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Hours of tossing and turning around later, Brienne sits up, cursing in pain. It’s still dark, a long time to go until morning, but her sleep is gone now. Damn this time of the month!
She tries to calm down. Breathing in and out should help. What doesn’t help, though, is Jaime lying there, snoring blissfully a few feet away. How dare he sleep so peacefully, when she’s suffering like this? Lucky for him, he’s a man, whereas she has to lie here, holding her stomach in pain. She's angry. She's envious of him. She's pissed off this awful discomfort would last at least another couple of days.
Another spasm has her clutching at her belly, and Brienne groans. As she glances across the tent to the man sleeping like a baby, she’s hit by an unprovoked rush of irritation towards every single creature of the male sex. What right do they have to enjoy their rest when women have to suffer this every month?
“I hate this,” she grumbles loudly. “I—”
She’s distracted when Jaime stirs, and sits up, wide awake, leaning against the pillow. “Something troubling you?” he calls out.
“I’m fine,” Brienne dismisses, quickly turning away from him. The last thing she wants, is to listen to him tease and taunt her in the middle of the night when she’s in pain.
“No, you’re not.” Jaime gets up and lights a candle. “When women say they’re fine, they usually are not,” he says, as he approaches her corner of the tent.
“What the hell do you know about women?” Brienne seethes, his flippant remark angering her more than usual. “What the hell do you know of what we have to go endure—” There’s no point talking to him about this. “Why don’t you go back to sleep? You seemed to be enjoying quite a slumber.”
“What is it?” Jaime presses, in a far gentler tone this time, sitting down beside her. “You appear to be in pain.”
“Nicely concluded,” she snaps. “As if that isn’t too obvious.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks again. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Oh, damn him… damn all men!
“Did someone hurt you? Did—”
“Ser Jaime, will you please go back to sleep?” she almost shouts.
“Not until you bother telling me what’s wrong.” He looks determined. “I can keep sitting next to you all night, asking you the same question—”
“It’s normal,” she admits in a low voice, suddenly abashed that she’s talking to a man about something like this. “For a woman. Nothing that you would understand, anyway.”
He looks genuinely curious. “Why wouldn’t I understand?”
“Because it’s not something that I can explain to you,” she replies, trying to keep her voice calm.
“Tell me, wench.” He moves closer and touches her arm. “If there’s something I can do—”
“There’s nothing you can do!” she cries. “And it’s not something women usually talk about.”
Jaime looks blank for a second. Then his mouth curves in a soft ‘O’ of comprehension. “I understand,” he mumbles, averting her eyes.
“No. You do not,” Brienne confronts him, irritated. “No man would ever understand. Do you want to help me? The best thing you can do is to keep quiet.”
He nods. “I just never imagined you would suffer from something like this.”
Brienne glares. “What do you mean—”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant,” she snaps, the corners of her eyes pricking like they do when she’s about to cry. “ Is that a woman? ” she recollects, when he’d first looked down upon her in Robb Stark’s prison. “All you did was taunt and mock and insult me—”
“Brienne—”
“You have never considered me a woman, but I am one, Ser Jaime,” she goes on, her emotions all over the place. “I do suffer. I feel vulnerable at times, and I do go through telling times like this—”
“I didn’t mean it like that—” He looks sheepish. “I—”
“I am not interested in this conversation,” she cuts him again. “So will you please go back to bed and leave me alone—”
“Fine. As you wish.”
But instead of returning to bed, he leaves the tent.
Brienne is relieved. But she’s also… upset? But then, what does he expect of this man? That he’d stay back and comfort her? That's not the real reason for her agitation, though. If she were to be truthful to herself, it - her outburst, her anguish - is all about something she's been struggling with for a while. But it's a battle she'll easily lose. So what if she has grown to care for him? It's not like he is ever going to look at her like that. Damn, he doesn't even look at her as a woman! Hopelessness and helplessness - both weigh down on her chest, both burdens she’ll have to carry, because her feelings in this matter don’t matter at all. He belongs to another woman. Soon, they’ll bid each other goodbye, never to cross paths again.
And all she’ll be left behind with, are memories.
Both - her pain and the ache in her heart - they’re her problems to deal with. Like most women who suffer, she’ll have to grit her teeth and bear with it until it passes. But how is she going to deal with what she has begun to feel for him? How is she to put whatever happened behind her and move on, as if she never met him at all?
“One problem at a time,” she mutters to herself, trying not to think of what will happen when they reach King’s Landing.
She’s about to lie down, when Jaime walks in.
He sits down on the bedroll by her side and clears his throat. “I went out to get some hot water,” he explains. “But I couldn’t find any around here. They say, applying hot water to the affected area can help relieve the pain.”
Brienne simply stares at him.
“But there is another way.” Jaime shifts next to her. “Come here.” He puts his arm around her waist and gently draws her closer.
As soon as he touches her, Brienne can feel goosebumps all over her body. This is not supposed to happen. He’s not supposed to touch her like this. And she’s not supposed to lean into him, shifting her weight on him, seeking comfort against the warmth of his body. She should push him away now. Before he—
She sighs, these thoughts put to rest, when his hand wanders to her back, under her shirt, in contact with her skin. The pain apart, she’s now beginning to feel other sensations. When he moves his fingers rhythmically along her lower back in a slow massaging fashion, she shivers slightly.
“Feeling better?” he soothingly inquires. “Massaging should help alleviate cramps. It eases the flow.”
How the hell does he know all this? Cersei, of course. A rush of something sour up her chest brings back those thoughts his touch had suppressed. Cersei’s presence in his life looms large in her mind, a monster waiting to strike. And it will strike, as soon as they reach the capital. He was, is and will always be hers. He’s only trying to ease her pain. There’s nothing more to it
But Cersei flees her mind when she realizes Jaime’s hand is now on her belly.
“What are you doing?” she asks, alarmed with the effect that his fingers have on her.
“It helps the lower abdomen as well,” he explains. “The underside of your belly—”
“I know what lower abdomen means.” What she’s worried about are the repercussions of his touch on her body. The pain, forgotten, she’s now beginning to feel a different kind of ache, something she’s only ever felt for him.
“You women really are tetchy during these times,” he comments. “They say you’re in a murderous mood during this time of the month and your instinct is to kill any man who pisses you off,” he teases, the usual mischievous sparkle back in his eyes. “Is it true?”
“Shut up!” She’s tired and irritated, and not ready for his jokes. “I said, you wouldn’t understand, then why are you trying to—” She pulls away from him.
“Oh, come on,” he coaxes, giving her a warm smile. “I was just trying to lighten things up to make you feel better.” He’s serious when he looks into her eyes. “I can’t see you in pain.”
Slightly abashed with her outburst, Brienne keeps quiet.
Sensing no further resistance, Jaime pulls her into his arms and begins massaging her again. And this time, having no energy to argue, she sinks into his embrace, letting him do whatever he’s doing.
“Is it helping?” he whispers, his fingers deftly working to release her muscles.
“Mmm..hmm...” she moans, closing her eyes in relief. He really is good! She rests her head on his chest and finds herself slowly drifting off to sleep.
“I did insult and taunt and mock you in the past. But I—”
“What?” she drowsily mumbles.
“I apologize for the way I treated you,” he whispers in her ear.
This - it is an apology, but it doesn’t simply feel like just that.
But—
Could it be that she’s so weakened by her pain that she’s only seeing what she wants to see? Is he simply being a shoulder to comfort her?
But a wave of fatigue takes over, and her brain foggy, Brienne’s thoughts crumble. When Jaime holds her close, she simply melts in his embrace.
+++++
Jaime watches her chest rise and fall against his, content with the world at the moment.
I love you.
Three little words. Three very powerful words. How easily she’d said that and drifted off to sleep? And here he is, sleepless and restless since that moment, those three words going round and round in his mind.
He continues to watch her peaceful form, his mind hitting another bout of turbulence. Why is he unable to bear even a flicker of pain on her face? Why is even her slightest wince enough for him to put everything aside and run to her aid?
Why does he want to stay here, in this tent, forever, like this, holding her? Why does he want to protect her from the Lockes of the world?
Is it as simple as him caring so deeply for her that he cannot bear to see anything happen to her?
Perhaps, it is as complicated as the three little words Jaime doesn’t have the courage to bring to his lips.
+++++
“You’re awake this early in the morning?” she asks, as she steps out of the tent, looking much better than last night.
To wake up, one would have to fall asleep first. How could he, when her 'I love you' refused to leave his mind? “How’s your pain now?” he inquires, when he has finished mulling over her innocent question. “Did you sleep well?”
Brienne sits down next to him, her cheeks coloring a bit. “Yes.” She lowers her lashes, then looks up at him again. “Ser Jaime, I’m sorry—”
“—for using me as a pillow?” He gives her a mischievous smile that causes her blush to deepen. “That’s quite alright. I didn’t mind it at all.”
“Also—” Brienne goes on, the blush still burning bright on her cheeks. “I apologise for snapping like that last night. I should not have taken it out on you.”
“I didn’t mind that as well,” he assures her.
He waits for her to bring up what happened after all that, but she remains quiet, and it worries him. Was that proclamation of love something she uttered in a dream? Was it even meant for him? Or was it for pretty boy Renly?
The only way to find out is to ask her. “Is that all you have to say to me, Brienne?”
Her answer is a blank expression.
“You look lost,” he observes. “Do you not remember what you told me last night?”
When she continues to look clueless, he steps closer. “I love you,” he says, looking into those lustrous eyes.
Her lips part. Her eyelids flutter; she’s definitely flustered. But he can see it in her eyes - those three little words, and something tells him that confession had nothing to do with Renly.
“I love you. That’s what you said, my lady.”
“I—” Her cheeks turn crimson, and she drops her gaze, and her voice when she says. “I should not have—”
“Brienne—”
“I was in pain,” she goes on, refusing to let him speak. “Barely able to string my thoughts together—”
“My lady—”
“—and deprived of rest.” She sounds agitated. “It was not supposed to come out like that. My apologies for causing distress to you—”
She’s about to turn away, but he grabs her arm and pulls her towards him.
“Ser Jaime—”
“I love you, too,” he says, hoping that’ll keep her from starting again and bolting out of here, away from his presence.
But she does not look away. Nor does she try to escape. Encouraged, he leans forth to kiss her, and when she kisses him back, all of it comes rushing into this sweet exchange - the burden they have carried on their shoulders the last few weeks, the pain they have endured together, what was between them and what it has now come to be. There are many words to describe it - respect, kinship, friendship, care, and above all of them, is the love that has blossomed between them like a flower in a bed of thorns.
When Jaime deepens the kiss, he knows this flower will bloom for years to come.
When she surrenders with a sigh, he knows this will last forever.