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If anyone ever dared to ask — and most people didn’t, because most people were afraid of Brienne’s eternal glare and imposing stature —, she’d declare, categorically and unequivocally, that she was still a virgin.
And to be perfectly honest — in her heart of hearts, she was still one. She was a smart, strong and independent women with enough awareness of present day politics and social justice dynamics to understand that 1. she would never allow herself to be defined by her sexual life (or lack thereof) and that 2. she, and only she, could ever decide whether her previous (and only) sexual encounter would be worth taking into account or not.
Seeing how little she remembered of the night in question, and that she’d probably not been in the best of mindsets to engage in such a life changing activity (which she called bullshit on, because really, she couldn’t understand why people made such a big deal of it — from the few memories she kept of her one and only drunken night stand, it had been a huge disappointment), she’d decided to forget all about it. She didn’t even remember the name of that dumb bloke she’d somehow managed to trick into her bed, and he’d probably forgotten all about her also.
So no. Brienne was still a virgin (kind of) — and really, she had no reason to dwell on the fact because she would not let that define her character.
— until she had no choice but to take it all into account a mere nine months later. But of course, she hadn’t realised it had been nine months, and long after the birth of her daughter, she still frowned at the time gap set between vague flashes of her ineptly riding a faceless man whom she only remembered to be way out of her league, a man who’d called her wench , of all things, and her holding her daughter in her arms for the first time in a dusty hotel room.
Brienne realised something was truly wrong when she felt her legs giving out under her body: the menstrual pain that’d been taunting her all day had turned into something strange, breathtaking and absolutely excruciating.
“Brienne?” Sansa’s worried voice came from the bathroom, and Brienne only then realised she’d let out a low groan for what felt like a whole minute.
“There’s something wrong,” she finally managed to blurt out, her nails digging into the surface of the drawer as the pain flared hotly from her lower back, until it somehow receded a bit. “Sansa, there’s something wrong, I—”
Sansa’s worried face popped out of bathroom and her eyes widened. Brienne managed to look down at her friend, noticing she’d only applied lipstick to her lower lip, and she didn’t have the time to make a comment that the pain came back in full force, and her growl turned into a guttural howl.
“Brienne?” Sansa exclaimed, shuffling in the little space between the wall and their twin beds. “Brienne, your jeans —“
She’d felt it - felt the little plop, and shame brought a flush to her cheeks as she somehow managed to articulate: “Did I just piss my pants?!”
Sansa’s eyes widened, and Brienne held on to her gaze, frowning as she saw a glimmer of understanding dawning on her startling blue eyes.
“Brienne — we’ve got to call an ambulance.”
“We can’t, there’s the dinner, we...”
“Brienne,” Sansa insisted, and Brienne glared at her, because there was no way in the seven hells that whatever it was Sansa was thinking was even remotely true. “Brienne, when did your father pass away?”
She wouldn’t cry. She’d no more tears left to cry.
“Ten months ago,” Brienne grunted, closing her eyes through the pain, trying somehow to find a rhythm in her breathing so as to not suffocate.
“There was that — that weird party, and you were not yourself, and I didn’t say anything but—”
“ Nothing happened. ”
“That bloke, he was — he was all over you, looking at you like…”
“I am a virgin, ” Brienne whimpered, her elbows giving out under the new wave of pain, but even to her ears, it sounded shallow — a dumb lie she’d repeated to herself so as to not dwell on a haze of grief laden weeks she’d somehow managed to live through.
“Brienne, Brienne? Bri, look at your belly.”
And Brienne did, and where her once flat, if not slightly inflated belly one stood was a massive bump that absolutely did not belong there.
She’d not bled for months — but still, her period had never been entirely reliable, and she’d eaten poorly following the loss of her father, and she did see some spotting in her knickers from time to time.
Sansa went for her phone, and a few seconds later, Brienne could hear her speaking in a soft voice to someone.
“Hi, could it be possible to have an ambulance at the Fiery Baelor? The hotel. Yes, room 245. Yes, she’s fine, she’s — I believe she’s in labour. I’d say — every minute or so. I don’t know, but like, a long, long time. More than a minute, I think.”
As if responding to Sansa’s words, another contraction took over her body, and she couldn’t stop her moaning this time.
“Yes, her water just broke. No we — we didn’t know, she wasn’t pregnant this morning. Yes. Yes, I can — I can do that. Sansa. Oh, she’s Brienne. Alright. Yes, I’ll put you on speaker. Thank you, thank you so much.”
Sansa came back to her side, placed the phone on the drawer and Brienne heard the distant voice of the operator.
“Hello? Brienne? ”
Brienne grunted in acknowledgement.
“Hi Brienne, my name is Talisa. Don’t worry, the paramedics are on their way. From what your friend Sansa tells me, you’re already in the final stage of childbirth. You’re doing so well. Sansa, I’ll need you to help your friend out of her clothes; I need you to check her dilation, if that is alright with you. ”
She didn’t want to — didn’t want to leave the drawer, for she felt she would probably collapse the moment she’d let go. But she did as she was told, the sweet, calming voice of the operator guiding them as Sansa took off her jeans. Brienne laid down on the bed, gasping for breath as yet another excruciating wave of pain twisted her insides, and something strange and primal ordered her to push. So she did, even though she didn’t want to — but there was no way she could have prevented it.
“I — I can see the head!” Sansa gasped, and Brienne looked up at her white, distraught face.
“It’s okay ,” the woman in the phone said, and they could hear her frantically typing something on the other end. “You girls are doing so good. The paramedics are only a five minutes away, but Sansa, I’ll need you to wash your hands and help Brienne — you’ll need to guide the baby out of her. Can you do this? ”
Sansa remained motionless for a few seconds, but Brienne soon lost all awareness of her surroundings as the urge to push took over her will once more. She didn’t know for how long, or how many times — but when she came back to her senses, Sansa was back at the end of the bed, following the instructions of the operator, who was still trying to get Brienne’s attention.
“Brienne? Can you hear me? ”
She could, but she didn’t remember how to speak anymore, and she merely nodded vigorously. Sansa let Talisa know Brienne was listening.
“Brienne? Brienne, it’s important that you breathe. You should have another contraction soon. Keep your head to your chest, alright? Grab on to whatever you can. You’ve got to give it all that you’ve got, alright? ”
“Yes,” Brienne whispered, although she was already so tired, and scared, and she desperately wanted someone to hold her hand, and she didn’t want to think of whatever came next.
“You’ll do amazingly Brienne. Sansa? Sansa, her next contraction should be visible; her uterus will contract and — “
“Yes! I see it! ” Sansa screamed, and the next thing she knew, Brienne was pushing, and pushing one more time, and then another, anchoring herself to the voice of the operator. When finally, Talisa told her to breathe and rest for a little minute, Brienne opened her eyes to see that five people were now stumbling around the room, Sansa kneeling by her side, eyes filled with tears as her hands grabbed onto hers. Brienne noticed that they were covered in blood and she felt a bit lightheaded.
On her left, a man was talking to her in a soothing voice, wrapping her arm in something cold and harsh, and Brienne blinked up at him, trying to make sense of his face, but she was so tired it was difficult to focus on shapes.
“Bit of a surprise now, isn't it?” the man said, and Brienne couldn’t help a chuckle. The man flashed her a grin. “It’s alright, you’re doing so well, isn’t she?”
Sansa nodded on her right, and Brienne looked down between her legs; another woman was now monitoring the birth, while two others were busy taking stuff out of their paramedic boxes, focused on their task. They were talking to her but she couldn’t focus on their words. She didn’t know why, but fear flared up in her belly at the sight of them, looking all solemn and concentrated, and it was as though the man next to her, who was now connecting her to an I.V., could feel it.
“They’re quite a gloomy bunch, aren’t they? Don’t worry love, they’re always like that, even in lovely occasions like this one.”
Brienne snorted. “Lovely, indeed. ”
The man laughed. Her insides twisted: she could feel a new contraction was on the way, and she couldn’t help tearing up. Sansa was still clenching her hand as if her life depended on it — Brienne tried to calm her breathing that had suddenly quickened in anticipation. She didn’t want to. She was tired and scared and alone —
“You can do it, love,” the man whispered next to her, a lot closer than she’d thought he would be. “You’ve just got to push; your lovely friend and I will help you. We’re all here for you, and you’ve done so beautifully already. I know you can do this.”
“You’ve got this, Bri,” Sansa said in an uncharacteristic shaky voice. “You’re so strong.”
“That, she is,” the man said, and Brienne’s chest swelled at the tenderness in their voices.
So she trusted them — she pushed and pushed and pushed again, barely capable of holding her screams, and she fell back down into her pillows with a loud gasp intermingled with sobbing.
“Aw, you can do better than that,” the man said, his voice as playful as ever.
“Jerk,” she groaned, although she couldn’t find the strength to really mind his banter.
“Jaime,” he said, squeezing her hand in support. “My name is Jaime.”
Brienne glanced up at him for a few seconds, and was startled by the green of his eyes.
“Nice to meet you,” she breathed.
“You too, Brienne,” he whispered, and then he winked at her, and Brienne laughed out loud at the nerve of the man.
“Are you hitting on her while she’s giving birth?! ” Sansa’s voice rose up, indignation weighing heavy on her every words.
“Jaime!” the woman in between Brienne’s legs protested.
“Mate, come on!” said another paramedic.
But the tone in the room had suddenly shifted, from tense and focused to something a bit more akin to what Brienne had imagined giving birth would be like- an occasion for celebration, even if she couldn’t say she’d ever thought it would turn out to be like this.
The next time she pushed, she could hear the voice of her friend and the whole lot of paramedics cheering her on, and the knowledge that she was part of something greater — a universal rite of passage, a culmination of her womanhood and the very strength of her body — filled her being with a renewed energy she’d thought had left her for good. Jaime and Sansa were her loudest supporters, encouraging her through each and every one of her contractions, as if every single push mattered.
And when finally, she lay with her miracle daughter in her arms, propped up against a mountain of pillows brought over by the hotel staff, looking into her startling blue eyes, she forgot about everything — the surprise, the unexpected turn of the night, the overwhelming number of people roaming around the room. Sansa couldn’t stop crying, but Brienne knew those were tears of joy. The paramedics were soon joined by a doctor who made sure everything had gone smoothly.
The hotel manager offered them a cleaner, bigger room to spend the night in, but there was apparently a little bit of concern as to Brienne’s wellbeing, and soon, she was dozing off with her daughter and Sansa in the ambulance.
The road took on a bumpy turn and she opened her weary eyes to squint at the figure hovering above her, fumbling with her transfusion while chatting away with Sansa who was sitting by the end of her stretcher.
“Do I know you?” she heard Sansa say, and Brienne squinted at her friend’s face, who was in turn looking at Jaime suspiciously.
“I don’t know. Do you?”
Sansa merely glared at him, and he turned around to put a few things in one of his boxes, before taking another look at Brienne — his eyebrows quirked up in surprise at seeing her awake, but he quickly hid it behind another one of his cheeky grins. Brienne blinked, trying to somehow make sense of his handsome face, to maybe locate it in her memory —
No.
She didn’t know him.
Her little bundle of surprise let out a little sound and Brienne shifted all of her attention on her instead.
Brienne had had enough visits for a lifetime. Sansa had come back early in the morning and had soon been joined by the entirety of the Stark siblings. Margaery, Renly and Loras had showed up mere minutes after the departure of the Starks. Pod had also made an appearance, telling her not to worry about the conference, that he would fill in for her if needed. It was finally concluded that she would somehow manage to present her work at the end of the week, exchanging her place with a certain Samwell Tarly.
She was still very much shaken by the whole experience, and it felt as though her every muscle protested even at the mere idea of being awake. Still, when Jaime’s face appeared at the door while she was nursing her baby girl in the middle of the afternoon, she found out that the smile she gave him was genuine.
“Is it customary for paramedics to check on their patients once they’re out of danger?” she asked in a low voice as he took a seat next to her bed.
“Only when curiosity gets the better of us,” he replied with a mischievous grin. “And when the patient in question is particularly charming.”
Brienne rolled her eyes at that. “My daughter, you mean.”
Jaime laughed. “Obviously.”
She had a vague recollection of his ridiculous attempt at flirting the night before so as to diffuse the tension in the room. It had been dumb and oddly charming, and she believed the fond memory she’d keep of the birth of her daughter would be mostly owed to his ridiculous antics.
“What’s her name?” he finally asked, eyes focused on her little girl who was drinking her milk like her life depended on it — which it probably did.
“Catelyn,” Brienne replied in a soft voice. “After my friend Sansa’s mother. She was a good friend to me. To my family. She passed away a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jaime said, and Brienne could feel the sincerity in his voice. “It’s a lovely name.”
“She’s feisty and brave, and so was Cat.”
They remained silent for a few more minutes, until finally Catelyn let go of her breast and crunched her eyes as she yawned plaintively. Brienne still could not believe the absolute and unabashed love she felt for her, and really, she could not get her head around the idea that she was hers.
She didn’t know what to do.
“I don’t know what to do,” Brienne whispered, and for the hundredth time that day, her eyes welled up with tears at the sheer too-muchness of it all.
“Of course you don’t,” Jaime said softly. “But you will figure it out in time. I know you will.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know that you’re strong. I’ve seen how much yesterday. If there is someone in this world who can handle it all — the girl, the shock, the bad and the good — it has to be you.”
Brienne sighed. “I don’t know if I deserve such faith in my motherly abilities. I was not even capable of realising I was about to be one.”
Jaime smiled, leaning over the bed to catch Catelyn’s little hand with his index. “That is probably the greatest demonstration of denial if I ever saw it — and trust me, I’m pretty good at it.”
Brienne chuckled, but her smile did not reach her eyes. “I havent — I didn’t have the best year. I — I was not myself for the biggest part of it, and time was not something I took into account. Or my period, or anything that had to do with my body. I was not — I was not really there.” She swallowed back the grieving tears. “I do not know if I still am. There, I mean. But I’ll try.”
Jaime looked up at her, concern visible in his startling emerald eyes. “What happened?” he whispered, and Brienne looked down at her little girl who’d fallen asleep with her hand firmly circling Jaime’s finger.
“My father passed away — ten months ago, I think.” She’d tried to erase the date of his death from her memory.
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I. It was quick and sudden — a sudden illness, cancer, and only two months left to live, the doctors said. He didn’t last three weeks. He was gone before I knew it.”
Jaime let go of her daughter’s hand so as to take Brienne’s into his.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” she added, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand where a lonely tear had fallen.
“I have one of those faces,” Jaime said. “People like to tell me secrets. You have no idea how much gossip could possibly come out of my big mouth.”
Brienne smiled, finally managing to look him in the eyes.
“I don’t know who the father is,” she said, almost defiantly — she couldn’t help fearing such admission would somehow lower his esteem of her (and frankly, she didn’t really know why she cared).
“Who cares?” Jaime said, wiping another one of her tears with his thumb. “As long as you’re sure you’re the mother.”
Brienne couldn’t help a snort, and finally welcomed the warmth blooming in her chest at the way he smiled at her.
“I know I’ve seen him somewhere.” Sansa said for the hundredth time that day.
Brienne rolled her eyes, bringing another pile of pastries to the table next to the obscene amount of bowls of crisps Jon had thought would be worth serving.
“So what? What if you’ve met him before? I don’t know why it should be a reason to distrust him entirely.”
“Well I can’t believe you’ve decided to trust him so easily,” Sansa replied, bringing two plates overfilled with tiny sandwiches from the kitchen to put them next to the muffins.
“He’s kind and fun, and he’s literally held my hand while I was pushing your goddaughter out of my bloody womb.”
“So was I. And you’ve got a crush.”
“I do not.”
“You’re besotted!” Arya’s voice proclaimed from the bedroom where she was changing little Cat.
“Do all paramedics take such interest in their patients?” Robb asked from the sofa, lifting his eyes from the complicated origamis he’d been trying to make out of napkins.
Brienne blushed, remembering Jaime’s words on the subject. Only when the patient in question is particularly charming.
Robb winked at her; Brienne glared helplessly at the lot of Starks she’d been forced to accept into her home.
Arya and Sansa had thought it would do her good to organise a little party to celebrate the surprising arrival of Catelyn into their lives. She’d been meaning to celebrate the end of her doctorate as well, and so the two events had combined into one — but somehow, Arya and Sansa’s deviant minds had turned the gathering into a weirdly timed baby shower party, with “It’s a girl!” signs hanging from every bit of wall they could find in her ridiculously tiny flat. At least, they’d given up on the pink theme — the three of them were fervent adversaries of the patriarchy and they would not stand for the little Cat to be subjected to restricting gendered norms.
“You’ll grow up to be as strong and non-conforming as your strong and non-conforming mother! Oh yes you will! Yes you will!” Sansa had once proclaimed to the little girl in a sing-song voice as she’d been on diaper duty. Brienne had almost cried at that.
Brienne was constantly crying — the doctor had said that both the shock of Catelyn’s birth and the remaining pregnancy hormones would turn her into a rollercoaster of emotions for the next few months. Luckily, she wasn’t alone: the girls took turns to spend the night with her and alleviate the charge of being an accidental single mother. Sansa had stood in the public with Catelyn during her conference merely one week after the birth, and kept an eye on the little one as Brienne worked on the finishing touches of her thesis.
The boys came by often — they loved Brienne and loved Catelyn even more, and she’d been showered in presents by the eccentric trio that were her fellow doctorate companions — Renly, Margaery and Loras, who were, as usual, extremely late for the party.
And Jaime — Jaime had been a strange yet constant presence in the months that had followed Catelyn’s birth. He’d visited her at the hospital the first week, bringing with him all sorts of baby care essentials Brienne had never thought existed. He’d checked on her almost every single day since, taken the time to come to her conference and discuss her thesis with her on the phone, even taken her out for a drink a few times so as to keep her from being submerged in baby stuff (which she definitely was), and really, she couldn’t really fathom why he was so nice to her. She definitely was not going to complain, though.
Brienne knew she was not the most attractive woman in Westeros, far from it; she’d somehow grown up to find out that her strengths laid elsewhere, and if she’d resigned herself to a life of celibacy (with a few bumps on the way, apparently), she would not close herself to friendship, especially not to someone who’d grown to be so dear to her in such a short amount of time.
When finally the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of the rest of her friends, she opened it to find Jaime surrounded by the dreaded doctorate trio, looking somewhat out of place and uncomfortable as they all looked at him as though he was a very fine specimen indeed, which ought to be dissected as soon as possible.
But Brienne smiled at him, definitely relieved to find him there, and his awkwardness dissipated as she saw him straightening up.
“I hope you’re hungry for some crisps,” she said, and led them all towards the small living room.
Arya soon returned with little Catelyn all dressed up in a cute wolf onesie the Starks had bought for the occasion. Brienne sighed; she’d end up with a Stark child if she were not careful. Renly, Loras and Jaime went to hide the ridiculous amount of presents by the window and they all started eating and drinking with abandon, little Cat going from arm to arm as the absolute center of attention.
Brienne had thought Cat would keep her blue eyes; those were the mark of the house of Tarth, and she’d been surprised to see it slowly turn over the months to a striking green. Her hair was as yellow as hers, and she was perfect — absolutely perfect in every way.
She’d been bouncing up and down in Renly’s arms for quite a while now, and the room was filled with her laughter. Jaime crept up behind her and whispered a bit too close to her neck:
“She’s perfect.”
Brienne couldn’t help a slight blush but she didn’t move away.
“She is, isn’t she?”
Jaime went to stand next to her, their elbows touching.
“Any luck on finding the father?” Jaime asked innocently.
They were standing at the entrance of the kitchen, keeping a certain distance from the madness of the other rooms. As usual, his presence was oddly comforting.
“Arya’s using all of her, I quote, mad social network skills to find him, but there’s not much to work with.”
Jaime nodded — he’d never truly asked, or rather, he’d never really pushed for details on the subject. Brienne was not extremely proud of it either, so she’d never really shared much of her catastrophic one night stand with him.
“I don’t remember his face, or his name. All we know is that he’s blonde and that he was at that one lousy pub in Flea Bottom one year ago. Oh, and he called me wench. Who does that?” She laughed, shifting on her feet to hide her discomfort.
Jaime didn’t reply immediately, and only did after clearing his throat. “Who indeed.”
A beat. Then —
“Nothing else?”
“Well — that’s not really useful, but he wasn’t really—“
She blushed, and Jaime tilted his head to the side, encouraging her to proceed with her tale.
“Sansa tells me he was into me, but I highly doubt it. He was dumb, and drunk, and he probably doesn’t remember me either. Or doesn’t want to. It wasn’t — it wasn’t very good.” She was absolutely crimson now.
Her state was only worsened by Jaime’s choking on his drink, and she had to slap him on his back to help him regain his composure.
“Are you all right?”
“Not good?” he finally managed to blurt out, and his voice was still strangled, his eyes shining oddly in the dim light, and Brienne suddenly wanted to disappear.
“I just —”
“Is that all you remember from that night?” he asked again, and it was strange, how invested he suddenly was in the situation, his body almost entering into her space, and she backed one step into the kitchen, not really understanding the change in his demeanour.
“I was drunk,” she replied, a bit on the defensive. “And so was he. He probably didn’t like it, I—”
“Oh, but I did ,” he said vehemently, and as Brienne’s eyes widened in shock at his words, he took her wrist and led her into the hallway, past the living-room and into her bedroom, closing the door behind him and turning to face her, looking half a fury, half a god. Brienne’s chest constricted at the implications of his last words.
“Are you—”
“I don’t know, am I?” he blurted out, and started pacing in the little space available in the room, hands running through his hair as he seemingly tried to make sense of this whole mess of a situation. “I was staying in Flea Bottom last year, I picked up a drunken, feisty yellow-haired goddess from a random pub and brought her back to my flat and I fucked her good . She didn’t tell me her name, didn’t tell me anything about her or who she was or what she did, but I thought she’d be kind enough to tell me everything by morning, because by the gods, I wanted her to. She was fascinating. ”
He looked up at her then, his gaze blackened with something akin to fury, and Brienne felt waves of heat curling in her abdomen.
“She was gone by morning, and I was only left with the faintest memory of her. And then, nine months later, I come to your rescue —”
Brienne couldn’t help snorting at that.
“— and I find you to be the most fascinating wench that ever walked the earth, only to learn that the father of your child was some lousy one night stand in Flea Bottom?”
She blinked, because she didn’t know what to say — how was she even supposed to begin —
“Lousy?!” Jaime repeated, now walking directly towards her, into her space, and his hands travelled up her arms, brushing against her collarbone and resting around her chin, thumbs caressing her cheeks in tender circles. Brienne let out a soft gasp —
“Lousy?” he said once more, his voice barely a murmur, and she rolled her eyes at that.
“Disappointing, really,” she said in a similar tone, and Jaime’s mouth contorted into a smirk that did not bode well.
“You know, alcohol dulls the senses,” he added in a conversational tone, although his eyes inferred that he definitely was not thinking of talking. “It is known.”
“Excuses,” she breathed, unable to keep herself from leaning into the heat of his body.
“Allow me to prove my point,” he said, and caught her lips with his own, softly biting at the lowest to tease a sigh out of her mouth. His fingers tangled in her hair and he pressed her against the wall, sliding one leg between hers and his presence was too much, overwhelming in scent and his touch was burning her skin and leaving her out of breath, wanting for more—
— but Catelyn’s unmistakably hungry cries could be heard from the living-room, and they let go of each other with a sigh, resting their foreheads against the other.
“Your daughter requires her milk,” Brienne said, and she was suddenly surprised at how easily the word had escaped her mouth.
“We shan’t leave her waiting then,” he replied, and his smile was so big and wide and wonderful that she felt tears prickling once more at the corner of her eyes. She kissed him again, and again, and he replied with the same enthusiasm, until they had to stop themselves, breathless, if they were to make it back on time for little Catelyn’s meal.