best food in the whole city.

“Tyrion’s getting a kebab, I’m getting a pizza.” Cersei replied.

“Get me a chicken burger, no lettuce. And some cheesy chips.” Jaime decided as Cersei tapped her phone screen.

“Brienne, you want anything?” Cersei offered.

“Can you get me a kebab as well please, just with mayo and chili sauce on it?” Brienne asked and smiled at Cersei. “Thanks.”

“No problem, I’ll shout when it’s here.” Cersei said and returned back inside. Jaime watched her go as Brienne smiled slightly.

“I never understood how the two of you go from trying to kill one another to ordering food like nothing happened.” Brienne stated as her phone began to buzz in her pocket.

“It’s a sibling thing.” Jaime dismissed. “Who is it this time?”

“Jon.” Brienne said, swiping the screen in order to call Jon and listen to him vent and remind him that strippers didn’t make that much money. Plus Tormund probably wouldn’t appreciate him going to Dorne. The stripping, yes, travelling anywhere more south than Kings Landing, hell no. It took about twenty minutes to calm Jon down and by the time she finished the call, she was feeling more than a bit irritated towards her friends.

Just because it seemed like she had her shit together, it in no way, shape or form meant that she actually had her shit together.

Jaime simply gave her a hug before pulling her to her feet, grabbing her bag and leading her inside. He didn’t even try to annoy Cersei, who was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by textbooks, her laptop and was now cuddling her stuffed elephant while she looked up different journal articles on the library website. Jaime led Brienne into the lounge and sat with her on the couch, letting her lean against him as he teased her hair. He knew that everyone was dealing with more than what they usually did but Brienne was the one holding them together and none of them seemed to realise how much it took out of her. If they didn’t have Brienne reining them in, calming them down, soothing their anxieties; then they probably all would have done something reckless or stupid. From the beginning she had established herself as the Mum Friend; the one who got them home safe from a night out, comforted them in times of stress but also stopped them from going too far. Hell, if it wasn’t for Brienne and her unwavering support and encouragement, Jaime probably wouldn’t have even made it to his third year of uni.

“Is she alright?” Cersei asked, appearing in the doorway with Tyrion, both of them with food in their hands. Jaime looked down at Brienne and realised that she had dozed off. Her lack of sleep finally catching up to her.

“She’s fine,” Jaime replied. “Let her sleep.”

“We’ll put your food in the oven. Make sure she eats something.” Tyrion advised Jaime before he and Cersei left them in peace to eat their food. Jaime smiled down at Brienne and kissed her forehead. Brienne’s forehead crinkled slightly but she didn’t wake. Jaime carefully reached for his phone and opened their group chat. He debated putting a message telling everyone to deal with their own problems but instead, he closed out of the group chat and opened his browser instead. Jaime tapped something into the search bar and glanced at Brienne before looking at the results on the screen.

Engagement rings.

They were too young to be thinking about that stage of their lives; they were still only twenty one after all. They were yet to graduate, travel, build their careers, actually be full time working adults. They were too young for settling down with a marriage, a house and kids.

But maybe one day…

#game of thrones #fic #braime #jaime x brienne #brienne of tarth #Jaime Lannister #Cersei Lannister #college au

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