Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandoms:
Relationship:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Collections:
Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2022
Stats:
Published:
2022-07-25
Updated:
2022-07-26
Words:
2,471
Chapters:
2/?
Comments:
29
Kudos:
73
Bookmarks:
13
Hits:
1,037

you've got (chain)mail

Summary:

Jaime loses, in no particular order: a gorget, an argument, a horse, a fight, and Selwyn of Tarth's respect for guests.

(He loses his heart too, but he's okay with that.)

Notes:

Hello hello! This is written for the wonderful @JillPecq, who posts the best Braime memes! She requested a secret relationship Braime, and I've been having way too much fun with her prompt! :D

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: The Gorget

Chapter Text

The day after the Kings’ Landing’s seventeen-and-up tournament:

Jaime was hurriedly throwing his chainmail into his sack when Peck called from the door.
“He’s leaving, milord! And he says you can walk back to Casterly Rock if you don’t come along!”
Jaime cursed and swept his remaining odds and ends into the sack, hearing something clang on the floor and wincing.
“He’s leaving, milord!”
“COMING, PECK!” Jaime yelled with frustration as he swept out the door and startled the boy, the two running down to the courtyard.

The morning before the King’s Landing’s sixteen-and-under tournament:

Brienne threw her bag down on the floor and flopped on the bed.
A knock on the door, and Ser Goodwin stepped one foot in.
“Remember to stretch,” he instructed. “I’ll be downstairs securing a place in the practice yard for this afternoon.” Brienne nodded, and he shut the door again.
With a sigh, she hefted herself off the bed and picked up her bag. She carefully pulled out her clothes, paper, pen, and kneeled to put her shoes underneath the bed.
Something glinted at her.
“What the….?” She said as she pulled out a golden gorget with a rampant lion with a bloody ruby mouth.

Chapter 2: Letters, pt 1

Notes:

@JillPecq, I love love loved your character request about Brienne having girl friends and being loved. Cheers to that!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Brienne caught a page by the arm in the corridor outside her room and tried to ignore how his eyes widened as he looked up, up, up to finally meet her eyes. He’s about my age, Brienne felt with a wash of embarrassment. He could fight in the tourney tomorrow. And I’m three times his height.

“Who held these rooms before me?” she asked. “They left something behind.”

The page looked blankly at her rooms and then back at her. “It’s a castle, ma’am. There’s lots of people coming in and out.”

And perhaps three times his brains, a stern little voice like Ser Goodwin’s told her.

“Anyone who could have dropped something like this?” she said, holding the gorget gingerly. The page eyed the armor and reached for it. “Oh, that’d be Lannister wear, milady. The lion, the gold, the crimson—" The gaudy, Brienne thought, suddenly remembering the vast Lannister parade in King's Landing last year. Yes, that fit.

“Much appreciated,” she said, stepping back. The page was still looking at the piece with a glint in his eye. “They’ve left already, but I know a squire to the Lannisters, milady, I can deliver it—”
“I know a Lannister, I will,” she said firmly.
Suitably cowed, he drew his head back, pursed his lips, and carried on down the hall with a mumble.

Brienne withdrew into her chamber and put the troublesome gorget on the side table. She didn’t know a Lannister by anything more than reputation, though her father had told her that this was quite sufficient. She’d write a letter later today after practicing in the yard. The fool who had left armor like that behind would be too disorganized to realize it was gone until he was back in the Westerlands.

Jaime swung off his horse, raced the last few feet to Tyrion, hurrying up to his horse, and spun his little brother around.
“Jaime!” Tyrion cheered. “Did you win?!”
“Did I win,” Jaime snorted. “How badly did I win, you mean?”
Tyrion laughed and Jaime put him down. “Won the jousting and the melee, took a paltry third at the archery but it averaged out. I crowned Joy the queen of love and beauty twice, which she was thrilled about.”
Tyrion chuckled. “And I supposed Father was less than thrilled about.”

Jaime artfully shrugged and ruffled his hair. “Father was showing me parchment portraits of ladies and their name, picture, and family trees the night before to strategize who I could crown. He reasoned that this would be the perfect way to capture an introduction with some of the more aloof families and force consideration of an alliance.” “Plausible deniability as a tourney gesture if not beneficial, a romantic gesture to plant in the public mind and lend the courtship strength if so,” Tyrion said with a growl, shaking his head. Jaime laughed. “That’s nearly exactly what he said! Tyrion!”

Tyrion shook his head some more and smiled. “Good to have you back, although I am sorry that Father’s returning with you. A raven came for you yesterday, and I laid the message on your bed.”

“A raven?” Jaime asked. “Addam was with us. Who else would write?”
“It wasn’t Aunt Gemma,” Tyrion said with a shrug. “She wrote me to invite both of us to a feast, as she said you never replied to ravens.”
“True enough,” Jaime said. “It’s hardly fair for me to be standing on land when all of the letters go swimming. Tell her yes for me, Tyrion, and I’ll see about that message.” He hoisted his bags over his shoulder and entered Casterly Rock with the jaunty step of both heir and champion.

Greetings to Casterly Rock.
A Lannister hopeful from last week’s tournament has left behind some armor. If properly identified, I will send it on.
Sincerely,
Brienne of Tarth

Jaime groaned and unpacked his bag. Sure enough, one piece was missing. He visited the maester’s chambers to dictate a letter but found the man missing; swiping some parchment and ink, he returned to his room.

Jaime scooted up his chair and idly looked at the letter again with a grimace. He hated writing. Where was Tyrion?

Greetings to the Island of Tarth.

He paused.

If the missing armor you hold is a gorget with a delicately wrought lion, ruby in mouth, it belongs to the great Jaime Lannister. It must be him, he was the winner of the King’s Landing tourney in only his first year there. When he tilted—Jaime was smirking,—The ruby was shining in the sunlight like the fires of the sun on the Western Seas and some thought they were blinded. Blinded by beauty, by gems, or by talent, one could not say. But as his squire, I can certainly confirm to you that it is young Jaime’s. Casterly Rock thanks you for your attentive eye in recovering part of the champion’s armor.
Sincerely,
Tymen Lannister of Lannisport

Jaime rolled it up, sealed it with more than usual enthusiasm, and carried it up to the rookery.

Brienne slung her bag across her bed and collapsed into a chair. That was the most traveling she had done, ever, and she had done it all on bruises.

Once she had cleaned, unpacked, and rejoined the hall, her father swept her up into a hug. “Winner of the sixteen and under, eh?” he said into her unruly hair. He gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Any banners to hang in the hall?” Brienne blushed and nodded. “It has the year on it, with the tournament sigil.” “Brave girl. Bring it down and we’ll hang it here during the feast.”

“Feast?” Brienne asked with surprise. “Ay, you think we wouldn’t honor a returning champion? Goodwin wrote the minute you won the melee and predicted the ending. Archery, jousts, and melee—he was beside himself.”

Brienne blushed again and promised to bring the banner down to the feast. Returning to her rooms, she flopped on the bed and wondered if it would be a quiet, private castle feast with all of her favorite foods, or the kind of feast where everything was proper and she had to sit on the dais while everyone else danced.

She supposed it would depend on the whims of her father’s latest ‘companion’.

A knock on the door, and the maester poked his head around the frame. “Congratulations, milady,” he said with a warm smile. “There’s a raven for you.” He held out a scroll, and Brienne hopped up and thanked him before taking it.

Walking to her desk, she broke the seal and read it. And immediately frowned.

Tymen Lannister of Lannisport,
Perhaps those rubies have blinded you to good sense. The description is correct, and I will send the gorget across to Casterly Rock. But I’ll give you a bit of advice—that level of over-the-top flattery might be necessary in the West, but here it just makes it clear that you had to make up good things to say.

It’s alright to dislike your knight. Many squires do.

Best,
Brienne of Tarth

“Another raven from Tarth?” the maester asked as he placed the scroll by Jaime’s seat. “Tarth?” Jaime said in confusion as he ripped it open. “Oh yes!” he laughed. “Some fellow found my armor and is planning on returning it.” The maester frowned at Jaime and took his leave. Tyrion dropped his spoon on his plate and went to Jaime. “Is this the one you were telling me—” “Yes!” Jaime said, and they put their heads together over the paper.

After a beat, Tyrion roared with laughter. Jaime, eyebrows furrowed with the effort, took a little longer before sputtering. “So much for spreading rumors of your greatness,” Tyrion laughed as he started to hold his stomach. “Now she’s convinced you’re awful.”

“She?” Jaime said distractedly as he scanned the letter again. How did…?

“Brienne, that’s not a common name, but it is the name of the Evenstar’s daughter,” Tyrion replied, tucking back into his peas with a smile.
“How do you know that?” Jaime asked, and Tyrion grinned green. “Willas Tyrell thinks she’s going to beat Loras next time they fight. His grandmother thinks she’s a ‘marvel’, and Willas agrees. But that may be because he’s so tired of hearing Loras talk about his seven-tourney streak.”
“Huh,” Jaime said, finally finishing the letter again. “Wait, she fights?”
“Well enough that the Tyrells bet on her,” Tyron repeated.

Well, damn.

“I’m going to have to write another letter,” Jaime said as he pushed the letter to the side.
“No? She’s sending the gorget?”
“It will be funny, she doesn’t know who I am,” Jaime said. “And if she really is a fighter, she might not mind some correspondence with someone who can give her tips.”
“Tip you on your back and beat you, more like,” Tyrion said shrewdly. “Willas said she uses a morning star.”
“And now you’re betting against your own family?!” Jaime said as he grabbed Tyrion and started to noogie him. “And you haven’t even seen the girl!” Tyrion yelped with laughter and tried to wiggle away. “Willas Tyrell can keep his mouth shut!” Jaime ruffled his hair one last time and let him go. “More than he usually does!” The brothers laughed.

Lady Brienne of Tarth,
You misunderstand me. Jaime Lannister’s feats of daring exploit are so great, so renowned, so epic—”

“Epic as in great, or epic as in epic? Like, adventure?”
“I don’t know, give me some space!” Jaime pushed Tyrion back from the desk.
“You’ve already misspelled a word,” Tyrion sing-songed and Jaime hurriedly turned back to the paper. “Where?” “I’m not going to tell you!” Tyrion sang again. Jaime groaned.

"—so epically of epic, that it is impossible to overexaggerate his charms. One can only think of superlatives and then gesture at the space beyond them. He is unmatched."

“Not if Father has his way,” Tyrion slyly said. Jaime groaned again and picked up the quill.

“Your contribution to his living legend by returning his armor is a deed that will be embroidered in the tapestry of your nobility for years to come, like,”

“Like the Maiden and the Just Maid,” Tyrion helpfully supplied. Jaime tipped his quill to him and dutifully wrote it down.

“We hear reports that the maidens use their own just swords at Tarth,” Jaime continued. “How does training fare on this island? Casterly Rock uses dummies of great weight and size, as well as pitting the many squires and knights of the area against each other in practice. Tarth’s size and distance from traffic would imply different methods.”

“Is that bad?”
“No, not necessarily, just asking how it works. Because my first thought would be that any fighter on Tarth would get used to the other three or four fighters fast and become dull quickly. How does a supposedly bright tourney prospect stay sharp in such a small bunch in the middle of nowhere, without new company or armor coming in and out?”
“I don’t know, how does she?”
“We’ll find out,” Jaime said, and sealed the letter.

Tymen Lannister,
I’m not convinced you take my assurances seriously. I will not speak of your distaste for Jaime, you do not have to lie.

Any champion of that great renown would never forget his armor under the bed.

He clearly got trounced at the tourney. Jaime endured so many gashes to his armor that he planned to replace the whole set anyway, otherwise he wouldn’t bother leaving perfectly serviceable armor behind. You’re hoping the shame hasn’t reached the East and waiting for me to spread the word of the Lannisters’ continued triumph around Tarth and its neighbors.

It’s alright, I won’t tell anyone.”

Tyrion was rolling on the floor, howling in tears. Jaime was shaking in half-stunned…half-laughter?

“As for Tarth, you have quickly ascertained the difficulty of training here. Luckily, the natural terrain provides a constantly changing opponent for the squire determined to improve.

You may suggest Ser Jaime visit, if you like.”

“BAAAAAAAAAAHAAAHAAAAHAAA!”
“I get it, you think she’s hilarious,” Jaime said, struggling to hide his grin.
“She may not beat you in a tourney, but she’s beating you to death here,” Tyrion said, still on the floor. “Keep reading!”
“Maybe I won’t,” Jaime said with a pout. Tyrion shook his head. “Come on, Jaime, keep going!”
“That’s all there is, she signs it shortly after.”
“What will you say?” Tyrion gasped, finally sitting up from the floor.
“Well,” Jaime started, as he grabbed for a quill.

Brienne ripped open the letter with pleasure.

Brienne,
Please come and bash Loras’s head in. He’s telling the story of how he beat Alester Florent. Again. For the twenty-ninth time. Today.
Love, love, love,
Margaery

Brienne quickly scribbled back.

Margaery,
I can’t do that.
Love,
Brienne

Brienne,
You absolutely could do that. We’re all rooting for you.
As for ‘should’….yes, you should do it too.
Love, love, love, Margaery

Margaery,
Your grandmother!
Love,
Brienne

Brienne,
Who do you think paid for this express raven?
Love, love, love,
Margaery

Margaery,
I can’t until after the Stormlands’ tourney. It would look bad to sabotage my rivals beforehand.
Love, Brienne

Brienne.
UUUUGH. That’s three months away!
Hate, hate, hate,
Margaery
P.S. (love, love, love)

Brienne shook her head after Margaery’s latest missive and tore open the next envelope.

She started shaking her head again, but this time with a knowing glint in her eye.

Tymen Lannister,
Your three-page paen has sealed the deal.
No Lannister would ever flatter someone else at the sake of themselves.
Hello, Jaime.

Notes:

Reviews welcome! :)

Notes:

This story is going to be a bit bigger than my usual, so I'm teasing a little bit here and planning to post in chapters! Reviews absolutely welcome! :)