nolady | storm of swords!au - king's landing (for serkingslayer)

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jaime

storm of swords!au - king's landing (for serkingslayer)

In spite of her release from prison, Brienne cannot ignore the suspicion there are those who still think her responsible for Renly's death. If only she could plead with them, find a means of making them believe her sincere and true devotion - but to speak up now, inside King's Landing, would mean an accusal of treason against her for certain. For Joffrey is the king here, not Renly, and the Tyrells have secured their futures by serving him instead.

Brienne's loyalty is not so easily won, though she knows she must not speak her true feelings out loud, lest she wind up back in the dungeons from which she has only just been freed. She is well aware that Jaime had placed her there for her own safety, until the truth could be verified. Now, all she can do is what she has been trained to do: to serve, and to fight as a member of the Kingsguard - if not for her king, than for another.

She does not wish to be thought of as any less of a knight here, and it is for that reason she continues to practice, in the early morning hours down by the stables, where there is a clear space and a tree trunk marred by the strikes of her blade as she moves through the forms of her attack. She does not wear her armor now, a thin shirt and a pair of breeches clinging to her ungainly form. The opponent she fights is harmless enough.

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Jaime still feels like a fish out of water, despite the trappings of welcome slung about him. His missing hand has been the subject of averted gazes and curtailed whispers, or so he thinks. They're all whispering, pitying, wondering what sort of man he is now.

The cloak he refuses to remove, yet, weighs heavily on his shoulders as he makes his way toward the stables. Riding is something he's managed to get the hang of, at least, and he's not wanted anywhere else, yet, today.

He pauses when he sees her, studying the way she moves with a wisp of envy he tries to quell. His self-pity is not anything she has ever indulged. Straightening, he sets a distant sort of smile on his lips and moves forward, one eyebrow arched.

"Has the tree done something to offend you?"

While her own arrival to King's Landing has been met with significant scrutiny, Brienne does not envy Jaime his return. There is no shortage of whispers, no end to the rumors that circulate both within earshot and on the streets - the loss of his hand being the most frequented topic of conversation.

She does not see him hang his head low, not ever and certainly not now, as her shoulders drop slightly into a more relaxed pose even as she keeps the sword level, the muscles in her arms flexing.

"Finding a worthy opponent has proved to be - difficult," she replies, her tone matter-of-fact. "And I would no sooner resort to sparring against a lesser knight. There would be no challenge in it."

"And there is challenge in attacking a defenseless tree?" His tone is more amused than actually mocking--he spent many an afternoon practicing against inanimate objects as a child.

Mayhap it is something he should resort to once more with his left hand.

"Are you truly saying there is no one here in King's Landing you find to be a worthy opponent? Or are they merely refusing to spar with you?"

Brienne squares her jaw firmly and does not answer right away, her stance slowly easing to a normal stand as she sheathes the blade she has been using to practice. Her own she would never deign to dull against the wood of a tree.

"Perhaps it is both," she answers, her gaze flitting away as she strides over to one side to sip from the skin of water she'd brought out earlier.

"I would offer my services, but alas, I think the tree provides you with more sport," he says dryly, leaning against the stable fence.

"Would you? Are you certain it is because of that and not because you will be end up bested, Kingslayer?" she counters, taking another swig of water and then bracing her hands on her hips.

"I do not deny I would be, which takes pride out of it," he demurs. "But I
can barely manage to hold the sword at the correct angle, at the moment."

He's tried. It's frustrating.

"How did you achieve accomplishment with your other hand?" she replies, indicating the one that is missing with a sharp nod of her head.

"Training. Practice. Determination. The markers of a knight," Brienne adds, without waiting for him to answer first. "Without them you may as well resign yourself to the role of spectator for your remaining days." She is aware that she baits him; it was the only way she had convinced him to eat after their capture.

Jaime scowled at her, aware of exactly what she was doing. "You think I should relearn everything..."

"What would you do besides?" she answers, rounding on him with narrowed eyes.

"I never believed the Kingslayer to be a man who would adopt defeat the way a knight bears a shield, ser."

Jaime's jaw firms and he shoots her something more like a glare. "I am not admitting defeat," he snaps, before adding. "I have simply not...figured out a plan on how to start." That would not expose him to his men's ridicule even more.

"I see," Brienne answers. It is still the early morning, and much of King's Landing has not awoken to greet the day, so the courtyard where she practices tends to be empty for a while longer.

Eventually, she will head inside to draw herself a bath, to eat, to dress in the colors of a king she has sworn allegiance to, if not her own heart.

"So you plan to stand around until you do," she deduces, and it is impossible to tell if her thin lips produce a smile.

Jaime makes a bit of a face, watching her face carefully, wondering if that is a smile or not before arching an eyebrow.

"You have a better idea?"

Her expression shifts to something that could be considered more impassive, neutral, and she strides over to the small pile she's set off to one side. Given her height, she has to bend low to reach one of the other practice blades, and without warning, she tosses it in his direction, handle first.

"Time to relearn, Kingslayer."

Jaime has gotten used to not having his hand well enough that he does, at least, lift his left hand to catch the blade, and manages, though his hold is clumsy and he fumbles, almost dropping it.

The clumsiness embarrasses him, his cheeks burning, but his eyes snap angrily--at himself for the clumsiness, though there's little outlet in that. Still, he raises the blade awkwardly, willing to meet her challenge.

His body doesn't want to fall into the proper position, really. His left foot feels strange in the lead, his blaance even is off, but that's as much an internal feeling as anything else.

Her expression is neutral, open. If she had expected him to act one way or another, she doesn't show it, drawing her own practice weapon and holding her stance quietly until he manages to settle into something resembling similar.

"Are you ready?" she asks, not impatient or bored. Merely asking the question.

She doesn't want to take him by surprise yet, move without first gauging his readiness - at least considering how he had almost dropped the blade moments before.

Jaime doesn't feel ready, with everything off. He feels like a green child, unsure where to put everything. It's highly disconcerting, given his usual prowess, but he finally nods a little, settling into a more proper stance, however uncomfortable.

He almost feels like he should go back to the basics, learn his footwork on the left, balance exercises and the like, but that is too remedial for anywhere someone might see. He'll work on that in his chambers, later.

"Ready."

There's a beat, just long enough, where the look in her eyes softens, where the armor of her expression cracks, and she regards him with encouragement instead.

"It is only me you're fighting," she says, reverting to a matter-of-fact tone again. "Do not presume that I will go easy on you."

She will, but neither of them will acknowledge that, and certainly not before she swings her blade in an arc towards the handsomeness of his face.

"I wouldn't expect you to." No matter what they've been through, Jaime doesn't delude himself thinking she likes him.

He shifts to the side--the correct one, at least--and brings up the sword to parry. It's an awkward move, but he does manage to make contact. The clumsiness of it makes him grimace, but he steps into it, attempting to circle her blade further away.

His skill is certainly not what it once was, not by any means, but it is not her place to stand and critique his form as though he is in training, as if she is the teacher. She won't deny that the sound of the blades ringing through the air with each clash creates an excitement that lingers in her blood, infuses her being.

Despite his shortcomings, he doesn't step away from her but rather towards, engaging her head-on and taking advantage of his weakness to play the defensive. It is a smart strategy. What the Kingslayer lacks in skill at the moment, he makes up for in cunning, and she tests his range with another strike.

It's the sense of everything being in reverse that's the most disorienting. Add to it the fact that his left hand simply isn't as strong, not conditioned to the balance and weight of the blade, and everything feels out of place.

It just makes him more determined, now, at least. He's dropped that feeling like he'll just give up. Someway, he'll find his way back to at least some approximation of what he was.

That thought in mind, he parries her again, before attempting an offensive strike he's not quite balanced for.

It's not going to be an even fight. It's not even going to be a fair fight, what with him still attempting to parallel his technique on the other side and her going easy on him - relatively speaking. But towards the end, she eases off, surprised to find she's actually partly out of breath.

"Good news," she says, sheathing her weapon. "You're not completely without hope."

An expression of realizing dawns before she turns away to hide it - those words had almost been, verbatim, the thing her father's master-of-arms had often told her, when he'd caught her practicing alone with a sword. She has journeyed a long way since then, and silenced many doubters besides. She takes a swig of water and then, thinking better, passes the skin to him.

Every muscle in Jaime's body aches by the time she eases off. Part of it is a good ache, muscles moving, exercising, stretching. Part of it is a screaming sort of ache demanding to know why in the seven hells he's just put them through this.

He's breathing hard, as well, but he puts the blade back, trying not to look too pathetic.

"I'm pleased by that rousing assessment," he says dryly, though, really, he is. Taking the water from her, he gives her a curious look, but doesn't press to know what she's thinking.

She doesn't linger while he drinks; instead, she moves to put things back in their proper place, making it appear as though she was never there. It's better if she leaves no trace of her presence, remaining like a ghost, forever elusive. She does not earn any attention that way, does not earn herself a reputation upon which to be summoned in front of the king.

Her thoughts often dwell on days spent tied up in the saddle, skin chafing from a long ride without relief, traveling with little more than a bucket of water, and thirst often took the place of cleanliness in most cases. Here, she has the luxury of both, though for how long? She cannot presume to know.

"It was not completely a compliment," she replies, and snatches the water back from him. "You have much more to work on, Kingslayer."

He should be used to her shifting moods, he thinks--a piece that does point to her being a woman, as much as her figure in the bath. Tall, muscular, a warrior's body, but still a woman. Impossible that he hadn't noticed, even if he was quite careful not to show that.

"You think I do not know that?" he asks, relinquishing the water without a fight. "It's like being a babe learning to fight again, and I recognize how very far I've fallen, my lady."

storm of swords!au - king's landing (for serkingslayer)

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