GoT S8E4 Ch. 01 - Maid of Tarth

The four sat in the Great Hall of Winterfell, celebrating being alive with the rest of the castle, and playing a drinking game. The hall was warm from fire, bodies, and candles, and everyone, excepting a few singular souls, seemed to be having a wonderful time, Tyrion, Jaime, Podrick, and Brienne included.

"You've had sex with a whore," Tyrion said, looking his brother right in the eyes and laughing knowingly.

"My dear brother, you know I have not. I leave that distinction to you," Jaime answered.

"No, not a whore," Tyrion said, drinking his cup down. "But whenever you had sex, I'm sure it came with a price."

Jaime drank, not answering, just looking a little drunk and bemused by his brother's characteristic impudence. Then he looked at Podrick, "And what about you, Pod? I bet you've never slept with a whore."

"Actually, I have," the young man said. "Lost my virginity to one or two down in King's Landing." He raised his cup to Tyrion, who matched it.

"You drink up, brother. Young Podrick here was quite the legend at Baelish's brothel. Whatever he did, he did it so well the whores paid him," Tyrion said with a wag of his eyebrows.

"Is that even possible?" Jaime asked.

Brienne frowned at Podrick. "Really? I'd have thought better of you, at least, Podrick."

"Yes, Ser. But I was Lord Tyrion's squire, at the time. And the whores didn't pay me. They just didn't take payment," Pod clarified earnestly.

The table burst into laughter at that, even Brienne.

Jaime raised his cup, "I give you Podrick Payne, Hero of the Whores!"

"Ladykiller of the Landing!" Tyrion called, pounding the table. Brienne raised a cup in spite of her blush as she and Jaime stomped their feet.

After a moment, Brienne guffawed at a thought, then hissed, "Squire of Sex!" in a loud whisper. This set the table off into wild laughter, both at the thought and at the rosy pink blush that had come to Brienne's cheeks at even daring to join in on taking the piss out of the men as an equal and friend.

When they calmed down, Tyrion nodded to Brienne over his cup. "Careful, or we'll have to start calling you Ser Brienne of Tart."

"Never!" Jaime said with an inebriated grin. "It's the Sapphire Island because all the men have blue balls!"

Brienne frowned at Jaime, her scowl making Pod suck in a breath and Tyrion give a drunken titter. Then her face formed itself into a determined glower, and she said, "Maybe the blue balls were just for you, Kingslayer?"

Jaime's face fell, and Tyrion gave a great belly laugh such as he hadn't had cause to let out since Robert Baratheon's fat ass sat on the Iron Throne. Pod patted her on the back once she broke into a wide grin, and even Jaime raised a sheepish cup to her.

She stood, smirking in triumph and said, slamming her drink down on the table, "I have to piss!"

Tormund Giantsbane, who had been waiting for his moment, stepped up to her saying, "We did it! We faced those icy fucks, looked right in their blue eyes and here we are," he took a deep breath and let his lusty gaze look Brienne up and down. Then he said, "Pray I don't find out which one of you cowards shit in my pants!" His serious face turning into a mad laugh.

Brienne's earlier bravado shrunk a bit at Tormund's scatological humor. "Please pardon me, for a moment," she said with just a touch of disdain, and moved around his large bulk.

Tormund blinked in surprise, and wobbled in his cups before he made a move to follow her, only to find his way blocked by a standing Jaime Lannister.

The two men looked at each other, Jaime giving a small shake of his head and patting Tormund on the shoulder before turning and walking off after the tall blond knight.

Tormund's face fell, and he stumbled away from the table, undoubtedly to drown his sorrows.

Brienne had observed the interaction over her shoulder, but when she saw Jaime turn, she startled as if by a lion's roar, walking away quickly until she was safe behind her own bedroom door.

She went about her business, afterwards finding that someone or other of the remaining servants had also left a full wash tub near the fireplace, and a kettle on the coals. Before the preparations for the Long Night, a full wash tub waiting for her in her rooms had been a usual occurrence, a perk of being the personal guard of the Lady of Winterfell. It was a clue that life would begin again, fall back into some of the usual routines. Brienne took in a deep breath at the thought, after so much death.

As usual, all she had to do was tend the kettle and heat the bath. Her fire she'd seen to before she left for dinner, so the kettle would be hot. She laid her sword out on the table, cleaning tools to the side, then retrieved her sleeping shift from her things and mostly disrobed. She quickly cleaned her leather armoring clothes then checked the kettle. The tub was not large - just enough for her to sit in but not stretch out - she judged it to be hot enough for a quick bath. She poured the water from the kettle into the tub, warming it enough for a bath.

She didn't always like bathing. Not because she didn't like to be clean, but because she didn't like to be reminded of her body - not enough to be a man, too much to be a lady. This night it didn't bother her. She was a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, a survivor of the Long Night. That night, this night, and every night ever after, her body would make her proud. Still, she washed quickly, before the water or the air cooled.

She was already in her long, dark blue sleeping shift, hair drying, when she heard the knock at her door. A half smile flit across her face before she took better controlled of her features.

***

Jamie followed Brienne, but got lost in the labyrinth of halls that was the living quarters of Winterfell. Finally he gave up and asked a serving woman where Ser Brienne's rooms would be.

"Oh, ser, she's not 'ere in the guest quarters. She's a room in the family wing - Lady Sansa insisted when they first arrived," she said with a suspicious grin.

Jaime was, if not the Golden Lion, still a fine man. He gave her a flirtatious smile, hoping to sway her to his service. "Would you show me the way?" he asked politely.

"A' course, ser," she said, but then hesitated. "Wait a moment, if you please? I have to fetch something."

Jaime gave her a small bow. "Whenever you're ready."

In a moment she returned carrying two pewter cups and a covered pitcher. She shoved them into Jaime's half-capable grasp. "You'll be wantin' this, it's from Dorn." Then she waved him to follow her, unfurling the maze easily. She stopped at a junction, gesturing down the hall. "Her room's just up there, on the right. Now, be good, Lannister. Soft-hearted she is. Mus' be, to see what's good in you."

"Yes, ma'am," was all he could think to say. She left him standing there. What a place, the North. They really made you earn it.

He paled as he walked toward her room. At the door, he almost turned away. Maybe she would be sleeping - passed out from all the wine. He leaned against the doorway, trying to calm himself, but his hand seemed to move on it's own to knock at her door. Had he earned it?

***

She opened her door. Jaime's golden hand tucked two pewter cups against his chest, his good left hand carried a large pitcher of something. His expression - confused, vulnerable - the same as it had been when he'd lost his hand.

At the sight of her he collected himself to ask, "You - are you - are you truly the Maid of Tarth?"

"What?" she asked, taken aback. He walked past her into the room, now more himself, to set the pitcher down and then the cups. She closed the door, walked away from the chill and back to the fire.

Jaime didn't turn to look at her, instead he seemed to be staring at the bed across the room. He didn't turn around. Softly, slowly, he said, "Maid of Tarth - so - are you?"

She took in an exasperated breath at his teasing. "You know I am the Maid of Tarth, Kingslayer, don't be stupid." Battle was easier than a conversation with this man. She shuffled her feet. What did he want? What did she want? She broke the silence. "This isn't a game anymore, Jaime. This is just drinking."

He turned around casually and poured the wine, a tremor in his hand causing him to spill a little. "Good, because this is Dornish. Took forever to find it," he said as he handed her a cup. "This will be worth it."

Finally he looked at her. Again, he had that bare, anguished expression. He was about to say something when his eyes flit to the side. "Is that a bath?" he asked. "Even a lukewarm bath would be welcome up here."

Brienne looked down before she answered, shaking her head as if to wake herself up. "It is a bath, obviously. I've used the water, though."

He started forward, "It's not like we haven't shared bath water before."

That had, perhaps, been their most intimate moment, the moment he shared his deepest secret with her before falling naked into her arms, nearly dead.

Brienne gestured to the tub. "You may use the bath, but I'm not leaving my own room, Lannister."

"There's no need," he said, starting to unfasten his jacket, amused with his brassy friend. "We've seen each other naked before." He kicked off his boots, then began taking off his jerkin and other clothes. "You do keep it warm enough in here," he said distractedly.

"First thing I learned in the North: always keep the fire going," she said. Brienne started caring for her sword, but stopped to watch him battle with his clothes. The jerkin got caught on his hand, but a few tugs saw it slide over the golden appendage. Still, what grace he had was lost in the process. So to did the difficulty he had trying to untie his shirt collar one handed make the knight seem awkward. His struggles reminded her how he'd gotten the hand, and it made her cheeks burn with embarrassment for them both.

"Ugh, move aside," she said, untangling the knot and helping him pull his shirt up over his head, jerking his sleeve over the unmoving hand. She loosened his pants too, before he could object. Then she moved away, putting the little table between them and busying herself with her sword, Oathkeeper, the sword that should have been his, but was now hers, his gift to her. "Better get in the water. Another thing I learned in the North - never keep a bath waiting," she said without looking up from her task.

He turned his back to her and undressed, setting his hand down on the table before climbing into the bath. Once he was settled in he said, "The first and second things I learned when I came to the North was that I hated the North." He shifted in the water, keeping his right arm inside the tub. "Is there any more hot water?"

"I left some in the kettle. I can pour it in for you," she said and moved to the fire. "As for the North, it grows on you," she said as she poured the rest of the water into the tub.

Jaime hissed at the temperature change, swirling the water to blend it better. "I wouldn't want anything growing on me," he said, quickly washing as she set the kettle down and stoked the fire. Looking at the coals, she decided to add more wood.

Jaime stopped for a moment to gape at her there in her blue linen nightshirt, the firelight showing him her dark silhouette underneath as strong and lean. "What about Tormund Giantsbane? Has he grown on you?" He rinsed the soap out of his hair, sputtering. "He was quite sad when you left the room."

She finished poking the logs and stood to lean the fork against the hearth. She turned to him, looked at him. "You sound quite jealous," she said.

He blinked. "I do, don't I," he said. "And now the water is too hot."

She stepped closer and touched the water. "It's perfect. Stop being such a baby."

"And the bloody air," he said. "Stoking the fire, how diligent of you. And responsible."

"Piss off," she said and stalked past the tub as if to leave.

Jamie caught her wrist with his left hand, "No, don't, please. I was only teasing." He let her go. "Can I get a towel?"

She finished putting her sword away. Only then she did throw him a towel, which hit him in the back of the head. Afterwards she poured herself a cup of wine and sat down on the bench nearest the fire, looking down into her cup. Jaime stood with his back to her and stepped out of the tub to dry himself near the fire.

"Maybe I should be glad it's hot in here," he said. He kept his arm tucked up against his body so that she couldn't see the ruin of his right hand.

Brienne couldn't help but watch him while he had his back to her. He'd put on weight - muscle mostly, since the last time she'd seen him naked. Good food, training, and rest had given him looking mostly god and no corpse. He wrapped the towel around his waist and she looked down. Then he picked up his own cup and sat on the other end of her bench, facing out and hiding his right arm away so that she couldn't see it as he drank. They didn't say anything.

When he picked up the golden hand to put it back on she said, "No, wait. Don't bother with that."

He looked at her confusedly.

She shrugged. "That thing looks uncomfortable," she commented.

Nodding, he turned toward her and rested his arm on the table. "Qyburn managed to save most of it."

She turned toward him. She placed her hand over his arm, close to, but not touching the end. "I've fought with you, next to you. You're still you, no matter what your arm looks like."

There it was again, that plaintive look. Brienne slid her hand away, but Jaime reached out for the collar of her nightshirt. He started to undo the lacing at the neck with his left hand.

"What - what are you doing?" she asked, wanting to be sure.

"I'm trying to get you out of that shirt," he said, taking his hand away.

She bit her lip a little, then pulled the laces apart and shimmied out of the top herself so that the shirt pooled around her waist. So far, they were both bare from the waist up.

"I - I've never slept with a knight before," he murmured, looking her in the eye. It had been intended as a joke, but the hitch in his voice made it something else.

Brienne let her gaze fall, his beauty meaning far less to her than those word. She looked back at him, "Neither have I, knight nor man," she whispered.

They kissed, the pent up emotions between them making it a little awkward. She pulled him to her, as his good hand ran up and into her hair. They sat like that, kissing, for some time, hands roving bare chests, backs, stomachs. Eventually, Jaime tweaked a puffy nipple, eliciting a sharp sound from her. She did it right back to him. He grunted and pulled her closer.

"Should we," Brienne whispered against his lips, "should we maybe take this to the bed?"

"Mmm, a bed. We've never been in a bed together before - cages, horseback, bear pits, piles of the walking dead," his voice trailed off. "But never a bed."

There it was - that tender look she'd seen before. She stood, allowing the night shirt to fall from her slim hips. She stood up straight, as she usually did, waiting. He stood, too, leaving the towel on the bench, and went to her to kiss her, pulling her down to meet him, and she stooped to allow it. She moved them both toward the bed, Jaime hitting it first and falling back into the furs with Brienne on top of him.

"Ooph," he exhaled as they landed. They rolled to their sides, kissing. He pinched her nipple again and she wrestled him to his back, pinning him to the bed with her body. "What? Do you not like that? Because you seem to like that," he said.

She scowled. "No, I do like that. I just don't know what to do back, other than fight. I know how this works, in theory," she said, shifting her weight from knee to knee. "And you seem - ready enough. Let's just do it."

"If we do it like that, it will probably hurt," he said gently.

"Why do people do it if it hurts? I've never heard about it being painful," she said with a disgusted look. "Men are always on about how good it feels."

"For you. It could be painful for you, at first, if we go too fast," he said.

She let his arms go and sat up. She watched him run his hand over the firm muscles of her tummy, and up to her puffed up points, the small half smile he got when pleased lurking at the corner of his mouth.

"How would you know?" she wondered.

"Men talk. Women too," he said, messaging the one in the arch between finger and thumb. She hissed a breath but didn't move. "I thought you trusted me?"

"Maybe," she said, leaning her chest into his hand, the nipple being the only difference she could see between his chest hand hers, aside from his chest hair. "That feels good."

He lifted her other hand with his stub. "You can touch yourself, and me, when you want."

She placed her hand on her other breast - nipple - as he did. Gods, that did feel good. "Ah-alright, I see. What else?"

Jaime leaned up on his elbow, "Don't strangle me, yes?"

She nodded down at him. He sat up more and hooked his hand under her arm, using some strength to wrestle her onto her back. He moved to her left side, and kissed her. They were getting better at that, less floundering but no less ardent.

She enjoyed the feeling of his hand pressing on the taught muscles of her torso, then lower onto her mound. She fought with herself not to flinch, though she did stiffen. Jaime stopped, but left his hand there, until she said, "I won't strangle you. Go on."

He nodded and moved lower, teasing her blond hair, pressing along her sex; it felt odd, but good. Two of his fingers began rubbing just above her opening, a spot she had noticed before, but had never attended to herself. She let her legs fall farther apart, eventually bending a knee and pushing against his hand.

His finger seemed to be sliding more freely, as they moved, she noticed. She moved the hand nearest him and brushed against his - hardness. She ran her finger tips along it to it's base, then gripped it, though loosely.

"That's it," he hissed. "Just like a sword. Tight, but not too tight," he said, pushing his hips against her. She let out an amused breath as he gasped a little in pleasure at her touch. She let him go.

"Think that was funny did you?" he said, sliding his first finger into her sex, just a little, and pushing up.

"Yes," she hissed. "Do that again!"

He slid the length of his finger into her, in and out slowly; she quivered, feeling something inside of her for the first time.

He kissed her. "I think years of horse riding has makes this easier," he whispered against her cheek. He moved his hand again, this time with two fingers at her opening. He teased her, hesitating.

"Show me," she said, running her hand down his left arm and tugging at his elbow. She arched her hips into his hand as he pushed two fingers into her, his thumb now rubbing that space that brought her so much pleasure.

After a few strokes, something seemed to tighten inside her, and she ran her hand to Jaime's hair, "What? Wha-"

"Just let go," he whispered as they gazed at each other. The moment seemed to draw itself out, and her breath held until it exploded out of her.

He kissed her as she came back down, then relaxed into the pillows. She wiped her hand over her face, feeling her hot cheeks. She covered her mouth and looked over at Jaime, laughing even as she caught her breath. "Now I see what all the fuss is about."

He smiled at her, the real one. "That was only the half of it," he said.

She turned toward him, "What's the other half?"

He took her hand and placed it over his sex. Brienne explored a little, surprised at the little sounds that he made as she explored him, at the marvelous velvety hardness that hung so fiercely from the front of her friend. She liked making him make those sounds, hoped he was feeling as good a she had felt at his touch.