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Brienne loved her tiny shop on the Street of Steel. It fit most of her findings from all the flea markets and garage sales she had attended and allowed her to display all those tiny pieces of art and history to those who wished to purchase something unique.
It had all started on Tarth. The houses on the small island were filled with family heirlooms and hand-me-downs. Everyone knew everyone, so Brienne had visited many houses in her childhood - usually invited in for a cup of tea and cookies while she had been running around outside- and had heard countless stories about teacups, sewing machines, and buttons. Every decoration had a meaning and every piece of furniture had its own story.
So when she had arrived in King's Landing to attend boarding school, she had missed it terribly. The dorms had had uniform bland furniture that on occasion served their purpose, but had mostly reminded Brienne of how far away from home she had been.
Even after she had made some friends, she had still felt lonely. Margaery had brought her fairy lights, fluffy pillows, and posters to give her room some personality, but it still hadn’t felt right.
In a fit of desperation, Margaery had even consulted her grandma, the famous architect Olenna Tyrell, on Brienne’s behalf, and the old woman had been the one to suggest they attend one of the King’s Landing flea markets on the weekend. And that had been it.
A decade later, Brienne owned a business that searched for antique pieces for Rose Architecture and Design, supplementing Margaery’s interior design projects. She sold other pieces she found in her little shop. Apart from Marg, Loras, and sometimes even Olenna herself, she had a loyal base of customers, ranging from instagram influencers to old ladies who wished for a pretty dinner set and were displeased with all those mass-produced plates. Her absolute favourite customer was a young college student named Podrick, who came in every now and then to find very cheap old books. He read most of them, but he restored all of them, often bringing them back to Brienne to show her his work. He also felt lonely in the unfamiliar city, just as she had had all those years ago, but unlike her, he had no family or close friends to turn to. So she had taken him under her wing, sharing stories from the times when Podrick’s history of art professors had been merely assistants.
Most of Brienne’s days were spent alone, surrounded by all the knick-knacks she had found. So she made up stories about them as she cleaned and patched up whatever she could. The old stool from Dorne now belonged to a sailor who had taken it to remind him of home. A door knob with pearls previously was installed in a Lannisport mansion, but had to be sold because the family’s wealth had run out. A medium sized mirror with a heart carved into it by an unskilled hand had been witness to a great romance, the two lovers running away in the middle of the night so they could stay together.
None of the stories had ever made it to the customers, but Brienne may have shared one or two with Podrick, over a cup of tea and a pear muffin. Feeding that poor boy was almost her other job.
She was sitting by the counter, slowly cleaning the mug she had found last Thursday, when the chime over the door rang. In came a man and Brienne had to do a double take. He was gorgeous. Not merely handsome, but gorgeous, like the gods in the paintings she had studied. Moreover, he was dressed in a three-piece suit and had a long coat on, reminding Brienne of the crush she had developed on Detective Inspector John Robinson. The sharp jaw, elegant clothes and golden curls looked mouth-watering and Brienne licked her lips without thinking.
When the man reached out with his left hand to run it through his mane, Brienne realised that both the hair and his shoulders looked wet and glanced out of the window. Somehow she had missed the beginning of the rain, the day being gloomy and dark ever since the morning. She turned around just in time to see the man smile sheepishly at her as he took off his wet coat and folded it so the water wouldn’t fall onto the floor.
Her eyes went back to the mug as the man walked around, looking at the different things she had to offer - but they kept coming back to his frame. After the third time she had caught herself staring at him, Brienne blushed and put the mug down with more force than necessary, startling them both.
“Sorry,” she murmured, knowing that she was blushing even more right now. Brienne rolled the sleeves of her jumper up, then pulled them back down when the colder air hit her flushed skin.
“Are you closing soon? Sorry, I didn’t see anything besides ‘open’ when I walked in.”
The stranger’s voice was even better than his looks - it was smooth and deep, and oddly made Brienne feel safe.
“Oh, no,” she replied quickly. “You have a few hours more to rummage around.”
He nodded then looked back at the wall with the displayed paintings and posters.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Brienne asked, then berated herself. It was clear that he wasn't, but she wanted to hear his voice again.
The mystery man shifted from one leg to the other, looking sheepish. He glanced through the window, seemed to think about something, then looked at her again. “Truth be told, the weather brought me here. But you do have a very interesting collection.”
“Thank you.” Brienne watched him go back to the set of tainted glass bottles for the third time and spoke again without thinking. “Would you like some tea?”
He turned, surprised.
“I have a kettle in the back and a few mugs.” Every now and then Brienne found a piece she knew she would never let go of. Her house was filled with mismatched decor, but she loved it more for it. As for mugs and tea cups, her own cupboards had no more space for them, so she kept the extra ones in her shop, giving Podrick a wide variety to choose from every time.
“Please. And thank you.” This time he did come closer, looking at the mug she had just finished cleaning - then at the wooden crate with the rest of the ceramics that she had recently found. He was close enough that she could see his eyes widening at the sight of something in that box and he reached inside it without asking permission - and took out one old brown teacup.
“Where did you find it?” he asked, then turned it over to look at the bottom.
“Flea Market in Flea Bottom.” The phrase always made her chuckle. “There should be-”
“Another one,” the man finished for her and watched her reach into the box and move the delicate pieces around before digging out a twin to the cup he was holding. “How much for them?”
“Whoa!” Brienne raised a hand, switching to her business mode. “I haven’t cleaned them yet, much less given them a price.”
“I would pay anything,” he added quickly, a hint of desperation in his voice.
Brienne regarded him again.
“Even without cleaning.” He put the cup down on the counter but didn’t let go of it completely, placing his hand where it could touch it, his left hand reaching inside his coat. He kept frowning and glancing at the cup the whole time, as if it would suddenly disappear. “Do you accept contactless phone payments?”
It was clear that the cup meant something for him - so Brienne took a chance.
“If you tell me why you want them you can just take them,” she said.
He looked at her, but instead of looking surprised or grateful, his face became guarded.
“I don’t mean anything bad by it!” Brienne added quickly, trying to understand what she could have possibly said that could have made the man so wary of her suddenly. “I just like their stories,” she said quietly, motioning around the store. “Or you can just take them. I bought this whole crate of ceramics for a very low price, I won’t miss them.”
The wariness seemed to stay, but Brienne thought his features relaxed some.
“I buy them because I like that they already have history, but I rarely get to learn what path they took to get to my shop,” she continued to babble. “But I understand that it’s personal and you might not want to share. I’m sorry that I offended you.”
“You didn’t offend me,” he replied just as quietly. His voice was much softer than his features.
They stood like that, each touching one piece of the ceramics, until he spoke again. “I guess a story is a fair price for them. But I only know a little bit of it. If I knew more about it, I would have brought them back home a long time ago.”
Brienne looked at him curiously then nodded, eager to listen to the story but not wanting to appear too eager and spook him again. “I’ll make us some tea.” The worst that could happen now would be him leaving with the cups before she’d be back - which wouldn’t change a thing as she wouldn’t make him pay for them anyway.
So she placed the other teacup down and left for the backroom. She boiled the water, added a nice spicy blend of tea to the pot and waited for the water to cool some before pouring it over the leaves. All that time she did not look through the doorway separating them nor did she try to listen to the chime of the doorbell.
Bringing her collection of mugs would feel odd, almost too intimate, so she chose a mug for him herself. It was clay, hand-painted crimson red, and chipped on one side a little bit. Her own mug was tall and blue with silver moons and golden suns.
Surprisingly, he was exactly where she had left him, but this time he was leaning over the counter, supported by his right arm.
“Would you like something sweet with it?” he offered awkwardly, motioning towards the pot and two mugs she had brought. “I could order us something.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Brienne scolded him. “I would never order food in this weather.” The rain was one wall of water now, falling down angrily and loudly. “Have you already forgotten why you’re here?” she asked.
He seemed startled at that and looked out of the window, as if he had indeed forgotten what had brought him here. Somehow it made him adorable. “No, of course not,” he replied, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “And I’m Jaime.” Jaime offered his left hand to her and she must have stared at it for a moment too long before taking it because he added. “This one is fake.”
“Oh,” Brienne replied. It was now her turn to blush, but she knew hers didn’t look as appealing as his. And it even shouldn’t’ve since it came to be because she’d done something stupid.
“So, the story,” he started. Brienne had a stool to sit on and she lifted it up to offer him a seat, but he shook his head and waved the thing away. “I can stand. I’ve been sitting since morning.”
Brienne nodded then poured them each a mug of tea before placing his in front of him.
“Thank you...?” he raised an eyebrow, and only then did Brienne realise that she hadn’t introduced herself.
“I’m Brienne.” She offered him her left hand and they shook their hands awkwardly once more.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brienne.” Jaime wrapped his hand around the handle of the tea cup, his other one still resting close to the two brown ceramic pieces.
“Likewise,” Brienne replied, then blew on her tea and risked a sip. It was still very hot, but she preferred it that way.
“These two belonged to my mother.” Jaime lifted up one of the cups and tilted it so Brienne could see the bottom of it. There was a J on the bottom, followed by a patch of slightly lighter paint, as if someone had tried to get rid of one coat of it or had painted over it using a different shade than the original, then painted L over whatever had been there previously.
“Joanna Lannister nee Marbrand. Those were gifts for her 18th birthday, commissioned by her grandfather.” Apart from the elegant lettering at the bottom, the mugs didn’t look intricate - yet their simplicity had its beauty.
“And it was over those cups that my parents fell in love,” Jaime said, placing the ceramics down delicately and looking at it fondly, his thumb brushing the delicate ear.
If it was the end of the story, it was a very short one. And Brienne assumed it was, since Jaime grew silent. She was about to ask him if he wanted them packed in paper for the go, but he spoke again.
“My grandfathers used to have fortunes that came from previous generations of wealthy merchants and businessmen. But my father’s father, Tytos Lannister, almost lost it all because of a few badly placed transactions. He had never worried much about money, but my father was different.” The past tense implied certain things, but Brienne remained quiet.
“He began to work for Jason Marbrand straight out of college, wanting to learn from the best. And that’s how he met my mother. She was that annoying, opinionated person who always challenged his ideas and asked ‘why’ over and over again. Which in turn made him better than either of my grandfathers could ever shape him. He visited grandfather Jason often to talk about business after hours, but half that time he ended up discussing things with his daughter, always over a cup of jasmine tea, served in those cups.”
Jaime gave Brienne another smile, this one more sad. “Father was never a stupid man. He knew what love was and he also knew he loved Joanna Marbrand more than anyone in the world. She was the only person in the whole world that he loved. So he proposed to her instead of taking her out on a date - and she agreed.”
It was a lovely story, but the sadness in Jaime’s voice implied it didn’t have a happy ending. Brienne took another sip of tea to have something to do and tried not to get too invested. Tearing up in front of a client would be a disaster. Besides, it was his sad story, not hers.
“They married young, then had kids. Three, to be precise - me, my twin and my little brother. But soon after Tyrion was born my mother died. And dad couldn’t look at the cups, because it hurt too much, so he sold them. I don’t know what happened to them after. I’m surprised I found them here.”
A silence fell between them once more.
“I’m happy they found you,” Brienne eventually said, looking down at the ceramics and not at Jaime. What else was there to say to such a story?
“I’m glad they found me, too,” he replied softly, his eyes traveling up to Brienne. “This story is very short. I’m not sure it’s a sufficient payment.”
“Oh no, of course it is.” Brienne stood up from her stool then bent down to grab the brown paper from under the counter. She moved her mug out of the way to create more space to pack the two cups, but the space was still very limited, so she frowned. “I’ll pack them for you, so they would remain in one piece-”
“Brienne,” Jaime cut in gently. He waited until she looked at him curiously before continuing. “There’s no rush. Unless you want me to go,” he said, straightening.
“No, of course not. It’s still raining,” she added, wanting an excuse other than wanting to spend more time with the stranger and getting to know him better. “Besides, you haven’t touched your tea. Or do you not like spicy black tea? I should have asked,” she babbled again.
“It smells amazing,” Jaime offered, then took a sip. “A good blend. You have to tell me where you get it from.”
“I’ll write you the name of the shop,” she promised, before putting the brown paper back under the counter slowly.
“How about you also share a story?”
Brienne opened her mouth a little bit, but nothing came out.
“The way I see it, you’ve been a part of the life story of all these pieces. So you have many stories to tell.”
“They wouldn’t be very long stories,” she argued, but sat back down on her stool.
“But I’d love to listen to them.” Jaime offered her a smile that made her relax. “Or any other stories you’d like to share. You don’t sound like a girl from around here.”
Brienne nodded at his assessment, then began her own tale.