Chapter Text
Brienne started with a gasp, slowly and painfully coming back to awareness. She rubbed her bleary eyes, blinking rapidly, and tried to quickly make sense of her surroundings. Where was she? she mused, struggling to find her way through an uncharacteristic daze. She felt a slight chill settled deep in her skin despite the fire crackling pleasantly beside her, bathing her in a warm orange glow, heard the sloshing of water, and looked down to see herself immersed in a large wooden tub. Oh, right. I needed a bath. She tried to fend off thoughts reminding her exactly why she had been desperate for one. Hours and hours of dragging lifeless bodies outside the gates of Winterfell, covered in sweat and grime and death. Face after face staring blankly up at the gray winter sky. On occasion, a head would roll as she slid the corpse as delicately as she could along the hard, icy ground, and dull eyes would lock with her sapphire blue ones, causing her to scramble to look away as casually as she could. A child no older than 12 had been her last for the day. She couldn’t bear to drag the boy through the dirt and debris as she had the others, and had simply bent low to carry him gingerly in her arms on his way to join the others. He had been one of the bodies who insisted on facing her as she brought him to the pyres, and she just couldn’t bear to see another pair of precious eyes robbed of their inner light. She looked up and away from his face as she swiftly moved past the other survivors burdened with morbid cargo of their own. She just wanted the day to be done.
In some ways it had been worse than the long night itself. There was no spirit of battle to carry her through, no blood pumping through her veins and deafening roars of flames in her ears, no constant threats from the onslaught of undead to distract her, no Jaime fighting the darkness side by side with her that she needed to protect; there were only constant, unending reminders of all those who had not survived, and the nagging question of why she had.
Out of the corner of her eye, she had seen Jaime catch glimpses of her when she had deliberately looked away from the bodies, and she tried her best to ignore it. She was too tired for whatever he might have to say. Her body ached immensely, and her spirit was saddened, and she didn’t want to hear him say she was foolish for lamenting the dead in the face of such well-earned victory. She didn’t even know if he would say anything honestly, but she saw his wandering gaze fall on her now and then as he dragged bodies nearby, and all she knew was that she was too tired for whatever he was thinking. She focused on her task.
Lady Sansa had come ‘round after that last boy and informed them all that they had done more than enough for the day. Now it was time to rest and rejoice in their being alive. There would be a hearty meal tonight in an hour’s time. She addressed Brienne individually after the others had dissipated, knowing she would be reluctant to embrace any sort of leisure time. She insisted that Brienne take some time to breathe and recuperate, bathe, tend to her bruised and battered form, and savor a decent meal that she had more than earned. Brienne was indeed exhausted as she did not even object. She simply nodded curtly and made her way to her room, Pod assuring her that he would bring her hot water, soap, and some food to hold her over since she must be starving. She waved him off telling him he deserved his own rest and continued on her way.
What had woken her? She realized something must have. And just as the thought pulled her out of her bleak reflections, an awkward banging on the door startled her, and she understood that this is what had roused her from her impromptu slumber.
“I’m fine, Pod! I must have drifted off in the bath is all. I thought I told you to go and get some rest yourself?” she shouted as she raised her shivering body out of the water.
“Sorry to disappoint you Ser Brienne, but it’s only me.” The very familiar voice of Jaime Lannister rang through the wooden door, somehow tinged with snark even through a barrier, and Brienne’s heart skipped at his surprising appearance. “However, should you need a hand, I’m happy to help you dress and-”
She cut him off with a roll of her eyes and a huff at his needling impertinence. “No Ser Jaime, I am quite able to clothe myself, thank you,” she said as she leapt out of the tub, splashing water on the rug underneath, water droplets sizzling on the fire logs. She hurried to the rack where her robe hung neatly and pulled it on as quickly as she could with it sticking to her still wet skin, cinching it at her waist.
She was making far more noise than she had intended in her hurry, and could hear the smirk in his voice as he said, “Suit yourself. Don’t think I could open the door anyway, my arms are a bit full at the moment.”
As the last word escaped his mouth, Brienne wrenched the door open, a flush in her cheeks from her recent exertion and his teasing comments. Jaime swallowed hard, now face to face with her, his next clever remark derailed by her sudden appearance. He looked at her with wide, earnest eyes, and Brienne found herself momentarily disarmed as well.
“What are you doing here Ser Jaime?” she inquired simply and gently. He lifted his arms as an explanation, referencing the two goblets and decanter of wine he was carrying in them as he pushed his way past her into the room.
“We missed you at dinner. I brought you some wine. Podrick said you had retired to your room to relax, and I thought you could use a stiff drink if you had any hope of doing so” he said with his back to her as he poured her a glass. “Come to think of it, I could use one myself,” he remarked as he poured wine into the other goblet, splashing rich, red liquid onto her small table. He turned around and held out a drink for her, “join me, won’t you?”
Brienne was thoroughly puzzled by his presence, but after a brief pause, warily reached for the goblet proffered in his outstretched hand, eying him with a furrowed brow. He looked different from how she had ever seen him; his eyes were sincere, and his mouth slightly parted with no barbarous words spilling forth. He looked… vulnerable? Is that what it was? It was unnerving, and unexpected. Her fingers grazed his own gripping the goblet as she took it from him, a tingling warmth spreading through her from the contact, and he watched as she drank from it, her eyes scrunching closed at the taste. He took these few seconds to observe her with no questioning expression plastered on her face. She looked flushed, red blotches displayed on her pale cheeks. Her short, straw-colored hair hung limp and unkempt, falling across her face to just above her shut eyes. She was taller than him, with squared shoulders like his, impressive and muscular. He knew what strength her arms held, he had been on the receiving end of the furious blows dealt by her sword arm. He smiled at that memory. He and Brienne battling vigorously on a bridge, matching each other swing for swing, swords clanking, sharing an intimacy that had surprised him at the time. They shared the same perfect connection during the battle against the white walkers, fighting in unison like a dance, guarding each other in the chaos, and they had miraculously survived. Together. His smile faltered as his eyes continued to survey Brienne as she drank, and was replaced by a far more serious countenance. He took in her taut, athletic form covered only by her cornflower blue robe. It looked soft. She looked soft, without her armor on. Armor he had gifted her, he thought. Her skin was still covered in water droplets, and the robe was clinging to her body everywhere, the hardened nipples of her small breasts showing through the thin fabric. He swallowed again and darted his eyes back up to her face, where he found her looking straight at him quizzically, her mouth slightly ajar, the goblet pulled away from her lips. He cleared his throat and turned to grab his own goblet, he really did need that drink…
After a lengthy pause, Brienne spoke up. “Why are you here Ser Jaime?” she asked.
“I told you Ser Brienne, I came to bring you comfort. All knights need a good drink after surviving a battle. Especially one as… taxing as this one was. It may as well be a part of the oath. You’ll get used to it,” he assured her with a buoyant nonchalance that didn’t sit well with her.
She looked at him skeptically as he sipped at his wine, and then set her own empty goblet on the table. “I don’t want to get used to it,” she said.
He matched her fierce gaze with one of his own, and looked at her unabashedly this time, half-lidded eyes raking over her as his chin jutted out, a smirk playing on his lips, but he said nothing. His eyes flicked back to hers after a tense moment, and a true smile graced his handsome face as he saw the renewed blush covering her cheeks all the way down her neck until it disappeared below her robe.
“If you’ll pardon me Ser Jaime, I need to dress.”
Jaime realized perhaps he had pushed a bit too far with his teasing. He didn’t come here for this. He wasn’t trying to push Brienne away. That was the opposite of what he wanted. Why couldn’t he just say what he really wanted to say? Every time he saw her he couldn’t bring himself to... He took another sip of the wine he held in his hand, and searched her stern eyes for a sign, then he parted his lips to speak.