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Chapter Text

Age Eight- The Embroidery Debacle

The eight year old Lady Brienne sat hunched over her embroidery hoop, stabbing at the canvas with her needle. Lady Joanna leaned over and tutted at her ward's attempts of embroidering a red lion.

“Oh dear,” she sighed, “It looks rather like my bedsheets after I had Tyrion,” she took the hoop from Brienne's hands and began unpicking at the thread, “In the end we had to throw them away,”

She looked up to see Brienne staring longingly out the window. “Brienne!” she snapped, “Are you listening to me?”

Brienne snapped her head round and apologised. “Sorry Lady Joanna, I shall try better next time,”

Joanna laid the embroidery across her lap and placed both hands on Brienne's shoulders, pushing them back and forcing Brienne to sit up straighter. “Do not slouch darling, when you are Lady Lannister you must comport yourself with grace, poise and confidence. Remember, the whole world bows to the Lord Of Casterly Rock,” she smiled slightly, “Who in turns always bows to his lady,”

“Jaime doesn't,” Brienne pointed out, instinctively slumping down in her seat once more, her broad shoulders straining against her tight gown. Brienne looked out the window, petulantly watching her betrothed with his Master of Arms.

Joanna followed Brienne's gaze and shook her head as Jaime smiled smugly at Brienne, brandishing his sword and sticking his tongue out. According to Lord Selwyn's wishes, Brienne received an hour of instruction in sword fighting alongside Jaime each day, along with languages, mathematics and other such studies. But she was also expected to attend lessons in embroidery, deportment and music. Everything necessary for the daughter of a noble house and future Lady of the Rock.

And so, to Brienne's dismay, she found herself cloistered in Lady Joanna's beautiful but stuffy sitting room, forced to practice her needlepoint whilst Jaime got to spar in the yard. She took back her embroidery and thrust the needle into it once more.

Joanna watched as Jaime continued to wave and make faces at his unfortunate betrothed. She shook her head once more. Clearly, something had to be done.

#

“But why do I have to do embroidery?” he wailed, throwing his needle and hoop against the wall, “It's boring! No one expects the Lord of the Rock to embroider flowers,”

Brienne smirked. “You only say that because you know that I am better than you,”

Joanna smiled, “Just try, Jaime. There is no need to be embarrassed. It's only to be expected that Brienne stitched better flowers than you,” she patted the top of his head.

“It will take time, but perhaps one day, you may even be able to have piece of your work on display, to show all visitors and Bannermen, like Brienne. Although I suppose it will take a long time for you to achieve her degree of accomplishment,”

Jaime turned red and snatched the hoop from his mother's hands. “Oh yeah?” he aggressively threaded his needle with a length of pink thread, “Is that what you think? Well, I could embroider a better flower than Brienne any day. Just watch and see!”

Jaime was at his embroidery for the next seven hours. He stubbornly refused to move, not even for his jousting lessons, until he had finally perfected his masterpiece. He had painstakingly created a dainty pink rose, surrounded by a boarder of daisies.

“There!” he cried, thrusting his work before his mother, “Put that on display! And be sure to tell all of my Bannermen, that Lord Jaime made this!”

Chapter Text

Age Ten-The Visit

Jaime could barely sit still in his seat, constantly leaping out of his chair and dashing to the window. Every time he looked out across the horizon, craning his neck desperately, only to scowl every time he saw it bereft of the Martell spear and sun. It had been three years since he had seen his golden twin. Despite his hatred of writing and his struggle in doing so, he had devotedly written to Cersei threes times a week. To his frustration, her own replies had been sparse and infrequent. He sulked back towards his desk and kicked the table leg, causing the ink pot to jolt and spill over Brienne's work.

“Jaime!” she cried, desperately trying to clean the ink blots, “Now I have to start over,”

Jaime shrugged, but handed her the blotter.

“It's no good,” she sighed, “It's ruined,”

He pushed his own parchment towards her, having miraculously remained in tact, “You can copy mine,”

Brienne frowned as she took in his work, noting several differences between her own. Whereas the two became fiercely competitive over swordplay and riding and even embroidery, their joint incompetence in High Valyrian had them struggling together for hours on end. Seeing Brienne's forehead furrowed in concern, Jaime settled beside her and together they worked through the translations. He gently talked her through each one, giving her hand a squeeze every time he saw her drift off.

Finally, Brienne sat back with a sigh and laid down her quill.

“Down!” she said, “At last,”

Jaime looked up to smile, only to sees something in the corner of his eye. He whipped round, a grin spreading over his face, before dashing over to the window.

“Cersei!” he cried, hurling past Brienne and dashing down the stairs. Brienne looked back at her work and groaned. Jaime had spilt ink all over it, again.

#

Jaime reached out and pulled Cersei into his arms with a yelp, giddily swinging her round. She hastily broke away and smoothed down her gown.

“Jaime,” she hissed, “Not in front of everyone,”

Jaime faltered in the face of Cersei's scorn, but relaxed as a sweet smile spread over Cersei's features.

“I am most pleased to see you once more, dear brother,” she said, placing a cool kiss on his cheek.

“Cersei?” he asked in confusion, not understanding his twin's coldness.

She ignored him, and bowed her head pleasantly as her mother introduced her to the members of the household come to greet her. Her smile grew into a sneer upon seeing the awkwardly hunched over Lady Brienne, and turned venomous upon seeing little Tyrion. Brienne reached out, and took Tyrion's hand into her own, giving it a quick squeeze as he squirmed beneath Cersei's malevolent glare. Even so, she was helpless as Cersei planted a smile on her face once more, pulling Tyrion into a hug and swiftly pinching his shoulders.

Jaime saw none of this, and only watched his golden twin with a puppyish devotion, eagerly chasing after her as the party made it's way to the castle. Tyrion looked up at Brienne inquiringly, hurt at being ignored by his adored older brother. Brienne scowled at her betrothed's retreating back and lifted Tyrion into her warm, strong arms and carried him home.

#

“I pity you, brother,” Cersei declared, as she she observed the towering Brienne carefully playing with the diminutive Tyrion, “Your betrothed is certainly no prize. Have you ever seen such an ungainly creature? And her face is so homely,”

Jaime stared uneasily after Brienne. He had never considered the homeliness of Brienne's face before, it was just her face. But looking at her now, he could see that compared to Cersei, her face was broad and freckled, with big protruding teeth. She also completely lacked any of Cersei's grace and poise.

He saw Cersei's expectant face and smiled conspiratorially. “She looks like a horse!” he said, snorting.

Brienne looked up from the game and watched the laughing twins. Jaime met her eyes, and cringed at the hurt in them.

“But,” he said in a slightly raised voice, “she's my best friend, and,” he added, somewhat grudgingly, “very good at fighting,”

Chapter Text

Age Twelve-Becoming a Woman

Jaime paced anxiously outside Brienne's chamber, desperately waiting to be admitted. He had not seen Brienne since last night, when she had taken ill. They had been at dinner, with Brienne looking slightly peaky as she picked at her food. She sat hunched over the table, clutching her stomach and shaking her head every time someone addressed her. When she stood, her Septa had gasped slightly and quickly whisked her away to bed, whilst Jaime was forced to watch in silent concern.

Their tutors and her Septa had reassured him that there was nothing to be concerned about, but last he heard his mother had gone to visit her. Lady Joanna never visited them on their sick bed unless it was something serious, being so busy with her duties.

The Septa reacted with a start on seeing Lord Jaime lurking outside the chamber door.

“Is my Lady well?” he demanded, “When can I see her?”

“Lady Brienne is fine, and you can see her soon,” the Septa replied calmly, awkwardly adjusting her grip on the sheets she had been carrying tentatively.

“What is wrong with her? Has the Maester been summoned?”

“The Maester has not been summoned, there is nothing to be concerned about,”

“But when will she be better?”

“From five to seven days hence,” the Septa replied with a smirk, “And I have no doubt, that soon there shall be wedding bells,”

Jaime frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” the Septa said, leaning forward to whisper in the young Lord's ear, “That Lady Brienne has become a woman,”

Jaime's eyes widened in shock as he dumbly watched the Septa scurry away. He had always known, technically, that he and Brienne were to wed. But that had always been in the future, nothing to concern themselves with currently. And yet, if the Septa was to be believed, he and Brienne could be wed very shortly. Within a few years, potentially.

He stared at the heavy wooden door and creaked it open.

“Brienne?” he hissed, “Brienne,”

Brienne rolled over on her bed, surprised to see Jaime standing in her doorway.

“Jaime?”

Jaime shut the door behind him and approached, settling himself down on the edge of the bed.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Brienne scowled. “My stomach hurts, and I have to keep changing my sheets,” she trailed off, blushing. “Have they told you what's wrong with me?”

Jaime nodded, “They have. They said you're a woman now. Do you feel like a woman?”

“No, I feel messy,” she grumbled.

Jaime smiled at tugged at the edge of Brienne's quilt, pulling it up to her shoulder. Even if Brienne was a woman, she didn't seem any different. He was gad for that.

“Jaime!” a voice cried, and the pair looked round to see Lady Joanna frowning in the doorway, “You must not be in here. It is not appropriate,”

Jaime and Brienne exchanged startled looks. Jaime had always been a regular guest in Brienne's rooms. It had never been inappropriate before. Jaime allowed Lady Joanna to take his hand and drag him reluctantly away from Brienne's bedside.

“Come along now Jaime, leave Brienne alone in peace. You really ought not be in her bed,” she chuckled lightly, “There will be time enough for that in a few years,”

Jaime twisted his head over his shoulder to exchange horrified looks with Brienne. Brienne grimaced back at him, although he was uncertain if that was due to her disgust at their imminently approaching marriage, or the cramps in her stomach.

Chapter Text

Age Fourteen-The Banquet

It was the first banquet Brienne was ever to attend. Lady Joanna had decreed that one was to be held for Brienne's fourteenth birthday. The Great Hall was hastily being decorated in preparation, brightly coloured banners depicting Brienne's current and future house colours were strewn across the walls, and singers and jugglers and conjurers were summoned to entertain the guests as they feasted on the seven course meal painstakingly made by the cooks of Casterly Rock.

In order to ensure Brienne was sufficiently prepared for her first banquet, Lady Joanna had informed her that she will have significantly fewer sword fighting lessons in the approaching weeks, the empty hours to be replaced with dress fittings and lessons in dance and etiquette. Despite her longing to return to the training yard, Brienne accepted these lessons with gratitude. She understood that this was her chance to display herself as the future Lady of Casterly Rock, and all eyes were to be upon her. As such, she dutifully recited every piece of etiquette her Septa drummed into her head, and stumbled through the dances so diligently that she would awake to find her fingers tracing out the dance moves on her sheets in her sleep.

Jaime joined her in these lessons, teasing her constantly whilst effortlessly gliding through the steps, guiding her along as he did. The dance lessons were embarrassing, but they weren't near as excruciating as the dress fittings.

As Brienne grew, her body stubbornly persisted in remaining awkward and clumsy. She had no breasts to speak of, but more than made up for this deficiency in her height and general size. She stood on the dressmaker's stool and tried to ignore the sly glances the seamstresses would exchange as they took her measurements. She would stand for hours on end as different bolts of fabric were draped over her and she was poked constantly with needles. Lady Joanna, in her relentless quest to turn Brienne into a lady, had started making her wear tightly laced stays whenever she was not riding or training in the yard. The stays provided for the banquet crushed her ribs and squeezed her lungs, but finally succeeded in forcing Brienne to stand straight and cease her slouching. Lady Joanna's own maid had practised twisting and pinning Brienne's hair, trying to find a style that would flatter her homely face. Or, at least not make her look a figure of fun.

Brienne knew that it had come to a point where the seamstresses and maids were considering making Brienne look simply plain to be a triumph. Compared to the ravishing Lady Joanna and her daughter, Brienne was less of a lioness and more of a lumbering she-bear.

The day finally arrived, and Brienne found herself watching the servants scurry back and forth, with a growing sense of panic. As the hour grew increasingly closer, Brienne could feel her stomach squirm and twist anxiously. Her large, calloused hands trembled as she watched her dressers prowl towards her, ready to whisk her away to her bedchamber to be dressed for her ordeal. Lady Joanna herself condescended to watch, instructing the fussing maids as they swarmed around the helpless Brienne.

They finally finished their ministrations and Brienne was shoved before the mirror. She stared back at her reflection. The gown and hair flattered her to a degree, but it was clear she was not a being made for ornate gowns and intricate hair. Lady Joanna smiled at the finished result, well pleased, but to Brienne her image looked distorted, as though it were a reflection upon the water's surface. Rippling and disjointed. Lady Joanna squeezed Brienne's shoulders and pecked her on the cheek.

“Most lovely,” she told her, nodding at the servants to depart, “I shall leave you a moment to rest. We will fetch you when it's time,”

Brienne watched as the maids and Lady Joanna strolled out, of to finish their own preparations for the banquet. She pressed her ear against the wooden door and, when she was sure they were gone, threw her cloak over her fine gown and quickly strode down hall in the opposite direction. Her heart thudding beneath her suffocatingly tight stays. Her breathing was short, yet even so she broke out into a run as she raced down the stairway and out the door, not slowing until she had found a discrete nook of the castle where none would find her, praying that she may be left in peace.

There she sat, heart in her mouth, as she waited for her disappearance to be noted. She slunk down in the shadows and drew a tapestry across her hiding place, so that the increasingly frantic search party did not see her. Eventually, the steps and voices died down, until one single figure remained. Brienne shrank back in dread as the figure approached and ripped away the tapestry.

“Brienne?” Jaime asked, “What the Seven Hells are you playing at? Everyone is looking for you,”
Brienne shook her head desperately. “I cannot go, Jaime. I will make a fool of myself,”

“Well, you certainly look a fool,”

Brienne scowled. “I cannot help that, this dress-”
“I do not mean the wretched dress. In truth, the dress almost suits you. I mean you look ridiculous, hiding back there. Come out and come to the feast, you know you must,”

Brienne stubbornly stayed rooted to her spot, until Jaime growled and dragged her out. Seeing the pure terror in his normally fearless friend's eyes, he placed a hand on her arm and pressed his lips to her cheek.

“Do not worry, it will not be that bad,”

Brienne laughed. “Really? All your Bannermen will be there, and each one will see immediately that I am no lady, that I will completely fail you as a wife,”

Here, Jaime cut her off by placing his hand on her mouth.

“Enough,” he told her sternly, “My Bannermen may say what they please, but you are the only lady I shall ever want, and the only wife.”

Chapter Text

Age Seventeen-The Wedding

The frantic preparations and growing sense of dread reminded Brienne strongly of her fourteenth nameday feast. This time, the festivities would last a sennight, with Noble Lords and celebrated knights gathering from all Seven Kingdoms and from across the Narrow Sea. Five new gowns had been made for Brienne, and she had to endure torturous fittings for each one. The King and his court would be in attendance, and Brienne would be observed and judged by all assembled, from the greatest Lords to the lowliest servants.

This time, Brienne was ready. Lady Joanna Lannister had done well in schooling Brienne in her duties, and would continue to do so. For all of her lack of weaponry, the Lannister Lioness was fierce and dreaded by all those who opposed her. Brienne found courage from her soon to be Good-mother's example, and in her growing skill in the courtyard.

And in Jaime. In Jaime most of all.

True, things had been strange between the two ever since the official date had been set. Neither knew exactly how to behave around each other, much to Tyrion's constant amusement, who could never desist in commenting on the tension. Sometimes, the two managed to settle into their usual routine of sparring and bickering, but then someone would mention the wedding and a strained silence would fall over them. Other times, Brienne would be going about her business, only to look up and see Jaime watching her with a face she did not quite understand. He'd be staring at her across the dinner table, or else as she sparred some new opponent, something unfathomable in his gaze. She could never truly comprehend what those looks meant, she always looked away blushing before she Jaime noticed she had seen him.

Even so, he was by her side as she waited desperately for her father's ship to dock, smiling at the way her face lit up on seeing her father waving indecorously from the deck. The great, hulking giant of the man swooped down on his daughter and lifted her off the ground. He laughed and cried into her hair, and called her his little girl which, against his gargantuan frame, did not sound so ridiculous. Lord Selwyn then approached Lady Joanna and bowed, before taking Jaime's hand into his own and crushing his fingers.

In order to seize some time alone together, Lord Selwyn accompanied his daughter on a gentle hack around the cliffs of Casterly. As they trotted along the path and breathed in the sea air, he smiled fondly at his daughter.

“Are you nervous about the wedding, my sweet?”

“Somewhat, although I am as prepared for it as I will ever be,” she turned to face him seriously, “It is what comes after that I am worried about,”

Lord Selwyn turned red and looked away. “Perhaps you should talk to your Septa about this,” he blustered.

Brienne rapidly shook her head. “No, not that,” she said hastily, “I mean, being the Lady of Lannister, and all that entails,”

Lord Selwyn nodded reassuringly. “It is a great task before you,” he agreed, “But I truly believe yo are up for it. And you will have Lady Joanna to guide you,”

“And Jaime,” Brienne added, “I am worried about Jaime,”

Here, Lord Selwyn's face grew dark with concern. “How so?” He asked in a deep voice, prepared to go and beat the Lord of Lannister into a pulp if need be.

“The two of us have been friends for so long, I do not know how we shall handle the transition,”

Lord Selwyn reached over and squeezed Brienne's hand.

“Brienne,” he began, “Every time I must leave you I can feel my heart break, but I always knew it was for the best that you had the chance to know your betrothed. That was why Lady Joanna and I were so eager for you to grow together. And now, not only do you know the man you are about to marry, he has become your dearest friend and you trust each other before all others. And you love each other, that I am sure of,”

“But in that way? In the way and man and wife love each other? Do you think Jaime can?”

Here, the blush returned to Lord Selwyn's face and the bluster to his voice. “I already think he does. I see the way he looks at you my dear. He no longer sees the childhood friend he gets into scraps with, but a young woman,” he turned to her with a smile, “Although I hear that the two of you are still getting into scraps.

It was true. The pair often found themselves embroiled in arguments that could only be resolved steel in hand. Brienne laughed self-deprecatingly, and led her father off into a gallop along the coast.

#

Whilst his bride's time was being selfishly monopolized by her father, Jaime contented himself by trying on his wedding clothes. Staring approvingly at his reflection, he smiled as he saw his mother glide into his bedroom. At the sight of him, she faltered and rested momentarily against his bed post.

Joanna was one rarely easily moved. Even so, the sight of her little boy (now taller than her by a head) dressing himself in a handsome red velvet doublet had her swallowing a lump and rapidly blinking back tears. He had grown so handsome, her oldest boy. So handsome and brave and gallant. Jaime grinned at his mother's reflection in the looking glass. 

"Mother, are you crying?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

"Lannisters don't cry," she informed him, reaching out to adjust the gold chain round his neck. Jaime bent down and pressed a kiss to Joanna's cheek, squeezing her shoulder.

"Has Cersei arrived yet?" he asked her, his voice turning stiff.

"Her ship should arrive this afternoon," she looked at him sternly, "And you will be there to greet both her and Prince Oberyn when it does. People will talk if you were absent,"

"Let them talk. I have no inclination to greet my sister nor her husband," Jaime said, turning to face his reflection once more almost petulantly.

Joanna sighed. "I wish you would mend the breach. This quarrel between the three of you has lasted far too long,"

"Lord Oberyn is a slimy lech who can only be commended by his absence. I see no benefit to befriending him. And as for Cersei," he snorted crudely, "If she was to apologise, I would be more than happy to make amends,"

"Cersei shall never apologise,"

"Then I shall never make amends," Jaime said, nodding firmly. On her last visit, Cersei's insulting attitude towards her homely good-sister to be had increased a ten-fold. She had found criticism with every aspect of Brienne, from her face to her figure, from her carriage to her conversation. In contrast, Prince Oberyn had been overly complimentary. Many a times he had approached Brienne's side and whispered words into her ear that had her blushing like a lobster. Jaime was unable to tell which of their behaviour he loathed the most, but he did know that Brienne was to be kept away from them both at all costs. As far as he was concerned, his bride was to be treated with naught but respect. She was to be exposed to neither insulting words nor leery stares.

Except from of course. It was okay if they came from him.                                                                                                             

Jaime glimpsed his mother's facing, noting the tiny droop to her lips. He scowled but nodded and said, "I will be civil, mother, for your sake,"

That was enough for Joanna, who reached up to kiss Jaime's cheek. "That is all I ask. Now come," she said, taking Jaime's hand, "Your Aunt Genna is here,"

Jaime groaned. "Marvellous, my ear has been aching for a pinch," 

#

Swathed in an rich, blue velvet gown and heavy Maiden's cloak, Brienne stood at the front of the Sept. Over a thousand pairs of eyes stared up at her. Somewhere in the crowd, she knew Lord Selwyn was beaming with pride, whilst Lady Joanna smiled in a more discrete manner. Tyrion would be grinning in delight, as well as smirking slyly at his sister. Cersei would be glaring daggers at the pair, spitting venom from her Dornish husband's side.

A small fortune in sapphires glittered at Brienne's throat. The sapphires had been a gift from Jaime. He had approached her the evening before, two pages scurrying behind him.

“My Lady,” he said, “I have some gifts for you,”

First he presented the necklace, and bade her wear it to the wedding tomorrow. He had clasped the exquisite jewels around her throat himself, breathing gently down her neck.

Then, from the second page, he produced a beautiful and deadly looking sword and scabbard. He mockingly knelt before her and presented it to her as though he were a knight, swearing her fealty. The handle was gold, engraved with Lannister lions and Tarth suns and crescent moons.

“This,” he said, “I must ask you not to wear. Some may find it inappropriate for swords to be drawn at a wedding. Although I understand if you desire to have it by your side for the bedding,” he added with the quirk of an eyebrow.

Now, Brienne could not quite but wish she had the sword by her side, if only to give her courage. The perfumed smoke floating from the flickering candles made her head feel light and dizzy, yet Jaime's strong hands anchored her as her Maiden's cloak was swept from her shoulders and he wrapped her in her Bride's cloak with surprising tenderness.

She turned to face him and stare into the emerald green eyes which she knew so well. She took a deep breath and gathered herself, before saying the words she seemed to have spent a lifetime preparing for.

“For I am his, and he is mine. From this day, until the end of days,” Jaime's hand gently pulled her closer, until he was all she saw. “And with this kiss,” she whispered, “I pledge my love,”