Royai among other things

"You need a hand there, Bambi?" Santos said, eyeing Emma's hands, now shaking, which were struggling to find a vein in an eighty-six year old cardiac patient. Emma froze minutely and looked up at her, bracing for what came next. "I can go get a practice dummy if you need to spend a little time - "

"Santos," Dana barked from the doorway, and everyone jumped. A hunted look came over Trinity's face and she turned, face resentful. "Enough. Go to the gym if you need a punching bag, my nurses are not your fuckin' stress balls."

"Sorry," Trinity sneered, shoulders tense. "I would just really like to get this lady hydrated sometime before the heat death of the sun, that's all. Maybe Nurse Baby over here can go back to - "

"Got it," Emma said, having taken the opportunity to focus while Santos's eyes were focused elsewhere, taping down the IV with a slight breath of relief, keeping her eyes averted as she reached up to check the line, untangling the tubing from where it had bunched up slightly beneath the patient's shoulder.

"Finally," Santos muttered. She glanced over at Adiyodi, the wide-eyed and silent MS3 who'd been following her around all day and said, "for the record, it usually doesn't take four tries."

Dana pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Emma, go wait with Langdon in the ambo bay, there's a trauma incoming, four minutes out. Santos, a word."

Emma leapt at the opportunity to escape, slinking past Adiyodi - who was grimacing and half-smiling at her in what Emma hoped was sympathy - and fleeing before she could hear whatever Santos would say next. She took the long way around on purpose to give herself a few extra seconds of rest time - rolling out her shoulders and neck, deep breaths, whispering her self-confidence mantras under her breath - I am an instrument of success, strong and created by God, I am capable of doing hard things, I do NOT crave my own downfall - and so by the time she reached Dr. Langdon, standing tensely with Jesse and Kim just outside the bay doors, she felt almost normal again.

"Hi guys," Emma said, pasting on a cheerful face. Langdon always looked sort of taken aback whenever anyone smiled at him, but he was always quick to smile back, and Jesse of course had his cool-guy head-nod ready to go. Kim, smoking the other half of her cigarette from this morning, scrunched up her nose and grinned. "Dana said you needed another pair of hands?"

"MVC, two victims," Langdon said, nodding. He was leaning against the side of the building with his arms extended, pressed flat against the brick in a sort of Jesus pose - it looked goofy but apparently it really helped his back - but he pulled one wrist down to check his watch. "Three or so minutes out now. First one has an exposed fracture and hasn't regained consciousness since they pulled her out of the car, that's all we know."

"Shitty day for it," Jesse said, taking a drag of the cigarette Kim offered him. "Sun shining, birds chirping, all that."

"I know, right, if you're gonna get t-boned it should be on a snowy day or something," Kim agreed. She looked over at Emma. "The other guy in the car is less critical, so he's a few minutes behind. I'm gonna triage him while you guys take the first one."

"Great," Emma chirped, startling a little when the doors slid open and another nurse walked out, talking rapidly in Spanish on a cell phone. She took another deep breath and wrapped her arms around herself.

"You okay, kiddo?" Langdon asked.

"Yeah, totally," Emma said eagerly, as genuinely as she could. "Just, um. I was just having some trouble placing an IV on a patient with Dr. Santos just now, and - um. Is she always, like..." she paused, unsure of how to put it.

"Bitchy?" Kim said, finishing the sentence for her. Jesse snorted loudly. "Yes. Absolutely always, yes."

"Oh, um. I wouldn't use that word about anyone, unless we were joking and they were okay with it, but - "

"Don't let her get to you," Langdon said, a sort of weary, jaundiced look on his face. "Really. She's..." he paused delicately, glancing over at Jesse, who was looking at him with a little smirk, one eyebrow raised. "She's a little difficult. Just not worth your energy, really."

Emma exhaled tensely, fiddling with the end of her braid. She liked Dr. Langdon, he was a good teacher, and he didn't let the cockier interns and med students treat the nurses like crap (unlike some other doctors Emma could name, who rarely even noticed let alone did anything about it). And Jesse and Kim were some of her favorites too - Jesse had a big brother sort of vibe with everyone, droll and ironic but steadfast, and Kim was just a ball of sunshine. Who didn't like Kim? (Dr. Whitaker, maybe, but in Emma's opinion - and from what Kim had told her about what happened last year - Dr. Whitaker was kind of an idiot.)

"It just seems a little bit... personal," Emma said unsurely, glancing at all three of them in turn to gauge their reactions. Jesse didn't look surprised, but Kim raised her eyebrows and looked over at Langdon, shooting him a jaded sort of look. "Do you guys know if I maybe... did something? I don't know, it just feels like she's really got it out for me lately or something, and if I offended her somehow I'd really like to apologize - "

Jesse snorted again, which made Kim elbow him. Langdon just shook his head.

"You didn't do anything," he said firmly. "Just ignore her."

Emma narrowed her eyes at them. "So she is mad at me. Like, specifically."

"It's her own issue, Em," Kim said, shaking her head. "You didn't do anything wrong. Langdon's right, you really should just ignore it."

"But you all know what it is," Emma accused, jutting out her chin stubbornly.

Kim patted her shoulder. "Let's talk later, babe."

"Oh come on, if there's like some rumor going around about me or something - "

"Heads up," Jesse said, pointing out at the end of the parking lot, where an ambulance with its sirens on was cutting through traffic towards the bay.

"Don't worry about it," Langdon said encouragingly, pushing his body off the wall and then jumping a few times on the balls of his feet, shaking out his arms like he was about to go on a run. "Really. Okay, I've got ten bucks and a red Capri Sun on rib trauma."

"Chest and concussion," Emma said immediately. She loved the red ones.

Kim rolled her eyes. "Like it could be anything else, when the poor girl got t-boned."

"If it's all three, I win," Jesse announced, throwing the cigarette away. "Let's also throw in that last creme brulee cupcake, Langdon."

"Hey, Mel made those for me," Langdon whined.

"Like you haven't been flaunting them in front of us all day," Emma said, unapologetic. (Mel's cupcakes were incredible. She really hoped this lady didn't have rib trauma.)

Emma liked emergency medicine specifically because of this - the rush and triumph of knowing exactly what to do and doing it efficiently, being important in an important moment, the satisfaction of keeping someone alive in their worst moment. Traumas had frightened her at first, but the longer she worked here, the more she loved them - and she was good at them, too. She knew how to read people, could predict what Langdon would ask for first as opposed to what McKay would, that Whitaker was paranoid about blood clots, why Mel always needed everyone to be extra professional when things were dire. It was almost fun, in a weird way - she understood now why her roommate in nursing school called the ED the "adrenaline factory." On a good day, Emma didn't have time to second-guess herself. And the more she did it, the better the days became. It was almost addicting.

Their MVC victim did in fact have rib trauma, severe enough that Langdon called for gensurg the moment they did a physical exam without even waiting on x-rays. When the scans did come through though, he took one look and said, "flail chest," in a tone of resignation, and Emma looked over at Jesse and smirked.

"Counts," Jesse commented idly. "That cupcake is mine, Langdon."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get this leg under control so we can get her up to the OR. Damn, this break is nasty."

Emma was debriding and cleaning the wound, which was complicated by the bits of broken glass and what almost looked like motor oil, smeared all over the leg from the car. She was almost impressed with herself that the sight of the woman's ragged and broken femur bone wasn't making her feel sick. "Dr. Langdon, I'm not sure I'm doing this correctly, can you - "

"Yep," Langdon said, sliding over and pressing his hand over hers on top of the dressing. "Here, no, you've got it. Focus on the larger foreign matter first, especially the glass, just be careful not to push anything deeper into the wound. We don't want to get too pushy with it, just get it as clean as we can for the surgeons."

"This oil stuff that's all over her, how do we even - "

"Blood pressure's stabilizing," Jesse called. 

"Good, let's push vit K, plasma, and PCC," Langdon said. "Just focus on irrigating and getting the glass and debris out for now. Jesse, let's also start two of ceftriaxone and five hundred of metronidazole. The OR will take care of anything else, Emma, it's safer there."

"Just the obvious easy stuff then," Emma said to confirm.

"Low pressure irrigation reduces risk of osteomyelitis," Langdon said. "But with grade three fractures like this, best to let the surgeons handle it, everything's too goddamn delicate. Oh, and speak and the devil shall appear." He snapped his head up with a sharkish grin. "What'd they send you down here for, I called for the ortho."

"Busy," Garcia said, swanning in and snapping on her gloves. She whistled at the sight of the patient. "Damn."

"Hi, Dr. Garcia," Emma said cheerfully, and Garcia's haughty look melted into a warm grin. "We have an open grade-three fracture of the left femur and a flail chest on the left anterior chest wall, approximately ten centimeters, with dyspneic respiration." She smiled up at Langdon. "Right?"

Langdon was smirking at Garcia for some reason, who was pointedly not looking at him. "You got it, champ," he said. "Fractures to the clavicle and scapula as well, right hydropneumothorax. We did a thirty-two chest tube and I started her on ceftriaxone and metronidazole."

"Super," Garcia chirped. She smiled at Emma. "Look at you go, Powerpuff. Nice work."

"Thanks," Emma said. Dr. Garcia was always so friendly - it was such a breath of fresh air. "The oil is really worrying me, but Dr. Langdon said the surgeons will take care of the worst of it."

"Cleaning up your messes like usual," Garcia said. She leaned over and carefully examined the chest, glancing up at the radiograph Jesse was holding up for her. She whistled. "This lady got fucked up." She pronounced 'fucked' more like 'fuhhhcked.'

"T-boned by a drunk in a pickup," Jesse said grimly. "She was in an old sedan."

"Pickup driver is just fine, I assume," Garcia said meanly. "Let's go ahead and get her up to the OR, I can get started on the chest while we wait for Park to finish doing his makeup and join us." 

"Does self-tanner count as makeup?" Jesse wondered out loud.

"You know he gets manicures, right?" Garcia asked. She turned to examine Emma's pressure dressing and suspension, then looked up at her and grinned. "Gemini."

"Nope," Emma said happily, smiling. "That's a good guess, though."

"For fuck's sake," Langdon muttered, but he was grinning. 

"I'll get it, I'm getting closer," Garcia said. "Did you set this too? Damn, I'm impressed."

"Oh no, that was Dr. Langdon," Emma said. 

"Did you just say 'impressed?'" Langdon crowed. "No takebacks, Yoyo!"

"Whatever," Garcia groused. "Let's get her moving. Emma, you wanna help me take her up? You can see my neck of the woods." She grinned, showing all her teeth. 

"Oh, I should probably stay, we're down a nurse today because Rachael's sick, but - "

"Actually," Jesse cut in, "maybe you should get outta here while you can." He nodded out towards central, which they could see through the glass doors.

Emma turned and looked just instinctively. Santos was standing there, ostensibly talking to Dr. Robby, but she was eyeing them over his shoulder, a sullen look on her face. When she saw Emma looking, she jerked her eyes away and crossed her arms. 

"Oh," Emma stammered. "Uh."

"It's like lesbian Days of Our Lives down here," Langdon muttered, and Emma jerked her head back to look at him, feeling a hot flush in her cheeks. 

"Shut up," Garcia snapped. "Like you're one to talk, Erica Kane."

"What?" Langdon said, eyebrows pulling together. "Erica Kane?"

"From All my Children!" Garcia said. "She was married eleven times? Big wedding episodes - "

"Oh my God, and you call me a fucking nerd," Langdon said. "I was only married once, thank you very much. Unsuccessfully, but - "

"So far," Garcia said ominously. She hitched up the side bar as Jesse finished prepping for the move and stepped out of the way, pulling Emma back before she even had a chance to safely dispose of her tweezers. "I know you're an air sign. You have to be. Have I guessed Libra yet?"

"Jesus Christ, follow your patient, Garcia," Langdon said. Garcia shot him a dirty look and tugged Emma's elbow towards the doors. "And Emma, don't let her keep you for more than twenty minutes, okay. And don't eat any pomegranate seeds, either!"

"Oh, wow, a classicist reference, what a smart guy," Garcia sneered. "You know he minored in Latin in undergrad? Fucking dork."

"Oh, that's interesting," Emma said, dodging the bed again as one of the PAs came in to help Jesse move it towards the elevator bay. "I always wanted to take a dead language like that. Like Greek or Aramaic or something. Latin probably helped a lot in med school."

Langdon slid past, smirking triumphantly. "Yes, in fact, it did, Nurse Nolan," he said. He looked over her head at Garcia, who was probably making another mean face at him, if Emma knew her well enough. (Which… she did. She thought.) "Garcia doesn't speak anything. Not even Spanish."

"You wanna know Langdon's star sign, Powerpuff? Leo, of course," Garcia said dryly. "It's the arrogance for me. And the bragging."

"Aren't you a Leo too?" Emma asked, confused. Garcia snapped her chin to look at her, eyes widening, and Langdon laughed loudly. Emma flushed again, embarrassed. "Sorry, I just assumed - "

"Oh my God, I'm having the best day ever," Langdon said as he strutted out of the room. Garcia scowled after him and then wiped it off her face as she turned back to Emma. 

"Good guess," she said, with some visible effort, but she was smiling, so Emma took that as a good sign. "But no. I'll give you one more try today if you ride the elevator up with me, at least."

Emma relaxed a little. Garcia really was such a sweetheart, really, if you were a little patient, and gave her a chance to be. She really didn't understand why everyone called her 'the dragon lady.' Though Kim told her it was mostly a compliment. "Has to be Capricorn, then."

Garcia's smile widened. "Got it in one," she said. "C'mon. Just for that, I'll show you where the breakroom with the good snacks is."

"Cool," Emma said happily, ignoring Santos entirely as she matched Garcia's quick gait towards the elevators. Glancing back only once as they turned the corner, she saw Santos at a computer, typing away, seemingly not paying any attention to them at all. 

Surely it was something else, Emma thought. Dr. Santos probably just got really frustrated with newbies, that's all. Someone definitely would've told her if there was history there. 

Melanie King:

She is flawed in many of the same ways as the male protagonist, and is upset and traumatized about the awful situation she has been trapped in, and she is hostile to people who threaten or mistreat her or dismiss her concerns about and proposed solutions to her situation, and is eventually physically violent in response to experienced and threatened physical violence done to her. Fandom flattens her to the mean girl who is mean to the protagonist for no reason who exists just to make him feel bad or scared, or alternatively as the woman who Got Therapy And Is Fixed so she can be one of fluffy background lesbians who are the Only Sensible Ones.

Melanie King is a paranormal investigator in a world where the paranormal is incredibly hostile to humans. She's proud and determined and got shot with a bullet made of The Fear of Indiscriminate Violence. She's also trapped in a manipulative supernatural organisation, and she's one of the few characters who actually leaves it, despite needing to blind herself to do it.

Baran Al-Hashimi:

Mel: everything ok?

He liked when she checked up on him. His response was immediate.

Frank: Yeah, I’m good. On the roof. Want to come up?

Her typing dots appeared.

Mel: I think I can sneak away

Mel: omw

“What is it with everyone and this roof?” Mel asked, when she finally got up there, standing in front of him, messy braid, tired eyes but still the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

“High above the city,” Frank shrugged. “It’s a good place to reflect.”

“You hate heights though.”

“Well, as you can see,” he huffed a laugh, “I’m not standing by the railing. None of that cowboy shit Robby and Abbot like to do.”

“You just save your cowboy shit for closed cervical reductions,” she said.

He hummed. Hard to believe that was his first day back. It felt like yesterday.

Mel’s Apple watch notified them that it was midnight.

“It’s officially tomorrow… or today,” she giggled. “I don't know if I should be grateful it’s the ‘Q-word’ or if that just makes the time go slower.”

Frank smiled warmly. “Let’s take advantage of it while we can.” He wrapped his arms around her waist. Hers instinctively circled his neck. They gazed into each other’s eyes like silly lovebirds.

“It’s officially three months today,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “You remembered?”

“What do you mean?” He chuckled, feigning offense. “Of course I remembered, did you?”

Mel pursed her lips. “I remember everything about us, Frank—down to the colour of the tablecloth and the type of centerpieces at the restaurant you took me to on our first date.”

He grinned. “Touché King.”

She jutted her chin out proudly. “Breakfast at Pamela’s to celebrate?”

“I can already taste their Tex-Mex omelet.”

“Happy Anniversary, Frank,” she balanced up on her toes.

“Happy Anniversary, baby,” he smiled.

Mel takes a shaky breath and stretches her legs out, making it obvious she is awake. When his hand doesn’t move, her stomach does a swooping thing. The bed creaks as she turns to face him, the sound startling both of them. 

“M’sorry,” she sniffles, her face burning. The room is so dark that she can only make out Langdon’s silhouette, broad-shouldered, perched on the side of the bed. “What time is it?” 

“Midnight. We’ve got an MVC that’s 10-minutes out. Just came in to grab ya.” 

“Right. Thank you.” She’s half sitting up now, but cannot move from the bed, as Langdon is blocking her completely.

“Did you get some rest?” 

“A little.” 

“That’s good.” 

The conversation dies very quickly. He’s so close to her that she can feel his breath on her face as he exhales. Mel blinks rapidly in the dark, waiting for him to move, trying not to let her heart soar when he doesn’t.

“Tell me–” his voice cuts through the white noise in the room. “Tell me to go, Mel.” 

All she can manage is a brisk shake of her head, and she cannot even feel guilty about moving in to kiss him, because he is closing the space between them simultaneously. They’ve always been on the same page, since that first day. 

In the dark, it is difficult to perfectly align their mouths at first, but Langdon is quickly adjusting her and deepening the kiss, breath hitching when she opens for him easily. Immediately, Mel is pliable beneath him, panting into his mouth and spreading her legs so he can clamber in between them on the bed. The heat of his tongue sends a shudder down her body, head to toe. 

“I like you so fuckin’ much,” he mumbles against her. “It makes me feel crazy.” 

She wants to ask him what they are going to do now. She wants to scamper out of his arms and back into the ED, to safety. She wants to beg him to take her clothes off and fuck her right here in the on-call room. 

Instead, Mel gives him a final messy kiss and pushes him off. There is one question that matters right now – the rest will have to wait. 

“House Hunt are sworn bannermen to the Tarlys. They’re from the Marches.”

“Tell me you’re joking. You’re not really contemplating marriage with that jackanapes.”

A part of her wanted to lie and say she was, if only so she could pretend it would bother him. But that was foolish. Pretending only made the truth worse when it came. “No. Not really.” She looked down and away, not wanting him to see her face.

“He doesn’t love you, you know.” Jaime’s voice softened. “I know his kind. It’s Tarth he wants. Not you.”

“I know.” She couldn’t look at him. She felt a bubble of resentment well up inside her. “I may be stupid, but I’m not so stupid as that. Besides, he told me so himself.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Jaime’s voice had a dangerous edge. “How… obliging of him. What else did the charming Ser Hyle Hunt tell you?”

“Nothing important.” She wondered what Jaime would say if she told him about the bet at Highgarden. Would he be angry on her behalf? Would he laugh, and tell her it was just a jest between men? Or blame her, as Lord Tarly had? She didn’t want to know. “In the dark, you'd be as beautiful as any other woman.”

She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, hadn’t realized she had until she felt Jaime’s back stiffen beside her.

“Someone,” Jaime said, slowly, careful, “ought to teach our Ser Hyle some manners. For his own continued well-being.”

She was still looking at the grass, so she hoped he didn’t see her smile at that. “I tried. I gave him a thrashing in the melee at Bitterbrigde.” The memory was still sweet. “It didn’t help. Though he used to be worse. So perhaps he learned a lesson after all.”

Jaime laughed at that, exhausted but real and true. That was sweet too. “Would I had been there. I’d have loved to watch you give Ser Hyle a beating.” He shifted again, and she could tell he had turned his body towards her. He must be looking right at her. She forced her eyes up and over to meet his. “But really. Truly. You’re not going to marry him, are you? He’s even worse a man than I am. At least you know I-” Jaime’s voice caught and Brienne couldn’t breathe. Fool of a maid, what do you think he’s going to say? That he loves you? Longs for you? She knew better. She remembered well Jaime’s taunts upon the Red Fork. A singer once said all maids are fair in silk. … but he never met you, did he?

“…I respect you,” he finally finished.

“Hyle… He has a kind of respect for me. Now.” Brienne felt compelled to admit, when she found her breath again. “He told Randyll Tarly the truth of how I killed Pyg and Timeon and Shagwell. Oh… I forgot to tell you of that.” It was easier to look him in the eye for this part. She could feel pride at least in avenging Jaime… and in the lives she’d surely saved by taking those three.

He gave a sharp intake of breath. “You and Hyle Hunt killed three of the Bloody Mummers? Was there anyone else with you?” There was a sudden look of fear in Jaime’s face, which made no sense. It was all in the past and done. “Did they hurt you?”

“I… no. It was just me. And Pod, he threw rocks at Shagwell. There was another man, Dick Crabb, I gave him a sword, but… Shagwell killed him before he had a chance to fight.” I’m sorry, she thought again. Sorry I didn’t trust you. Sorry I couldn’t save you. “I didn’t even know Hyle was there until after the fight was done. He was watching.”

“Excuse me,” Jaime’s voice had gone cold and sharp as Valyrian steel. “He was what?”

“Watching,” repeated Brienne. She had no desire to spare Hyle’s reputation on that count.

“Was he grievously injured? Bound in chains? Fighting for his life against some other scum of the earth?”

“No.”

“He watched. While you fought three brutal killers. Alone. He did less than a barely trained child. He watched.” Jaime spat on the ground and stood up. “Wonderful. I’ve been itching to kill him all day.”

She stood up too. “Jaime, you can’t kill Hyle.”

“Allow me to disagree. I might not be much use with my left hand, but I’ve improved enough to write an end to Hyle fucking Hunt.”

There was something wrong with her, surely, that she felt giddy butterflies in her stomach at that. “Jaime.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I thank you. For caring. You have been a true friend.”

He looked at her pleadingly. “Can’t I kill him just a little?” He groaned when she shook her head. “I can’t believe he fucking watched.” And then, softer, almost disbelieving. “You killed them. All three?”

She nodded, feeling almost shy. “I know it doesn’t matter, really. Not now. But before I killed Timeon… I cut off his hand. So that even if they killed me… I wanted them to pay for what they’d done. For you.”

He was staring at her, looking right into her eyes as though transfixed. She couldn’t move, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to move again. His eyes were pools of green, sparkling and bright and… and someone must have moved, because suddenly his mouth was on hers, hot and hungry, and someone was moaning and gods, that was her, making those needy, desperate sounds. Some rational part of her knew she’d be ashamed once Jaime came to his senses. She should stop him. She might kill him if he stopped.

She let him maneuver her against a tree, still kissing her like he was drowning and she was the only source of air. She wondered for a moment whose face he was imagining, but then he moved his mouth downwards, pressing kisses into her throat and calling her name over and over, “Brienne, Brienne, Brienne.” Almost like a prayer.

She put a hand over her mouth to muffle the noises coming out of her. Jaime’s left hand was caressing her thigh, thumb rubbing circles into her flesh through her breeches. She prayed for his hand to move higher, wanted it like she couldn’t ever remember wanting anything. She was wet and aching, desperate with wanting, and incredibly, impossibly, Jaime seemed to want her too.

And then he stopped, head resting on her shoulder, hand frozen on her thigh. She valiantly resisted the urge to scream. Jaime was panting, trying to take in enough air to speak. “Gods, I’m sorry, I’m doing everything all wrong, aren’t I?”

Brienne turned her face away. She’d hoped… what, that he wouldn’t regret it until after he’d fucked her? Was she really so selfish? But Jaime wasn’t done. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to paw at you like a fucking animal… but seven fucking hells, Brienne, don’t marry some smug fucking prick of a nobody from the fucking Marches. Marry me.”

“What?” said Brienne, stupefied. Could lust addle your hearing? It had certainly taken her wits and tongue. “I… why?”

“Why? Why?” Jaime took a step back. “The Hunts of Nowhere In Particular are ‘honorable enough’, but not the Lannisters of Casterly Rock?” He started counting out points on his fingers. “I can give you obscene amounts of money, high titles, lands — hells, if you don’t want the damn Rock, I’ll make my uncle Kevan take it. We’ll go to your Sapphire Isle and I’ll be the Lady Evenstar’s insolent fool of a husband. And,” his voice lowered to a growl, “you’ll have a man who doesn’t have to put out the gods damned candles to fuck you like you deserve.”

And that didn’t help quench the pool of lust burning below her stomach. If she said “yes” now, maybe he’d fuck her after all. She tried valiantly to clear her head. “No, I…I meant…” What had she meant? She couldn’t think of anything but how to get his hands back on her. No, wait- “Why would you want to marry me?”

Jaime groaned and put his head back on her shoulder. “Brienne, Brienne, Brienne. Brienne. I need you. I’m falling apart without you. The other day I told Edmure Tully I’d load his unborn babe into a trebuchet unless he surrendered.”

“No.”

“Yes. I promised your Lady Stark I wouldn’t take up arms against the Tullys, and Ryman Frey kept threatening to hang him, and I was trying to keep the damn fool alive! Not that he was grateful.”

“No. I don’t suppose he would be.” She tried to keep a straight face. But it was too much. Brienne couldn’t stop the laughter from spilling out. Jaime looked up at her, helplessly, and he started laughing too. He collapsed against her, both of them giddy and weak with laughter, until she kicked his feet out from under him and sent them rolling onto the grass.

He landed under her, sprawling in all his golden beauty and power. He was no longer laughing, but there was still a smile playing across his crimson lips.

“You weren’t really going to catapult a baby, were you?”

He caught her hand and kissed it. “Marry me and you can make sure I don’t. Who knows what depraved and wretched depths I’ll sink to without you? One noble sacrifice from the brave Maid of Tarth, and babes in swaddling across the realm could sleep soundly in their cradles.”

That made her laugh again. Jaime groaned as she shifted atop him and put his hand up to cover his face. “Brienne. Please. I’m trying so hard to be good.”

His muscles were hard. She could feel them straining against her. Clearly he’d told the truth about practicing with the sword again. She wanted to touch them with her hands as well as her thighs. Instead, she made herself shift more weight onto her knees to reduce contact. “I killed Rorge too,” she told him. Partly to distract herself. Partly in the hopes he’d kiss her again. But mostly because Jaime deserved to know. “I killed him with Oathkeeper. They underestimated me, and I made him pay for the evils he’s done.”

“Fuck.” She felt Jaime’s whole body tighten. “I’m going to be terrified by the implications of that as soon as I can think again. Wait… they? How many did you fight?” He removed his hand from his face and looked at her through narrowed eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” she told him. He wouldn’t like the answer. Neither had she, but it hadn’t mattered then either. No chance, no choice.

“I’ll get the answer out of Ser Hyle,” Jaime said grimly. “He has to be good for something.” He paused. “I’m glad you killed him.” She heard the deep truth of that in his voice. He had as much cause as she to hate Rorge. She remembered, with a fresh rush of anger, how the man had kicked Jaime’s injured stump when he’d cried out to protect her. “You did well. More than well. You haven’t killed Zollo too, have you? Surely there must be a few Mummers left for me.”

“Biter’s dead, though not by my hand. I don’t know what became of Zollo. Or Vargo Hoat.” She would not shed tears for either man if they came before her sword.

“There, at least, I am ahead of you.” She rolled off him and let him sit up as he told her of Vargo Hoat’s grisly end. Indeed, she did not shed any tears. She found a grim satisfaction in hearing she’d played a part in his downfall — though she wondered if Jaime exaggerated the Goat’s wound to feed her ego.

As the tale came to a close, he stopped and looked at her with a charming twist of a smile on his lips. “So much for my attempt at courtship. I’ve never gone wooing before, but I don’t believe this is how it’s supposed to go.”

Brienne hummed. “Richard Farrow played songs on his lute. Big Ben Bushy gave me a silver drinking horn, and Edmund Ambrose brought me flowers.” Her fist tightened involuntarily around an imagined sword hilt.

Jaime frowned. “Noted. Though it seems none of those methods worked either.”

“No. They did not.” It might have been pleasant, though, if they had meant any of it. It would be more pleasant by far if Jaime meant any of it. “You’re fortunate that I’m not mercenary enough to say yes.” She plucked at the grass under her hands.

“Would you think on it, at least?” His tone was faintly pleading. “That’s all I ask. I could be a good husband. I’m a quick learner. In time you might even come to like me.”

Her face flushed red. “I like you well enough.” Surely that was plain.

Jaime’s smile was sweet as figs and honey and the summer pools of Tarth. How could she have ever hated that smile? “I will take that as a victory, I suppose. So long as you will promise to think on it. I know I can trust your word.”

There were countless reasons it was absurd to even imagine. His oaths. And hers. The fact that he loved another woman. The fact that she feared she loved him. Even if he truly meant his offer… it would break her.