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storm of swords!au - king's landing (for ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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.
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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It really is almost too easy to get a rise out of her, and while he meant no insult, it is fun to watch her get all riled up and he has very little fun in his life these days. He'll take what he can get. And perhaps was a tiny bit insulted that after everything, after he came back for her, after all he's done to help her, she still thinks him weak--in character, if not body.
Admittedly, he possibly deserves some of that, but she is the only person in the world who knows why he slew his king. He never even told Cersei. He certainly never told his father. They assume he is just like Tyrion--that he saw a chance to pick the winning side, refused to betray his family after his father switched sides, and think him better for that--the same thing that destroyed him in Ned Stark's view.
"Might I have some more water?" he asks, mildly, with just an arch of an eyebrow.
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Guilt washes over her features for another beat, and then she disguises it with another deep frown that sets in, creating that small line along her brow as she hands the water back to him more gently.
"You may," she replies, struggling to keep her voice flat.
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Scolding him kept him going, kept him fighting, where little else would have--not that he is likely to admit that anytime soon. Looking back, his own weakness shames him in ways his father's words or Cersei's coldness cannot even do, now.
He takes the water from her, and allows himself a half smile of thanks. "Why the long face? You got to beat me, again, and are like to be able to do so for a very long time. Shouldn't you be pleased?"
Everyone else was.
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"I take no pleasure in beating you," she answers, forcing more gentility into her voice.
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"You're a member of a very small association then. Possibly just of one." He takes a healthy drink of water.
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The sheer injustice of it all is enough to create a tightness in her chest.
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A shadow flickers across his face, her term biting even though he knows she didn't mean it so, that there is loyalty in the words he probably doesn't deserve. "I'll just have to find other ways to prove my....adequacy."
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"I was not aware your adequacy had been questioned in other areas," she replies, feigning indifference.
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Jaime fights the impulse to scowl at her. Why is he even having this conversation? Just because they had shared...whatever on their journey is no reason to continue. Yet, he lingers.
He meets her gaze, his still bland save for the flash of annoyance that covered the hurt. "My point, my lady, was that it hasn't been. And it won't be."
Dangerously close to open admission of breaking his vows, but it wasn't as if anyone thought any of the Kingsguard celibate, truly. Even if his lack of it had only ever been in one direction. The comment hangs awkwardly in his head because of it. He isn't his brother in so many more ways than stature.
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"Far be it from me to question your - prowess," she adds, choosing the final word carefully as she begins to back away, every intention on taking her leave to request that a bath be drawn.
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He watches her move, the careful way, and there's an impulse to stalk after her that takes him quite by surprise, makes him frown slightly at himself, questioning, wondering if her word choice, and his before...
He has to wonder if this is flirting.
"Are you done with me, then?"
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"Unless you require someone to show you how to bathe, as well?" she asks, although it's more of a taunting.
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Jaime honestly isn't certain about the flirting, either. Plenty of women have tried to catch his eyes through the years, but his position in the Kingsguard gave him reason for not engaging with him. There's never been anyone but Cersei for him, and that had no element of flirting. But now...it's different. She's different. Or maybe she isn't, but he is, and he can't be bothered to play her games anymore.
His words near shock him when they come out without thought, almost teasing. "Well, I do have a little trouble reaching my back..."
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"And I have your assurance that I won't need to carry you out afterward?" she asks, vaguely referring to the aftermath of that particular soaking.
Jaime. My name is Jaime.
She averts her gaze, glancing to one side, her harsh features a stark contrast against the flush that rises in her cheeks.
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"I promise I can manage to fully move on my own power," Jaime assures her with a smirk, eyeing the blush in her cheeks and pleased to know she isn't completely unaffected.
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She manages to duck into a smaller alcove without waiting to see if he has followed, her mind overwhelmed. The castle is still waking up, and will be bustling with activity once the nobles require attending to, but here she attempts to catch her breath, momentarily closing her eyes.
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Jaime hesitates, uncertainty taking over. He can't pretend this is anything but some sort of likely bad idea. Nevermind who they are...and he is making assumptions he ought not make and isn't even sure he wants to make.
His thoughts are twisting around themselves like mythical dragons, and burning just as badly in their own way.
But...he follows, too curious, now, not to.
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When she glances around the corner to see who it is, a different kind of expression crosses over her face and she steps out. "What do you think you are - "
Now she does hear the sound of the Kingsguard - several members, judging by the number of footsteps and the clank of light armor. Her desire not to get caught overpowers any other instinct, and she grabs hold of Jaime by the shoulder and pulls him into her quarters, closing the door just before they're discovered.
She rounds on him with a shake of her head. "I do not know where to begin."
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Jaime feels a flicker of amusement at her haste to keep them from being discovered, though there is a flicker of relief in that, as well. Her words have him frowning, though, stepping back a little toward the safety of the door. His left hand is awkward even at dragging through his hair, messing it up, but it's an easier move than others. It's cramping though from the workout, unused to the strength needed for the grip of a heavy sword.
"I...do not either," he admits, as well, and the truth of that is a little stunning to him.
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"Have you given no thought to the rumors that would fly had you been discovered?" she hisses, taking a step closer to speak in a whisper in case there happens to be anyone listening at the door. "The Kingslayer in Brienne the Beauty's rooms. I imagine the gossipmongers at King's Landing are more vicious than most."
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Jaime gives her a startled look, then laughs--admittedly more quietly for her whispers. It's startled and genuine and at the same time, oh-so-very bitter.
"Rumors have been flying about me since I was seventeen, my lady. Hadn't you heard? They've started a war over them." He moves past her, pacing her room, then pauses and frowns.
"Is the thought of your name tied to mine so distasteful?" He thought, likely, it would be worse for her. They whispered about him sleeping with Cersei, one of the great beauties of the land. No one would truly believe that here he had come to Brienne's room with any illicit intent. Perhaps that was what shamed her. He didn't know.
He did know she was the only person in this entire shining city he trusted--even his brother made him wary, these days, and that was an uncomfortable feeling.
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"No man - no knight - would wish their name linked to mine in such a manner," Brienne finally admits, countering the quiet confession in her words with a taller posture, standing up straighter and lifting her chin.
But there is a subtle tremor there in her jaw as she struggles to hold steadfast, unfeeling.
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Jaime gives her a look, and moves back to her, not so close as to crowd her, but close enough he can reach out to touch that trembling jaw, brush a fingertip along it. He shakes his head and steps back from her. No matter what else, she should not have to suffer uninvited touches, even from him.
"You sell yourself too short, my lady. And men who would scorn you and your name do not know your true and loyal heart, the honor you carry, and the skill you bring to your calling. There is far more worth in that than in the loveliest face in the Seven Kingdoms. You are, perhaps, the truest soul I have ever met. You shame me with it, in fact. 'Tis my name that would tarnish yours, not the other way around. No matter what foolish tongues might say."
If he called her beautiful, she would think him mocking her, he knows, but, in truth, she's becoming so the longer he knows her. Objectively, her looks have not changed, but friendship and affection do not have an objective gaze.
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And now this man, the one whose sister is regarded as the most beautiful woman in all Seven Kingdoms, is placing higher value in her honor? Were it not for the utter ridiculousness of the situation, she'd be half-convinced that all of this was the result of some dream. It would surely be the strangest she has had.
"Kingsl - Jaime," she says, correcting herself on the name, per his request. She struggles to speak any other word, and when her gaze finds his, it is not with the confidence of a knight, but the uncertainty of a maiden who cannot explain why she trembles.
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The comparison to Cersei was quite deliberate, and it is likely problematic that there is such bitterness behind that. He would have--and had--done anything for his sister, but his world feels upside down now, and not feeling as if he can trust her is tearing him apart. It's not wise, he thinks, to be here, like this, and perhaps she was right to not want him here, even if her reason was wrong.
He doesn't--can't--know his own mind and he would not pull her into the morass of lies and deception that swirl through his own life. He means it, too, when he says his name can only tarnish hers. The truths they whisper are easy to believe because of the lies they think they know. Joffrey has no right to the throne. In his opinion, neither did Renly, but only because he was completely ineffectual as a leader, no matter how charming. Stannis may claim the right, but no one wants him for their king.
Honestly....the Young Wolf might have been the best choice, but he let youthful impulsivity cloud his judgment. Gods, couldn't the boy have done what men have done for all of time and married the girl he was supposed to and taken the one he wanted as his mistress? But Jaime can't say any of that, not to Brienne, not to Cersei. They are Lannisters, and, in the end, why not rule? Joffrey needs to be horsewhipped, but his father, for all his cruelty...well. Those in service to Casterley Rock have never suffered the vagaries the last two kings placed on the people of the Kingdoms. His father is hard, heartless and cruel, and a little too greedy for power...but he's an efficient soldier and an able leader.
Jaime just wishes...he doesn't even know, and his name hangs in the air there, between them, and she is looking at him like he is supposed to have answers for questions he doesn't know how to frame.
"I apologize, my lady..." he isn't sure for what, but he knows he owes them everywhere.
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