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"It was not a real wedding, my lady," Podrick mumbled, as he tried to feed her some of the particularly disgusting looking pottage that the brothers on the Quiet Isle subsisted on. "Just a handfasting, a temporary promise. The brothers would not let Ser Jaime in to see you otherwise... and you kept calling for him... all the time. You were so sad, my lady, and I did not really know what to do to make it better." He sighed, his shoulders sagging. "So when Ser Jaime suggested that I stood in for your father and tied the ribbon around your joined hands so you could bring each other under your protection... I did not think it such a bad idea."
In an effort to distract her, Podrick raised the spoon of pottage to her lips, but she pushed it away. It took her a lot of effort given how much pain she was in, but her fury was so acute she did it anyway.
"You married me to Ser Jaime, Pod. Married me. You did not have my permission, or my father's, and did it entirely against my wishes!"
"You kept squeezing his fingers when he held your hand and smiled when he kissed your brow, it was the only way we knew you were still in there and had not just been consumed by pain," Podrick objected, finally giving up with the pottage and putting it down on the small cabinet next to the bed. Yet Brienne hardly noticed, because the news that Jaime had kissed her brow saw all the blood rush to her face, making her feel even more lightheaded than she did already. Overcome by the need to deny the way she had cried out for Jaime in her sleep - how could she tell her squire that she longed? - Brienne went to speak, but Podrick cut across her. "It was not a real wedding, my lady, I promise. There was no septon nor weirwood, just you, Ser Jaime, me, and Ser Hyle and the Elder Brother as witness. I can be undone if you want, my lady, I promise."
My marriage undone, she thought sadly. Blow away like the embers of a fire, except it never truly burned in the first place.
Podrick eventually took both his shame and the pottage away, leaving Brienne alone in the silence with her thoughts. She was immensely grateful, but also a little sad, because her thoughts were not good company.
It can be undone, there is no reason to force him to endure it once I am better, she thought, trying to sit up in bed as much as possible. He just wanted to be there for me when I was in pain, but he won't want to be there for me forever. Not as my husband... I would never ask him to tolerate me in his bed, never ask that he love me, never ask that he care... it would be too much to expect of him.
Too much when I love him so dearly.
Overcome by the pain in her side and the pain in her heart, Brienne was busy wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand when there was a sharp knock at the door.
"Who is it?" she called, quickly cleaning her face and pulling the cover up to her chin in a primitive form of defence.
"It is me, wench. Are you decent? I'm coming in."
It was so like him to announce entry rather than ask. Jaime Lannister did not request, so Brienne could not even bring herself to be indignant as he barged his way in. She was in far too much pain for such petty feeling anyway, especially as her love for him threatened to overtake her now that he was here. Consequently, when Jaime swept his way into the room, Brienne had hidden under her blanket so much that she felt like a small, burrowing creature. She was glad of it when Jaime smiled at her, for she blushed so deeply that it felt as if her face was on fire.
"Good afternoon, my lady," he said, his white cloak billowing behind him as he grabbed the stool Pod had been sitting on moments before and moved it closer to the bed to sit upon himself. "How are you feeling? Better?"
She nodded, even though it was a lie. Although the slash she had received from Lem Lemoncloak's sword after she had killed Lady Stoneheart had almost cut her in two, the brothers of the Quiet Isle had somehow managed to stitch her back together, even though it left her aching. Yet that was nothing compared to the great swell of pain sitting in the centre of her chest, cradled in her heart, threatening to pull her apart and consume her.
It made her want to scream. It made her want to run away, so far away that he could not see her. Brienne did not know whether she bear being truly seen by Jaime, lest it reveal her foolish weakness of loving a man she could never have.
"Podrick said you were not eating, so I thought I would..."
"There's no need, I do not need to be spoken to as if I were a child," said Brienne swiftly, jumping up from bed as quickly as her aching body would allow. Although she had initially planned to hide, now fleeing felt like the only option, so she moved to the window in order to look out at the island, trying and failing to find something out there more beautiful than him.
Ser Jaime was so close, so wonderful, so golden, yet he could never be hers. It pained her deeply. Somewhere out there was Queen Cersei, his equal, his twin sister, his other half. Surely, he would want to get back to her as soon as possible, back to his true wife, his...?
"Brienne."
She had not realised how close he was until she felt his hot breath against her ear, and his hand came to rest on hip. The gesture made Brienne freeze in fear; the brothers had changed her into a shift when they had tended to her wound, so there was nothing between Ser Jaime's hand and her bare skin than a thin piece of material. She blushed to the roots of her hair as she imagined what would happen if he edged his fingers a few inches lower, and lifted up the hem of her shift so he could touch between...
"Brienne," he said again, this time his tone as sweet as his breath, "will you come back to bed? The Elder Brother said that you shouldn't make any sudden movements, and it would be better if you stayed warm rather than hovering over by the window."
It was the intimacy of it that scared her, the soft cloying pull that spoke of a husband coaxing his wife back to bed on a sunny morning while the light streamed through the windows.
"I'm fine, Ser Jaime, thank you," she said stiffly, her whole body burning at the fact he was so close and his lips inches from her neck. "It is probably good for me if I try to get some air. It will be best if I am out of bed as soon as possible, so I should practice..."
"We are not talking about sparring here, wench." Although he was laughing, there was a strange affection in his voice. "We are talking about your health. It is not a matter of talent. You cannot just train and train to hone your skill when it comes to repairing your body. You must rest."
As he asked her to return to her bed, Jaime's hand snaked from her hip up and across the bony angle of her pelvis to the flat plane of her stomach. She tried not to gasp as he rested it there, subtly pulling her against him. The solid, strong line of his body felt so warm and good against her that, for a brief moment, she allow herself to imagine...
No.
"I have d-d-duties, Ser Jaime. I must find Lady Sansa."
"Not until you are better," he said, resting his chin on her shoulder. His beard brushed against her cheek, setting a wave of tingles across her skin. She wished he would move away so that she could get control of herself once more, but instead he wrapped his other arm around her and held her close. "I will force feed you pottage, bathe you, and attend to your every last need until you are once against ready to fight. And then I will come with you. We shall find Sansa together."
Brienne closed her eyes in order to briefly picture a world where she and Jaime could fight side by side. Husband and wife. Lovers. Equals. The image was so pure and wonderful that it was inevitably fragile, and it shattered the moment she opened her eyes.
"No," she said sadly, pushing his arm away in order to remove herself from him. As Jaime gazed at her confusedly, she returned to the bed and sat down, resting her hands in her lap. Staring at them, she swallowed heavily in an attempt to stop the tears, knowing her big freckled hands would always be too coarse to touch Jaime's porcelain skin. "You cannot come with me."
He was beside her in an instant. "Why?" he asked, reaching across to take her hand. "Do you remember what happened when Podrick bound our hands together? What I promised you?"
The handfasting was not a wedding and her recollections were hazy, but she still remembered what he said. His eyes had been so bright it would have been impossible to forget.
"You promised to be my husband until death parts us and pledged me your troth."
The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile as he squeezed her fingers. For a shimmering, shining moment, it was as if one of her more outlandish dreams had bled into life. Jaime was here and he was beautiful, and he was hers, and he did not wear a white cloak but one of spun-gold, and he did not have a sister hidden miles away who owned his heart and he did not have duties that kept him away...
And... and... and...
So many ands.
"I did, wench," he said, drawing closer next to her on the bed. "I swore to be your husband. I made an oath."
"I do not expect you to keep it."
Jaime's smile fell at once. "Brienne, I want..."
"Too many oaths, they make you swear and swear," she recited sadly, hardly able to look him in the eye. Jaime's grip on her hand tightened. "I appreciate that you have been here for me as a friend, Ser Jaime, but I would take no more of your time. You have an army to return to, a sister, a son, a life. I would not hold you back."
"You would not be holding me back, sweetling," he said, his green eyes alight with some emotion she could not recognise. "You would be asking me to fulfil my duty as your husband, Brienne. That would not be too much. You would only be asking what you are due."
She shook her head firmly. Jaime was sweet, but even she was not so pathetic to stay married to a man who could never love her back. Brienne knew how love worked; it involved self-sacrifice and silence, longing and loathing. Septa Roelle had warned her that no man could ever love her, so it was foolish to ask for something so little as reciprocation. Love for Brienne of Tarth meant suffering and eventual death; the dream of the man she loved loving her back never came into it.
"I am not so tragic to ask you to lie to me in the name of an oath," she said, removing her hand from his grasp. "Lady Stoneheart has taught me much, and one of those things was not to put too much faith in a worthless oath. Our handfasting was one such worthless oath; you did it to make sure I did not die alone, that I had someone here with me when I was in pain. I am grateful, but I will not hold you to it now I live."
Suddenly conscious of how naked she was in her thin shift, Brienne wrapped her arms around herself, wanting to hide both her scars and untainted flesh from him. She was ashamed of both, after all. To her surprise, however, Jaime did not nod and get to his feet, loudly proclaiming he had a sister to return to. Instead, he continued to gaze at her with a confused expression on his face. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, shaping his lips around unsaid words, searching for the right thing to say. It eventually came to him.
"Do you not want me as your husband, my lady?"
He looked hurt, as if she had caused him an invisible wound.
Brienne did not know how to respond. "That is not... I don't... I..."
"There are shadows in your eyes," he said suddenly, reaching out towards her, only this time his hand rested on her face. She could not suppress the shiver, and her lack of artifice made him smile. "Normally, your eyes are so full of light, but now they are dark... sad..."
His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, forcing a little whimper out from between her teeth. Mortified, Brienne went to move away, but was stalled by the fact that Jaime was grinning like a little boy who had won a prize. It was so innocent that it made her chest ache.
"If you asked for what you wanted, if you took what you are due... I am sure I would see light in your eyes again, wench." Jaime's touch was so gentle, that it almost surprised Brienne that his gaze was so passionate. "All I want is to see your light again... so, please... take me, if it would please you. As your husband... in every sense of the word."
If Brienne had been a braver woman, she would have bridged the few inches between them and kissed him, yet she was not. Her courage came wrapped in sword and steel, but now she found herself quite unarmed. Yet this opportunity was likely never to come her way again, so she knew she had to seize it while it was in her hands.
I will be his wife for one day, she thought. At least until the real world intrudes once more.
"Will you hold me?" Brienne asked, in a small voice that it was somehow the biggest she could manage. When his eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline at her question, Brienne searched around for a justification, not wanting to scare him off. "It is just I am cold, and I..."
She did not have to say another word. Before she could stop him, Jaime had pulled off his cloak - revealing his shirt and soft breeches - then shuffled back into the bed, burrowing under the blanket, and opening his arms.
"Come here, wench."
Jaime's tone was inviting, but he seemed unsatisfied with his choice of words. He tried again.
"Come here, wife."
She was in his arms, letting him kiss her face, before her fearful heart could object.