I don't even know what I'm doing here

“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.