Chapter Text
The first time Brienne Tarth hears Jaime Lannister’s name, she’s lying on her best friend Sansa Stark’s bed, leafing through a stack of magazines, and wondering why Sansa thinks Brienne will be able to copy the make-up look from page 54. Sure, Brienne does a few drawings here and there, but they’re mostly for her fandoms; and in high school a few of her teachers complimented her on her Art work, but that’s about it.
But Sansa is insistent. Sansa can’t do her own make-up as she’s full of nerves, and Margaery Tyrell, their other friend, can’t do it either for her own reasons. When Brienne had told Sansa that she should ask her younger sister Arya Stark to come and do it, Sansa had had a laughing fit that lasted ten minutes.
Arya Stark had never worn a scrap of make-up in her life, but then again neither really had Brienne. She’d tried on a couple of occasions, and it hadn’t come out looking too bad, when she’d stared at her reflection in her desktop mirror; but it hadn’t been her, and she’d wiped the smokey eyes and the red lips away before she ever left the house.
‘It’s a gorgeous look,’ Margaery says, leaning over Brienne’s shoulder for another view. ‘Theon’s jaw is going to drop when he sees you, Sansa.’ Brienne shifts up on the bed, so Margaery can sit down next to her.
‘I know,’ Sansa says, giggling, and pouting at her reflection in the full-length mirror she persuaded her parents to buy for her the moment she turned 13. ‘But it’s the third date and you know what that means!’ Margaery throws her head back and laughs, spilling a drop of her drink on Brienne’s leg, and Sansa joins in on the giggling.
‘Is that still a thing?’ Brienne asks. ‘Sleeping with a guy on the third date? Aren’t we evolved enough by now that we can choose to sleep with the guy we’re dating when we want to and not because of ‘the rules’ or whatever stupid article is in here?’ she says, hitting the open magazine in front of her.
Brienne can see Margaery and Sansa exchange a look, and she clamps her mouth shut and goes back to staring at the heavily photo shopped model in front of her. Brienne, at 18 is still a virgin. She’s the last one of her friend group to be so, and the truth is, it doesn’t bother her; there’s never been a guy that she’s even wanted to sleep with, that she could even imagine taking that next step with. (Well, apart from Renly. But he dated Margaery for three years, before he announced he was gay, so he was never actually an option, even if Brienne did use to indulge in rom-com fantasies about the two of them declaring their passionate love to each other and being the other’s happily ever after's.) What bothers her is that her friends think it’s a big deal. Whenever the subject of sex is brought up, they get all silent like they can’t possibly talk about it in front of Brienne.
‘I want to sleep with Theon,’ Sansa says, ‘and not just because it’s our third date.’ She gives a little shudder, clasping her hands in front of her chest. ‘Even just the thought of him makes me go weak at the knees. He’s so sexy.’ Brienne and Margaery make noises of agreement, but they both avoid meeting each other’s gazes. Theon Greyjoy isn’t bad looking; but his hair is an ashy blonde that looks grey, his clothes are never free of holes, and his eyes are always bloodshot from the weed he smokes every week. He’s not their idea of someone who makes their knees go weak.
But Sansa is happy, and Theon is a nice laid-back guy, and neither of them are one to judge someone on their looks.
‘Oh!’ Sansa says, clapping her hands together, and swivelling herself so she’s facing the two on the bed. ‘You’ll never guess who I met today? Mum insisted I go along to her stupid lawyer meeting at lunch. I know she only does it because she thinks I’ll suddenly become interested in following in her and dad’s footsteps but all the lunches do is make me glad I’m not going into law.’
‘Okay,’ says Margaery, rolling her hands to get Sansa onto the actual topic. Brienne stays silent this time, although the truth is, she’d give anything to be invited to one of Catelyn Stark’s lawyer meetings. Once summer is over, Brienne will be going away to university to study law; Sansa will be studying fashion; and Margaery business.
‘It’s a meeting they have once a year, and all the firms send someone to represent them; Mum went for Winterfell, obviously,’ Sansa says, naming the law firm that her parents started twenty years ago, ‘but there was someone from Lannister & Sons there.’
‘Isn’t someone from Lannister & Sons always there?’ Brienne asks. L&S is one of the major players in the London Law industry. They charge over £600 per hour for their time, and although it’s a family business, they hire ten interns each year to do the brunt of their grunt work. Brienne had heard of them for the first-time last year, when she went to a mixer with a group of people who would be in her classes come September.
‘Yes, but usually it’s Tywin Lannister, the founder, who’s super scary, and super old, or his son Tyrion, who’s only four years older than us but has been working for them for since he was 15, or his daughter Cersei, who’s terrifying and also kind my idol,’ Sansa explains.
‘I’m assuming it wasn’t one of them this time,’ Brienne says, trying to weigh the pros and cons of trying to get an internship with L&S next year. Is fighting though the slog of competition going to be worth it, to get a chance to work for ‘super scary’ and ‘terrifying’ people?
‘Nope,’ Sansa says, shaking her head, so her red hair falls like a waterfall across her face. Brienne gets up, crossing to Sansa’s giant make-up table and searching for the things listed at the side of the article. Of course Sansa already has all of them. She told Brienne that she would usually do her own make-up, but that she was so nervous about tonight that her hands were shaking and she wouldn’t be able to make it look perfect.
Brienne just hopes that Sansa knows what she’s getting into, having Brienne do her make-up. ‘Jaime Lannister was there, in the flesh.’
Margery squeals and clamps a hand over her mouth, but Brienne just shakes her head. The name rings no bells at all.
‘Am I supposed to know who that is?’ she asks, crossing the room so she can kneel in front of Sansa, dropping her armful of make-up to the white carpet. Should she put a cover down or something? What if she drops that plastic tub of powder and the beige flecks go everywhere? It would just the kind of thing that would happen to Brienne, and she knows how much this carpet cost.
‘How can you not know who Jaime Lannister is?’ Margery asks. ‘He’s always in the magazines. He’s been offered modelling contracts, but he’s turned them down, because he just ‘wants to help people.’’ Margery starts to look a little misty eyed. ‘He’s 28, and so good looking. He keeps his blond hair to his shoulders, and his body is everything you could possibly want. He’s like your typical leading man in those movies you love so much.’ Brienne just shrugs again. She likes to watch the movies, but she’s not interested in the actors' lives.
‘I’m sure he helps tons of people at his law firm,’ Brienne says. ‘Weren’t the Lannister's the ones who represented that CEO guy who had a whole list of wrong doings against his name get off scot free? And, didn’t they get that actor off all his assault charges?’ That had been such big news, it had even filtered down to Brienne.
‘Well, yes,’ Margaery admits. ‘But I’m sure he also does a lot of pro-bono work. And doesn’t that just prove how good the company is?’
Brienne fiddles with the tubes and bottles in front of her so she can avoid answering.
‘Anyway,’ Sansa says, closing her eyes and sitting back in the chair, as Brienne stands up to get started on her face. There’s a step-by-step guide written next to the models’ face, and Brienne is determined to follow it as much as she can. ‘He asked me if I knew any single ladies! His last relationship ended badly from what I can make out, and we got chatting, and he made a joke about wanting me to set him up, but I told him that I did know someone who was single, and he gave me his number and asked me to put him in contact!’ Her eyes flutter open. ‘Can you believe that?’
‘He’s 28 and everyone you know is 18,’ Brienne says, using something that feels like a stress ball to dab some kind of cream over Sansa’s face. ‘That’s gross.’
‘That’s legal,’ Margaery says. ‘But, oh Sansa, I can’t! Grandmother’s set me up on a super-secret date with some kind of Prince. Actual Royalty, although they don’t have power anymore, and it’s a tiny country in Europe, but I’ve promised I won’t be seen with any other guys, in case it taints my reputation!’
‘We lead very different lives,’ Brienne mutters to herself. The only person a member of her family has tried to set her up with, was her older brother who tried to set Brienne up with one of his friends. The whole thing had been a disaster; the guy had taken one look at Brienne, laughed and left the cafe they’d been meeting at.
Gal had never spoken to his friend again, and Brienne got a free hot chocolate and slice of cake out of it, so hadn’t felt too bad in the end.
It was the only date Brienne has ever been on.
‘Actually, Margaery, I wasn’t thinking about you,’ Sansa says.
Brienne is enjoying herself way too much to notice the silence that follows. Sweeping all these creams and powders over Sansa’s face is calming. And exciting. It’s fun to watch her skin tone become even, to choose which features to highlight, to make her cheekbones appear higher and fuller than they are. Sansa is a beautiful girl, but if Brienne manages to pull this off, she’ll look stunning.
‘Wait,’ Brienne says as her brain catches up. ‘You can’t possibly mean me!’
‘I do,’ Sansa says, sitting forward. ‘I don’t know what it was, but when I was talking to him, I couldn’t help thinking about how well you and him would suit. You want to be a lawyer; he is a lawyer. He laughed when I made a joke, and it was the same one I made to you the other day. You’re both tall.’
‘And based on those three things, you think we’d be a good match? Close your eyes,’ Brienne says, sweeping a purple eyeshadow across Sansa’s eyelids. The model in the photo actually has blue on, but Brienne knows the purple will look a lot better on Sansa.
‘Well yes, but also, you’re single. He’s single. He’s rude, but not so rude that you’d have the same experience you had last time. You’d have a good time, I know you would. He’s the perfect person to go on a first date with. And I know how nervous you are about these things, and the thing is Jaime Lannister, from what I’ve researched has never had a serious girlfriend, so he probably wouldn’t want anything serious. You could just have fun and get it all over and done with, and then you’d be -,’ Sansa stops herself from finishing her sentence, but Brienne knows the word that was about to spring from her friend’s mouth was ‘normal’.
‘Sansa, thank you for thinking of me,’ Brienne says gently, before telling her to keep her lips closed so Brienne can work her magic there. ‘But guys who look like rom-com leading men, don’t go out with women who look like me. Not even for one night, or for fun. And guys who work at the major law firms, who probably live in mansions, don’t go out with girls who’ve spent their whole life sharing a room with their younger twin sisters.’
Brienne was ugly. It was a fact, and that was all there was too it. Her whole body was wide, and she was always the tallest person in the room. She had no breasts to speak of, and her body went straight up and down; she’d been mistaken for a man on more than one occasion. She liked to keep her hair short, and she didn’t see the point in wasting what little money she had on fancy products, so it usually ended up looking and feeling like straw. It was an unsightly shade of white blonde, and she’d heard more jokes about that than anyone would think possible; her nose was crooked, the result of breaking it twice during her teenage years; her lips were too wide; and she had freckles all over her face and body, freckles of every shape and size and ranging from the palest beige to the darkest brown.
But her eyes were pretty shade of blue, so she had that going for her.
And while the Tarth’s weren’t poor, they weren’t jetting off on holiday every year either. With four kids to care for, her parents had been stretched thin for years. There wasn’t enough for pocket money every week, just the occasional tenner if Brienne wanted to go to the cinema with her friends. It wasn’t a bad life to grow up in, but it wasn’t always the best either, and Brienne knew that if she did ever end up with someone, it wouldn’t be someone who couldn’t understand what it was like to have to, every once in a while, reach out to friends and family so the family could eat for the rest of the week until payday.
‘I’m not saying you should make an emotional investment in him; but he’s cute, and single, and older, and hot, and literally everything that every girl wants her first boyfriend to be! I’d bet he’d even buy you flowers after. Do you know what Joffery gave to me? A high five.’
Brienne bit her lip. Joffery, Sansa’s first boyfriend hadn’t been the greatest of boyfriends. He’d cheated on Sansa in the end – several times – and at one point had even dumped her to go out with Margaery for two weeks. It was how Brienne and Sansa had become friends with Margaery, three years ago now, after Margaery had realised what Joffery had done.
Jaime Lannister did sound like the kind of guy everyone would want their first date to be with. And their first time, if what Sansa was not so subtlety hinting at was true. Could it be that easy to get it all over and done with? One night, with this perfect guy, and Brienne would be considered normal?
It would be a story to look back at in a few years, Brienne supposed. She was already dreading going to university and having to take part in drinking games where they asked about your first time. Brienne was a terrible liar, she wouldn’t be able to make something up.
And she didn’t have to sleep with Jaime. Sansa had said he was rude; he’d probably take one look at her and leave too.
Both Margaery and Sansa were looking at her with pleading eyes, Sansa’s looking big and sparkling with the make-up.
What harm could it do, really?
‘Fine,’ Brienne says, capping her final bottle. ‘Fine. If you think this will be as fantastic as you’re making out, then set it up. Why not?’
Brienne had nothing to lose after all. (Well, except her virginity. Maybe. But really, what was that?) ‘And you’re done.’ Brienne took a step away, enabling Sansa to get a look at her face in the mirror for the first time.
‘Holy shit,’ Margaery says, and she stands for a better look. ‘You look amazing.’
Sansa is looking at herself in the mirror, her mouth open in awe.
Brienne shrugs. Who knew she had such hidden talents?
*
Hi Brienne. Jaime Lannister here. Sansa Stark gave me your number. She tells me you’re single. How about a date on Friday? I can pick you up at 7pm. Wear something nice.
Hi Jaime. I am single, and I’m free on Friday. What, exactly do you mean by something nice? In all honestly, my wardrobe has one dress and it’s got a small stain on the side. Will that work? Also, I’m fine meeting you somewhere.
Brienne, I’m sure the dress will be fine. I don’t usually get responses like that from women when I tell them to wear something nice. Alright, then, I’ll send you the details of the place I’m taking you to.
Thank you. I’ll see you Friday, at 7pm.
Dear Jaime. I’m very sorry to do this, with only two hours' notice, but my older brother has been taken to hospital. He was swimming in the sea, when he got pulled under by a strong current. We’re lucky someone on the beach saw him go under, and alerted those who could help as quickly as they could. Without that person...well, I don’t even want to think about it. He’s alive, and stable, but I’m sure you understand why I can’t go on a date tonight.
Brienne, of course I understand. Family comes first. I hope your brother is okay. Raincheck?
Thank you, Jaime, for the flowers you sent. They really brightened up Gal’s room.