Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Welcome to your new home, dear!” Aunt Ellaria said beside Brienne. Optimism saturated Aunt Ellaria’s tone, but Brienne shared none of it. Although, it would be a mistake to show her emotion.

“Praise be,” Brienne said, forcing a small smile—worried Aunt Ellaria watched her. Brienne hoped she didn’t sound as stiff as she felt. Brienne glanced at Ellaria, who beamed at the large house in front of them. Ellaria tamed her wavy hair as much as possible and tied it in a neat, tight bun at the back of her head. Brienne averted her eyes to the ground and waited. She waited, always. Brienne remembered to keep her back straight and eyes down.

Her view, higher than most, was a strategic advantage. Even with a large, firm and white bonnet, she could only glance every now and then to peek around. However, her trained chin stayed close to her chest—not always, but often.

“Come this way, right up these steps,” Aunt Ellaria said, using a feathery touch on Brienne’s back.

It took every fiber in Brienne’s being to not flinch and elbow Ellaria out of her personal space. If she did that, it would earn her the electric cattle prod… or worse. Ellaria could be described as a vicious, ruthless snake who brainwashed women. All aunts were evil, in Brienne’s eyes. Brienne had been beaten, punished, praised and coddled so often by Ellaria—she lost count. Her kindness only appeared with complied Gilead’s rules. When anyone defied laws or her order, Ellaria’s evil emerged from the deep and abhorrent trenches of her soul. Brienne's whirlwind of thoughts sent her adrenaline spiking. Her heart pounded, preparing for a fight she knew she wouldn't win.

“Remember your scripture. You are here for a purpose. A new family. And they won’t judge you for your looks,” Ellaria said.

Brienne walked up the steps and imagined herself rolling her eyes. Her entire life, people joked about her awkward, ugly appearance. Even before Gilead.

By the time she reached the top of the stairs, Brienne's lips started to quiver. This wasn’t a home she chose. This wasn’t a college dorm or her parent’s house. It belonged to strangers. Who lives here? Gilead created this new society almost four years ago. Since then, Brienne shuffled around to training centers, marked like a cow with an identification number. They thrust into homes with one purpose: bring a child into the world. Her job, if one could even call it one, was a handmaid.

Handmaids served their commander, who held a high ranking position in Gilead. Fertility had been declining for decades before the religious extremists took over the country. No one figured out why fertility fell—or at least, no one wanted to admit why. Radioactivity. Diseases. Divine punishment. Slutty behavior. To solve the problem, leaders of Gilead designed specific classes for males and females. Gilead required women to “go back to their roots” as mothers, homemakers and caregivers. Handmaids became property to childless commanders and their wives. Every month, Commander households celebrated a "ceremony", where a commander would attempt to “give” the handmaid a child. Handmaids did not keep their healthy babies. Instead, wives and commanders inherited the infant. Surrogacy. Torture. Rape. Slavery. Duty. Privilege. Brienne thought of so many ways to label her position. If Brienne had a choice, she would work as a car mechanic. At least I excelled at that. Brienne wouldn’t call herself a good handmaid. After four years, she still hadn’t become pregnant. Not even once.

Aunt Ellaria knocked on the door and waited with a grin. Brienne convinced herself Ellaria got off on Gilead’s suffering people. Aunts served as one of the highest ranking women positions. All of them wore a dark, forgettable brown color, as brown as the shit coming out of their mouths. All of Giliead’s aunts trained handmaids and kept them behaving. Wives of commanders ranked higher than aunts, and Brienne's new wife opened the door.

“Blessed be the fruit!” a light, soft voice spoke from inside. Brienne fought temptation to look at her new oppressive roommate.

“Blessed day,” Aunt Ellaria said.

Silence surrounded Brienne, until she remembered to say, “May the Lord open.” Brienne winced and tilted her chin lower. She needed to remember to not sound so desperate.

“Please,” the wife said, “come on in. It’s so cold outside.”

Brienne hadn’t noticed. Snow and ice covering the ground hardly affected her with all of the layers handmaids required. Flesh tempted men and the responsibility to eliminate temptation belonged to women. Brienne wore a large, thick red cloak, sweater, boots and gloves. Only her face and neck felt the chill of winter air.

They both stepped in and towards the left, settling in what appeared to be a living room. Brienne gazed around—only for a second. The house size and furnishings meant she had been placed at a very well off home... Perhaps one of the highest in her district. Brienne swallowed as he throat tightened. She smelled antique rugs and polished wood. Her swift canvas around the room included the wife, who dressed in blue like every other commander’s wife in Gilead. Fine fabric, almost like silk, draped over her tiny, dainty shoulders. The wife appeared small, with dark brown eyes and long, wavy brown hair. Brienne felt like the smallest person in the room. The three women stood in silence for what felt like a few minutes, waiting for someone to speak first. Brienne focused on the frayed ends of the rug she stood on.

“I do believe I have other handmaid placements to begin. It is that time of the year! I will see myself out. Under his eye,” Ellaria said.

“Under his eye,” both Brienne and the wife said in unintentional unison. After four years, it still sounded so foreign to her.

Brienne kept her head down and hands clasped in front of her, wondering when or if the wife would allow her to sit down. Meanwhile, the front door opened, and Brienne assumed Ellaria let herself out.

Except, a male voice entered her ears, followed by heavy, purposeful footsteps on wood. Brienne's eyes lifted to see the white cover of her wings, so her ears tried to see for her.

Ellaria said, “Blessed day, Commander Lannister!”

Brienne’s eyes shifted towards the sounds. A charming male voice said, “Go on, show me your precious gift.”

Disgusting. Brienne brought her eyes forward, closed them and winced all at once. Already, first impressions of this man depressed her. Did I expect Renly again? Brienne inhaled a deep breath—stuck in emotional turmoil. She lingered for the vile man in charge to enter the room. She heard his footsteps before she saw them. They walked with a steady pace, until… he stepped close enough to see her. He stopped. Brienne imagined drowning in the tension, except no one would save her. She needed to stay strong.

He scoffed. Brienne tucked her chin lower, wanting to disappear through the floor. “You call yourself a handmaid?” he asked.

Numbness hit first. Blind and timid, Brienne said, “May I— be blessed with— ”

“How am I to believe you are even a woman? Let alone fertile?” Commander Lannister said, humor and mockery evident in his tone.

She refused to answer, biting her tongue to prevent herself from lashing out. Her oppressive large bonnet hid her face well. Brienne remained as red with embarrassment as her crimson outfit. The color of life, Gilead said. The color of shame.

A deep breath came and went, until a male's hand pulled on her cloak and dress skirt. His unimaginable actions violated Gilead’s idea of appropriateness. Commanders could only touch handmaids during ceremonies. Brienne blurted out incoherent protests and stumbled away from him. His hand abandoned her limited view and she reacquired her own personal space… for a time, at least.

He laughed.

What does his wife think of this? A crash distracted all of them, coming from deeper inside the home. He stepped away. Brienne looked up, dumbfounded by what just happened. By the time her eyes surveyed the room, he had already turned away. He stood as tall as her, if not shorter. He carried broad shoulders and a muscular form fitted into a white long sleeve dress shirt, dark colored slacks and brown shoes. Full and straight hair covered the back of his head—blond to be exact. She stared too long and returned her focus to the ground.

A small, but confident voice said, “Welcome to your new home, Ofjaime. I am Mrs. Elia Lannister. You can call me Mrs. Lannister.”

Brienne nodded. The wife seemed... normal. That's something. He, on the other hand, mystified and infuriated her. “Yes, Mrs. Lannister,” Brienne said, trying to ignore what happened.

“I think…” Elia paused, “he needs time getting used to a handmaid in the house. We haven’t had one in two years. Our last one was… a disappointment.”

Brienne’s heart sank. She, too, had been a disappointment for her last two commanders. Not even a single pregnancy. To be fair, which Gilead wasn't, Brienne never naturally conceived before. It was laughable Gilead deemed her fertile. They only rounded her up because she donated viable eggs to an infertile friend. Those eggs weren’t hers to give. In Gilead’s eyes, being sinful, fertile and female meant one destiny: handmaid.

Chapter Text

Amidst silence, she waited in the kitchen for Osha, the martha, to provide food stamps. Brienne never talked much, even before Gilead. As a child, she preferred observing and blending into backgrounds. She cringed when she felt eyes on her. Almost no one looked at her these days. Before Gilead, she garnered attention due to her acting, appearing and dressing like a tomboy: tall and muscular. Her introverted thoughts consumed her, and at least Gilead couldn't touch those. In her mind's eye, Brienne imagined herself working on cars again. Smells of oil, fuel and accumulated road dirt floated like phantom scents through her. She preferred working with cars than humans. Machines didn’t talk, tease or argue. She loved working with her hands, ignoring the dirt and proving men wrong. Years had passed since she saw the inside of a car. She missed it.

“Don’t forget the brussel sprouts like last time. It’s the only season we can get them,” Osha said, without an ounce of compassion in her eyes. Brienne nodded while Osha handed over a few stamps. Beef. Vegetables. Eggs. Milk. They snapped out of a booklet like a coupon book. Everyday life consisted of textless symbols or pictures, due to the fact that women could no longer read. Reading was against the law—for women. First offense: remove a finger. Second offense: remove a hand.

Without looking, Brienne slipped the stamps into her red cloak pocket and attempted to keep eye contact with her martha, but Osha already looked away and tended to the dishes near the sink. Another missed opportunity. An opportunity to connect. Opportunities came often, and yet, almost none were taken.

“Under his eye,” Brienne said.

"Under his eye," Osha said.

Marthas wore a dull, aged green color that could be mistaken for gray. They served as housekeepers, maids and cooks for the elite. They did almost everything—except the sex slave part. Matching fabric covered their hair, but they wore no bonnets. Maybe Gilead found handmaids more tempting than marthas. Gilead insisted women take responsibility for baiting men. Except, Brienne felt more horse than woman. Osha, on the other hand, was full figured. Like everyone else, Osha stood shorter than Brienne. Osha always rolled her eyes or scowled, like Brienne wasted her time or Brienne conspired against her.

The time for her daily walk arrived. Brienne walked through the kitchen and past the stairwell. She never went upstairs, except for sleeping, and her room resided almost near the top of the house. Commander Lannister’s home was a three story home, with an additional basement downstairs. Brienne gazed up the stairs, remembering Osha's warning about house rules when she moved in one week prior. "Never go to the attic. Even we can't go up there."

The house's attic resided at the opposite side of the house from her room. Brienne followed rules in Gilead, because she wanted to survive. If she had one goal in her life left, it was to survive. There is no escape. Broken laws meant horrible, unimaginable punishments. Brienne had no interest in getting more punishment than she already received.

Brienne strolled outside, empty straw bag in hand. Its weaves opened large enough for anyone to see inside. Gilead did not tolerate rebels or secrets. She walked to the driveway and beyond her commander’s car. Her heart revved. Nothing pleased her more than working on automobiles. She knew romantic love did not exist for her, not in Gilead. Brienne lifted her face to gaze at the black, large vehicle. Its brand markers had been removed, but Brienne knew exactly what make, model and year it was. Does the manufacturer even realize their work serves Gilead? Brienne frowned. Maybe they did.

Rounding the corner, she faced the car's open hood. Numerous, redundant hand tools littered the ground, giving her heart another flutter of joy. She smiled when she saw a breaker bar. She wished she could use it to twist open an overly tightened bolt. Something once so annoying felt like a new luxury. If she had the chance, and she didn't. The commander’s driver hunched over and working under the hood. He dressed in all black— matched with dark, curly hair. He twisted open the radiator. Brienne stopped, for a moment, and watched. He lifted a large jug and positioned a funnel into the radiator. Brienne managed a weak smile. The addicting smell of the car wafted over her. If she could just stay and admire it for a moment...

Her grin turned more sinister when the man poured a bright neon green goop into the funnel. You're doing it wrong. Brienne inclined herself to speak up about his mistake, but she held her tongue. The man meant no harm, or so she hoped, but the engine’s life would cut short if he continued. He continued to pour concentrated antifreeze into the radiator. A rookie, stupid mistake. The concentrate needed diluting with water. He should have known. The fluid decanted poorly into the funnel. Short drives, maybe, but long drives or idling and this car is done. The car would overheat and warp the engine block, leaving the car immobile—except in neutral. They had it coming for them. Brienne smirked.

“Best get along, Ofjaime. It isn’t safe here for a woman, especially without a partner,” the driver said, catching her eyes. He stopped pouring and showed her a peculiar, ill fitting smile. Brienne dropped her grin and held his attention for a moment. He's smiling... and smiling.

Confused, but refusing to show it, Brienne stepped back and pulled her chin down, returning to her reset point. She trusted no one. Maybe he's an Eye. Brienne walked towards the gate of the house, hoping her partner waited for her. As she closed the gate and looked back at the car and driver, she remembered the driver's name: Ramsay.

About facing, Brienne lined up with her partner, Ofloras. Four years ago, Brienne met her at the Red Center. Her name before Gilead was Sansa, but Brienne wouldn’t dare use her previous, true name in public. It surprised her to see Sansa, or Ofloras, as her official handmaid partner a few days prior. They hadn’t seen each other since Brienne’s first commander posting—years ago.

Ofloras was pregnant, maybe five or six months along. Brienne admitted jealousy to herself. Every woman envied pregnancy. Pregnant handmaids secured a godly status. They didn’t have to do ceremonies any more—obviously, a huge bonus. In an ideal Gilead, everyone treated them with kindness: commanders, wives, marthas, aunts, handmaids, guardians. Ugh, guardians. Sansa had one following her all of the time. He held his rifle in a neutral position as he walked behind them.

As they walked together, Ofloras’ guard walked several paces behind them. Pregnant women required protection. Every baby was sacred.

“Blessed day,” Ofloras said, smiling.

“Blessed day,” Brienne said, exchanging glances with her.

They knew each other well enough to know they wouldn’t report on each other. Although, they needed to keep their voices down, so that the guard remained clueless.

“Sorry for missing a few days, I’ve been feeling under the weather,” Ofloras said.

Brienne, a little intimidated by the guard, hummed a “mmm” as her acknowledgement. They walked to the grocery market in silence, hands close to their own body in an attempt to stay warm. Brienne daydreamed of summer, imagining a backyard with a pool, slide and sprinklers. What she wouldn’t give to feel a sunburn again.

At the market, Ofloras’ guardian stood by other guards, towards the front of the building. It was the only exit at the market she knew of. Not that Brienne ever thought about truly escaping. She believed them when they said a handmaid would never get far.

“Ofrobert, Oftormund, meet my partner, Ofjaime.” Sansa introduced Brienne to two young women. Ofrobert was beautiful and darker skinned. Her wiry, curly hair struggled to stay under her cap and wings. She looked young and sweet, but looks could be deceiving in Gilead. Oftormund, pale with red hair, sized up Brienne amidst a stern expression.

Brienne averted her eyes away. “Blessed be the fruit.” Brienne forced a smile, lowering her shoulders a little to appear as womanly as possible, but it was a challenge. She hesitated trusting these women as much as Sansa. They could be Eyes.

“May the Lord open... We’ve heard a lot about you,” Oftormund said, having to lift her face up higher to view Brienne. “And your commander.”

Sansa peered over at Brienne. “The Lannisters. Remember their name? From before?” A few handmaids and marthas walked by them, so all four remained silent until the coast cleared. Brienne responded by shaking her head once. Sansa blinked, sighed and said, "My commander’s wife is a Lannister. Your commander’s sister.”

Oftormund whispered, “The leader of this district is their father, Tywin Lannister. He’s one of the most powerful men in Gilead, and you’re the handmaid to his son. Unbelievable.” She was right, Brienne couldn't believe it. Why did they place me with such an important house? The pressure ate away at her until she no longer felt her fingers. She gripped and stretched her hands, side eyeing around her to make sure no guards listened in to their conversation. She yearned for every piece of information they provided her.

“What’s he like? Is he like his father?” Ofrobert asked. She sounded younger than she looked.

“Arguably worse,” Oftormund said. Brienne’s heart sank through the floor and never came back. Needing to know more, she stared at Oftormund, trying her best to demand more information by showing her expression alone.

Oftormund sighed, giving their area another glance for listeners. She led the group of four women to a different part of the market, with a large display of winter squash in front of them. Quieter, barely above a whisper, Oftormund said, “Jaime Lannister was one of the leaders who brought down the country. He started the coup while being in the President's guard. A fucking traitor, right in your home. He’s responsible for all—” Ofrobert elbowed Oftormund, earning her a scowl.

They didn’t trust her. To them, Brienne could have been an Eye. Small mistakes led to harsh consequences. Brienne heard of rebels, but never met or confirmed anyone. It probably depended on what actually constituted a rebel, but Brienne didn’t consider herself one. The only rebels she saw hanged from nooses— hanging from the walls of the city. Their rotting corpses lingered to scare the living into submission. Brienne intended to live, not die.

While their inappropriate conversation continued, it wasn’t treasonous or rebellious. If Aunt Ellaria caught them, she used her electric cattle prod to teach silence. Still, Brienne appreciated her handmaid neighbors enlightened her. Brienne’s intuition appeared correct. Mr. Lannister wasn’t going to be another version of Renly. Thoughtful. Kind. Sweet. Compassionate. Brienne closed her eyes and tried to remember Renly’s face. His memory remained chivalrous. Her luck ran out when she left Renly. Her hostile, second commander reminded her of Gilead's evil. And if Commander Lannister created Gilead, he owned responsibility for all of this pain and oppression. She ran out of luck years ago, before she knew she had any. Brienne sighed and said, “Thank you for telling me. Blessed be the fruit.”

Like robots, the other three girls said, “May the Lord open.”

With starches, cans and brussel sprouts swaying in her bag, Sansa and Brienne walked home together. Sansa's guardian sent Brienne a revolting scowl. She knew she wasn’t pleasing to the eye. Red wasn't her color. She stood a few inches too tall. Her flat chest appeared flatter in her cloak. Freckles spoiled her pasty skin.

Sansa pouted towards her guardian when they came to Brienne’s home. The guardian stopped as they walked a few feet forward, hoping to escape his hearing.

Sansa smiled at Brienne, holding her hands out for Brienne to clasp. Brienne looked down, noticing one of Sansa’s hands scarred from burns. What did Sansa do to deserve this? Sansa broke Gilead's laws. Brienne clenched her jaw and reached out to hold Sansa's hands. She doesn't deserve this.

Sansa brought Brienne’s hand to her stomach, placing them both on her pregnant bump.

“It’s kicking. I hope it’s healthy,” Sansa said and leaned in closer. She whispered, "I’m glad you met Ygritte and Missandei... You can trust them. You can trust me.”

Brienne released a quivered, weak smile—needing to pull Sansa into a tight embrace. She shrunk into herself with fragile shoulders as she trembled. I can't walk back into that house. Take me with you.

Sansa nodded as she lost her own composure, contorting her pretty face into a full grimace. She stepped towards Brienne, gripping her hands harder.

“No touching,” the guardian said, stomping towards them.

Brienne and Sansa lowered their heads. “Under his eye.” They stepped away from each other, farther and farther until the winter's cold, crisp air surrounded Brienne in loneliness. Warmth ceased to exist.

By some means, Brienne managed to walk back into the house. You're strong. You can survive. She set the groceries down on the counter and reached to take her wings off—but something moved. As it registered, she looked up towards the kitchen sink as she heard and felt the wood flooring underneath her feet twist and turn as someone stepped behind her.

“You’re a daring one, aren’t you?” said the only male voice in that house—the commander’s.

Brienne refused to reply and tensed every muscle in her body. She stood mere feet from a ruthless murderer. Her heart pounded faster.

“I saw you,” he said.

She flushed and looked to the ground. She heard the judgement and disgust in his voice. She tried to picture it. Crinkled nose. Clenched eyes. Lowered brows. Brienne opened her eyes. She couldn't picture anything—having not seen his face. He looks like a monster.

The man said, “I don’t need guardians or anyone investigating this household because my handmaid can’t keep her hands to herself.”

Brienne closed her eyes—defeated. Touching Sansa was a mistake, she knew. “Yes, sir,” she said, dropping her head, still higher than her spirit.

“You’re here to serve me, as my gift, and remember, Eyes are everywhere. Wouldn’t want one to take away something so… unfathomable as you. Unique is the nicest way to describe you.”

Opening her eyes, Brienne looked to her left and scowled. No, it wasn't fair. If he meant to threaten her for misbehaving, he needed to look in a mirror. He had touched her when they met—something so "unfathomable" and inappropriate. Brienne grit her teeth together as her honor and courage begged her to speak. Brienne lifted her chin and said, “Eyes can also be here—right now. Eyes watch everyone... even you.”

Her commander laughed. In another universe, she might have found his burst of chuckles attractive. Instead, she lived in Gilead. Commander Lannister murdered and betrayed his oath as a protector. Brienne grimaced, refusing to turn around and face him. After he stopped laughing, he said, “You being an Eye is about as believable as me being a rebel.”

Humor oozed in his voice. He found that funny. Great. Brienne pressed her lips into a disappointed, thin line. She failed her bluff. Brienne clenched her hands into tight, twisting fists.

“Blessed day,” Commander Lannister said before leaving the room. His footsteps echoed and disappeared, but tension and anger lingered around her—even after he left.

Chapter Text

“Explain to me, how it happened, Ramsay! Please, I’m all ears!” The commander’s loud, angry voice reverberated through his whole house.

Everyone cowered in corners, not wanting to provoke the lion. Brienne and the marthas rolled their slow feet against the floor, trying to keep as quiet as possible. Brienne helped Osha and Lyanna, the other martha, in the kitchen. Keeping her hands quiet, Brienne paid attention to each dish that needed rinsing. Water warmed her chilled skin, and she appreciated helping with any work involving hands. It helped her feel... normal.

Frantic and heavy footsteps paced throughout the home. Brienne turned her head to listen into the dispute.

“I apologize, Commander Lannister. They have a replacement on its way as we speak,” Ramsay said. A small conceited smile appeared on Brienne’s lips, though no one noticed. The car failed—just as she predicted. Brienne saw neither of them, but she entertained herself imagining them shivering in the cold. The fear of freezing to death. They deserved it. The thought warmed her more than the running sink water.

Elia's voice joined the conversation. “Is everything all right?” she asked. Her small, meek voice contrasted with their masculine octaves.

“No!" the commander said, "We’ve been stranded out in the cold for hours while we waited for someone to pick us up!”

Ugh, he sounds so... unattractive. Brienne grinned to herself again, continuing to wash the dishes.

“How did that happen?” Elia asked.

Rushed and uneven, Ramsay said, “I don’t know. I replaced the coolant with brand new fluid—I—I don’t know why—”

“Did Ofjaime do anything to the car?!” Commander Lannister said, loud enough to startle Brienne. She tensed and stopped moving—forgetting to breathe. Not a trace of a smile remained on her face. Water continued raining down on the plate she cleaned. He thinks I did this? Brienne's eyes searched for an escape or an answer to defend herself.

“Don’t be serious, she's a handmaid,” Elia said. Silence followed.

Brienne turned off the water, half expecting the commander to barge into the room demanding answers from her. Is he framing me? Brienne blinked, remembering her outburst a few days prior. What if he knows I'm a mechanic? Brienne swallowed and felt a pit grow in her stomach— overcome with nausea. Maybe he knows, Ramsay knows, and it was all a test—to see if I'd speak up. Brienne tried to inhale a deep breath, but her tightening throat and chest forbid it.

Bells rang throughout the neighborhood. The house listened. Wooden floors creaked above her. Brienne looked at the ceiling and counted: three bell rings. A salvaging arrived.

Attending salvagings never excited Brienne. But she needed to get out of this house and out of the blame. Female led salvagings happened first, and only handmaids attended. It originated as an outlet for built up handmaid frustration and anger. It also meant to scare them shitless.

Brienne walked with a rushed purpose through the house, holding her head down as she placed her wings on. Like a horse with blinders, she eliminated half of her vision with the large bonnet around her head. To her surprise, no one cornered or hunted her down for answers about the car.

Snow trickled down as she exited, and white covered everything. What a horrible day for this. Brienne paired and walked with Ofloras, and they met up with another pair of handmaids and another. They walked in pairs, in unison, down the street with four guardians lining the front, sides and back of their assembly. After a fifteen minute walk, the group arrived to the salvaging. Gilead hosted salvagings in neighborhood parks, except they tore down previous playgrounds and ball courts. Brienne stood on ice, but blood soaked the soil underneath. How many salvagings had this place seen in 4 years?

All handmaids walked together, as if they unified into a marching band putting on a show. No audience watched them. They split off into separate lines and all took their place behind a small pillow resting on the snow.

Brienne stood out like a sore thumb, taller than all other women. Even when everyone knelt on the pillows and took off their wings, Brienne still towered. Aunt Ellaria took the stage and spoke into the microphone. Instead of listening to the charges, Brienne tried to imagine the park in its previous life. As a child, she played in a park like this one. Gilead conquered the country and Brienne, barely a few months into her nineteenth year of life, struggled through the change. In many ways, Brienne still felt like a child, full of innocence and hope—looking forward to something provided the only way to stay sane in Gilead. Her only key to safety was to bare a child. Pregnancy persisted as her ultimate goal. It wasn't fair, but she needed to survive. Focusing on her depressing lack of options only made her more despondent.

Brienne spent most of her childhood free time learning and fixing cars with her dad. She possessed such confidence then, and still did, somewhere—deep inside her. Brienne even entered a mechanics school before Gilead, hoping to gain certification. She knew she would pass with flying colors, but she required a certificate to get a job. Unenrollment of Brienne’s classes was the first red flag before the Lannisters led their coup massacre. "Females can't be auto mechanics," they told her. She spent the next couple months calling each school around the country to see if they would accept her, distracting her enough to make her blind to the changing politics.

She remembered the day of the coup attack, years before. They, who were not named, were dubbed terrorists. After the President's death, the country collapsed. Every key figured was killed within hours of each other. The military dissolved into believers and non believers. Only one group prevailed. This is all your fault, Commander Lannister. He started all of this.

Brienne tried escaping after the coup and massacre, and she got very close. But at airport security, they stared at her papers. Her name must have been on a list, because they took her aside for questioning. She didn’t know that would be the last time she’d see her father, the only relative she had left. Brienne had asked him if she could sit in a window seat, because those seats were her favorite. She never did know what happened to her father.

Aunt Ellaria’s voice pulled Brienne out of her memory. “Up!”

Everyone followed her instructions.

“Wings.”

All of the handmaids lifted their large bonnet, with a white cap still covering their tucked in hair. Every handmaid placed the bonnet on the snow covered ground in front of them.

“Form a circle.”

All handmaids followed her command and formed a large circle. The man in question, a driver, stumbled into the center of the space while handcuffed.

“When I blow the whistle, you may begin,” Aunt Ellaria said.

Brienne allowed all of her suppressed anger boil inside of her. This man, no matter what he did to be executed, warranted punishment for being complicit in Gilead. He deserved to die. Innocence did not exist. In that moment, justice appeared black and white, just like his black outfit contrasting the white snow.

The whistle blew and every handmaid rushed forward. They beat, stomped, punched and kicked the man. It felt like forever, and yet, it ended within a minute.

The guardians covered the deceased man with a white cloth, as if he deserved such a pure shade. His blood soaked into the cloth around his neck and throat. Brienne stared at his body, lost in her own thoughts.

Before Ofloras could join Brienne, Aunt Ellaria appeared next to Brienne.

“Ofjaime,” Aunt Ellaria said.

I hate that name. Brienne nodded and clasped her hands in front of her.

“Your ceremony is coming up. I hope you remember the gravity of your situation,” Ellaria said. “This is your third posting. You do remember that handmaids only get three postings to conceive a child. I don’t want to lose you. You’re a great girl.”

Brienne's lips pressed tight and her eyes fell to the floor. Darkness swallowed her. How could I forget? Brienne bowed her head and said, “May he make me worthy.”

“Clean yourself up, dear. You have a job to do. Go in grace.”

Chapter Text

Two weeks passed since her new posting, and her first ceremony day with Commander Lannister arrived. She remembered Renly had pulled her aside before her very first ceremony and he told her he didn’t want to do it—he needed to. Renly informed her that men would check her for semen, so he had no choice. Brienne appreciated honesty in Renly. He disliked being forced to do it more than Brienne, but they went into a ceremony as… friends. It still felt like the best way to describe it. Of course, her heart couldn't help but fall for a handsome, kind man. The ceremony was a transaction, except neither of them derived much pleasure from it. It served its purpose. Her second commander, unlike Renly, was cruel and vindictive. At least he rushed through ceremonies.

Embarrassed to admit it, even to herself, Brienne never experienced sex before her commanders. She never planned to tell anyone. Unless she gave birth, the Lannister home would be her last. Maybe they’d let her try again—if she conceived. Pressure weighed on her, and they allowed her two years: 24 ceremonies to complete her mission. If she failed, she’d be declared an unwoman. Infertile. Gilead shipped sinful, infertile women to the Colonies. Brienne would clean up radioactive waste until she melted and perished.

Brienne pushed those anxieties out of her head as she sank lower into the bathtub, unable to fit quite right.

A loud bang startled her from above. Brienne gazed up and blinked, convinced she imagined it. Soon after, only noises of water rippling entered her ears. She looked out into the doorway of the bathroom. Lyanna, a martha, waited outside the door and averted her eyes away. Brienne waited for her. When Lyanna entered, she continued to focus on the ground and sat next to the bath. You remember the bath routine well. Without looking into the bath, Lyanna offered a razor for Brienne to shave her legs. You look as miserable as me. Brienne accepted the razor and gazed down at her legs, full of blond, wiry hair. No, you're not forced to have sex with men. Handmaids received razors under supervision, and only monthly, on ceremony nights. In previous houses, Brienne blushed during every bath, but she repeated it so many times it became boring. Lyanna forced a weak smile when Brienne finished shaving. Is she mocking me?

After the bath, she dressed and waited in her room. She stared at her twin bed, cursing its small size. Her heart rate escalated, unsure of what to expect in the next hour. Her lips quivered. She closed her eyes, managing deep breaths in an attempt to calm her nerves. Small chimes echoed downstairs. The time came. You can do this. Every last drop of confidence inside of her needed to be used in these moments.

Brienne walked downstairs, remembering when she learned of Gilead's strange ceremony ritual. Elite used handmaids as hosts, vessels, and wordless pieces of flesh to create a child for the family. Wives included themselves in the ceremony process for several reasons, some unspoken. Society deemed it far too dangerous to expect men to be proper in private with a handmaid. Handmaids and commanders could never be alone together, so ceremonies followed the same custom. Gilead, of course, if anything inappropriate happened, blamed indiscretions on handmaids, not men.

Wives also contributed to ceremonies by restraining handmaid’s wrists. Brienne had heard of handmaids attacking their commander in the middle of a ceremony. Commander Lannister is my size. Brienne lifted her chin as she stepped onto the first floor. I could take him. During puberty, Brienne grew thick and muscular. She was built for battle. She would die if she attacked a commander, but if she was going to die anyway, maybe it was worth it. Be smart. Give yourself a chance. However, bearing Gilead developed into much more of a mental war. Brienne wanted to survive.

They claimed having a wife in the ceremony included them in the conception process. A commander could "pretend" to conceive with his wife and she could pretend the same. Gilead liked to think of handmaids as outward uteruses belonging to the wives. Bullshit.

Brienne cleared her throat and stepped into the waiting room downstairs. She arrived first. Taking her place and kneeling, she adjusted her cap to center on her head. Her view turned out far better without the large bonnet that went over her cap. Still, she intended to follow the rules and not look at anyone. Brienne didn’t desire pitiful or disgusted looks.

She heard both marthas walk in, standing behind her—waiting. Brienne inhaled a breath, held it, and let it out through her nose. Ramsay arrived next. Someone behind her yawned. The wife entered and closed the door. Mrs. Elia Lannister, light as a cat, sat in her chair. Brienne only saw a glimpse of her blue, silk dress. Elia said nothing. Brienne returned her gaze to the ground.

A strong knock at the door startled Brienne. It was ritual for commanders to knock on the door and wait for wives to allow them inside. Gilead’s idea of consent maddened Brienne.

“Come in,” Elia said.

His loud footsteps made their way into the room. He brought with him an unnameable tension. Brienne felt it. Everyone did. Air brushed over her as he walked past her, and with it came a distinct masculine scent—staining her mind. She swore the room's clock ticked louder. Brienne kept her eyes low, staring at the wife’s blue kitten heels and the commander’s dark leather dress shoes. Brienne's boots adorned flaking leather with holes.

“Let us begin,” the commander said, using a rather serious, calm voice.

Brienne tightened her weaved hands into clamped fists. Everyone listened as the commander unlocked a book and read it out loud to the room. If she could legally read, Brienne wouldn’t choose that scripture in a million years.

After the spoken scripture, the marthas and driver left the room first, followed by the wife and commander. Brienne left last. She thought about escaping, but she knew she’d get caught. Wouldn't that be nice? Escape. Guardians stationed themselves throughout the neighborhood and Gilead. Handmaids are always caught.

Brienne made her way upstairs, slower than before. The wife waited, sitting on the bed. Her cold eyes greeted Brienne when she stepped into the room. Brienne stopped, fidgeting her toes inside her boots. After a moment, Brienne glanced down and breathed in. She despised showing fear, because confidence and intimidation turned out to be one of her best traits. Fear obliterates everything if you let it. Brienne walked over to the edge of the bed. She avoided searching for the commander and kept her eyes low.

She reached down under her skirts and pulled down her undergarments, stepping out of them and scooting them under the bed frame. Gilead never wanted to see anything indecent, even underwear. Brienne's throat tightened while she glanced over to Elia. The wife held out her arms above her own lap, signaling Brienne to get into position. Blinking and refusing to tremble, Brienne turned her back to the wife and sat on the edge of the bed. She leaned herself backwards, setting her shoulders between the wife's spread legs. Her head rested on the wife's warm, blue dress. Brienne's thighs and legs dangled over the edge of the bed, but she kept them covered and closed. She already felt naked, despite wearing her hideous red dress.

Brienne looked at Elia, who turned and fixed her eyes at an unknown object across the bedroom. Her hands reached out and grabbed Brienne’s wrists without looking. Elia's soft hands held Brienne’s forearms with a loose grip. She hates this.

They both waited. Brienne stared at the ceiling. Just pretend. Brienne closed gentle eyes, imagining Commander Renly’s home. Someone walked up to her. The commander. She closed her eyes tighter. Warm fingers touched her bare knees and Brienne's breath caught in her throat. The commander guided her knees apart, spreading her thighs for him. Don't resist. She allowed him, and he stepped forward. His warm touch vanished away from her knees. She took in a deep breath, eyes still closed, and pictured Renly. She waited for the commander to enter her. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll get pregnant the first time.

Seconds passed. Why is he taking so long? Seconds continued. He thrust forward—except, he didn't enter her. He missed. He thrust again, not penetrating her. Absent. Her open and vulnerable thighs only felt... clothing, not skin. He settled into a rhythm of dry thrusts. Amid furrowed brows, Brienne's eyes opened to look at Elia. The wife glazed over, staring away from her and her husband. Brienne and the wife bobbed together with each dry thrust. Does Elia know? Brienne winced and opened her mouth—

The commander's bare hand squeezed Brienne's thigh. She froze. He squeezed harder, sinking sturdy tips of his fingers into her soft flesh. Fuck rules. Brienne inhaled and snapped her eyes to the commander, the misbehaving bastard, all while he continued thrusting against her. Brienne stared—unable to move. His lips pressed together, beside a wide, clenched and angular jawline. Trimmed stubble defined his cheeks, and his eyes—Brienne glanced away, blushing. He was a monster, and looked nothing like one. He looked like a god. She hated him more because of it. He gripped her thigh again, and it reminded her he broke the rules—not her. Brienne glared at him, opening her mouth again to speak. As their eyes met, he lifted his right hand off her thigh, and held it up in surrender. His other hand raised to his mouth, signaling her to keep quiet with his index finger on his lips.

Brienne narrowed her eyes at him. Why is he doing this? He lowered his finger, and eyelids covered his green eyes. His nose flared and eyebrows tightened while he continued faking the ceremony. With his eyes closed, she studied him. He looked to be in his thirties. She scowled, disgusted by his attractiveness. Nausea twisted inside her.

He breathed heavier and opened his eyes to look at Elia. He flinched, only for a second, and resumed his dry thrusting and eyes on Brienne. The intensity of his gaze lasted a moment, and his stare changed direction to her thighs. Brienne flushed and nudged her body away from him, as if she could hide. He noticed, glanced at her for a moment and closed his eyes. Brienne reminded herself to breathe—something so difficult to remember.

More winded, he parted his lips and clenched his face. With a final thrust, he sighed into the room and held his clothed groin against Brienne. Did Elia just buy that? Elia dropped Brienne's forearms and let out a relieved breath. Brienne blinked, still stunned from what happened. The commander retreated from between her thighs, and Brienne closed them within seconds. He turned around and walked across the room while the wife pulled her dress from underneath Brienne. She left the room without a word.

Despite chilled air, Brienne palms sweat. She propped herself on her elbows, searching him out in the room. He turned away, looking down at his pants and wiping them away—probably stains of her doing. Brienne burst into a bright blush.

Brienne opened her mouth to speak, but she waited for him to speak first. In fact, she couldn’t comprehend words. Why? Theories flew through her mind and made her dizzy. I'm repulsive. Maybe... he couldn’t get an erection. Perhaps both. The commander never did speak, and he left the room after cleaning himself. Brienne remained alone—in a foreign room, in a foreign house, in a foreign country.

Chapter Text

An endless, pestering pit grew in Brienne's stomach, as if she just realized her class had a surprise exam she didn’t prepare for. Commander Lannister's voice shouted throughout the house the night of the ceremony. Everyone heard his outbursts, but no one mentioned it. Brienne retreated to her room, empty and confused. Handmaids were supposed to lie down for as long as possible after ceremonies. They said it helped seed conception. With no seed, Brienne paced throughout her room. Her plain, dark and chilled bedroom caused goosebumps to roll up her arm. How can I get pregnant when my commander won't even get it up?

The following morning, Brienne helped Osha in the kitchen. They tried their best to scrub soil off of every lump in each potato. Brienne jumped at the sound of a loud noise above them. Brienne breathed to calm her racing heart and glanced to Osha, who continued rubbing potato skins as if nothing happened. Commander is gone, it can't be him. Desperate for answers, Brienne stepped closer to Osha and asked, “Where do those noises come from?” Instead of looking at Osha, Brienne shut the sink water off and carried a colander of potatoes to the center island counter. Maybe, if she played ignorant, Osha would explain more.

Osha sent a mean glare, as if Brienne offended her. She rolled her eyes and sighed. Osha whispered, “It’s Mrs. Lannister, I’m guessing. Don't tell either of them that I told you.”

Brienne's mouth fell open and she remained still. Beside her, Osha grabbed the colander of potatoes and inspected them. I'm an idiot. Brienne closed her mouth, rubbed the wet palms of her hands on her dress and turned to walk herself out. Osha knows I'm curious. Shit.

“Before you go,” Osha said, “the commander wants to see you. Tonight.”

Brienne froze. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at Osha. This isn't something I can say no to.

Osha plopped the potatoes on a wooden cutting board. She pulled out a butter knife and slaved away, trying her best to cut through the starchy vegetable. “In the basement at nine," Osha said. "That’s all he told me.” Osha lifted her eyes to gaze at Brienne with a faint smirk. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite. Under his eye."

Oh shit.

In the evening, Brienne counted the minutes until nine, fearing it more and more with each passing second. What does he want? Alone? Kill me? Eyes? Brienne’s mind ached from suspense and analyzing. She wished it would stop. Time however, pressed on. The grandfather clock struck nine. Nine chimes. Brienne fixed her white cap position, making sure no hair poked out of the sides. She straightened her posture, made her way downstairs and towards the basement. She had never been down there. As she walked through darkness and silence, her heart hammered within her chest. Her hand trembled when she touched the metal doorknob to the basement.

Once she opened the door, cool, stale air confronted her. It smelled of mold. More darkness swallowed her, except a small, dim light tucked away in a far corner. Her subconscious compelled her to go to the light.

“You look like a fawn lost in headlights,” Commander Lannister voice said. He stepped into the light and stood next to a table. Shadows on his face appeared menacing and stern.

Brienne ignored his comment and faced him head on. If he wanted a verbal war of words, he needed to look her straight in the eyes first. Brienne stepped forward and glared at him with a confidence she once thought she lost. This reminded her of proving herself to men who always ridiculed and belittled her. In front of her, the commander smirked, of all things. She clenched her lips into a tight, disapproving line and narrowed her eyes towards the man. Her mind thought of no smart remarks.

“How are you holding up after our first ceremony? Is it hard to walk?” he asked.

Brienne tilted her lower jaw to the side in annoyance, holding back a scoff as she glanced away from him. His relaxed shoulders and slow breaths contrasted with her tense posture. The commander rubbed his lips together before leaning a hand onto the table. His eyes honed in on her—watching, waiting, expecting her to blow up at him in anger. He half tempted her to comply. Brienne shook her head, unwilling to give into his sick and twisted game. "I wish you would perform your duty, sir,” Brienne said. She puffed up her chest and lifted her chin, glaring down at him. She stood taller than him, and it empowered her. Brienne forced a small smirk and said, “Unless you have a problem.”

He laughed in response, turning to the side like someone else might join in. As if someone hid nearby to discredit her slandering words. “There is no problem,” he started, glaring at her as if she bruised him. “Besides, I had a feeling you might thank me for last night.” His words dripped with spite. He didn't want or expect her feedback and her words agitated him. The feeling was mutual.

“Thank you?” Brienne escalated her voice. “Praise be? I’ll be sure to thank you when they drag me away two years from now as an unwoman.”

“Oh, come on. You really think that is going to happen?” He sounded so casual, like she overreacted.

“You don’t know what it’s like out there, you never have.”

Commander Lannister sighed, looking at the ground. “I know a great deal more than you think I do.”

No, you don't. You've never had to ask for your crimes. Brienne boiled within herself, frustrated he picked and chose which rules to follow. She never wanted to live in Gilead, but she had no choice. And if she wanted to survive, conceiving was her best shot. Brienne's lips quivered, until an evil thought crossed her mind. “I will report you,” Brienne said.

The man shrugged. “You would have done that by now. And if so, they’ll believe you? A large beast of a woman who has sinned before?” He stepped towards her with broad shoulders, trying to match her intimidation. The gift of fertility is no sin. Her fists clenched together as he approached. She couldn't believe he had the audacity to mention sin when he murdered her country. Brienne's teeth sank into the inside of her lip until she tasted blood. She craved vengeance against him. They squared away, within arms reach of one another. Adrenaline kicked in, tingling all muscles in Brienne's body. Her chest rattled. While she stared, he narrowed his eyes at her. Brienne shook her head again and said, "They’ll have an examiner. Like they did at the beginning.” He blinked and softened, only for a moment. His eyes peered into her own, calculating her level of seriousness. His lips parted as he inhaled a deep breath. “You’re…” in a faint tone, the commander paused, “asking me to have sex with you?” His expression continued his question.

Brienne tilted her head to the side and frowned. He's asking me? His strangeness surprised her, bothered her and confused her. Another test. She said, “Yes. I must conceive before this position ends. It’s my duty. I’ll be killed if I don’t.” She had heard stories of women conceiving with drivers, doctors or other men. Brienne didn’t like the idea of getting caught and killed, so this option was her safest one.

The commander brought a hand up to his jaw and rubbed his stubble. Prickly noises of his skin rubbing against his hairs escaped between his fingers. He nodded and said, “I’ve been asked out many times before but… not like this.”

Brienne took the liberty to roll her eyes. She clenched her jaw together so hard that her teeth ached.

“What about here, right now? You might still be fertile?” he asked. He started unbuckling his belt—

“No, not now," Brienne said, "Are you crazy? Just ceremonies! Can it be that hard to understand for a man who created this place?”

His hands stopped and his eyes peered at her. She said too much and Brienne regretted it. Now, he knew she knew of his reputation. He knew she talked about him and his past. He could report her... and she would be dead in hours. He smirked while he looped the end of his belt through a buckle to close it. His eyes flew like daggers, straight into her flesh. She awaited harsher punishment, but he said, “Very well.”

She let a held breath, but tension still remained. What have I just done? Brienne shook her head, unable to forgive herself for asking a murderous man to sleep with her. What have I become?

“Because I know you’re curious," he said, "I’ve avoided most ceremonies because—I’m faithful.”

Brienne scowled. “I’m not curious,” she said. “You already have everything you want.”

He scoffed with a smile and leaned a hand on a wooden chair beside him. “I suppose you’re right, Ofjaime. I have money, looks, status and I’m a man. Tell me, what is it that you could possibly hold over me?”

You're as shallow as a puddle. Brienne crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Honor.”

His smirk disappeared. She wounded him, and it felt great. “Well,” he said, voice quieter, “I am trying my best.”

No, you're not. Brienne turned to walked out—

“Where are you going? We’re not done here.”

Fuck. Brienne pivoted around, reminding herself he still held all the power. He paralyzed her. "Yes?” she asked, trying to use a more innocent, feminine voice. She heard of commanders asking for favors. Blow job? Hand job? Strip tease? Torture? Beating? Brienne whitened as her breath hitched inside her throat. She couldn't feel the tips of her fingers, which had grown numb.

The commander waited until he secured her full attention. He held her eyes in his for a moment, as if he needed to convince himself if he should move forward with their conversation. He continued to stare, though she couldn’t tell why. He broke their gaze and reached down, raising up a bed sheet that covered a large lawn mower. He held his arms out as if it should surprise her—like a present.

“Fix it. It’s broken,” he said. His joyful voice mismatched his expressionless face.

“I—” she said, not able to comprehend what he asked her to do. You're fucking kidding me.

“It isn’t sex, reading, or treasonous,” he said, guessing her hesitation. “It’s just a lawn mower. It’s been broken since last summer and it’s incredibly embarrassing having long grass. We need it fixed for the spring.”

“Ramsay is the driver, he— ”

“He broke my car. You, on the other hand, have experience. I’ve read your file.”

File? Brienne studied him with squinting eyes.

“Take as long as you need, work during the day or night, just don’t let anyone know you’re working down here,” he said, tapping the lawn mower handle with his left hand. His wedding ring patted on the metal like music.

“Blessed evening, Ofjaime,” he said, walking by her as he left her alone. After he exited, she stared at the machine—alone and dumbfounded. She did not believe it. She convinced him to help her fulfill duty and he rewarded her with machine work... Don't trust him. But the innocent, broken machine in front of her cried out for help. Temptation overpowered her, and she stepped closer to the lawn mower. Her fingertips touched the side of the handle bar. A smile crept up on her lips. It wasn’t a car, but beggars could not be choosers.

Chapter Text

A routine formed since her arrival several weeks prior. She helped the marthas in the morning with their housework. After lunch, she started her daily walks with Sansa. Although, lately, Sansa kept her head low on their walks. Brienne would have asked why but Sansa's guardian always lingered behind them, listening in. In the afternoons, while marthas kept busy cooking and baking, Brienne slipped down the stairs and entered the basement for a few hours. She tinkered with whatever machines and tools Commander Lannister placed down there for her. She fixed the lawn mower within a day, but took her time with examining each component. The spark plug only needed a quick cleaning. She cleaned her hands as well as she could, in order to hide her new hobby. Her new passion. She loved every moment with that simple, beat up lawn mower. For the first time in months, she fell asleep with smiles across her lips.

Commander Lannister noticed on his own time the lawn mower had been repaired, because Brienne came down one evening to see a small gas generator. She saw a note, giving her pause. We're not allowed to read, why would you give me a note? Invincible with no eyes on her, Brienne peered to the note. It showed an arrow, pointing to the problem area. Sneaky. After opening it up and several hours of problem shooting, she guessed the belt needed replacing, but she needed to ask the commander for a replacement.

Brienne managed to find him in the kitchen as she came up one evening. His left hand crept into Osha’s basket of cookies. Brienne sneered—and waited.

He appeared startled, blinking and widening his shoulders as he turned away from her to finish chewing the cookie. Caught sinning, yet again.

“Sir,” she said, almost whispering, “I think I need a new belt for the generator. And more fuel. The fuel left inside has gone bad.”

He nodded, still silent and avoiding eye contact. His lack of verbal response, either confirmation or mockery, annoyed her. He needed to have the decency to speak to her, as a human. Both stood alone in the room, and the house remained quiet. Brienne thought she might hear a pin drop. Is he going to stop asking for my help? Brienne wished he wouldn't, and she wanted to know when it would end. “How many more things do you have for me to fix?”

“Why, you don’t like it?” he said, turning around. A small piece of chocolate stuck to his upper lip, but Brienne wouldn’t dare mention it to him. He would mock her for a poor attempt at flirting. Yuck. “No, I—”

“I will get you as many projects as you’d like," the commander said. "In fact, with help, I managed to get the old engine back from the car Ramsay dragged into the dirt. You can fix the engine next.”

“Actually,” she said, “the engine block is likely warped." Without realizing why, her voice turned quieter. "It can’t be fixed.”

He stared, as if she was an unexpected side of overripe cheese. But he flashed a small half-smile. He glanced around the kitchen and walked towards her—stopping a couple feet from her. She smelled the lingering taste of chocolate off his breath. The commander gave her a pitiful grin and said, “You’re pretty smart, you just hide it well.”

Brienne lifted her chin, looking down at him while her nose flared. “You implied I have a choice to help you—”

“I suppose it is more misleading than that," he said, cutting her off. "You don’t have a choice, only I do. That is why I chose you to be my handmaid.”

Brienne frowned, squinting at him. He licked his lips, managing to wipe away the chocolate clinging onto him. His lips curved into the faintest smile. “I should clarify,” he said in a rich, deep tone, “I chose your skill.” He lifted his face in an attempt to match her height, but he failed. Brienne's eyes became distracted with the long line of his jaw. He continued, “I manage all of the machine working in this district. We help supply our armies with guns, armor, ammunition, tanks, cars, planes, you name it. With all of those damn rebels,” he paused, “I need all the help I can get. I can manage to sneak you into one of my factories soon. It’ll be better for you to work on what you’re good at rather than… this.” He gestured to the kitchen. While she considered agreeing with him, the lack of choice and implications left a bitter taste in her mouth. I'm a handmaid and a Gilead mechanic. Fuck me. Brienne started to shake her head, and she stopped when the commander frowned. He said I don't have a choice. This wasn’t freedom or a hobby he provided to her, it was murder. She could sabotage her work, ruining him. All the while, his eyes observed her—staring. Stop looking at me.

“You will help me shape up Gilead, Ofjaime. This is the best opportunity of your lifetime,” he said with a faint smile.

However, the next day, that opportunity was unavailable. Brienne found the basement locked in the afternoon and the marthas bustled about and clanged pots together in the kitchen.

“You left the scones in the oven too long!” Osha said. Brienne smelled burned flour, reminding her of burning bodies after the coup. Scorching hair was worst, and she could still smell it.

Brienne marched up to help the two marthas. They bickered and argued over who would bake and serve what. Neither of them wanted to serve commanders, who would be visiting for an important meeting. Brienne wished they had told her earlier, but then again, she only had one outfit to wear.

Not long after, commanders and wives flooded into the house. All of the marthas and Brienne stood in the kitchen, hoping avoiding any contact with the men or women. It sounded so strange to hear laughter echo throughout the home. The marthas careful fingers positioned each and every treat on the dining room table, in addition to glasses filled with tea.

Brienne let out a deep breath when the suited men gathered into the drawing room, closing the door behind them. Despite the winter air, the horde of men brought in a distinct musky scent into the home. The house was stuffy, hot and unwelcoming. She stepped into the kitchen, walking in on the marthas whispering to each other behind the pantry door. Brienne knew who whispered: rebels. Lyanna and Osha hushed at the sight of her. Brienne forced a small smile and kept her distance, hoping her reaction let them know she wouldn't report them, but she wouldn't join them either. Too dangerous. I need to survive. Osha and Lyanna stepped out and left the kitchen.

“Lyanna! Osha!” Commander Lannister called out from the drawing room.

A few seconds passed.

“Lyanna! Osha! Anybody! Bring the tea inside!”

Brienne peaked around the corner, noticing the the door ajar. Osha and Lyanna disappeared, and the innocent pitcher of tea rested in front of her. Brienne bit her lip, convincing herself that she should fulfill the duty rather than stand around useless. She clutched the pitcher full of tea and walked to the door, nudging it open with her horse hips. Breathe.

As she entered, eyes glared at her. Dozens of suited, slimy men. Her fingers tightened around the handle, but she refused to show fear. Brienne searched the room for her commander, who sat at the largest chair in the back of the room. He held his posture straight, shoulders back and chin level—he looked like a king. Like he belonged in power. After a moment, men looked to him for his reaction.

Commander Lannister ignored the other men and gazed at her, cocking his head to the side as if he didn't know why she entered. “Wonderful,” he said, smirking.

Brienne broke off their brief stare when whispers floated throughout the room. Through the side of her vision, she saw Commander Lannister motion for her to serve. Brienne followed the order, walking around to each commander. Without her winged bonnet, she felt naked.

Just as quickly as they noticed her, they resumed their talks about war and rebellions. They acted like she didn't exist, and Brienne tuned them out—until she heard Renly.

“We should avoid the river bank, since it’s been littered with rebels the last couple of years. Reinforce offense upstream and cut off their supplies,” Renly said, earning a few murmurs of approval. Brienne gazed across the room, ogling. There he stood, handsome and sweet as ever. His thick, full beard looked trim.

Commander Lannister sighed, as if Renly annoyed suggestion. He said, “I’d agree with you, but then we’d both be wrong.”

Chuckles surrounded the room. Renly clenched his jaw as his lips pressed together in a tight knot. Brienne made her way over to him, drawn by his presence. Take me back. Please. Somehow.

Renly noticed her as she approached, and she released a quick smile. He returned a brisk smile as she came closer, and he held out his cup.

While she poured the tea, eyes locking with Renly, Commander Lannister explaining his reasoning to the group, “It’s quite simple. I spent many months there, holding them at the line and slowly stealing every last bit of advantage they have. We took everything we can grab from them, guerrilla style. They’re weak. They’re vulnerable, like a trapped, wounded rabbit. We could easily end their suffering now, but we’d be missing an opportunity. Instead, we can wait for them to slowly bleed out their resources to us. We wouldn’t just be fighting that tiny, inconsequential gathering. We’d be bleeding out the entire rebellion in one location.”

By that point, Brienne came up to Commander Lannister. She stood in silence, waiting for him to wave her away or accept a refill of tea. He didn’t even bother glancing at her and gestured her away like she was a fly. Of course.He wasn’t the first man to hate her. Brienne walked to the door, avoiding all eye contact.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, aren’t you worried that treasonous citizens in close contact, like marthas or… handmaids… will catch wind of this plan?” someone asked.

Commander Lannister snickered and said, “They can listen, if they like. We can even explain it to them, but we can’t understand for them.”

Laughter swelled throughout the room as Brienne exited, drowning in blood that flushed into her face. One of the men closed the door behind her. Fuck all of you. Except Renly.

After the meeting concluded, Brienne helped Osha and Lyanna cater the rest of the food. Gilead encouraged food not to go to waste. Brienne continued cleaning up when she heard Commander Lannister’s voice and a flirtatious feminine laugh. She hadn't seen Elia or the commander flirt once, and the temptation to see their awkward display was too overpowering. Brienne entered the room, discovering another woman with the commander entirely. She stood taller, and looked thin with blonde hair. The woman placed a hand on her commander’s upper arm, laughing while he gleamed into her eyes. They look so… happy. His smile pulled widely, revealing dimples. His teeth appeared perfect and even his eyes seemed to grin with him. He looked like a different man.

Brienne retreated to the hallway and asked Lyanna, “Who—”

“Oh, with the commander? That’s Mrs. Tyrell, his sister.”

Wow. “Well, I am glad they get along so well,” Brienne answered, not sure how else to respond.

Lyanna quieted down and added, “There was another. A brother. No one mentions him. He—” she looked around, getting closer to Brienne, “he was a dwarf.”

Brienne stood still, astonished she revealed the secret to her. “Where is he now?”

“Ofjaime,” Lyanna burned her with a single a whisper. Lyanna shook her head and frowned. ”They executed him with all of the other invalids. When Gilead started. Not even the Lannisters could protect themselves. Under his eye.”

Brienne's lungs wavered as Lyanna drifted away. Her shoulders slouched, and she needed to lean against textured, wallpapered walls for support. She inhaled a deep breath, air full of ghosts and tragedy.

Chapter Text

Without new projects from Commander Lannister, Brienne occupied her mind by disassembling the generator and putting it back together again, again, and again. The two of them evaded each other since the commander meeting. Brienne tried her best to avoid the thought of the upcoming ceremony. To think there was a world where ceremonies didn't happen. It pained her to remind herself of the world before. The taste of freedom was harder to remember, like reminiscing how cake tasted on her last birthday before Gilead. She preferred chocolate frosting, and sprinkles were always a bonus. It only barely comforted her, if at all, that the commander appeared to give her an option to fake ceremonies. Did I choose the wrong option?

After her bath, she waited in her room for chimes. Soon, they rang throughout the home and she descended. Taking her place, kneeling on the floor, Brienne heard someone enter behind her. She smelled grotesque body odor as a male cleared his throat.

“You know,” Ramsay said, “someday I will be a commander.” His voice sounded like a teenager’s.

Brienne kept her chin down and winced. “Praise be. You’ll make a fine commander.” Not.

“We could help each other out,” Ramsay said. He lowered himself, putting his face right behind her ear. “I can double your chances,” he whispered. He lifted himself back to standing, behind her, and said, “Think about it. I’ll be nice about it.”

Brienne's breathing smoldered in anger as the marthas and Elia entered. This man had no fear. I don't need to think about it when you stink so much.

Once Elia allowed the commander to come in after knocking, Brienne stared at the burning fireplace in front of her. Her eyes followed small fingers of gray smoke rising from the flames.

“Ofjaime, are you not feeling well this blessed evening?” her commander asked. Brienne snapped her eyes to him, ignoring rules. He studied her—lines between his eyebrows analyzing her. After a few seconds, his concerned face washed away and he relaxed. Brienne continued to stare, forgetting other people shared the room with them. “I am fine,” she said, dry and plain.

He breathed out through his nose and looked away. “Praise be,” he said, sounding mildly disappointed. “Let us begin.”

After scripture, Brienne walked into the bedroom to find Elia on her bed—annoyed eyes and all. Stepping towards the bed, Brienne started her routine. She repeated this dozens of times before: undergarments to the floor, turn away from the wife, lean back with legs closed and wait. You can do this again. It's nothing different.

Using gentle hands, Elia grabbed her wrists and held them down as she heard the commander come in and approach them. Brienne closed her eyes as her toes clenched and curled in her boots. This is different. Heat radiated by her bare knees. The commander stepped closer. Brienne tried her best to ignore her red zoning heart. She waited for his hands. Seconds passed. He didn't move. Brienne opened her eyes and looked down the length of her body to see Commander Lannister—staring at her. Brienne blinked. He dropped his chin closer to his chest and raised an eyebrow, as if he questioned her. He squinted his eyes once, only for a moment.

Brienne swallowed. He's asking me again? She would have nodded, but Elia would have felt it. Instead, Brienne spread her knees apart and closed her eyes. The commander's buckle clanked, followed by the zipper. He stepped closer, nestling between her thighs, and his heat simmered onto her bare skin. Her heart threatened to stall— and he did nothing. He hesitated. Anticipation gnawed at her. Her eyes fluttered open and back to him, finding him with eyes closed. He won't look at me. They never do.

He opened his eyes and looked at her—straight in her eyes. His nostrils flared, his eyebrows reached lower than before, and his lips tensed. He nodded once, and he waited. Brienne's breath quivered over her lips, and she nodded once—closing her eyes. His tension amplified hers. She forced herself to take a deep breath, and finally, she felt him. He pushed himself inside her, slowly, filling her. Brienne didn't breathe. Her chest—no—entire body ruptured into a burning flush. A storm closed in as he entered, and the hard feeling of him thundered against her. He met enough resistance, stopped, withdrew and thrust again, reaching deeper. Her walls and lips tugged around the length of him, a stretching welcome. Brienne manually told herself to relax, calculating why he didn't rush through it. Because it would hurt. At the thought of him caring, however self-serving, Brienne winced. His thrust stopped the moment she frowned, still partially inside her. He's watching me.

Brienne opened her eyes, searching for him. He appeared concerned for a moment, followed by a labored breath through his nose as he relaxed. Brienne nodded once more. He closed his eyes and resumed thrusting, refusing to bury his entire length into her. He settled into a rhythm as his eyes clenched. Brienne gazed over him. He showed a mixture of strain and stress on his face, somehow still handsome. His hands remained on his hips, as every awkward commander was instructed to do. He breathed through his nose and the apple in his throat bobbed when he swallowed. Her mouth watered. Brienne stared too long. I'm not allowed to enjoy this.

She looked up, remembering Elia waited there the entire time. Quiet. Dutiful. She stared at her usual spot, swaying along with Brienne as if it were the same as last month. Brienne held back a yelp when the commander pressed himself deeper, and the warmth of his bare groin brushed against her thighs. Brienne tried to surround her mind with calming thoughts, but she could only focus on him. His slow and steady start soon transitioned into a smooth movement. Brienne tilted her pelvis up, and the commander grunted—a shiver rolled down Brienne's back. Not even a thrust later, she felt herself grow wetter. Brienne blushed, again, at the realization. She enjoyed this. Aunts told them that it might be possible to enjoy ceremonies, but that it was simply the body’s way of saying it prepared for a child. Bullshit. Brienne felt aroused and climaxed before, but never during a ceremony.

Stress stole her mind long enough to distract her from his increasing pace. He breathed through his parted lips—she heard it. He took a breath every few thrusts, washing over her. She couldn't escape it, and with each inhale, she found it more enticing. Inside her, he changed position, giving her a fleeting jolt of pleasure. She bit her lower lip to hold back any moans and looked down at him. Their eyes met. He placed both of his hands on the bed, over her legs and on her dress fabric, without touching her body. He leaned over her while he pushed himself into her. While he never touched her, his hands and arms entrapped her—Brienne melted into the mattress. This can't be allowed.

In an attempt to limit her arousal, and a refusal to fall under his spell, Brienne widened her thighs. She cursed herself when he thrust deeper, and he lost his breath, lowering his head for a moment. His hands gripped red fabric and relaxed again. Brienne made the mistake of looking at his face, which was a few feet away from hers. Close enough to study, or admire. His eyes flashed up to meet hers, filled with determination and lust. It wasn't something she prepared to see. At the same time, she couldn’t break her eyes away. This is why they say not to look. Lust was a dangerous and misleading emotion. Commander Lannister closed his eyes, tension escalating through his face before he clasped the fabric of her dress and came apart, finishing inside of her. He groaned, unable to hold it back or fake it, and his stress dissolved away.

His warm wetness remained inside of her as he pulled out. She lay there, stunned with a swaying ache. Reality flooded in when she closed her legs, feeling her pulse throb as her thighs met together. She flattened out of her dress over her thighs as the wife exited the room. As if it was possible, her cheeks, neck and chest festered into more rashes of embarrassment. She remained still, only peeking to the left of her when she saw the commander walk towards the door. He had already cleaned himself, zipped and buckled his pants. He stopped at the door and his head turned to his shoulder, as if he might say something. Brienne waited for a snide remark, or a mocking statement. None came. Whatever he wanted to say went out the door with him.

Chapter Text

Brienne avoided everyone in the house, when she could. The ceremony became a distant memory the moment Commander Lannister opened his spoiled mouth at her. Almost every word from that cocky asshole provoked her. Based on his family and high position in society, his hubris did not surprise her. Brienne despised it all the same. His only positive words (neutral, at best) involved him smuggling a small engine home from one of his factories. Brienne thought about ruining the small engine, but her honor talked herself out of it. She couldn’t do bad work, even for an evil commander. He kept bringing more and more advanced pieces home. A small parallel-twin engine intrigued and excited her. When she told him it would take her a week or so longer, due to his family visiting, he replied, “I do love how you state the obvious with such a sense of discovery.”

Bastard.

His father, Tywin Lannister, planned to visit for three days. The Tyrells, the commander's in-laws, would be visiting throughout the day as well. Everyone’s uptight, snappy moods alerted her. The commander clenched his hands into fists over and over again while he briefed the home about visiting rules. Brienne found Elia drinking wine in the kitchen the evening before the district leader's arrival. Brienne asked how the grape juice tasted and Elia gave a small smile.

When Tywin Lannister arrived, the entire household waited at the entryway. Brienne stood with them, in the back, still taller than everyone. She kept her back straight, accenting her height further, despite her head bowing.

The door opened, and a balding, serious man stepped in. Pins of all colors and symbols littered his chest, emphasizing his importance. He barely made eye contact with anyone, as if he immediately sought out the nearest desk to start working.

“Father,” Commander Lannister said. Tywin Lannister said in a low, stern voice, “Jaime. Where is your sister? I want to see her before the grandchild arrives.”

“They are on their way,” her commander said, following Tywin as he brushed past everyone who stood to greet him. He never acknowledged them. All of the women looked at each other for a moment before splitting off into their disciplines. Elia greeted Commander Lannister’s sister when they arrived. Mrs. Cersei Tyrell, Commander Tyrell and Sansa stepped through the door and wiggled out of their cloaks. Sansa appeared close to bursting. Brienne helped her walk in with extended hands as her guardian took post by the door.

“Cersei,” Brienne heard a booming voice call out. “You are absolutely glowing.” It sounded like an emotionless father’s attempt at a compliment.

“Thank you,” Cersei's velvety voice said.

Brienne winced and glanced to Sansa, who offered a weak smile. Brienne helped Sansa sit in the nook area, near the kitchen. Both of them heard pots and pans banging as the marthas struggled to prepare food. Sansa leaned back into a cushioned couch and gazed across the room. It was a beautiful room, with large windows and spilling curtains. There was a grandfather clock, but the numbers had been removed. Beside it, were shelves and shelves—once claimed by books, but no longer. Brienne rested a hand on Sansa's shoulder and excused herself to help the marthas. Once the marthas saw her, they asked for help reaching dishes hidden high away in the hallway hutch. Brienne complied, and as she walked over, she heard the Lannister family.

“Nonsense," Tywin said, "You will impregnate her and have a child. This family line will not die with you.”

Commander Lannister’s voice spoke quiet enough for Brienne not to hear, so she stepped closer to the doorway.

“I pulled teeth for you to accept another handmaid," Tywin said, "and then you pick that poor, pathetic excuse for a woman. Tell me why my obedient child is a woman and my sensitive child is a man.”

“Forget Tyrion? He represented a good mix of both,” Commander Lannister said, voice more timid than Brienne expected.

“I don’t forget him. May he rest in peace, now that he is no longer suffering.”

“You made sure of that, watched him hang there for days. No suffering,” Commander Lannister said. He sounded agreeable, yet snide. She tried to analyze his intentions, but the objective eluded her.

“Father, can we talk about something else while you’re here, for once?” Cersei’s voice sang through the room, with a hint of annoyance.

“Instead of worrying about my children, I have to worry about my children’s children, or lack there of. Why don’t you explain to me why your baby isn’t here yet?”

“Soon. I will go see how your grandchild is right now,” Cersei said and a chair dragged against a wailing, wooden floor.

Cersei, dressed in blue, exited the room before Brienne could pull back. The woman glared at Brienne as she walked by. She stopped, turned towards Brienne and asked with a frown, “Where is Ofloras?”

“In the nook, I believe, Mrs. Tyrell.” Brienne said.

Cersei smirked and tilted her head to the side. “And how are you liking it here?”

“I am blessed to be here, serving the commander—”

“My brother," Cersei said, possessing the space between them as she stepped closer to Brienne. "You look large enough to crush him, what a thing you are.” Cersei paused. “Jaime!” Cersei walked back to the doorway. “There isn’t much you can do to make this one look better, but can you at least pay attention enough to keep her clean? Covered in filth. She looks like a stray cat.” Cersei looked back at Brienne with scratching hate. “Or a muddy cow, more like it.”

Brienne's eyes fell down as they blinked, unable to comprehend the viscous venom spewing out from this woman. Her hands, clasped and entangled in front of her, were dirty from working with grime and auto supplies. I don't have a mirror to check my face, either.

“Here, I’ll take a look,” a new voice said. Brienne looked as Commander Tyrell stepped closer. He reached forward without hesitation and rubbed a mark off of her forehead while Cersei walked away. “I wonder where you got that from,” he said. Brienne refused to reply, still shell shocked from her interaction with Cersei.

“You know Commander Renly, correct?” he asked.

The mere mention of the man's name made Brienne smile. She nodded and said, “He was my first commander.” She continued to follow customs to not look at commanders in the eye. Her own commander may not report her for the glancing indiscretion but any other commander was likely fair game.

“He told me that you are his favorite handmaid. He wishes he could have you back,” Commander Tyrell said.

Brienne’s breathing stopped. He does? “Praise be, Commander Tyrell,” Brienne said, She glanced at him and he returned her smile with sincerity, similar sweetness to Renly. What if I can go back to him? It was all she could hope for. A new dream.

That night, after the Tyrells left for the night and everyone settled down, Brienne's stomach lurched and twisted. Her mind raced while she lay in bed. She wanted to go back to Renly. She'd have to get rid of his current handmaid. She could ask Aunt Ellaria, or even, as much as it disgusted her, Commander Lannister. Bile crept up her throat. She stumbled downstairs, heading towards the kitchen for some milk, bread or anything to help calm her stomach. Sickness overtook her for a moment, making her dizzy. She held onto the sink, unaware of the time at night and unaware she forgot to slip her dress on. She wore an ivory dress, thin as cheese cloth, over her undergarments. With her hair down, blonde waves reached above her shoulders. She never felt the winter chill in evening air. Instead, she was heated, even slightly sweaty, while the nausea overtook her in waves. She couldn’t focus while she nibbled on crackers over the sink.

Moments later, pulses of nausea subsided. It would be presumptuous to believe she was pregnant. The idea still floated in her head. If she conceived and delivered a healthy baby, she could likely ask for anything she wanted—within Gilead reason. All she wanted was Renly. A kind, just commander. She tried not to overthink it and instead stared outside the window. The moon glittered gentle freckles of light across the yard. She admired the breathtaking winter wonderland outside.

Running sounds echoed upstairs—followed by a crash of glass. Brienne froze, wondering if she imagined it. She swore the house harbored ghosts.

“Shit! Help!” someone said upstairs. Why is Commander Lannister up this late? It wasn't uncommon for him to yell at night, but he never asked for help. Something flew down the stairwell, crashing and shattering on the ground beneath her. Brienne turned to stone while her skin sprouted goosebumps.

“Sir!” she said, looking over in the direction of the stairs. No response came. “Sir!” she asked louder, gaining the courage to walk forward.

She remained focused, walking through the broken mess. A jagged glass shard pierced through her foot, and her nerves throbbed with pain. Despite the discomfort, commotion continued upstairs. Her honor compelled her to help. Brienne pushed through the pain, walking up the stairs. The commander's door was ajar, and she flung the door open. Flames engulfing and crawled curtains around one of the windows. Her commander tried to yank them down. Without thinking, she rushed over and stood beside him. Tongues of flame danced upwards, towards the ceiling. Dangerous heat surrounded them both while the flames climbed and climbed.

Her commander glanced for a second, and they both worked together in unison to pull curtains down. Fabric fell after a few rough wrenches, and he stomped on them with heavy shoes until he suffocated the fire. Brienne stepped back, watching as he forced his right foot down on the floor. Only smoldering remained, and snaking coils of smoke floated.

Both of them breathed heavily, and the commander coughed. Brienne managed to avoid most of the smoke in her lungs. “What happened?” she asked, not holding back her anger.

He rolled his eyes and looked away, avoiding her. “Sleep walking," he said, "I must have tipped the candle over and—”

“You leave a candle on at night and you’re a sleepwalker?” She hoped her judging tone reached his ears.

“And what are you doing up at this hour? Plotting against me? We have guests in this house!” He whispered in angered bursts.

“Plotting?” She raised her voice and said, “I just helped you!”

“Shh!” Manic and impassioned, he stepped forward and grabbed her by her shoulders. Her bare shoulders. “Do not wake anyone up!” he whispered, heated and furious.

She yanked her shoulders away from him, stepping backwards while she stumbled.

He stared at her, eyes wide and eager. He pursed his lips together and brought his hands to his eyebrows, rubbing them while he closed his eyes. When his hand lowered, he calmed his voice and said, “Thank you, Ofjaime. For helping me.”

“I will get the marthas to help clean up,” Brienne said, turning away. He said should have said "praise be" not "thank you".

“No, no, you will not,” he said, reaching out and grabbing her wrist. Brienne whirled back to him, pulling her wrist away but he wouldn’t let her go. He struggled to pull her wrist towards him, and they grappled together until they hit a stand off and held still, a foot away from each other. His hand clasped on her wrist.

Her muscles tensed, ready to fight him. “Someone needs to clean this up.”

“I will,” he said.

Brienne scoffed. “You will? Why? What are you trying to hide?”

His face tensed into a powerful glare and his eyebrows lowered. “Listen to me,” he said, letting go of her wrist and placing both of his hands on her cheeks. Brienne froze—her cheeks burning under his hands. The rest of her body chilled in comparison. She turned her face away and he forced her to look at him. It felt intensely intimate. He had secrets, and he wanted to hide them. He said, “If you tell them, anyone, that this happened, I will be sent away. My house will go with me, except you. You will be sent straight to the Colonies.”

Brienne frowned, not believing him. “But I haven’t even finished my two years here,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve seen it done before. Three failed postings and...”

His words cut her. Brienne crumbled, shaking her head in his hands. “It isn’t fair,” she pleaded, closing her eyes. Tears welled in her eyes. She leaned back, but he refused to allow her. “It isn’t fair,” she repeated, letting her own anguish bleed through her walls until it became visible to him.

“Hey, hey,” he said, “Always remember. Don’t… don’t say anything you might regret.”

She opened her eyes as she sobbed, letting all of her emotions flood out of her in this moment. She didn't care if he saw. He needed to see the horrors of what he created. He breathed in deeply in front of her and continued to hold her face, occasionally reaching out to wipe away the tears falling down her cheek. Her eyelids shut but tears kept forming. His close proximity continued to invade her space, although he managed to console her briefly in that moment.

“Look at me,” he said, gazing at her. After reluctance, she complied when he secured his grip against her cheek. She relinquished herself to him. His green eyes bore into hers. “You are meant for this," he said, "You are meant for your role.” She shook her head, stubborn—but he was more stubborn and said, “You’re my gift, remember?”

Brienne yanked her head back in protest, ripping her face from his grasp. She sniffled, reaching up to wipe her own face of the filth he left there. “I am no one’s gift. I am not an object for your entertainment or work. You’ll receive no gifts from me.” Brienne glared at him, staring the world's evil directly in his eyes.

The commander softened his expression. “If only you knew the gifts you could bring,” he said.

No. I don't do this for you. I do this to survive. “Blessed evening, sir,” she said, wanting to be alone.

She turned to walk out and limped a few times. The commander said, “B—”

She stopped and seconds passed. What?

“Bleeding. You’re bleeding,” he said. His voice changed, giving concern.

“Of course, I am. I had to walk through the vase you smashed on the floor in the kitchen.”

He sighed and rolled his head back as she glanced back at him.

“You expect me to not tell anyone about the vase either?” she asked with vengeance.

“No,” he said, annoyed by her statement. “I will tell the marthas in the morning. Let’s get you to your room. Are you cold?”

Brienne glared at him. “No,” she said, lying.

“You look,” he said, blinking once, almost dumbfounded that she said no, “you have goosebumps and you’re... not dressed.” She watched as his eyes looked over her, full of confoundment. It hurt more than if he looked at her with pity or disgust. She showed more flesh than Gilead allowed but it was too late.

“No. I’m not cold.” She was. Brienne shivered and averted her eyes away from him.

“At least let me help you to your room, you shouldn’t be walking on that foot.”

“No, I can manage.”

“Show me you can walk through the house quietly, right now.” He crossed his arms and looked at her as if he cornered her into defeat.

Brienne squinted at him as she rolled her foot along the floor, gritting through the pain as she stepped on the foot with glass embedded in it. Her commander's lips parted and smirked. She managed to make it to the door of the room without making a sound.

“I guess this is goodnight, Ofjaime,” he said, standing across his room. She looked back, considered saying goodnight, but she remembered when he left her without a proper goodbye. It was about time she paid that debt.

Chapter Text

She tallied them all up. She counted three secrets with the commander: the first ceremony, the repairs, and the fire. Brienne debated adding in the rest of his reckless behavior, but as time went on, she recognized he misbehaved with just about everyone, and he got away with it. Privilege at its finest. He belittled anyone and everyone he wanted to. No one resisted or fought back, even with words. Brienne immunized herself to his pestering, which seemed to annoy him more.

Brienne had found tweezers in the basement and pulled out the glass herself. She told Lyanna the soot marks on her undergarments came from cleaning the basement. No one, even the commander, ever mentioned the fire. Regardless of the nausea on the night of the fire, her period came that month, albeit a few days late. That never happened. Stress? Miscarriage? Before her period, the marthas whistled and smiled for a couple of days, and so did Elia. On the other hand, Commander Lannister glowered when Elia told him that “Ofjaime’s period hasn't come yet.” Brienne had hoped she was pregnant—mostly. Gilead banned pregnancy tests, so they had to wait. When her period finally came, Brienne couldn't help but bite her lip. She wanted to create life, and it was refused.

Her third ceremony arrived (but the first one never counted in her mind). The days grew longer with the changing season, but each day felt shorter and shorter to her. She had loads of work, including small motorcycle engines, transmission parts, or anything the commander could smuggle down to the basement. They shared a semi professional routine, where she diagnosed the issues, if any, and let him know what replacements she needed. In return, he’d leave her alone. He also supplied the basement bathroom with soap and washcloths. Cersei had been right. Brienne was covered in filth, but it bothered everyone except Brienne.

After the bath and scripture, Brienne walked into Elia's bedroom for the ceremony. Ramsay stayed quiet that evening, thankfully. She felt tense regardless, knowing what would happen soon. Pushing it out of her mind, she set her undergarments under the bed and leaned back, putting her hands on the wife’s lap. Elia snapped from a daydream and touched her wrists. Brienne closed her eyes and waited for the commander to approach.

Just as before, he waited for her to spread her thighs apart. Seconds passed and Brienne breathed through another wave of anticipation. He lost his effect on her, she realized, as he started. Each ceremony put her closer to conceiving and reaching the idea of safety. She let out a deep sigh through her nose, trying to remain as quiet as possible. Her eyes remained closed.

He thrust faster, arching himself upwards and grinding against her. He grabbed her attention, and she opened her eyes to look down. Fierce eyes latched onto hers, causing her to tense. She closed her hands into fists, soon feeling Elia’s hands clasp a little stronger around her wrists. Brienne tried moving her body, but as she flexed her abs to move, the commander leaned forward and over her, like the previous time. She watched, witnessing him stiffen and melt between muffled grunts and parted lips. He enjoyed this. He enjoyed her.

He looked between their joined bodies, and Brienne flushed in an instant. As he looked, he arched upwards again, almost lifting himself up against her. His groin ground against her and she felt herself quiver against him in pleasure. He did it again. And again. It took many times for Brienne to finally realize, he wanted her to orgasm. Brienne chewed the inside of her cheek as her skin stained red. As he glanced at her, his lips tugged into a breathless, faint smirk.

Brienne closed her eyes, wanting to shaking her head. Brienne wanted to refuse it, just to spite him. Thankfully, he finished shortly after, unraveling inside of her while he gripped and tugged on her dress skirts. His cock throbbed inside of her, long after he finished, and his fingers released their grip on her dress one by one. His face flushed as breathed. She did this. She felt... womanly. Brienne clenched herself around him as he lingered inside her. He growled and opened his eyes at her. He stared with lust, passion or temper, she couldn’t tell. The commander pulled out, glaring at her as he left. Movement broke her out of her daydream when Elia retreated, not saying a word. Brienne pondered if she felt relieved or worried that Elia didn’t seem to notice the differences in the ceremonies. Chemistry between the couple remained nonexistent.

Later that night, Brienne lay awake in soaked undergarments—mixed with the hope of life. Unable to sleep, she slipped on her handmaid's dress and disembarked to the basement. Much displeasure to her, Commander Lannister fumbled with one of her tiny project engines. He heard her step down the stairs and looked over at her. He looked odd, tinkering around with mechanics in a white dress shirt and slacks.

“I thought you’d be fast asleep,” he said, straightening his back and wiping his hands with a clean, wet cloth. “Especially after earlier.”

Brienne stepped closer, tempted to roll her eyes. “I thought sleeping was the man’s job after,” she said. Their interaction reminded her of the endless troubles other men would give her in every auto shop. She could handle her own.

He gave a quick smile and glanced back to his project. His actions spoke louder than his words, but she wondered if he felt challenged or invigorated by her quips. He continued to mystify her.

“Maybe, if we both do it right,” he said, crossing his arms. “You should let yourself go sometime, it’ll help your chances,” he said, sounding as if he flirted with her.

He's mocking me. Clenching her jaw, she fixed her eyes on the engine and said, “That is none of your concern.” She couldn’t believe he confronted her about her own orgasms. A new low for him. He thinks he can get away with anything.

“Why not make it fun? Everyone could use some fun these days,” he said, leaning on his resting hands on the table—the same way he leaned over her during the ceremonies. The image bothered Brienne and she looked away. For her own sanity, she tried forgetting those moments. She refused to answer him. Residual sexual tension from the ceremony still lingered inside of her—aching. But she refused to give him the pleasure of satisfying her.

“I’m not the one who came up with the ceremonies. Wouldn’t you enjoy it if you were on top? I would have significantly less work," he said.

He's trying to piss me off. “In Gilead, a woman’s place is not on top,” she said. She hoped he would drop the subject if she stuck to Gilead’s rules. If anything, it might remind him of his wildly inappropriate topic.

“Not your style, then?” he started, licking his lips—mocking her again. She held back a wince before he added, “Perhaps you’d like a man to ravage you and pin you down?”

Brienne blushed. Wide eyed and stunned, she remained speechless.

He picked up on her reaction, pouncing on the opportunity. “You do!” he said, smile growing. “You don’t deny it,” he said. If it weren't for his stubble, he'd appear like an annoying teenage boy. It reminded her of the countless teasing she encountered in school. “Who was your first, tell me,” he said, amusement laced in his tone.

Brienne clenched her jaw and said, “Commander Baratheon.”

“No, woman, the first man you slept with,” he asked, more harshly.

He called me a woman. She didn’t answer and stared at the table, growing more red by the second. Her face must have matched her crimson dress.

“Renly?!” he asked, even more shocked than the revelation from before. “I’m sorry to say that it didn’t work out with you two, but I’m afraid it never would!”

Brienne scowled and said, “If you’re finished, I have work to do.”

He chuckled and uncrossed his arms, nodding—but it didn’t feel like an agreement. “You do and you don’t. I thought about telling you later, but now will work as well. I really need your help for bigger projects at one of my factories now. I thought I had it—” he stopped. He couldn’t stand admitting defeat. “They’re requiring numbers I can’t produce fast enough, and I need all the help I can get.”

“You’re joking,” she said, frowning down at him.

“I’m afraid I’m not,” he said, turning serious. “This,” he gestured to the tools and supplies around them, “was a trial run. You're as stable as stone and Gilead could use your help.”

“Why would I help Gilead?” she asked. She wasn't in the mood for pretending, and he asked for something highly illegal.

He frowned at her, lowering his eyes. “I'll pretend I didn't hear that. And if it makes you feel any better, you’ll be working on older piston based engines that probably won’t see the light of day. I can’t have you reading and learning jet or turbine engines, but any piston is fair game for you, correct?”

Brienne eyed him with suspicious eyes. She nodded.

“Great. I make the rules, you shouldn’t have to worry about anything. To avoid anyone talking, I’ve gotten you martha clothing. And this pocket mirror, to help you clean yourself up. Can't have a repeat of someone noticing anything.”

Gilead forbid mirrors for handmaids. Dressing as a different class... even more forbidden. He held it out for a moment and realized she had no intentions of taking it from his hand. Instead, he placed the small mirror on the table.

“Why are you risking all of this by having me involved?” she asked.

“I’ve already told you, they’ve pushed me into a corner. And half the men they have working for me know about as much mechanics as I do. I need my good men working on more important projects and that leaves the rest for you. I couldn’t trust you with the important projects, anyway.”

She scoffed. “If you will have me working on insignificant pieces then why don’t you tell your boss it isn’t necessary?” she asked, wondering why he didn’t use his power to his advantage.

“I am the boss,” he said. By "they", she assumed he meant Gilead’s armies. He worked for the entire country of Gilead. Brienne didn't want to support them. “You don’t know how Gilead works, do you?” he asked, as if he spoke to a child.

Brienne straightened her back and tensed her eyebrows into a stern, immovable glare. "Yes,” she said, “yes, I do.”

Chapter Text

She started her "job", sneaking into the factory almost daily with Ramsay and the commander's help. Days felt fuller, and she enjoyed tinkering with large machines. Her heart nearly suffocated when her period arrived—though no one mentioned their disappointment. Elia stared at her sometimes. The commander only liked to discuss work, which gave Brienne a sigh of reprieve. With no other way to conceive a child but wait, Brienne kept busy as a fully fledged mechanic. If only I could get paid. Gilead considered manual labor women as a handicap, but she refused to let it beat her down. She could do anything men could do, and more.

Every time she smuggled herself in and out of the factory, her fingers refused to stop fidgeting. Ramsay ignored her, except for occasional glances. He didn't even bat an eye at my martha clothing. The commander always let her in the factory through the back while everyone else went to lunch. No one else saw her—so far.

She worked alone in a spacious room, only a few days a week. The doors remained locked and closed around her with an attached restroom. The commander’s office resided just outside and to the left, he said, but she would never be allowed in there. Too many papers and text I'm not allowed to read.

Brienne thought to herself as she touched the large wasp airplane engine in front of her. Her fingers dragged over every bolt and smooth landscape of metal. It fascinated her. As massive as she appeared, this machine surmounted her. It was far older and far out of shape than she could have imagined—and outdated, but the learning curve turned out sharp and steady. Each day, she tinkered with it, rubbing her arm across her brow whenever sweat beaded below her hairline. Its piston compression needed work. The extensive wiring was overwhelming. The distributor needed sweat, tears and luck to come back to life. She went back to the mental drawing board again and again. After fixing this first wasp engine, she had three more to fix. It didn’t frustrate her at all. She had more than enough time, assuming Gilead wouldn't kill her.

The commander walked in once and caught her staring at the large engine in front of her.

“I never thought I’d say this to you, but is it too large for you to handle?” he asked, smugness tugging at his lips.

Brienne turned her head to face him and said, “I got it.”

The corner of his mouth barely lifted into a subtle, noticeable smile. Every grin from him, no matter the size, tormented her—he only smiled to annoy her. This engine is half the size of your ego. He knew the power of his attractiveness and used it to mock her.

Brienne faced the engine, doing her best to ignore him. She found herself thinking about him more often, even when he wasn't around her. Fleeting thoughts flowed through her mind. She dreamed about him, once. They cooked a meal together, of all things. In the dream, they both argued while trying to fry fish, until the spattering, hot oil burned them both. A normal dream. Of the past. Of freedom.

After the dream, her thoughts spiraled downhill, because her subconscious continued to play tricks on her. While touching herself, Brienne found herself replacing her commander for Renly in her fantasies. It's only because he's attractive. That's it. She absolutely mortified herself due to how she lustful she felt in those moments. Thankfully, desire felt temporary and rare enough to not truly plague her.

And in the kitchen, Brienne usually ate her breakfast in silence. It was her favorite time of the day, next to working on engines. It was quiet, peaceful and welcome alone time. One morning, Ramsay entered with a wide smile. Brienne avoided staring, although she could feel his eyes.

“What exactly do you do for Commander Lannister, in his factory?” he asked, peering at her with curious eyes.

“I listen for him...for whispers,” she lied, avoiding eye contact.

“Ahh,” he said, stepping towards her. “So it’s a secret. You’re very bad at lying, you know.”

Brienne ignored Gilead's rules and looked at him. After a firm glare, Brienne said, “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“Because I have secrets, too,” he said, smiling widely.

“I’m sure you do." Brienne scooped more cereal onto her spoon and leaned over the bowl while she took a bite. As she crunched through half-soaked clusters of granola, Ramsay continued to stare at her. These men are pathetic.

“Ofjaime!” Osha called out.

Brienne turned her as Osha rushed into the kitchen, stopping at the sudden sight of Ramsay. The driver pressed his lips into a tight line and stepped back from Brienne. He retreated from the kitchen and said, “Blessed day.”

“Blessed day,” Osha said, her eyes following him.

“Yes?” Brienne asked, ignoring customs.

“The van is here to take you to Ofloras’ birth. You need to go now. Shall I pack you some food?” Osha sounded sweet for once.

Brienne's breath caught in her throat. Sansa. Brienne gave a timid smile and shook her head. She needed to support her friend.

When Brienne arrived to the Tyrell home, many other handmaids shuffled in at the same time. Births were magnificently important, due to the rarity of healthy babies. Whispered prayers and breathing rituals floated through the living room. The wives chanted slowly, "Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Exhale. Exhale. Exhale."

In front of Brienne, every wife from the neighborhood surrounded Cersei. They showered her with breathing cues, water, wet rags, massages. Between wafting orange scents, pitchers of purple grape juice and towers of macaroons, this was the fanciest birth Brienne ever attended. Cersei paused and reached over to sneak a graceful drink from her stemmed glass. It's probably wine, who am I kidding? Everyone pretended Cersei was the woman pregnant and in labor. Cersei closed her eyes and lay in a pleasant pile of pillows. Elia knelt closest to Cersei, massaging her shoulders. More affection to her than her husband.

“Come on,” Oftormund said, pulling Brienne away from the scene. Wives noticed them.

Handmaids always labored in a much more stuffy, smaller room across the house. Wives didn't want to hear screams. Brienne walked up the stairs and stepped into a dimmed room. Sansa winced in pain, suffering through a contraction when Brienne entered.

Sansa's tension continued until her face matched her red hair. When she breathed again, gasping for air, several handmaids and Aunt Ellaria coached her through it. Sansa’s hair stuck to her face and forehead. Brienne stepped forward and helped Sansa throughout the process, providing her comfort and support. Gilead never allowed medication during birth. Sansa's growls and impatience continued throughout lunch, until it was time to push.

They helped move Sansa to the birthing chair while someone rushed to get the wives. Brienne stood by Sansa's side, holding her hand. It was one of the only times she could openly show affection without having to worry about being shot. Marthas changed Sansa’s dirty bed sheets as Cersei settled in, sitting directly behind Sansa, spreading her legs around her as if she was about to give birth to the same baby.

Sansa pushed and the baby crowned. After the head came out, Sansa only needed to complete one more final push: the shoulders. A primal growl came from Sansa as she pushed out the baby, with Aunt Ellaria accepting it in a blanket. It was a boy.

He cried for air, and gasps of delight filled the room. Healthy babies were rare. Aunt Ellaria cut the cord while Cersei pulled herself away from her position. Cersei reached out with a wide smile and Ellaria complied. Aunt Ellaria handed over the baby to Cersei while Sansa leaned back in exhaustion. Cersei and the wives made it over to the bed where Sansa labored. Cersei cradled the baby in a blanket and sat down at the center of the bed, awing at her new baby. Brienne's stomach inverted, drowning in it's own sickening grief. I want this? How can I want this? The baby continued to cry, and Sansa trembled. At least the baby survived. Brienne couldn't imagine having a stillborn. Gilead called them shredders.

Cersei announced the name, “Mace,” after Commander Loras’ father. Brienne could tell from Sansa’s reaction that it wasn’t her favorite.

Instead of heading home, Brienne asked Aunt Ellaria if she could stay and help Sansa. Aunt Ellaria appreciated the offer and allowed it. Ramsay would likely drive her back anyway, because Commander Lannister planned to welcome his new family member. His nephew. Not by blood. Brienne stayed with Sansa and brushed her hair while the baby tried to nurse and napped on her chest. They remained alone for a moment, and Brienne whispered, “What’s his name?”

Sansa looked up and smiled. “Eddard. After my father,” she said.

The sun had already set when Commander Lannister arrived. Brienne hadn't eaten since breakfast, but the sights and smells of a newborn made her forget everything wrong in the world. Newborn mewling, grunts and chirping crickets filled the room. Commander Lannister entered their space with Cersei after knocking. Sansa covered herself up and weakly said, “Come in.”

Cersei marched through the door and Commander Lannister walked in slowly behind her. Without asking or being asked, Sansa offered the swaddled and sleeping baby to Cersei, who accepted him. Sansa’s scarred hand lingered on her baby.

“Isn’t he precious?” Cersei asked her brother, turning around to face him.

Brienne watched as her commander stared in amazement at the infant. He does want one. For a moment, she could have imagined him becoming a proud father. Only if I'm truly worthy, Gilead would say.

“Congratulations, sister, sincerely,” he said, pulling his sister into a hug, baby between them. He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

After blinking, Brienne turned to support Sansa. Still, she felt eyes on her. Brienne glanced over to the Lannister brother and sister, but they were not looking at her. And without another word, the siblings left the room with Sansa’s child.

Sansa clenched her hands into fists. “I hate her.”

“Sansa,” Brienne whispered to her, rubbing her hair again in an attempt to calm her down.

“No, I do. She treats me horribly.”

“Like father, like daughter. A Lannister trait, apparently,” Brienne said.

“They’re all evil. And hypocritical. She drinks, she smokes, she whores around.”

Brienne frowned. How do you know?

“And she’s in love with him. Can’t you tell? Incestuous perverts!” Sansa started to shout, giving Brienne a reason to lean in front of her, in case she’d run after them.

“Shh,” Brienne said, “don’t say that.” I sound like him. Brienne grimaced as Sansa broke into tears—trying her best to keep quiet while her heart wailed. Brienne continued, “If they truly are in the wrong, justice will come to them, too.”

Sansa glared at her, as if Brienne insulted her. I guess I did. Brienne looked down, defeated. She hated Gilead, yet followed their rules. And here she was, telling her only friend to keep quiet while someone stole away her baby. Brienne shook her head and leaned forward, pulling Sansa into an embrace.

Chapter Text

Brienne's ceremony and subsequent period came again and again, revealing as a large disappointment every four weeks. Little Eddard was born in the early spring, and now that early summer arrived, baby fever weighed on everyone's mind with immense pressure. Brienne wondered why her commander never mentioned her continued failures, as if he didn’t care if she didn’t conceive. Elia's eyes are pressuring me more than him.

Each ceremony for Brienne and her commander turned out the same. Without words, he tried and failed to get her climax every time. He amused her—somewhat. He succeeded in turning her on, but she hid it well...she hoped. She refused to fuel his ego. Why would I want to orgasm in front of Elia, anyway? Orgasms were his job. She relished watching him struggle with the constraints and rules during their ceremonies: no touching. By the sixth ceremony, Brienne started to wonder if he wanted to touch her, and where—if he had the freedom. She tried not to think about it for too long.

Brienne tinkered in the morning with a battery charger in the basement when she heard the door open. Bright summer sun illuminated the wide table as she worked with her hands. Beside her working hands, she waited for the soldering iron to cool down. It still smelled of melted, burning metal. Brienne loved that smell. If she was lucky, Commander Lannister would drop off tools and not say a word to her. He had learned to not annoy or bicker with her while she worked.

"Blessed day, Ofjaime,” Ramsay said.

Brienne's head snapped up. He wasn’t supposed to know she worked in the basement. He never came down into the basement. She straightened her back as he walked down the steps. I forgot to lock the door. Shit. Brienne's throat constricted. She said, "Blessed day." With her hands, she tucked the innocent charger under the table. Brienne wouldn't be able to lie well enough if he asked about what she was doing.

He approached her and the table, holding a brown paper bag. “I brought you some presents. Desserts, from down the street.” His eyes glared at the soldering iron.

“Praise be, Ramsay, you didn’t need to do that,” she said, forcing a small smile and ignoring the temptation to shoo him away. Brienne tried to appear casual and set the battery charger on the ground, still open and stuffed with wires. Brienne's eyes avoided Ramsay's subtle smirks. Something's off with him.

“Mind if we share them, together?” he asked, with a look that could only be described as hopeful.

Relieved he didn't bring up the soldering iron, or anything else for that matter, Brienne forced a smile and said, “Why not?”

Ramsay pulled back a chair from across the table, and sat as closely as he could without getting near the soldering iron. Brienne blinked and looked away—until he pulled out a thick slice of pie. Her eyes lit up with desire at the rarity. The crust was golden brown, and the jiggly filling was pale yellow. Whipped cream, almost melting, rested on top. Wow, I haven't seen a pie in... years. Brienne managed a weak smile while he set another pie slice and two forks. And when Ramsay reached forward to offer her a slice, Brienne's cautious, yet eager, hands stretched to accept the plate. Wow. Ramsay started small talk while she smiled down at the scarce dessert. Brienne ignored him and scooped her fork down into the filling—gooey globs of sugar and happiness waiting to hit the tip of her tongue. Brienne plopped it into her mouth, overwhelmed with the sweet, sour taste of limes. Key lime pie. One of my favorites...from before.

Once her tongue grew used to the assaulting tart and honeyed taste, Brienne joined Ramsay in light conversation. They discussed weather and talked about the marthas' cooking. Squash always ended up on their plates and neither Ramsay or Brienne approved of the mushy bits. They both chuckled, and Brienne realized it had been a very, very long time since she laughed. It was comforting to know Ramsay wasn't there to report her. Maybe my first impressions were wrong.

Except—Ramsay reached out and touched her hand.

Brienne snatched her hand back, looking at him with narrowed, squinting eyes.

“Sorry—I forgot,” he said, lifting his hand in surrender. He gave a timid smile.

Brienne almost felt... sorry for him. Gilead was the true enemy, and maybe he tried to offer a rare moment of compassion. “It’s okay,” she said, not knowing what else to say. If he wasn't going to report her for sneaking into the basement, she wouldn't report him for touching her. Gilead wants me to report people. Fuck Gilead.

“Praise be,” he said, leaning back in his chair. Brienne appreciated the newfound space between them, but his eyes continued to stare at her. Their plates had been long empty and it didn't make sense why he was still in front of her. Ramsay licked his lips and said, “I just feel… such a connection with you. And I hate seeing you so… lonely.”

“Lonely?” She asked, frowning and tilting her head. It hadn't been the first time someone bothered her for being a recluse. She behaved the same way before Gilead. In truth, she adored working by herself and avoiding the presence of others. She was anything but lonely.

“Yes, and I wanted to see if you have thought about my offer from a few months ago? It’s such a disappointment to see a ceremony scheduled every month.”

Oh. Brienne erupted into a blush as her heart lodged in her throat. “While that is a very kind offer,” she said—voice cracking, “I don’t want to go against my scripture. Or… the law.”

Ramsay’s smile turned plain. Shortly after, he frowned. “Of course it’s a kind offer," Ramsay said, leaning over the table. "I’m a nice person, asking nicely, getting you gifts,” his hand gestured to the empty plates, “keeping your secrets… It’s about time. You owe me.”

From deep within her, adrenaline surrounded cell in her body. He isn't asking. He's demanding it. Aunts prepared them for these sexual offers, and it was the main reason why handmaids were discouraged to be alone. They were encouraged to have partners at all times, whether it be marthas, handmaids or wives. If anyone did try to corner them, they were required to shout or reach for help. Brienne's lips quivered—hoping her body was overreacting. Maybe, just maybe, if she replied firmly enough, Ramsay would let it go. “No, Ramsay. I owe no one anything,” she said, sounding more calm than she felt.

His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. Brienne swallowed. Layer by layer, the peels of his outward character slithered away as Brienne saw the true predator beneath.

“You,” Ramsay said while standing, “are a handmaid." His voice became louder, "You became a handmaid because you are a slut. I’ve asked nicely, twice now. Your duty, as a handmaid or a slut, whatever you want to call yourself, is to serve.” He walked over, reaching his hand out and placed it on Brienne's covered collar bone. His hand was cold and clammy.

Still sitting, Brienne closed her eyes once before glaring at him. “Take your hands off of me.”

“Only when I’m done with you,” he said. “It’s a good thing it’s nice and quiet down here, and I locked the door…”

Brienne snapped—scooting her chair back and standing in one swift movement. He planned one step ahead of her, encasing his hand around her neck, gripping hard with all of his strength. While she gagged for air, reaching for his hand to yank it off, he grabbed a nearby oil filter and smashed it against the side of her head.

Inundated by pain, Brienne shouted out. No one would hear her. She let go of his hand and fell to her knees beside him. Taking advantage of this, Ramsay reached down and ripped her skirt open from the bottom. He had started wrenching at her undergarments, one of the last things to prevent him from taking her. Brienne pushed through the throbbing headache and rotated around, grabbing at him by the shoulders. They fought and tumbled, with Ramsay struggling to shrug off her grip and Brienne trying to pin him to the concrete floor. All gloves were off, and she wasn’t going to stop until she won this battle.

Ramsay's mouth dropped at her strength. Brienne mustered more power and leaned her body towards him, causing him to tip backwards. He fell, releasing his grip from her arms and tried to punch her face. He succeeded—hitting her cheek and nose. He broke her momentum. He lunged for her throat and tightened his grip over her neck.

Brienne couldn't breathe, and panic started to settle in. Adapting, she rammed her knee between his legs as hard as she could. He cried out and released her neck. With a new chance open, she towered over him and pinned him to the floor. She pulled back her arm and threw her first punch—hitting him in the face. She did it again. And again. The sensation of his skin and bones moving underneath her fingers oddly satisfied her. He was warm and delicate, with a firm boney depth underneath fragile flesh. After several punches, she stopped, glaring down with ragged breathing at his bloodied face.

He lifted both of his hands up in surrender, pleading with her. “Please. I’m sorry. Stop. Stop. Please,” he begged.

“No, I owe you, remember?” She said, bloodthirsty for more. Even while he tried blocking her punches, she continued—each strike easier than the last. He protested for mercy, but she gave him none. Gilead trained her for salvagings, but this felt personal.

He no longer begged and no longer moved, but she kept going, letting out every bit of anger she stored in her for over four years unleash itself upon him.

When exhausted, Brienne clambered off of him. Her lungs demanded more air than she thought possible. After quick glance, he remained still. Is he still breathing? Brienne scooted away until her back hit a shelf. Her eyes never left him while her body struggled to breathe. Minutes passed before her chest no longer shook.

They're going to hang me. Even if she hadn’t killed him, she battered him to a pulp. I'm going to the wall. Brienne closed her eyes. They'll believe his word over mine.

It took forever for Brienne to stand—Ramsay still not moving. She walked over to the bathroom and washed herself, but she could never scrub the blood out from under her fingernails. In the small pocket mirror, she no longer recognized herself. Her face swelled and her neck already bruised. Walk to that wall with your chin held high.

Brienne left Ramsay on the floor, still not knowing if he was dead or alive. Some might say that she should have stopped when he begged for mercy, but she gave him the same compassion Gilead gave her. She walked to the stairs, only reaching a few steps up when the door to the first floor unlocked and opened. Commander Lannister rushed down the stairs, stopping in front of her. For once, he stood taller than her.

“What happened?” he asked, eyebrows so low he almost appeared a different man. His eyes widened and narrowed, analyzing over her to deduce what happened. His lips parted. His left hand reached out and gave her swollen cheek a gentle touch. He tilted it towards him so he could see the damage in the dim light. Brienne allowed him to touch her, but not without saying, “You’re too late.”

He clenched his jaw. “I couldn’t find the key in time, I’m so—” he lowered his head, overcome with guilt. “I’m so sorry. Did he—”

His odd behavior perplexed her. Brienne tuned him out, turning around to look over at Ramsay, still on the floor and across the basement. The commander said something, but Brienne ignored him. The commander touched her shoulders, clasping them in his big, welcoming hands. She continued to tune him out—but she heard a name. "Brienne." Her name.

Her name. Brienne blinked and looked over at Commander Lannister, wondering if she just imagined it. I've gone crazy. Verbally, women forfeited their names when they became handmaids, and he wouldn’t do that. He created this place. She watched him as she forced storming clouds out of her thoughts. He asked, “Did he rape you?”

Rape. It was such a heavy word, especially in Gilead. In many ways, several people raped her before. But Ramsay… was different. “No,” she admitted, and he let out a loud sigh. Without warning, he pulled her into a hug against him—her face pressed into his chest. Brienne considered fighting him, but the comforting smell of safety washed over her. She leaned into the embrace and closed her eyes while her ears listened to his breathing and hammering heart.

“I will take care of this,” he said.

She leaned back, confused by every single thing about him. Her eyes searched his for answers she knew he wasn't ready to reveal. His arms allowed her to withdraw from his hug. “How did you know to come down here?”

He pressed his lips together, took in a deep breath and gazed over her. “I dreamed of you,” he said.

Chapter Text

Brienne changed into a new handmaid dress—one not stained in Ramsay's blood. Lyanna tended to her wounds, bandaging her knuckles and giving her contraband medicine. Anti-inflammatories were contraband in Gilead's eyes. Brienne remained quiet, and Lyanna never asked what happened. Is he dead? Brienne didn't want to know the answer—not yet. Lyanna opened her mouth, but no words came out. Is she scared? Of me? Brienne avoided eye contact, waiting for the black van to arrive.

It was everyone's worst fear to see the black van drive up. It was like meeting Gilead face to face. No one knew where it went, but few people came back. Some returned without body parts, or with their mouths pierced shut. Brienne raised her chin as she walked out into the sunset filled air. Death is better than what Ramsay would have done to me. She smelled the front garden's pollinating flowers, and her eyes even caught a few buzzing bees floating against the breeze. She continued to walk down the steps, noticing a few dried drops of blood on the bricked walkway. Ramsay had been taken hours ago, and the commander left with him. Neither of them returned.

A small part of her feared that she wouldn’t see Commander Lannister, or the marthas, or Sansa again. She felt so conflicted about the commander in particular, realizing he never forced himself sexually on her like Ramsay. She asked and nodded him to do it—for duty. He's probably still laughing at me now. And she still hadn’t conceived. She convinced herself that he’d abandon her, or they’d hang her after a salvaging—she wasn’t sure. Not like she had much of a choice or agency in the matter. I'm livestock.

Knowing she couldn’t change the past, and she wouldn’t have changed her actions, she entered the van with dignity. She sat down, twisting her long legs around so they fit in the tight space at the back of the van. They closed the doors and whisked her away in darkness. As the car drove, she said her goodbyes to herself—just in case.

The doors opened and several armed guards ordered for her to step out. As she climbed to the edge of the van, their arms clasped and yanked her arms. She glared down at them, and their eyes turned as wide as eggs when she stood taller than them. Several more guards rushed to help, but she knew better than to fight them. They walked her to a training center: a newer building than when she started. Inside, they stepped her through a large, almost empty room. No one else was inside, and the AC had been kept to a minimum. They passed a circle of chairs, all surrounding a singular chair in the middle of the circle. A shaming circle. A guard handcuffed Brienne to the chair and ordered her to sit down. Brienne complied and refused to lower her eyes. They glared at her as they walked away.

Handmaids walked into the large room beside several aunts. Brienne failed to recognize any of them. New handmaids. One way or another, they had all been caught recently breaking the law, and as proven fertile women, Gilead subjugated them to their punishment: handmaid.

Aunt Ellaria walked in as the handmaids sat in the circle around Brienne. Every handmaid faced her, staring at her as if Brienne was about to give a presentation.

“Ofjaime,” Ellaria said, snaking her away into the circle. “Our fresh, new handmaids are here to learn from you...Hopefully.” She took a moment and settled her eyes on Brienne. “You are here to learn as well.” Brienne adjusted herself in the seat, gazing around at the handmaid's plain faces before Aunt Ellaria asked, “Why are you here?”

Brienne swallowed. She said, “I—I was attacked.”

“Who attacked you?” Ellaria said, stalking around her.

“My commander’s driver,” Brienne said. She sent Ellaria a vague expression of sympathy. Don't shame me, you have to understand.

“And why did you kill that man?” Ellaria asked.

Brienne closed her eyes, filling with tears. Handmaids gasped and whispered around her.

“Quiet, girls!” Ellaria said. She asked again, “Why did you kill him?”

Brienne shook her head, salted water falling down her eyes. I'm sorry.

“Stop crying!” Ellaria stepped forward and waved her electric cattle prod near Brienne’s side.

Brienne tried to comply, shivering with silent sobs as she tried to toughen herself out. The entire point of these shame circles revolved around brainwashing women into Gilead’s perspective. Brienne glanced at the sitting handmaids in front of her. They need to know the truth. “He tried to rape me,” Brienne said through gritted teeth. She glared at Ellaria, and Brienne felt free—only for a moment. Ellaria’s eyes were dead and burning. You said you would protect us.

“And whose fault is that?” Aunt Ellaria asked without remorse.

Brienne's face twisted into a mournful scowl. “His,” Brienne said.

Aunt Ellaria shoved herself forward, jamming her cattle prod into Brienne’s side as she released its energy. Electricity jolted through Brienne as it shocked her, inflicting her with unthinkable, enormous pain. Brienne cried out, tensing and flexing each muscle in her body in an attempt to fight it.

Brienne heaved for air when Ellaria pulled the prod away. “Whose fault is it, girls?”

Every handmaid lifted their right hand, pointing directly at Brienne. “Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.” They all spoke in unison against her.

Brienne clenched her eyes closed. Her ears had no choice but to listen.

“Ofjaime tempted him,” Ellaria said to the handmaids. She walked throughout the inside of the circle and gestured to Brienne. “Every man can be tempted, but it is your full responsibility to eliminate temptation.”

“I ask again, Ofjaime, whose fault is it?” Ellaria said. Her voice sounded sweet, but Brienne refused to believe it.

“His.”

Ellaria electrocuted Brienne several more times: each time Brienne blamed him. The girls shamed her each time as well, with some of the women showing frustration and annoyance. Aunt Ellaria became determined to wear Brienne down, and with each consecutive jab of electric contact, Brienne swore to seek revenge.

Due to the electric prod having more energy than her and fearing her heart would give out soon, Brienne conceded and said, “Mine.” She may have given Ellaria what she wanted, and her body screamed for it, but she was mentally reborn. Fuck this place. I will burn it to the ground—or leave—somehow. Years of denial and brainwashing came to a head. Gilead didn’t protect her. Ellaria didn’t protect her. Even her commander didn’t protect her. Brienne realized no one would protect her better than herself. No more rule following.

“Girls, why did our lord do this?” Ellaria asked.

All hands went up, pointing at Brienne while chanting together, “Teach her a lesson. Teach her a lesson. Teach her a lesson.”

Brienne exhaled, mouth open and weak from her entire day of misery. Aunt Ellaria instructed the girls meet her at the kitchen. As they left, Ellaria stepped forward, uncuffed Brienne and yanked her to standing. Ellaria dragged a feeble Brienne towards the kitchen. All of the handmaids circled around a stove, in the center of the large kitchen. Confused, Brienne looked at Ellaria who steadily made her way to the stove. No. Ellaria approached the gas stove. Brienne resisted. No, you cant—

“Oppose me and I will burn both hands,” Ellaria said.

Brienne winced—lips quivering. After quick glance, almost all of the handmaids cringed. Brienne closed her eyes and allowed Ellaria to cuff her right hand to the stove. She slowly closed her eyelids and heard the stove click on, followed by the smell of gas. Revenge.

Brienne stayed the rest of the night at the training center. Placed alone, she wept herself to sleep as the burning pain in her hand refused to recede. Her entire hand burned to the point of blisters.

Around noon the next day, Brienne and her bandaged hand arrived back to her home. She remembered when she dreaded living there, and now, it felt safe. She survived. The guardian walked her up to the door and uncuffed her. Brienne grimaced as he pulled the sharp metal off of her wrist. “Under his eye,” he said, and she whispered it back.

Brienne opened the door with her left hand, keeping her injured right hand close to her body. She smelled cookies, of all things. Sugar cookies. Brienne's stomach rumbled. To her left was a large vase of fresh, orange lilies. Both marthas ran to her, searching her everywhere for answers. Lyanna noticed the bandage first, opening her mouth with a loud gasp. Osha turned her eyes to Brienne’s with an unmoving glare.

“I want to join you,” Brienne said. “I want to join the resistance.”

Osha nodded once while Lyanna watched. “We wondered when you would turn,” Osha said.

“Where is the commander? I want to make sure we have enough time to talk without him interrupting,” Brienne said. Cookies can wait. I have work to do.

“He’s upstairs in his room—healing,” Lyanna said. Her voice sounded merciful, but Brienne’s ears perked up at the last part of her statement. Healing?

Osha sucked in a breath through her teeth and said, “They took off a hand.”

Chapter Text

She came home on a scheduled ceremony day, but no ceremony happened. Elia called it off, due to her two injured partners. Elia avoided eye contact and tensed whenever Brienne shared the same room. I scare her. I'm freakish. Brienne spent most evenings with Osha and Lyanna, and they caught up with long overdue topics. They all hypothesized their ideas of what was in the attic. Lyanna thought it was a cat. Osha scoffed and said it was a ghost. Brienne was never imaginative. No one truly knew, except Osha said the commander placed bells and cameras around the attic door for extra protection. Brienne decided not to reveal the fire, fake ceremony or mechanic secrets. She felt… faintly sorry for him. It didn’t make sense for Gilead to punish him, but then again, he didn’t handle his house well enough.

"He found me. After...Ramsay..." Brienne said while they spoke in the kitchen late at night. They talked alongside chirping crickets.

"How mad was he?" Osha asked.

Brienne frowned, surprised as much as Osha was about the commander's reaction. "He wasn't mad at all."

“I swear, he sounds like a different person!” Lyanna said, but Osha shook her head in denial.

“I think he feels guilty, about all of this,” Brienne said.

Lyanna looked down at her plate, still littered with crumbs from dinner. Osha said, “While I doubt that, we don’t know. And we likely never will.”

Osha was very practical, and she survived without emotion. Lyanna, on the other hand, complemented Osha’s weaknesses. But... Lyanna's tender heart did not mean she was inept. Lyanna said she had noticed Brienne's martha outfit months ago. Too nervous to explain, Brienne said she helped Ofloras. Neither Lyanna or Osha pushed the issue.

The next evening, Brienne caught Osha walking up the stairs, towards the commander’s room. “Hey,” Brienne whispered, causing Osha to startle. “I can take that in.”

It wasn't food, but a basket full of creams and bandages. Osha peered around, wondering if anyone else listened. “Look,” Osha whispered back, “I’ll let you do it. But you need to promise me. Get as much information out of him as you can, without looking suspicious. I bet he’ll talk to you. And I’m setting up your first mission at Jezebel’s, if we can convince him.”

“Jezebel’s?” Brienne asked.

Osha rolled her eyes and offered the basket. “Are you serious? I have a lot to teach you. Go on in.”

Brienne accepted the basket in her left and nodded. While Osha shooed her away like a dog, Brienne turned towards the commander's closed door. Her chest filled with apprehension. She hadn't seen the commander since... Brienne shook her head and winced. Inside her boots, her toes curled. She chewed the inside of her lip and shuffled the basket into her right arm, allowing her left hand to knock on his door. She waited. And no answer came. If you're in the rebellion, act like it. Brienne nodded and opened the door.

The room was dim—darker than she remembered. “Commander Lannister?” she asked.

He sat, hunching over a small table across the room. His head was in his hand, rubbing at his forehead and temple. When he heard her voice, he glanced over with hazy eyes. He was more unkempt than normal. His face, no longer clean shaven, had several days worth of stubble. Brienne caught herself staring and glanced away, noticing his bed sheets unmade and messes about the floor.

Dressed in her red dress and white cap, Brienne stepped over to him. The room smelled like him. His intense, brooding appearance gave it a bitter aftertaste. “Blessed evening,” she said, setting the basket in front of him. His left hand was missing. They had cut it at the wrist. Brienne took in a deep breath and frowned.

He peered up at her, and something was missing in his eyes. He no longer possessed his annoying ability to mock her with a single look or curve of his lips. It was all gone.

She sat across from him. “I have your bandages, sir,” she said, motioning towards them. She received more silence. It tortured her. Gilead finally demanded a sacrifice from you. Yet, she didn't feel vindicated or pleased to see him in so much pain. "How are you feeling, sir?” she asked, looking at him with concern. Moving closer, he appeared clammy. Fever? Brienne reached forward, placing the back of her left hand against his forehead. His eyes flickered over to hers again as she touched him. He felt warm... and fragile. Not knowing what to say, she looked down and took her hand away. She prepped the bandages and said, “I’m sorry—for what I’ve done.”

“Don’t be,” he said, voice low—like he hadn't spoken in days.

“Drink some water,” she said, glancing at the glass resting on the table.

He stared at it. “How is your hand?”

She blinked and looked down at her bandaged hand. “Burned.”

He sighed and closed his eyes—as if he was disappointed. “How is it, can you still work?”

Brienne scoffed and stopped prepping his future bandage.

He swallowed and leaned back, rolling his head as if he needed to stretch his neck. He brought his head back to center and sighed again before saying, “That was uncalled for. I’m sick of fighting. Let’s call a truce.”

“You need trust to have a truce.”

“I trust you.”

Brienne showed a doubtful grimace and leaned back in her chair, wanting to disappear. She looked away.

“That’s the look,” he said, grabbing her interest back towards him.

“Everyone who’s given me that look knows the same story. Jaime Lannister, the man who started it all. I’ve seen it in almost every face the past five years.”

Brienne glowered at him, unafraid to admit her hatred for this place.

“Man without honor. Oathbreaker.” He paused. “Have you heard of the terrorists, from before?”

“Of course,” Brienne said, annoyed at the thought of him lecturing her. She did not want to relive the horrible memories and fear.

“My father and his religious zealot friends planned the attack for years. Take down the courts, take down the capital, take down everything. I just started working in the president’s guard, newly married, and my father set me up the entire time… just for that position.”

Brienne stared, growing anger within her as he recalled his memories. She didn’t want to hear this. His eyes seemed lost, looking at some vague spot in the room.

“The day of reckoning came. My father instructed me to drive the president to a speech across from the courts and the massacre would start then. I,” he paused, “I couldn’t do it.” He looked at her. “I drove the car in the opposite direction and prevented the whole thing from happening.”

Brienne widened her eyes. You did what?

“My father was furious with me. I pretended I made an honest mistake. Investigations were already underway, so all communication stopped…for a few years…and five years later, I stood by the president at the capitol when the shots rang out. It had already been too late. The president was down, the other bodyguards were down, it was only me left. I wasn’t even able to get a shot out. My father specifically spared me, but not my brother...”

“If this is true," Brienne asked, "and you didn’t want this to happen, why didn’t you turn in your father before?”

“Turn my own father in and tell the investigators that his son, in the president’s guard, wasn’t part of the treason? Of course not. I’d be arrested with him. I love my family, are you telling me you wouldn’t do the same for your family?”

Brienne clenched her jaw, ready to say that her father wasn’t Tywin Lannister. “How can you love them?” she asked, wondering how he felt about his family now. They ruined everything. They killed and enslaved millions of people. Her mind slowly wrapped around the realization that the commander didn’t freely participate in the massacre, despite being complicit. It changed her entire opinion of him in an instant.

He shrugged his shoulders and said, “You can’t choose who you love.”

Brienne continued to focus on him. “Are you in love with Mrs. Tyrell?”

The commander chuckled a pathetic laugh. He tilted his jaw to the side, appearing to struggle for the right words. “You’re quite the observer. Or maybe you’ve heard rumors,” he said. “We have a tight bond. She tried to fool around with me as a teenager, but our father's religion completely forbids it. Not that I—" he stopped, looking at Brienne. He sighed. "My sister is in love me, I don't doubt it. I love Cersei more than Elia—what a sham of an arranged marriage. Set up by my father to marry within his cult before I knew what I had gotten myself into.”

Brienne sat still, shocked he revealed all of this to her. He doesn't love Elia?

“My sister has... changed."

Brienne waited a moment and reached forward, bringing his left arm across the table. He complied, looking at her in silence. She allowed him to gaze at her as she undid his bandages. The wound was clean, at least. Stitches stretched into a straight line at the end of a stump. No pus. But it was angry, red and crusted. It didn’t scare or repulse her. Brienne held the middle of his forearm for a moment, fixated on the warm feeling of his skin and hairs against her hand. It distracted her. After a breath, she tended to his wound. She felt his eyes watch her as she worked on him. Brienne took a clean pad and placed the correct ointments on it, using her left hand on his left stump. Does he support Gilead? He didn’t say he disagreed with their policies, but she wasn’t confident she’d get an honest confession out of him. Brienne cleaned and rewrapped his wound, occasionally glancing up at him. He didn’t possess the intensity he usually showed with her, so she smiled briefly—once. He didn’t smile back.

When she finished, he motioned with his right hand to show hers. Brienne considered declining his help, but the insistence of his eyes made her comply. She helped him undo her bandage. It looked more graphic than his, covered in oozing, bloodied skin. He let out a long, deep sigh. Brienne winced. I'm even more ugly now.

He helped add on ointment with his one good hand, stopping every time she cringed with pain. “You will get through this,” he said, coordinating with her left hand to rewrap her wound. She half expected him to ramble on about the "gift" she owed him.

“We will get through this together,” she corrected, managing a faint smile. She placed the supplies in the basket. “Can I get you anything else, Commander Lannister?” Brienne asked, letting her left hand rest on the edge of her chair.

He sent him a captivating gaze—something she only saw during ceremonies. The thought alone made her lips tingle. “Jaime," he said. "My name is Jaime.”

Chapter Text

“Get the package from the bartender,” Osha said, “but he won’t give it up easy. You’ve come this far. Don’t mess this up. We won’t get another chance.”

Brienne nodded, wondering if she should ask for more details. His name—what's his name? Twiddling her thumbs, Brienne hoped she could convince someone to give her such an important package. How can I get someone to trust me so quickly? Brienne grimaced and bit her lip. Just try. Three weeks passed since the Ramsay incident. Brienne had healed—mostly, except for scars covering her hand. Some of her fingernails fell off. Little buds of nail grew in their place, twisted and stained. Even her face developed a scar from that fateful morning. As if she needed more distinct, ugly characteristics about her. Scars reminded her of her survival. And while her new goal was to escape Gilead—and she didn't even know how—she hardly expected to achieve that goal in the limited months or years she had left. Try.

Her commander, Jaime, helped her daily with their bandages. And she helped him with his. They kept their conversations to work and mechanics, with her mostly talking—or looking. Her eyes tended to wander over to him. He kept his mouth shut ever since he revealed the origins of Gilead. She knew why. He didn’t want to reveal anything more than he already had. Brienne chose not to tell Osha or Lyanna about Jamie’s massacre secret, or any others. She couldn’t trust them or their reactions, not yet. If the house disbanded, she’d die at the Colonies.

Brienne pitied Jaime, slightly, for his family and his maiming. He had been forced into this role by his family. It still didn’t condone his continued support for the regime. He had asked her to trust him, and said he trusted her—but Brienne's honor couldn't allow it. If he finds out I'm a rebel, he'll kill me. They may have gotten along better than before, but his power and position over her never went unnoticed. However, Brienne grew a strange fondness for him, in addition to sympathy. He showed her cruelty before, and slowly, showed Brienne a sense of admiration. He respect her opinions, or seemed to, even if they revolved around mechanics.

When she mentioned Jezebel’s to Jaime, he acted surprised. Brienne pretended she had been there before, with a previous commander. She hadn’t.

“I’m not in the business of violating handmaids,” he said. She held back a smile, knowing he spoke honest words. “Why do you want to go there?”

She lied and said she wanted to see a friend there—one she hadn’t seen for a couple of years. He seemed satisfied enough, shrugged and said he would think about it. In a few days, he agreed.

But first, she needed to meet their new driver: Podrick. The man appeared youthful and obedient in every way and form. In Gilead's eyes, he was a perfect driver. He possessed a rather innocent, hopeful smile. Jaime assured her that he would not misbehave, and he would continue transporting her to the factory to work on her projects.

The night of Jezebel’s, Jaime convinced Elia to spend the night visiting the Tyrell family and help with the baby. Happy to oblige, Elia appreciated any excuse to see a baby. Jaime barely pat Elia on her back as a pathetic and awkward goodbye. Later that night, Brienne waited in her room, as he instructed her. With slow breaths, Brienne tried to coach herself. I need to look confident—

A knock on the door startled her. “Come in,” she said.

Jaime brushed the door open with his left arm, his stump covered in a black cloth. A black suit and bow tie formed around his body, and Brienne almost forgot to glance away. He trimmed his newly grown stubble—not clean shaven as before—and the trimmed facial hair gave him a posh and elegant look. Fuck. Her chest tightened at the guilt.

He smiled and gazed down at his own outfit. He knew. And he knew how well he looked. Jaime almost winked and reached behind him, outside her room. He said, “You’re missing the most important part.”

His tone. He's mocking me.

He stepped into the room, a blasphemous act she ignored, but he left the door open. He clasped a dress in his right hand, a royal blue silk dress. He stretched out his only hand, holding the forbidden fabric out for Brienne to take. “You’re not going wearing that!” he said, sneering. “I’m sorry to say red is not your color. Blue, on the other hand—” He continued to hold up the dress, staring at it like he imagined it adorning her. Or someone else. “Put it on, quickly, we have to go soon. Shoes are downstairs.”

Brienne snapped out of her daze and took the dress. There were no sleeves and a low cut neckline. It became more obvious where she was going: somewhere illegal. I thought it was a restaurant down the street.

“And take that cap off while you’re at it,” Jaime said, before leaving her alone to change.

When she slipped on her heels, soaring out of her own comfort zone, she took cautious steps outside of the house. Jaime stepped closer to her and placed a blue wife cloak around her shoulders. Brienne didn’t have a mirror upstairs, but the dress fit her form well. It landed at her ankles—something tall women rarely had the luxury to find such a well fitting dress. Not that Brienne cared for it. Her arms and shoulder, naked and bare, saturated in goosebumps. The neckline revealed what little cleavage she had. A small breeze cut against her skin and Brienne tugged the cloak closer—but Jaime's narrowing eyes hurt more than the wind.

Her black heels clicked as she walked with Jaime to the black sedan. She stood a couple more inches taller than him with her new shoes. He seemed determined to get in the car without anyone else noticing. They succeeded, both settling into the backseat.

“Do you remember the instructions on how to get there?” Jaime asked Pod, earning a confident yes from the new driver. “Good,” Jaime said, “get us there safely. No rough driving. We have precious cargo.”

Brienne wanted to roll her eyes, but she stretched her neck instead. Her hair, no longer tied up, brushed against her shoulders and neck. It was an odd sensation. Even before Gilead, she kept her hair short or always in a ponytail. As the drive started, Jaime's eyes continued to gaze at her. In no mood for his quips about her outfit, Brienne glared at him. He raised his eyebrows, as if he expected her to bashfully glance away. Brienne continued the stare down and cleared her throat.

“One more thing,” he said, breaking the uncomfortable silence and leaning over into her space. Close proximity made her mouth run dry. Brienne leaned back as much as he could, but the leather seats disallowed much movement. She refused to breathe as his breath wavered against her. He reached behind himself. Brienne couldn’t hold her breath any longer and inhaled, overcome by his scent so close to her. He broke eye contact and his eyes fell to her lap. “You’ll need this,” he finally said, leaning back into his seat as he presented a small knife and holster.

“No,” she whispered out, overwhelmed by the idea of being armed. She sent him a worried look and he shook his head at her reaction.

“You may need this...just in case. I can’t lose you,” he said.

You can't lose your mechanic. Everything was about him. She refused to mistake his meaning.

“It goes on your thigh,” he said, setting the small sheathed knife on her lap.

She gasped when his hand lifted her cloak and dress fabric, exposing her thigh. Seeing her own pasty skin next to his golden hand made her heart run for an escape. Jaime gave a charming smile and said, “Nothing I haven’t seen before. Help me put it on you.”

That was the Jaime she knew: conceited and full of himself. Brienne let out a weak nod and reached her hands into her own lap. She didn’t want a one handed man fumbling around with her any longer than necessary. Brienne lifted her right thigh. He grabbed the black holster fabric and snaked his palm under the middle of her thigh. His skin felt warm and welcoming, gliding under her with a lingering touch. She straightened her back and swallowed. He leaned closer, and her eyes naturally searched for his. Several inches apart from her face. That look. A look of hunger. An outlawed craving. Brienne's breathing quickened as her nerves focused on his velvet touch. She loved every moment of it.

After a few seconds, his lips curved into a delicious smile. “Are you going to help me? Or keep staring at me?”

Stunned, Brienne snapped herself back into reality and looked down and away from his face. “Of course,” she muttered—acting like a complete idiot.

Her hands added to the foolishness by rushing through it. She yanked and forced the fabric down to cover herself while he chuckled beside her. She sent him a quick scowl.

The car jolted up. Brienne knocked the top of her head. Beside her, a thumb and groan hit her ears. Brienne winced, until she realized Jaime’s hand gripped her thigh. Brienne’s eyes stared down at his spread fingers, sinking into her flesh. Speechless, Brienne grew red. Tell him to move. Brienne opened her mouth. Tell him to stay.

Jaime pulled his hand away and said, “I told you to be careful, Pod!” Podrick apologized before Jaime looked back over at Brienne.

She glanced away, trying to forget the imprint of his hand on her skin.

“At least you don’t smell like a mechanic,” Jaime he said, smirking.

Brienne closed her eyes, clenched her jaw and crossed her legs tighter. He laughed. He knew exactly how to push her buttons, and she hated him for that.

The rest of the ride was uneventful—thankfully. Once, Jaime instructed Brienne to duck down. She worried so much about Jaime making fun of her that she missed the whole reason for doing it.

“Podrick will let you in when we get there. I have some business to attend to first. Once that is out of the way, I will find you,” he said in a calm tone, as if nothing between them had happened. He was mocking me.

She nodded.

“Make sure you don’t run into anyone you know through me, turn the other way. Avoid them. Try and stay out of sight. I know I will,” Jaime said, taking in a deep breath. The car stopped. Jaime winked at her as she left the car. He smiled when she rolled her eyes.

Podrick helped walk Brienne into the side of the large building. They walked through a large, empty alleyway. It smelled like they were downtown—where rain drenched asphalt and concrete. As she walked, she accustomed to the holster and knife strapped to her upper thigh. She looked back at the car and noticed Jaime hadn’t exited yet. “I thought he had business to do?” Brienne asked Podrick, who shrugged and opened the door for her. “He didn’t key me in,” Podrick said, smiling while he held the door open.

When she entered, Podrick said he’d take her coat. An awkward Brienne shimmied out of the wife outerwear and looked at him to see if he was eyeing her. He wasn’t. They both stood in a quiet hallway.

“So, this… is Jezebel’s,” Brienne said, wondering why this place had been such a big deal. It was an empty, old and deserted hallway. Its ceilings encroached around her.

“No, it’s actually through those doors,” Podrick said, gesturing down the hall.

Brienne rolled her shoulders and pushed forward, walking by herself towards the doors. When Brienne truly saw Jezebel’s, her widening eyes revealed just how innocent she was. She stepped into another world, full of lush extravagance. The high ceilings held elegant, warm chandeliers. Beautiful golden and red wallpapered walls were surrounded by dark and carved wood. It was a hotel lobby, or it was... before. Brienne's eyes fell lower. Leather couches, loveseats and chairs held dozens of independently conversing people. It was like stepping into time—except almost every woman wore little to no clothing. Their faces, caked in forbidden makeup, smiled and cooed while their hands and smiles adored their commander partner. Reality hit Brienne. It's a fucking brothel. Brienne manually forced her mouth closed and tried not to stare—but even her eyes were shocked to see so much skin.

Already separated from Podrick, Brienne walked around the edges, avoiding all males who tried to make eye contact with her. Package. That's it. One woman dressed like a maid, breasts uncovered and on display while she joked with her female partner, dressed in bright yellow feathers. A male leaned back while watching them, licking his lips. Brienne held back her wince and looked away. When spotted the bar, she made her way over. A bald and male bartender alongside three women. Brienne found a stool, carefully picking the bar stool farthest away from other drinkers: almost all suited men. Brienne waited for the man to come up to her. When he did, he asked, “What can I get you, my lady?”

“A package,” she said. Too forward?

The man stared without an expression, but his finger tapped the wooden bar. He narrowed his eyes.

Brienne leaned forward and whispered, “I work with Osha. She told me you have something for her?”

The man sighed, nodded and turned around, grabbing a glass. He poured an amber colored liquid into the short glass and handed it to her. “And who are you, exactly?” he asked with arched brow.

“Brienne.” It feels amazing to say my own name. She mouthed in a whisper, “Jaime Lannister’s handmaid.”

He stared at her—expression unknown. He had been the first person who wasn’t shocked by her title. He inhaled and said, “Welcome. My name’s Varys, if you need anything, just come over or call down from your room.” He leaned over the counter and whispered, “Later, in a couple hours. Until then, entertain yourself. Half of these men are commanders, half of them diplomats from other countries and an easy escape. Pick the right one. Best of luck, Brienne,” he said, whirling away from her and moving towards another person at the bar.

She rolled around on her stool, gazing around the room. She could have struck up a conversation with one of them and taken her chances. Escape is possible. Just pick the foreign sounding guy. Brienne glanced around. She hated being in public situations. Her awkward, ugly appearance only made her shyer. Why would diplomats even be here? Brienne frowned—until she noticed Renly across the room. He stood beside a large stairwell. She drew herself to him, walking over in his direction without another thought. She smiled as she approached.

Renly's eyes grinned when he saw Brienne. “Why, hello!” he said, beaming with joy to see her. He scanned her up and down, shocked by her outfit. He genuinely enjoyed her. Flattered, Brienne stood in front of him, not knowing what to say except show a smile. “I didn’t think Jaime was the type to bring you here,” he said. Brienne noticed his tie was loose, as if he had been relaxing.

"I'm here to see a friend," Brienne said, smiling. If I smile, my lies are 50% more believable. And together, they briefly chatted about warm weather until Renly leaned in and held her left hand. His eyes gazed at her. Brienne squeezed his hand, but it felt weak compared to Jaime's.

“I have to go, I’ll see you later some time?” he said.

“Yes, of course. Under his eye,” she said, out of habit.

He chuckled and shook his head, as if she was a child. “This isn’t the place for that. Have fun,” he said, still bursting with amusement.

Brienne forced a small smile, realizing Renly couldn't do anything to make her dislike him. When he walked away, Brienne looked back to the crowd, wondering if she knew anyone else. Her eyes searched for where to go, but she remained immobile, watching.

A couple minutes later, Podrick found her. “Commander Lannister has a room ready, he says you can’t be in here,” he whispered.

Where else would I be?! Brienne let out a scoff and followed the driver out of the hotel lobby. In a way, she was relieved to escape the scandalous nature of Jezebels. Laughter, nakedness and moans surrounding her started to make her feel like she was missing out on something.

Chapter Text

“I have to see my friend one more time, before we leave tonight. How long do we have here?” Brienne asked Jaime, who sat at a table on the far side of the room. Jezebel's gave Jaime a large and lavish suite—even more so than his home. The bright carpet smoldered under her feet, navy coils spreading throughout maroon background. Warm lights illuminated the room. It looked like any other fancy hotel room, with a large king bed, space to stretch, a table and an attached master bathroom. No TV. Brienne inhaled a shaky breath. Walking into a foreign room made her uncomfortable.

“That’s fine," Jaime said, still sitting at the table. "Probably a couple hours. I had a feeling you were down there too long, remember what I told you?”

Brienne glanced away and to the entry door. Podrick had led her up to Jaime's room and left without more than a nod. Brienne appreciated the room to talk without someone else listening—but this felt—different. More intimate. Brienne cleared her throat, still standing near the door. She said, “I don’t need you following me around. I can handle myself.”

“I know that much,” he said, gazing at her from across the room. “Tell me about your friend.”

Brienne's chest tightened. Shit. She stalled by walking to the center of the room. She said, “She’s—” Her eyes looked over to Jaime, who already revealed a subtle smirk. He knows. Brienne glanced away and at the window curtains: long, crimson and elegant. “She was a martha, from my last commander’s house.”

“Is she?” he said. “Why don’t I call her up here? You two can catch up, and I’ll—I don’t know, take a shower or something. What’s her name?” Jaime stood and walked over to one of the bed's end tables. On it was a phone, and he reached out his hand to pick it up.

“I—I can’t visit her with you,” Brienne said, grimacing as soon as those words exited her mouth.

Jaime laughed and returned his hand to his side, fingers stretching and constricting. “What are you doing here?” he asked. His tone was deeper, and he walked towards her. The soft carpet on the floor didn’t give his domineering walk justice.

Mouth dry, Brienne straightened her back. Her skin paled over and she refused to answer him. “Why are you here?” She asked.

“Now you’re asking the questions?” He laughed again, avoiding her probing.

“Yes.” She looked down on him, but his jetting jaw gave no fear. However, his eyes lowered, scanning her dress as they stood several feet apart. What the fuck is he doing?

His eyes looked up, squinting at her. “I’m here because you asked me to come.”

Brienne continued to stare, unable to move. He was right.

He stepped away from her, allowing her to breathe again. He walked over to the provided mini bar. “What drink would you like?” he asked, mixing himself some unknown drink.

Varys made me a drink. I never tried it. Brienne wet her dry lips and blinked several times. “I don’t know. I never had one.”

He let out a single laugh, as if she just joked with him. After a quick look at her, his smile dropped and he said, “That’s too bad. Dry or sweet, what do you like?” he asked.

“Sweet?” she said. Despite being the tallest person in the room, she felt so small. I don't belong here.

He mixed orange juice with something clear. After plopping two ice cubes into the glass, he picked it up and walked it over to Brienne—all in his right hand. With cautious hands, Brienne accepted it. He abandoned her space again, returning to the mini bar to retrieve his own glass. Handmaids aren't allowed to drink. Brienne peered down at the orange, yellow liquid. Another one of his selfishly broken rules. She took a small sip, and the loud tartness coated her tongue, followed by a dull sting of alcohol.

“Even if you said dry, I would have made you sweet,” he said. He drank from his glass, a transparent amber liquid, and Brienne caught herself ogling at his defined jawline. Stop staring. She did stop when he walked over with his drink. He said, “Almost every new drinker hates the taste of alcohol. You need to be slowly introduced.”

She nodded, not knowing what to say while her thoughts consumed her. Why is he standing next to me? His eyes continued to observe her, and she couldn't bare to be interrogated by him again. Brienne lifted her drink and drained it far faster than she intended. Her rough fingers gripped the side of the small glass, threatening to break it. She didn't know how else to get rid of such... tension.

“What else have you never experienced?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

Brienne's lips parted open—surprised. “If I haven’t experienced it, I wouldn’t know enough to tell you about it.”

He chuckled to himself and took a long sip of his amber colored drink. Her eyes stared. The liquid slipped between his lips, and the apple in his throat bobbed as he swallowed. His hand brought down his glass, perfect and masculine. My thigh. Brienne swallowed, her tongue still tasting orange. Ice clanked inside his glass. Brienne returned her eyes to his, and he released a flickering smile.

“Fair enough,” he said. “I’m trying to get to know you more, from before. All I really know is that you worked on cars.”

The mention of cars startled her. Brienne inhaled a deep breath and frowned. Get to know me more? She was just a tomboy. She loved horses, math and cars. “Sorry for not being entertaining enough.”

Jaime smirked. "Quite the opposite, really.”

Brienne furrowed her eyebrows.

“You’re the best mechanic I have," he said. "Male or female. You’ve done tremendous work. I wish I could train you for more important things.”

Brienne's skin ripened red. He smiled and walked to the closest table to set down his glass. She was still red when he returned, and his hand stretched out towards her. Brienne froze. His fingers beckoned to take her glass, and Brienne set the glass in his hand without touching him. I can't touch him.

“What did you want to do, before?” he asked over his shoulder, preparing her another drink.

Brienne closed her eyes and rolled her neck. She tried to breathe through her own embarrassment. “To become a certified mechanic," she said, unable to hide a small smile. "It was all I wanted, really. Until—” Brienne opened her eyes.

“Would you still want a certification?” he asked, now walking back towards her. He held out her refilled drink, the same delicious color as before.

Her hand accepted it, and her skin tingled and burned. Her throat and chest were warmed as the alcohol seeped into her body. “Yes.”

“I’ll get you one.”

What? You're joking. Brienne scowled, and he continued to maintain a serious expression. I wouldn't even be able to read it. “Why, because I love working on cars?” The teasing went too far.

His expression changed, almost into complete delight. “Love! Tell me about that! I’ve told you mine, now tell me who you loved—before, of course.” He sat on the edge of the table—posture casual, face calm and collected.

Can we talk about cars again? Alcohol allowed the truth to escape before her mind could stop it. “I never have,” she whispered.

“No one?”

Brienne shook her head.

“You’ve lived your entire life, even until now, and haven’t loved anyone?”

Brienne's lips quivered. She admired Renly, but he was married. It was more like crushing on a close friend. Brienne frowned as she thought back to all of her one sided crushes. No one wanted to date or love a freak. In front of her, Jaime left his drink on the table and walked over to her. Brienne closed her eyes—forcing herself to ignore him. People like Jaime were the worst: an attractive guy who loved mocking her. She inhaled a deep breath as her hand clamped around the glass drink in her left hand.

He stopped a foot in front of her. "Love is easy," Jaime said. "Don't make it hard."

Brienne was cornered despite being in an open room with space around her. He brought with him an intense presence she couldn’t describe. She swallowed. He was right, love was easy. She stared at him, and her heart beat faster. Brienne's chest swelled. He gave her the option to refuse ceremonies. He allowed her passion. He tried to rescue her from Ramsay. You And ever since the beginning, she yearned to impress him. I'm a fucking traitor. Small shivers tugged on her.

His eyes danced quickly between each of her own, intent burning in his expression. Why is he so close to me? He took in a deep breath while she remained still. So close. He truly commanded her in that moment. Brienne closed her eyes, wanting to melt away through the floor. She trembled slightly as she tried to slow her breathing to match his. Her closed eyes only heightened her other senses further: smelling him—almost tasting him.

"Have you ever kissed anyone?" Jaime asked. He knew her answer. He leaned closer.

The air turned electric, threatening to kill Brienne. Her eyes remained closed. He's going to laugh.

He never laughed.

His warm hand touched her cheek. Jaime's thumb grazed over sensitive skin while the bottom of his palm rested above her scar. He was so... gentle. Brienne's breath quivered, and even his hand hinted his scent. She leaned into him, unable to hear anything beyond her racing pulse. Together, they leaned forward while Brienne forgot how to breathe—

The phone assaulted their ears with loud, scratching rings.

Her eyes opened, and Jaime ran towards the phone. Abandoned, Brienne stood still, staring at a blank spot on the closest wall across the room. He picked up the phone, listened and said, “I’ll be right there. Don’t go anywhere.” Brienne peered down at her almost full drink. As if she could absorb its power, she lifted the glass and chugged the rest. Jaime wrestled around the bedroom for a moment. Alcohol seeped into her empty stomach, making her loose, tired and emotional. Brienne feared she imagined the moment before the phone ring. No, I can still feel him on my cheek.

In a panic, Jaime rushed over to Brienne and held out his arm. “Put this on—now. We need to go,” he said out in a tone with no room for questions. When she glanced down, he placed a black and velvet blindfold in her free hand.

Brienne shook her head, all while he tugged her towards the door. “Why?” she asked, dragging her heels into the floor. She dropped the her glass and ice scattered across the floor.

“Because I can’t let you see this. I can’t let anyone see this.” He arrived at the door with her, despite her protests. She clenched onto the blindfold while Jaime turned around and said,

“If you refuse to put that on, you stay here until I come back—if I come back. If you come with me, you promise to keep that blindfold on until I tell you to take it off, do you understand?”

Brienne frowned. She was betrayed. Swindled. I don't belong here. She didn't want to follow his order, but the fear of being in Jezebel's alone was enough to push her forward. Brienne nodded once and slid the blindfold on—her vision bitter and dark. She heard the door open, and his single hand grabbed her left wrist, yanking her along—no longer gentle.

He walked quickly and with purpose. “Jaime,” Brienne said, using his name for the first time. He said nothing. She struggled to keep up in heels. “Jaime, you’re going too fast,” she said. Jaime ignored her as he turned a corner. Brienne gave her best guess to what was happening. They walked through hallways. Many hallways. They passed rooms where open doors allowed escaping moans, laughter and erotic sounds to fog the air.

After a couple minutes of rushed wandering, Jaime let Brienne's wrist go. She stopped, reaching for the wall next to her for support as she steadily caught her breath. Her wrist ached.

Jaime yelled, “What did you do?!”

Brienne snapped up straight. He knows? About the package?! Brienne tempted herself to force off her blindfold, but a rush of air brushing over her caught her attention. Something moved in front of her.

“We’re going. Now!” Jaime said, grabbing her wrist again. He walked, yanking her to follow him. “Don’t you say a fucking word, or I will—” Jaime stopped talking. Brienne tried her best to follow closely, feeling the heels dig into her sensitive feet as she struggled to keep up with him.

Brienne followed with a weak heart and even weaker lungs. His words scared her, and a part of her wanted to do know what she did wrong—so she could fix it. Her heels clawed into her feet, starting blisters as she walked. When she pulled back against Jaime's grip, he pulled harder, forcing her closer. She startled when a loud door opened, and Jaime pulled her into a cold, drafted room. In her ears, a never ending echo danced above and below her. A stairway. The metal door slammed shut behind her—and Brienne breathed heavily along with Jaime. He let go of her wrist.

“Go,” Jaime said. Brienne followed his command, walking forward. He placed his hand on her stomach, holding her back as she crashed her body into his. “Not you,” he said.

What? Brienne's stomach lurched. Someone else is here? “Jaime..." she said, breath shaking. "Please.” Between the alcohol, blindfold and yelling—she was terrified. She shook her head.

“Shh." He stepped closer, guiding her against the wall behind her. He pressed his body against hers, as if he could block the entire world away from her. His hot chest and abdomen pressed against her body, and the cold wall gave her back goosebumps. His right hand cupped her left cheek—just like in the hotel room.

“Brienne,” he whispered. My name.

She melted and reached out to him, grabbing his suit jacket and twisting the fabric. His hot breath washed over her, all while she held back tears and whimpering. My name. He said my name. She pulled him closer—he still wouldn't be close enough. He leaned his forehead against her right cheek, damn and warm with with exertion. “Trust me,” he whispered against her neck. Brienne's entire body quivered, and her fingers clenched his suit harder. "Please," he said, "trust me."

Brienne managed a weak nod.

“I am coming back for you. Stay here,” he said. His body heat abandoned her—hand gone from her face.

A chill ran over her as she heard his quick footsteps fading away. Brienne waited. I'm safe... right? She heard nothing. He told me to keep the blindfold on. Brienne winced. She opened her eyes underneath the fabric and saw nothing—black. Brienne splayed her fingers against the cold wall behind her. He said my name.

When she heard several doors open, she ripped her blindfold off. Information flooded her eyes. She stood in the middle of a large staircase, several stories tall. Its walls were painted plain and white, and heavy footsteps ascended the stairs. Brienne pressed her bare back against the wall, reaching down with her scarred hand to unsheathe her small knife. With her shoulder square against flat surface and her knees bent, Brienne was ready to fight. Her heart suffocated when a breathless Jaime ran up to her floor.

He stopped as soon as he saw her, breaths uneven, and he scowled. One step at a time, he climbed to her level as she let out a sigh of relief. “We have to go home now,” Jaime said, stretching out his only hand.

Brienne frowned. “I need to go back to the lobby, I have—”

“No, we’re both going. Podrick is outside—waiting.”

Brienne shook her head in frantic bursts, but he refused to acknowledge it. He gripped her wrist again, although gentler than before. He pulled her forward and her body could only follow him. She tailed him down the stairs and out the door—jogging through sore feet towards their sedan. Podrick opened the door for them and Jaime waited as Brienne bent to get inside. He slipped in after her—his face in a permanent, wrinkled grimace.

“Don’t drive too fast, Podrick,” Jaime said.

Brienne turned to him as the car started driving. “J—” she stopped and said, “What is happening, sir?”

Jaime side eyed her for a brief moment, choosing to stare at the back of the seat in front of him. His hand clenched into a tight fist. The car rolled over a speed bump.

“My father was murdered.”

Chapter Text

A darkness storm loomed over her. At the house, Lyanna and Osha confronted Brienne, despite it being the middle of the night. Podrick drove off with Jaime to find Elia, and Brienne did her best to explain something bad had happened. But worst of all—she didn't get the package. Walking past Osha's growing anger, Brienne retreated to her room and changed into her old, red clothing.

The entire household, including Brienne, left for the capital of Gilead the next day. They stayed in Tywin’s constricting and gloomy home. It smelled of dry, old wood. He had five marthas, and they never talked. Osha, Lyanna and Brienne did their best to help funeral proceedings and keeping the house in order. Only Jaime could enter certain rooms—because Tywin had piles and piles of books and papers to sort through. Jaime never smiled—never even looked at Brienne. His eyebrows were fixed into a frowning, stressful scowl.

When the Lannister household arrived back to Jaime's home, Cersei, Sansa and Eddard visited. The baby was several months old, cooing and unaware of the horrors surrounding him. The marthas and Brienne tried to avoid the elite as they stormed through the house, turning the attitude of the house upside down in an instant. Jaime bickered with his sister while Elia retreated outside to tame her overgrown garden. Sansa finished nursing Eddard in a private room and Brienne hid in the kitchen, hoping to keep herself busy. The stove had already been cleaned, but Brienne decided to clean it again. The sponge still managed to find hidden bits of grime and grease underneath little crevices. Brienne lowered herself and added in force with her burned hand. A baby cooed behind her. Brienne whirled around. Cersei stood at the entry way, holding Eddard.

With intent, and no fear, Cersei said, “Loras and Renly talked to me. Renly said you were there.”

Brienne frowned and tried to diminish any appearance of intimidation. She hunched her shoulders slightly, leaned against the oven behind her and expressed confusion. “Where?” Brienne asked, honestly perplexed.

“The whore house,” Cersei, venom spitting out through her words.

Brienne blushed and averted her eyes away.

“My father was murdered there. You were there. I wonder...” Cersei said, adjusting Eddard in her right arm. He nestled against her chest, nodding off into a dream.

“I did not… I did not murder him,” Brienne said, taken aback by her accusation.

“You murdered Ramsay." Cersei shrugged. "Why not murder the district leader? The father of your despised commander?”

“I do not despise the commander,” Brienne said. Cersei's words cut her.

“But you love him,” Cersei said.

Brienne watched and gulped, hoping to hide the truth. Brienne remained still and refused to reply. Almost every muscle in her body tensed, wondering if she would have to fight Cersei with a baby in her arms. Sansa would kill me.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you," Cersei said. "A great joke. And if he took you to the whore house, then you’re likely his toy anyway. I have no idea what he sees in you. I doubt he’ll play with you any more, especially with our father gone. Family is everything to him. I could turn you in. But you’re a very lucky girl that I despise someone more than you. Watch out for eyes. They spot a monstrous cow from a mile away.” Cersei smiled, rubbed Eddard's back and walked out the kitchen.

Despondent, Brienne turned around to the stove, placing both of her hands on the edge of it. She glared down at her scarred hand. How did she know I was at Jezebel's

Elia called off the month's ceremony due to mourning. Brienne tried to busy herself by crocheting—something she hated. She refused to go in the basement and she no longer went into the factory. In order to keep her mind off of Cersei's threat, she tried, and failed, another hobby in the drawing room. Brienne looked up from her project, sighing as her eyes took in the sunset lit room. Jaime first met me, right over there. Brienne managed a weak smile and glanced down. Fuck, I hate doing this.

Lyanna walked in and rushed over to Brienne. “Have you heard?" Lyanna said, "They caught the murderer.”

Brienne’s eyes widened and she leaned closer.

“Two people, actually," Lyanna whispered. "The rumor is that this didn’t happen at Jezebel’s but we obviously know that it did.”

“Who?” Brienne said, not appreciating her rambles or whispering.

“Commander Baratheon and Commander Tyrell.”

Renly and Loras? Brienne's heart peeled away into nothing as it fell through the floor. She feared it would never come back. Her lips parted as her mouth opened, and her eyes frowned towards Lyanna.

The martha continued, “Tywin Lannister walked in on them. They were, you know, gender traitors. So to cover their tracks, they—” Lyanna paused, “killed him.”

Brienne frowned, afraid she might crumble apart. “Where are they, do they need any witnesses?” Brienne needed to help them, even if it meant her demise. She knew, deep in her heart, they didn’t kill Tywin.

“No,” Lyanna said, “they’ve already been executed. They’re on the wall now.”

Tears ran down Brienne’s face. She dropped her crotchet project and it tumbled to the floor. While shaking her head, refusing to believe Gilead's cruelty, Lyanna leaned closer and asked, “What... happened there?” Lyanna asked.

Brienne looked up, eyes red and puffy. After sniffling, Brienne wiped the back of her hand under her nose. “I don’t know. I spent very little time with the commander. He got a phone call, he wouldn’t let me see anything… and then we left.”

Lyanna sighed, appearing serious as she leaned forward and clasped Brienne’s hands. “Something is going on. If you could find out what it is, we might be able to help someone. Help more people,” Lyanna said. And when Brienne glanced away, Lyanna pulled her into a hug. It was exactly what Brienne needed.

After the sun set, Brienne's anger started to boil. She needed to confront Jaime. She stomped up to his bedroom door and opened it without knocking. He stood by the bedroom window, swirling a drink in his single hand. Of course. He doesn't feel guilty. Brienne glowered at him from across the room.

“You can’t be in here,” he warned, motioning to the door.

“I already am.” Brienne closed the door behind her.

Jaime’s face flared and twisted. “What do you want?” he asked.

“The truth.”

He scoffed, shaking his head.

“Renly and Loras did not murder him,” Brienne said.

“No. No, they didn’t.” His voice sounded detached from the entire event.

“Did Cersei do this?” Brienne asked, scowling so hard the muscles in her face ached.

Jaime threw daggers at her with his eyes, pursing his lips together in resentment. His eyebrows lowered. “She didn’t mean to do this to herself,” he said.

Brienne managed a fake, solitary laugh. “To herself? She’s not hanging on a wall right now, is she?”

Jaime walked towards her. In an angry tone, he whispered, “I know she didn’t mean to get Loras roped in with Renly. Even though she’s always hated Renly and Loras together. Nothing pissed her off more.”

“You knew?! You knew they were gay?"

“Of course I did. It wasn’t my place to report them. And I knew that if either of them were caught, the other would likely get caught, too. Cersei would be without a husband. I don’t think she thought this through. Now she’s a widow with a baby. I hardly know her fate or have influence over it, especially with father gone.”

“Tell me what happened,” Brienne said. “I was right there, I could have easily taken off my blindfold and, I don’t know, helped or protected you.” Her eyes pleaded with him, and he accepted her gaze with sadness, just for a moment.

“There are some things…” he said, lowering his voice, “some things so unbelievably important to me that I can’t reveal them. Even to you.”

“Even to me? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.”

She didn’t. Shut down and denied, Brienne frowned. His admission of hiding something important turned out to be one of the largest truths he revealed to her, but Brienne still ached with emptiness and dissatisfaction. The truth of what happened that night almost paled in comparison to other mysteries he hid from her. She walked to the door, numb and without emotion. Before she turned the knob, she turned around and reached under her skirt. She stared at him while she watched his eyes widen, wondering what she was doing. Brienne pulled out the knife as her skirts fell to cover her legs again. “Take your knife back,” she said, holding it out, despite him standing far across the room.

He let out a quick breath, as if she insulted him. He shook his head and fixed his eyes on hers. “It’s yours.”

Brienne stood still and clenched the small knife in her hand, clasping her fingers around the sheath until her knuckles bore white. “Goodnight, sir,” she said, a bitter sting to her words. You're not the Jaime I thought I knew.

As she opened the door, he said, “Goodnight, Brienne.” Her name sounded soft and sweet in his voice, and a large part of her wanted to reach back to him. Instead, she stayed loyal to herself and walked out. And she closed the door.

Chapter Text

Brienne settled back into a routine. Podrick smuggled Brienne into the factory to finish her work—although Jaime required less help the past couple weeks. She had managed to repair all four engines, and her projects distilled down into a mirage of disappointing car parts. Can't I just see the wasp engines together—once? She walked to the market with Lyanna or Osha, and she never saw Sansa. Probably busy with Eddard, while Cersei scrambles to run a house without a commander. Elia distanced herself from the entire household. She traveled to visit Cersei to help care for the baby. No one really knew Cersei's fate, although a temporary solution had been found. Due to Eddard still breastfeeding from Sansa, they decided to allow their house to continue as it had before the incident. Once Eddard weaned, Brienne didn't know what would happen. No one did.

Brienne avoided Jaime—when she could. An unspoken tension grew between the two of them, and it could only be described by a constant cycling of contradictions. She felt trusting and doubtful towards him. Tenderness and animosity. Admiration and disdain. And when Brienne's fateful ceremony day arrived, no one could create a good enough excuse to refuse it.

In the bath, after shaving, Brienne knots twisted in her stomach. It had been three months since her last ceremony. She gulped and sank lower into the tub—trying to disappear. He provided her motivation again, yet treated her like an utter annoyance. He lied to her, literally blinded her and expected her to trust him for it. And the worst part was she trusted him anyway. Guilt surrounded her like a thunderstorm, realizing she fell in love with a disturbed, lost man of Gilead. Her biggest regret was agreeing to help his work at the factory. Even if she worked on old, meaningless engines, she provided another mechanic the opportunity to work on lethal, horrible equipment to enslave more people.

With her nerves and heart sensitive, Brienne avoided glancing at anyone through the scripture. Jaime’s words of oppression haunted her, but she paid attention to his tone. Reading between the lines, she could tell he detested this part of Gilead. His earlier claim of wanting to be faithful was a lie. He didn't love Elia. He barely knows her. Jaime paused his scripture, and Brienne glanced up. His eyes were on her. She averted her eyes away. Neither of them were willing to admit their feelings—whatever feelings they were.

In Elia’s bedroom, Brienne heart lodged into her throat. She feared it would choke her. Brienne stepped through warm and humid air. Just as every other time before, she slipped her undergarments off, turned and lay back on the edge of the bed. Elia clasped her weak fingers around Brienne's wrists and held them above Brienne’s head.

Jaime cleared his throat across the room. Butterflies fluttered inside her ears and flew through her body while she waited. She kept her eyes open, staring at the ceiling above her and the bottom of Elia’s chin. She inhaled when Jaime stepped closer and exhaled when Jaime's hand touched her bare knee. She refused to look down, or else she would break. She feared she would weep, cry, laugh, or moan—Brienne had never felt this before.

Jaime continued his touch, lightly grazing around and behind her knee. His fingers drew an imaginary line to the top of her left calf, tracing across the skin with the tips of his fingers. Brienne bit her lip, deepening her breathing to calm herself down. He stopped, holding his fingers against the back of her leg until she exhaled. He continued to trail his fingers against her. He knew he affected her.

Frozen and half-quivering—unable to move—her thighs remained closed. He took his time, dragging his feathery touch upwards. Her spine shivered as his hand crossed her knee and traveled up her thigh, dragging the bottom of her red dress up with him. Brienne parted her lips— How far is he going to go? She missed this.

His hand crept higher, until about half way up her thigh, Brienne grew nervous. She spread her shaking thighs—his hand stopped and left her skin. She missed him.

Brienne closed her eyes and breathed through her mouth, faster than normal. She needed to try her hardest not to make anything seem abnormal for Elia to notice. The danger of being caught heightened her perception and excited her further. Brienne unintentionally scooted back when she felt Jaime press himself against her. Manually telling herself to lay still, she focused on the ache between her legs. She relaxed. He slowly entered her, managing to completely fill her up in one thrust. His length and heat filled her while he let out a long, deep breath. It became obvious to both of them how aroused Jaime made her. No longer embarrassed, she submitted to the lust she felt for him. She wanted more.

He thrust into her, slower than previous times. She looked down. He dressed in his normal white dress shirt and his eyes remained closed. His stump rested beside him and his right hand settled on the side of his thigh. His closed eyes were tensed and focused. Brienne reflexed and tightened around him—unintentional, but it felt amazing. She grabbed his attention and his eyes opened while he hesitated inside of her. His eyebrows lowered as he paused, staring at her with lion eyes. He resumed thrusting, nestling closer between her thighs and leaning over her, as he had done every other time.

She stiffened under him. Jaime maintained eye contact, reaching over Brienne's thighs with his arms. His left stump rested beyond her thigh and his right hand gripped red fabric beside her hip. It was the closest he ever placed his hand during ceremonies. She wanted him closer. Jaime gave a possessive yank on her fabric and her left hip, pulling her down onto him as he reached deeper inside of her. Brienne's eyes fell back as she stifled a gasp. She wanted it again, again and again. Brienne leaned her head back in response and licked her lips—closing her eyes to imagine Elia wasn’t right behind her.

Jaime let go of her hip and continued thrusting slowly, grinding against her. She felt herself building, occasionally clenching around his cock. He gripped and squeezed the fabric of her dress as she drove him wild.

Brienne halted her breathing for a moment and looked down. Veins strained against his neck, and his mouth parted to allow more air. She could almost taste his breath. Brienne lost herself as she felt herself growing closer to climaxing. She wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them—kiss and embrace. His jaw extended out, followed by his teeth dragging across his lower lip. His hand shuddered beside her. He wants the same thing. His thrusts turned erratic, building and building her. Brienne arched her back, biting her lip as her entire body tensed underneath him. He thrust again, pushing her over the edge as her body burst from within. She came. Her wrists trembled as a whispered moan escaped between her lips—all while her body squeezed and melted over his cock. She inhaled, surprised to find more air in the world to breathe, and he came—groaning, finishing and releasing himself into her. Every inch of her skin tingled. Every part of her soul smiled. And yet, Brienne couldn't open her eyes. Her lips ran dry. He caught his breath, still inside her—still hard. Heat surrounded her. It was inside her, from him, and her skin burned red with embarrassment. He withdrew himself from her, although her body screamed for him to stay. His hand, listening to her, dragged along her thigh—pulling he dress down for her.

With each passing second, her heart beat faster. I can't breathe. Elia withdrew herself and Jaime walked across the room to clean up. Brienne stared at the ceiling—unable to decide if she if she was damned or blessed.

Jaime left the room without saying anything. Brienne closed her eyes. I need answers. But I won't get them from him.

The next evening, Elia visited Cersei and Jaime rushed to work in the early evening. Both Lyanna and Osha remained downstairs, cleaning up for dinner. Brienne said she didn't feel well. It hurt to lie to her only friends, but necessity demanded it. Brienne ascended the stairs with blankets. She arrived to the door of the attic, surrounded with chains of bells and two cameras pointed towards the door. The entrance loomed over her, despite being a smaller than an average door. I shouldn't be here. Brienne counted the bells: 6 trails of 60 bells to be exact. Fuck it. I'm going in. Brienne held out two corners of a blanket and smashed it around a singular line of bells. It barely made a sound, at least not enough for Lyanna and Osha to hear. Brienne untied the cord, setting down the trail of bells and continued to the next one. Something creaked and rustled within the attic.

Brienne worked faster, untying and lowering the trail of bells quickened her movements for the last trails of bells strung around the door. The noise inside the attic increased, making her fingers tremble. Rushing, she turned the knob and flung the door open. I don't give a shit if Jaime sees. Brienne lowered and contorted her body to step inside, climbing a small ladder in the process. The rustling inside stopped. Brienne stepped in farther.

The area was small, dusty, hot and humid. There was a twin bed, bookcase, table and several buckets to the side. A small window barely let any light in, and the sun started to set. Brienne noticed a littering of empty wine bottles beside the bed.

“You’re not who I expected,” a man said.

Brienne twirled around, and someone half her height stood in front of her. His shaggy, messy hair matched his long beard. He wasn't a child by any means, and in fact, he appeared older than her. He was a dwarf. Brienne gasped. Jaime's brother never died? She shook her head in disbelief, staring at the man while he gazed back at her with a defeated expression across his face. All this time, Jaime had been keeping his brother locked up in his attic. Jaime lied to everyone, even Brienne, saying this man died. The noises in the middle of the night were this man, not Jaime’s.

“I didn’t expect the handmaid, I expected someone… with more authority… or guns,” he said, shrugging. His voice sounded deeper than Jaime’s. Brienne wasn’t surprised to learn that the last Lannister sibling had a soft spot for humor, but she wasn’t laughing. “Glass of wine, Miss…?” he asked.

She gave him more silence, staring, until he shrugged again and poured himself a glass.

“Is he for the rebellion?” Brienne asked.

The man looked as if that was the heaviest question she could ask. He stretched his lips across his face in an unsure expression, waddling over to sit on the edge of his bed. “Is this not a rebellion?”

Brienne let out a sigh and crossed her arms. Lannisters annoyed her. “It’s selfish,” she said. “He only breaks rules for himself.”

“That is true, Jaime is selfish, but… aren’t we all?”

Brienne glared at him. He noted her expression and surrendered a hand.

“When I saw he lost a hand, I honestly thought he would go mad. Maybe he did. Maybe he already had. He convinced the committee and our father not to hang you. Is that selfish? He traded you for his hand,” the man said, not a drop of admiration or contempt in his voice.

Brienne tightened her jaw, soon shifting her weight from one heel to another. This realization made her uncomfortable. Jaime wouldn't trade me for a hand. Would he?

“Jaime had nothing to do with that, it was unnecessary,” she said.

“You’re right and you're wrong. He owns you, in this world, so I suppose it was his choice all along. To be honest, I’m not sure if it was selfish or selfless. A bit like your projects, he told me about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your projects. He’s told me that you help him as a mechanic? I thought he was ridiculous when he told me.”

“Why does he really have me work there?” Brienne asked, wondering if this man had any insight into Jaime’s odd requests. “He can’t just have me there for fun or—”

“I hoped you would tell me. He wouldn’t enlighten me. Jaime has different secrets for everyone.” The man took a large gulp from his wine glass.

Brienne hit another wall. She let out a breath she didn’t know she held in. “It just doesn’t add up. For months, I’ve been working there. It’s as if it’s the most important thing to him, helping Gilead.”

“Maybe he’s asking you to sabotage your work? Did you?”

“No, I… didn’t realize...” Brienne said. The bones inside her legs lurched. She reached out to help herself sit, although the overwhelming guilt ate away at her insides.

The man brought over a small glass of wine for her. “It’s not too late, is it? Bring down Gilead from the inside!”

“It is. He stopped me working there, just a couple weeks ago. I worked there a few times after his father died.” Brienne frowned while the man's face soured. He avoided her eye contact and finished his glass of wine. Brienne intensified a glare and said, “Did you kn—It was you… it was you!”

“Let me explain,” he said, holding up a hand again. “I—” he paused to find a place to put his empty glass. "I heard from Jaime that he was going to Jezebel’s. And, I hadn’t been in a couple years, so—” he said, “I asked to come along. He hid me in the trunk. I guess that’s one advantage I have over…" he gestured to Brienne's legs, "people with a different stature. Once we arrived, I tried to find my… Shae. The only love I’ve ever known.” He lost himself within his own thoughts for a moment. “I eventually found her, in a bed naked with my father in it. The moment he saw me, he rushed over to try and kill me. Now if you were in my position, you wouldn’t defend yourself?”

Brienne pressed her lips into a fine line. “I’ve killed a man who wronged me,” she said. He nodded once. “What is your plan? To stay here forever?” Brienne asked.

The man shrugged and poured himself another glass of wine. “Jaime hasn’t said. He just keeps telling me to wait. I’ve been waiting for five years now.”

“What's his plan? He really hasn’t told you anything?” Brienne asked, baffled neither of them understood the mysterious man of that household.

The little man said, “I don’t know his motives, all I know is what I know. The massacre, marriage, handmaids, marthas—he hates all of it. It’s hard to trust him, I know.”

“I don’t anymore,” Brienne said, standing. If he hated handmaids and marthas, he despised Brienne as well. The brother stood as well, and his alarmed face trailed up to look her in the eyes. Brienne ignored him, ducking under beams of wood to see herself out. Before she left, she turned to the man and gave him a curt smile and nod. “I won’t tell anyone else you’re here,” she said.

He forced a weak smile and nodded back. “Thank you,” he said, toasting his wine glass up to her as she stepped out.

Chapter Text

Brienne needed to confront Jaime—face to face. She descended the stairs to the main floor. She brushed past the kitchen, and Osha and Lyanna were too busy discussing their allergies to notice Brienne. Jaime wasn't downstairs. Brienne gave herself a deep breath and slipped down into the basement. It smelled wet and overgrown—but no one was there. His room.

Brienne returned to the second floor, her feet rolling to prevent creaks from revealing her position. The last thing she needed was Lyanna or Osha to interrogate her. She wouldn't be able to keep Jaime's brother a secret for longer than a second. Brienne's scarred hand tried the doorknob, and it turned. Hope surged inside of her as the door opened, but inside, she saw no one. Brienne swallowed and closed the door behind her. Alone... and in his room... Brienne stepped forward. There has to be something here. It smelled like him. A calming trepidation. She hated the reminder. Brienne dragged the edge of her hand against his bed, letting her mind wander back to the ceremony in Elia's room. Goosebumps rolled against her skin. Brienne closed her eyes—until a ping entered her ear.

She frowned and peered to the left, searching for the source of the noise with her eyes. It sounded like a... notification—like the kind mobile phones used to have before Gilead. On his desk, far across the room, a silver laptop stood upright. Brienne chewed the inside of her cheek. Like a moth, Brienne lunged toward the computer. It's heavily forbidden. Brienne faced the computer, and moved the touchpad. Fuck that. I'm doing it. Brienne licked her lips as the computer's black screen lit up to a screen of an email inbox. She had never been so excited to see an email before! Brienne let out a wide smile, quickly reading the headlines of the emails.

"Republic of Gilead News"
"Supply Report - June"
"Recycling Center Is Now Active"
"Large Rebellion Airplane"

Frowning, Brienne tilted her head. Instinct compelled her to open the last email.

"On June 21st, rebel forces managed to fly an older aircraft, specifically a C-119 transport aircraft, onto an open Gilead field East of the river. At least 100 Gilead citizens were kidnapped and forced onto this plane by rebels. Gilead forces were unable to rescue citizens in time or target the aircraft. Pictures are listed below to help identify the source of this aircraft.

Investigation is ongoing."

The pictures, clear as day, showed the same exact engines Brienne worked on in Jaime's factory. Brienne's mouth fell open. I... what? Her heart stopped in an instant. Like a wave crashing over her, Brienne started crying. Jaime tricked me. Each fear of guilt poured out of her with every tear—because she had been helping take down Gilead since the beginning of her posting—without even knowing it.

His behavior made sense, now. Brienne brought her hands to her face, holding her head in her hands. He had even called her his gift, several times. This was the gift: her skill—the planes. He likely had this entire placement planned before Brienne even arrived. "If only you knew the gifts you could bring."

If only he told her.

The door opened and Brienne let her hands fall. Jaime walked in—blinking when his eyes saw Brienne. He set down his briefcase and closed the door behind him, locking it. His eyebrows furrowed into concern.

“Your brother?” she shouted.

Jaime's mouth opened and he looked back to the door. His eyes closed and face tensed before he relaxed. Jaime walk forward with cautious steps, as if Brienne was a grenade, ready to blow up. He said nothing, treading towards her while he held up a single hand in surrender.

“The engines?!” Brienne's voice cracked, still affected by sobbing. Brienne's lips quivered while her chest shook.

His slow walk finished, and he stood in front of the small desk. He reached over and closed the laptop, all while maintaining eye contact with her. He raised his hand back: palm towards her, in front of his chest.

She winced. “What other secrets are you hiding from me, Jaime?”

He winced back and blinked once. Sighing, he walked around the desk and stood next to her. He stepped closer, and Brienne's breathing wavered. His slow hand reached for her cheek, cupping the side of her face in the same gentle touch at Jezebel's. Brienne lowered her head, and he still held it—her eyes focusing on his stump. It represented sacrifice. This man sacrificed almost every part of his life for either family or the greater good, all while acting like an asshole about it. Brienne tried to calm herself down, but the intensity refused to release her. Jaime looked up at her with devotion in his eyes. He doesn't need to say a word. He leaned his forehead against hers. I know exactly what he's saying. Her shaking died down as his thumb brushed across her cheek. Without thinking, she leaned into his hand and closed her eyes. She focused on their mixed breaths and heat swirling together between their bodies.

Jaime closed his eyes and inched his face forward, almost shaking until their lips met. His warm mouth pressed against hers. Her first kiss. It was soft, velvety and naked—not at all what she expected. She stood still, unsure how to react—unsure how to breathe. Jaime held the kiss for a moment. He pulled on her cheek with his hand, guiding her face to his. Her body willingly complied, stepping closer to him as she bent her head down to return his kiss.

The new sensation of his lips continued to distract her. They were delicate, warm and smooth. Not knowing what to do with her hands, she placed them on his hips. He felt muscular and tight under his dress shirt. Even with the summer heat, it excited Brienne to feel warmth underneath her fingers.

Jaime pushed forward with the kiss, tilting his head and opening his mouth—the tip of his tongue tasting the edge of her mouth. Brienne parted her lips, a salty-sweet taste confronting her. He moaned, and a buzz of vibration tingled against her while his lips dragged across hers. He wants this. Brienne leaned forward, greeting his tongue with hers. Months of smelling him felt like mild shocks compared to the lightning bolt of how incredible he tasted. He moaned again, taking his hand from her cheek and placing it firmly on her waist—clenching her. She whimpered against him.

Brienne kissed back with more intensity, letting all of her emotions command her. Her eyes ached and her body swelled. Jaime broke the kiss and Brienne opened her eyes, meeting his as they both breathed for air. He stared at her with lust—she had seen it before. Now she wanted to feel it. Hear it. Taste it. Brienne anticipated him lunging at her—and he did. His mouth collided with hers, hunger evident, and his body pressed against hers. He forced her backwards until she hit a wall of books behind her. Her back clashed with impact, knocking over books. Jaime braced against her as if he wanted to cover every part of her body with his own. She leaned her head back, breathing, leaving him no choice but to kiss her neck.

Jaime’s feverish hand traveled around her as his harsh kisses dragged across her bare neck. His blunt stubble burned her skin. His hand went underneath the bottom of her dress. “Make me stop,” he breathed against her skin. Jaime's hand found her undergarments and yanked. Sounds of the fabric ripping stained her memory. “Tell me to stop,” he begged again.

Brienne shook her head, her hands gripping and clenching the muscles surrounding his arms. Don't stop. She reached between them and tried unbuttoning his shirt. He retrieved his own impatient hand and helped her as his mouth traveled to the other side of her neck.

He paused to take off his shirt, and with Brienne's help, he yanked off his undershirt. Brienne's swollen lips opened wider at the sight of his chest and abdomen. Her skin ruptured into a deep red while he smashed back against her, colliding his mouth with hers. His hand traveled to her back in an attempt to untie the the top of her dress.

Brienne’s hands roamed around his back, dragging across his skin and committing every inch to memory. I can't believe this is happening.

Frustrated with the lack of dexterity, Jaime grabbed the fabric at her shoulder and ripped it down. Vandalized, Brienne gasped. He pulled back, staring at her with strained breathing. His eyes coveted her. An animal, Jaime tore off her prison. Brienne felt more free with every rip.

Before her entire dress ripped free, Brienne pushed forward, unpinning herself from the wall. Jaime let out a single scoff as he stepped backwards. Brienne smirked, cornering him into the wall on the opposite side of the room as her dress hung in rags from her body. Once his back his the wall, he grunted. His eyes lowered as she reached to undo his belt buckle and zipper. His slacks pooled to his feet while his covered cock dragged across her thigh.

He took advantage of her lack of planning and forced his arms against her, and a playful fight ensued. He managed to escape from the wall, pressing his shoulders against her chest while she dug her heels into the ground. He let out a strained laugh and she smiled. Jaime swung his good hand around and wrapped it around her waist, changing her center of gravity for a moment of vulnerability. She started to tip over as he moved, and he pulled her along with him to the floor—catching her poorly as they tumbled onto their sides. Jaime rolled on top of her and planted her on her back.

She opened her mouth to say something but only air escaped. Jaime continued to rip at her dress and undergarments with his hand until every bit of fabric rested as trash beside and beneath her. She lay there—naked—underneath him as he shoved off his underwear. The urgency of their desire needed no words. Jaime leaned his weight on his left forearm next to her shoulder. He hovered over her, nestling his cock between her thighs. Brienne needed several breaths to realize she needed to lift and spread her thighs.

He rested his forehead against her upper chest. His right hand gripping and squeezing flesh across her body—entrapping her skin between his palm and fingers. Jaime breathed out and thrust himself inside of her, releasing a sinful moan against her breast. She inhaled and arched her back, grinding her bare stomach against his. The mere skin to skin contact felt so much better than she could have imagined. This was the first time for her.

Jaime fucked her, reaching down to kiss her breast, neck or shoulder every few thrusts. Pleasure reigned over her, never experiencing it like this before. Her body distracted him far more than she knew possible, and she yearned for all of it. Brienne cried out a few times, and he brought his hand near her face to remind her to keep quiet, sometimes covering her mouth. She moaned against his hand, tasting the salty coating of his skin. When she managed to turn her moans into tiny whimpers, his hand abandoned her lips and explored the rest of her body. They both had many months to make up for. Jaime lifted his torso, reaching his hand between their bodies to rub, tease and drive Brienne wild. And when she cried out, he lowered himself and returned his hand back to stifle her shameless moans.

His hand between her thighs intoxicated her. She rounded her back and gave into his stroking, although sometimes, it was too intense. She’d shiver against his skin, clench around his cock—unable to hold back. She liked it when he covered her mouth, preventing the whole house from hearing her receive pleasure from him.

Unlike the ceremonies, his thrusts grew rougher as time went on. The dull ache between her thighs and inside increased. She twisted her head to the side, opening her mouth to moan as quietly as her body would allow. She clenched her eyes closed—feeling her body tingle, smolder and tense. She was close. Brienne's breath caught in her throat before she warned him, "Jaime, I’m going to c—” He sent his thumb over her lip, dragging it down her lip as he continued to fuck her. Her climax hit, and pleasure rolled over, rippling through her entire body. He thrust into her as she finished, withdrawing his thumb and lifting her head to meet his in a passionate kiss. She moaned into him, followed by breathless whimpers. Brienne reached down to pull on his hips—needing him deeper—needing him to finish. Jaime gave him, breaking the kiss and burying himself into her while his forehead leaned against hers. He bit into his lower lip right before his entire body tensed and released—spilling inside of her. The tip of his nose touched hers as he sighed against her. With him directly above her, she followed his pleasured expressions.

His naked body sweat and glistened above hers. His chest heaved as he leaned his weight onto her and the floor. His faithful eyes found her. Short-winded, he gave a faint smile. She finally saw him, both inside and out. She swore she had never seen anyone so handsome in her entire life.

Chapter Text

Brienne wished she could have taken a picture of Osha’s face when she saw Brienne’s torn dress the next morning. Lyanna would have died laughing, but only because Osha had to sew. Of course, extra red handmaid dresses hung in Brienne's closet—but a torn dress was...odd to see.

Osha’s eyes squinted and glared at Brienne. She said, “Looks like you’ll need a new dress.”

Brienne held back a smile and averted her eyes to her window—small and covered in rain stains from summer storms.

“What's going on with you?” Osha asked.

“I feel free. Ready to rebel more,” Brienne said, lifting her chin. Her feet wanted to lift her up into jumps of joy—but Osha wouldn't understand. Brienne was never a talker, and she hated gossiping. When Jaime tore off her dress, he also tore off her guilt. She no longer winced at the thought of her many hours of work for Gilead—because she worked for the rebellion, not Gilead. Brienne dropped her growing smile and gazed at the floor. The truth tingled at the back of her throat, threatening to come up with bile and sloshes of sour, mushed food. She almost vomited it all up—Jaime, rebellion, his brother—Brienne let out a long sigh and bit her tongue. No. The less people know, the better.

“Any more acts of rebellion shouldn’t give me more work than I already have,” Osha said, brushing past Brienne. She picked up the torn rags of red fabric one by one. After throwing them into a straw bag, Osha stormed out of Brienne's room.

Brienne brought her hand to cover her mouth in an attempt to contain giggling like a little girl. Even in Gilead, young, new love shaped Brienne into a jubilant daydreamer. Jaime completely consumed Brienne's thoughts, to the point that almost nothing else mattered. She fantasized about him every hour—every minute, despite almost never seeing him alone. His masculine smell. Just thinking of how he tasted turned her on. His jawline, eyes, hair—the way his skin felt warm, yet strong and firm. His smile. All of them. His teasing smirk. His golden grin. She loved making him smile.

She often held her breath whenever she walked into the same room with him, and they were almost always around others in the house. Their fleeting eyes met for seconds, and it was enough to burn her for hours. She stared longer whenever he looked away. Brienne wished she dragged her lips across his cheek, nose and neck. She smiled, like a sunflower pointing and seeking towards the sun.

She lived for the small moments they shared alone. Their innocent, faint smiles felt sinful. His eyes fawned over her like he imagined her naked. When passing by each other on the main floor, Brienne slowed down her steps. She lingered by his right side, brushing her fingers against his while they crossed paths. Brienne and Jaime would lock gazes and she'd breathe him in. Their moment ended, always far too soon. Their love became a chameleon, hiding in the background of despair around them.

Brienne's chest swelled to the verge of bursting—waiting and hoping for any moment alone with him. They shared few moments. Their first, Jaime directed Osha and Lyanna into another room while Jaime and Brienne filled their time with quick and feverish embraces. Osha's heavy steps warned them of her approach, and they repelled away. Brienne found more luck than Jaime when she started an argument between Osha and Lyanna about the correct way to dice an onion. While the marthas quarreled in the kitchen, Brienne and Jaime pressed themselves together against the closed kitchen door—mere feet from exposure. Lyanna and Osha’s debate ran longer than expected, and so did Jaime and Brienne's kiss. His lips hummed against hers. Jaime's sweet hand turned biting, clenching onto her waist. Brienne caved under him, forgetting everything else until he broke off the kiss. His whispered words told her was going to leave and investigate the rebellion airplane. She knew what he meant. Jaime's mouth left her ear and returned to her lips, kissing her passionately before he pulled back—leaving her behind and breathless. Brienne touched her lips, savoring his taste while they tingled and swelled.

Before he left the next day, early in the morning, she slipped his room. Her eyes noticed the bookcase first—where their pleasure burned into her memory. A few books were still strewn about from their tryst. Brienne closed her eyes, remembering the ripping fabric and hastened breathing. It's a miracle no one heard my heart.

"Come to say goodbye?" Jaime said, dressed in a dark suit. He frowned and walked over to her while Brienne couldn't think of what to say. She wanted to feel him again, not just say goodbye. "You're blushing," he said, reaching out his hand to hold her cheek.

She winced and blinked—wondering when or if they could have more than a minute alone. "I—" she paused. "How much longer?"

He chuckled. "Can't wait till the next ceremony?" He laughed again when her smile dropped. After licking his lips, he said, "We'll know when the time is right. Please, stay out of trouble. I'll be back before you know it."

Brienne counted the days. It had been over two weeks before he came back. Elia scheduled the ceremony again, due to Brienne's menstruation a week earlier. Brienne did her best not to think about Elia—or Gilead. It was hard. But Brienne pretended Jaime and her lived a life of freedom and happiness...somewhere. Maybe the mountains and have a cabin made of oak. Or the beach... and lie naked on the sand. Brienne's heart stung. She wouldn't get those wishes. Her body ached as she sat on her windowsill, watching a dark storm roll in from far away. Instead I live here.

Bitterness on her tongue remained until Jaime's memorable black sedan pulled into the driveway. Her legs flung herself to standing and her hands gripped the seat cushion as she watched. She rushed downstairs, not caring that her boots stomped throughout the house. Lyanna greeted Jaime in the entryway and said, "Would you like us to formally greet you, sir?"

"No, of course not," he said, "there’s no time. Pod is going to take Elia and I to see Cersei. Ofjaime will come, too, to see her partner. Can you get both of them?”

Brienne stumbled down the stairs and arrived to see he had already left. Lyanna offered a simple smile and turned to retrieve Elia. Brienne snatched her wings and fumbled the cover over her head as she walked out the door. She hoped to find him alone.

Instead, he sat in the front seat, with Pod next to him. Brienne climbed in the back, unable to tear her eyes away from Jaime. He ignored Brienne, although his right hand rubbed and moved over his own knee. He's thinking about me. His hand stopped when Elia entered, sitting next to Brienne. Both of the women stiffened, leaning away from each other while Podrick drove them over to Cersei's house. Brienne’s eyes crossed the car, ogling at the side of Jaime’s face. His eyes were tired, and gray specks peppered his stubble. During the ride, Jaime mentioned the baby Brienne’s mind fluttered to Sansa. I need to talk to her.

In Cersei's driveway, Brienne walked behind Jaime and Elia. Jaime continued to ignore Brienne as if she was an unwanted piece of house furniture. Her heart ached for him, but the severity of his visit seemed to gloom over him like the oncoming storm clouds.

The door opened. “Surprised to see you,” Cersei said, holding Eddard—or Mace, depending on the mother. Brienne’s eyes latched onto the adorable baby, whose eyes observed the four adults in front of him. He gave a toothless smile while he clutched at Cersei. His fine blond hair hinted red. Cersei dressed in black, a customary color for widows. Behind Cersei stood a martha and a large man, taller than Brienne. He glared, and his face couldn't be described as harsh and grim.

Cersei’s eyes traveled to Brienne, who stood next to Podrick. Without looking back, Jaime seemed to understand her glance, shrugged and said, “I brought her to visit her partner. I’ve heard they haven’t seen each other since…”

“I wish you would have called. She’s not feeling well. She won’t be entertaining guests,” Cersei said, forcing a smile.

“Well then,” Jaime said, “have her clear the gutters from the ground or clean ceilings. I don't care. This isn’t why I'm here.”

Cersei moved aside, looking at her brother with a curious expression. They walked in together, Elia trailing behind. Brienne followed, walking through taut, humid air—waiting for rain to fall.

Brienne diverted from the two wives and Jaime, instead following a martha who now held Eddard. The marthas beckoned Brienne to follow, and they entered a play area. It smelled of babies and wipes, making Brienne smile. The martha placed Eddard down and he immediately scooted around. He kicked and shouted in excitement. Brienne sat, keeping herself quiet while the three women watched Eddard try his hand at crawling. He had his eyes on a small wooden car a few inches too far from him.

Brienne felt like Eddard, struggling to reach her goal. She wasn't with Jaime, and she wasn't going anything useful. She was nowhere near escaping—and she needed allies to do that. Brienne saw Sansa in Eddard: his blue eyes, smile and hair. I need to see her. Brienne cleared her throat and asked the marthas, “Would you mind if I walked around?”

Both marthas looked over at Brienne with a blank stare. They needed more convincing—a reason.

“I’ve missed my walk today and—” Brienne lied and looked around before leaning closer. “I want to keep my shape up before I start growing.” Another lie. Brienne placed a hand on her stomach.

Both marthas' mouths dropped. “Praise be!”

“I am truly blessed,” Brienne said, forcing a wide grin.

“Of course, just stay out of this weather. We have Mace, don’t worry.”

Brienne nodded, stood and exited the room. Outside the door, when solitude surrounded her, Brienne frowned. Where is Sansa? Brienne stepped into the main room, hearing nothing but silence. The Lannisters must have been in one of the sitting rooms, and of course, Brienne needed to avoid them. Eddard cried from the other room, reminding her to focus. If Sansa was sick, she’d likely be upstairs, maybe in the room she gave birth in. Brienne trekked to the second floor, trying her best to stay quiet.

Almost all of the doors on the second floor were closed. Brienne walked to Sansa’s door, finding it locked. Brienne knocked and no answer came. Seriously? Brienne tried the next door—locked. The next door—also locked. Every door was locked except Cersei's room and Eddard's nursery. Brienne entered his room for a moment. Filled with a joyful green color, toys and blocks littered the ground. On his dresser was a collection of stuffed animals: all lions.

Brienne pushed forward in her exploration, unable to find any sign of her friend. She walked to the end of the hallway and looked through the window at the bending and rustling trees. It was as if Sansa was trying to speak to her through murmuring leaves and uneasy wind. Down the house, a trellis climbed up to the window below her and along the walls. I can climb. With her new idea in hand, she walked down the stairs and out of the house. In her red dress, Brienne walked alongside the walls of the house and ducked below windows—for fear of people noticing her. The dusk air covered everything in a dark, gray hue. Wind assaulted her, along with smells of fresh, cut grass and oncoming rain.

Brienne came up to the side of the house with Sansa's room. She looked up, following a trellis with her eyes to below Sansa's room. The faintest light came from inside. Sansa is in there. Now she had reason to climb. I have to save her.

Chapter Text

Crouching lower, Brienne crossed into the garden, filled with blooming red and white lilies. Behind them, along the house, tall sunflowers swayed in the humid wind. Soil squished beneath her feet as her heavy weight sank into it. Her boots tried their best to avoid delicate petals, stems and leaves, but as she advanced towards the wall, her guilt dissipated. Light rain pattered against her shoulders as if someone tapped for her attention. Stay focused. Rhythmic trickles of water fell against the house, plants and soil. She gazed ahead, observing the wooden trellis climb up the house. Behind her, pines scratched the sky and fields of grass danced under the weather. The houses' edge of the pack porch extended to Brienne's left. At the very least, it did its best to block out her tall, long body. Let's just hope no one looks up.

Brienne hurried herself and stepped towards the wooden trellis. She yanked it, testing its strength. Wood wobbled a little, and her weight gave her pause. She licked her lips as her heart quickened like the rain—beating faster. She rolled her neck, stretched her shoulders and brushed off her large bonnet. She sank the toes of her boot into her first step up the trellis. Her fingers, with rain running down, clenched wood above her head like a ladder. She held her breath and latched on, testing her weight. It held her. Brienne released a quick smile—although she had only just started. Brienne chewed the side of her tongue and stepped up, climbing one limb at a time. She reached several feet off the ground when something rustled behind her, next to the garden. Sent into a heart attack, Brienne stopped moving and held on tighter.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jaime asked.

Brienne closed her eyes, letting the adrenaline and rain wash over her, soaking into her muscles. Her mind knew she was safe, but her body failed to trust her. After taking in a deep breath and releasing it, she said, “What does it look like?”

“That you’re stupid, careless and not thinking,” Jaime said.

Brienne glared at him while her fingers choked the wood.

“Get down and back inside before we both get soaked,” he demanded.

Rain increased, spitting water into her face. She no longer felt its tender chill. Her eyes, however, turned arctic and away from Jaime. Her skin hardened, bracing more of his insults. “I need answers and I’m not stopping until I get them.” Brienne steel lungs breathed through gritted teeth. She continued to climb, and she could feel the hole his eyes burned into her back. After a few breaths, his hand clasped around her ankle and boot. “Get off of me,” she said.

He shook his head. “Don’t make me pull you down,” he warned.

She kicked his hand away, ignoring him.

“There is a better way,” he said.

Brienne stopped moving.

“I have a key.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she said and scowled down at him. He scoffed while she climbed down, and she grew more tense and red in the process. Her soaked and heavy dress pulled on her, and the ground beneath her squished into mush as she stomped over towards Jaime. They met in the middle of the garden, next to the porch.

“Let’s go inside. I’ll say I found you walking,” he said before turning away.

She snatched his wrist—he whirled around to face her. His eyes widened and lips parted. She wasn't going anywhere without the key. Brienne held out her other hand, palm up, waiting for him to place the key to Sansa's room in her hand.

Jaime's eyes fell with the rain, and a soft sigh escaped him. "I don't have one," he said.

Brienne winced with quivering lips and thrust herself away from him. I'm going to climb.

He leapt after her. “You don’t need a key to see what’s going on. Cersei has her trapped up there. If you go up there, you only risk exposing yourself. You risk exposing us. You’ll be on the wall. You need to be smart about this, Brienne.”

“I can’t ignore things anymore,” Brienne said, placing her hands on the trellis.

“If you do anything now, it’s careless. Cersei won’t tolerate you or your friend breaking her rules.”

“But you tolerate Cersei?” Brienne spun around to face him, hoping her words clawed into him.

He blinked and stared. Jaime shook his head, glaring. “Don’t make me choose between her or you.”

He stung her. Brienne's teeth bit into the insides of her cheeks and lips. “Don’t make me choose between right or wrong.”

Wind whirled around them, along with more rain. She hardly felt it anymore. She didn't want to know who he would choose—she wanted to save Sansa. Brienne turned around to climb again.

Jaime rushed forward and placed himself between her and the house. His white shirt clung to his skin, outlining his shoulders and arms. Brienne puffed her own chest, straightening her shoulders in order to signal him to move aside. Jaime proved a formidable opponent, so she had no choice but to force him away from her.

Brienne lunged, using adrenaline to her advantage. She slammed her shoulders against his chest, ramming him into the wall of the house. He let out a guttural heave as she wrapped her arms around him, ready to throw him to the side. She twisted her back, picking him up and twirling him behind her—let him fall to the ground. His muscles flexed under her touch, and his warmth reminded her of how cold she was. She dug her heels into the ground to prevent herself from falling, but she didn't manage to catch his good hand snaking around her back. He used her throwing momentum and weight to pull her backwards with him. She stumbled towards him, in the opposite direction of her goal.

They both fell in the muddy garden muck, splashes covering them with water, dirt and mulch. Earthy, mineral scents overwhelmed Brienne. Freed of Jaime, Brienne stood—determined to climb the trellis. Jaime grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. Neither of them said a word. Wrestling, Brienne pinned Jaime beneath her. She scowled down at him, not caring how ugly she looked when she frowned. He deserved every grimace. His hand, trying to grip and push her shoulder, let go. Brienne retreated and turned back to the trellis. But he reached after her again, yanking her back and starting the cycle over.

She added force into her pushes, throwing him down under her. He matched her coarseness, trying as best as he could to throw her off of him. Jaime used his hand and stump to try and leverage himself free. Their fight smoldered and raged enough to leave bruises—but nothing would hurt more than loneliness.

Jaime pulled her down again, thumping her large body against the ground. They tussled as before, arms flailing to get a good anchor point to dominate the other. Like every other time, Brienne won, straddling Jaime with both of her thighs as they stopped moving to inhale for air. Both of her hands held down his arms to his side. His entire shirt stained with brown earth. Rain continued to rattling against them.

“Let me go. I’ve already given you your gift,” she spat.

He lurched and flexed towards her, trying to free his arms as his face almost collided with hers. She leaned back, eyes wide from his sudden advance. Her hands let go of his arms and his hand sought out her face. Brienne pushed and slapped his seeking hand away, but he bypassed her defense and grasped the back of her head. She winced as he pulled her towards him, he tilted his head and he forced his mouth onto hers.

When their lips met, chilled from rain, she froze. Her body tensed over him, and his fingers tangled and sank into her hair. Brienne's cap slipped off, and her soaked hair fell against her neck. His hand softened, but refused to let go of her. It only took one moan from him for her to melt and give in. Brienne kissed him back, and she returned her passion stronger. He groaned against her, feasting on her rain drenched lips and skin. Brienne yielded, forgetting every plague around her.

He rolled her and her straddled legs over, landing between her thighs and hovering over her. Wet soil flattened underneath her back. Now vulnerable, Brienne broke off the kiss. He gave her no glares and descended his lips down her body, kissing down her dress until his hand reached underneath. Brienne's throat closed. “Now?” Brienne said.

Jaime pulled on her wet undergarments and said, “Yes. Now.”

Brienne watched him through the rain, mesmerized by the sight of him unbuckling his belt. Only they mattered in that moment. And she lifted for moments even Gilead couldn't touch her. She reached for what she wanted: him. She cupped his wet face as his eyes narrowed up at her. After one breath, he complied and leaned forward, giving into her. She pulled his face down to meet hers in a kiss, joined and surrounded by kisses from rain. Brienne opened her thighs, letting him press his warm body over hers—protecting her from everything. She never felt safer. His cock sank into her as a moan escaped his throat.

Jaime pinned her against mud—urgent thrusts sinking them lower into the garden bed. Brienne's heart revved and raced, welcoming him. She leaned her head back in the mud, unsure how to match his rousing passion. She cried out, reaching to grab at drowning flowers or his shoulders. He sighed whenever her hands dug into him. She clawed deeper—he fucked her harder. His soaked shirt glided against his hot skin. His animalistic lust consumed her.

“Jaime?!”

Both Brienne and Jaime stopped and looked towards the yard. A woman called out for him—looking for him. Brienne remained frozen while Jaime slipped out and off of her, leaving her cold and empty. Her heart nearly suffocated, even more so when Jaime dragged her across the mud and broken plants.

Her vision darkened. Brienne's eyes darted around, seeing a low, black ceiling above her. Jaime tucked them both underneath the porch crawl space.

Brienne turned onto her side, hoping to land on her stomach for a better view. It was a tight fit. As she started rotating forward, Jaime's hand clasped against her shoulder. She stopped. They both breathed, trying their best to keep noise to an absolute minimum.

Jaime’s hand abandoned her shoulder and found her hand, intertwining their fingers together. It was the first time anyone held her hand like in the movies. Brienne squeezed her fingers against him while his forehead pressed at the pack of her neck. He spooned her.

“Jaime?” the voice called out again, farther away.

Brienne remained still, unsure what to do. She held his hand, dirt sliding between their palms. Darkness surrounded her as the day died and bled into night. Her bare, wet thighs shivered—and she still felt his warm skin pressed against. Brienne closed her eyes, choosing to focus on nothing except him. His breath against her neck, his hard cock against her ass, his hand laced against her palm. Brienne whimpered. He squeezed her hand tighter, and she bit her lip to keep quiet.

His hand retreated, gliding down her bunched hemline at her stomach and invading between her legs. Brienne's lips parted as he touched her—rubbing, teasing, stroking. Brienne arched her back, reaching behind her to sink her fingers into the side of his hip. Jaime sighed. His cock pressed forward, slipping past her trembling skin until it pressed back inside her. Brienne held back a moan.

It felt different than missionary position—more intimate. He rolled his hips, grinding into with slow thrusts while he cuddled her from behind. His hand circled on her, making her quiver against him. Brienne rocked her hips back towards his, meeting his thrusts and earning lustful growls.

"Brienne—" he whispered, urgent and pleading. The sound of her name behind her ear built tension within her.

Wetter, she bucked against his slow rhythm, reaching her hand back to grip his tense, shuddering thigh. She closed her eyes, focusing on him rubbing and fucking her while her hand tried to embrace him. I'm building. Someone called out Jaime’s name again, so she bit her lip to keep quiet. So close. Jaime thrust faster, limiting his moans by releasing his heavy breath against her neck. The same person yelled Jaime's name again—angrier. Neither Brienne nor Jaime cared.

Both his hand and his hips became more erratic, and his cock stiffened inside of her. Brienne’s right hand searched for his face behind her, grabbing the hair on the back of his head as he did to her earlier. He buried his face into her neck and his hot breath tarnished her skin. Her body seized itself as he drove himself deeper, spilling himself inside of her while she climaxed around him. Both of them breathed—holding each other—without saying a word.

Chapter Text

Brienne never found Sansa. Instead, she hunkered over to the sedan and found spare blankets in the trunk to cover herself. No one could see her clothes—they were brown, not red. She waited by the car until Podrick arrived. His mouth remained shut, likely due to Jaime's orders, and he drove Brienne home alone. And how is Jaime going to explain his outfit?

At home, Brienne changed into a new dress. Her ruined dress pooled in the corner of her small room, staining old gray wooden planks. Lyanna knocked at her door and she spooked Brienne. “Would you…” Lyanna said, “like a bath?”

Baths weren’t customary unless it was a ceremony day. Ignoring Gilead, Brienne nodded her head and gave a weak smile. The bath warmed her from the outside in, and she had been left alone with her own thoughts. A shadow of her former self, Brienne's emotions floated to the surface within her. The gravity of their love pulled at her with the strength of stars—and they never even said it... yet. She worried he remained out of orbit, with only his actions to confirm his position. He was a man of few honest words, even less describing his feelings. Brienne wanted all of them to escape and live a free life across the border. She closed her eyes and daydreamed. No more hiding. Movie nights with popcorn. Travel the world. Children. Brienne grimaced, bracing as the tragedy of her situation flooded back into her mind. She sank into the tub, letting the water rise up to surround her.

Before bed, someone stormed up to her room. Her heart craved Jaime, but her eyes saw Osha—glowering and twisting with fury. “I told you to cause less work,” Osha said.

Brienne sent a sympathetic smile. The dress. “I’m sorry. I can help.”

“You want to explain why the commander’s outfit is just as dirty?”

Brienne's breath lodged in her throat. She petrified. Her face ripened, revealing her secret before she had a chance to lock it away.

Osha imploded, wrinkling her face into a sour expression.

"I'm sorry. We haven't—it hasn't been that long. Ever since the driver—" Brienne paused, closing her eyes while Osha pressurized. "It just happened. Once I found out the plane—"

"The plane?"

Brienne winced. Shit. I shouldn't have said anything. "The...plane..."

"He built that old thing?" Osha asked.

Brienne opened her eyes and saw an entirely different woman. Osha's face melted into neutral, and she stared at Brienne for a long time. Silence crept their way between them, and Osha's eyes glanced away first. She knows about that plane. Osha walked over to the pile of soaked fabric. When she picked it up, drops of water trickled onto the floor. Osha side eyed Brienne and walked to the door.

“Thank you,” Brienne said.

Brienne expected no reply, but Osha said over her shoulder, “You have to grab love where you can find it. Just don’t bring me down with you. Love makes you into a fool.”

Brienne swallowed as she left and looked at her window—still dark with night. Love. She would do it all again.

For the following week, Brienne and Jaime sneaked around, only when Elia left the house. Osha walked in on them kissing against a wall in the drawing room. Jaime turned a shade of red Brienne didn’t know existed. It took several minutes of explaining to comfort him once Osha stepped out. He scolded Brienne, predictably, but he also let out several sighs of relief. He never admitted it, but he showed it. She held his head, massaging him as his eyes closed—enjoying her touch.

Their romance flourished from that point on, always a heart’s length away from one another. Every night, it was easier for Brienne to slip into his bedroom. Without words, they collided together. Throughout the day, Brienne recalled each time they made love. Short and sweet—clothes always on—just in case. Once on the loveseat. Once over the loveseat. Twice on the floor—the same place as their first time. One time in his bathroom, where Brienne watched him in the mirror. His expressions mesmerized her: full of passion and lust—all for her. They avoided his bed, however comfy it was, because they fears creaking noises would echo throughout the house.

After sex, they talked—anywhere from a few minutes to an hour. The fear of exposure by Elia equaled their interest to get to know one another. She learned about him. He suffered from dyslexia. He still joked and mocked from time to time, especially when she asked where he learned so many sex positions or how to please a woman. At first, his pride interfered with answering. But Brienne knew Elia had been his only partner and Elia wasn't the adventurous type. He eventually admitted that his brother, Tyrion, told him more than he ever wanted to know. Jaime hadn’t had sex in several years and he managed to fake every ceremony with his previous handmaid. It baffled Brienne to see such a handsome man have such a boring sex life, but his looks had nothing to do with it. He was sensitive, just like Tywin had said. When she called him sensitive, he took offense and labeled himself as "perceptive". When asked about fake ceremonies, he said no one ever checked, and his previous handmaid appreciated his cover up. According to Jaime, Elia hated the first handmaid because she never conceived. Brienne also learned that Elia had no idea about Tyrion or the resistance, and due to her family, she couldn't be trusted. Jaime said he knew Osha and Lyanna better than Elia.

Jaime consistently changed the subject when Brienne brought up tougher, darker topics, like what he wanted to do with Tyrion. He said he had a plan and revealing it was too dangerous to talk about. Sansa's fate worried Brienne, but Jaime convinced her that trying to help would only put them all in danger. Brienne asked about Cersei. He admitted that he either had to have her move into his household or remarry her to another commander. Neither Brienne nor Jaime wanted to live with her. It became obvious to Brienne that Jaime changed feelings towards his sister, and their confrontation at Cersei’s house likely catalyzed his feelings. He used to love her. Brienne never mustered up the courage to ask why Jaime picked Brienne, or even confirmed if he felt love in the first place. She could only hope.

Jaime did, however, provide more information about the plane. The aircraft continuously smuggled refugees out of Gilead. Once, Brienne asked if, or how, their house could escape. Jaime stared at her for a moment, caught off guard by her question. Brienne offered to help or get help, and Jaime shook his head. After continuously badgering him with questions, he admitted he couldn't escape. He would be arrested as a war criminal. In his mind, he said he could do more good helping people from inside. Brienne started to cry and he distracted her by promising to go on a date. His tactic succeeded, and when she asked what they would do, he simply replied, "The ceremony." Brienne didn't laugh—even when he chuckled at his own joke. They often ended the evening when Jaime received an important email or late night conference call on his laptop. Brienne massaged his shoulders before he started working—something he hummed and relaxed to. Over his shoulders, she watched him enter his password—just in case.

The day of the ceremony arrived, and Brienne coached herself through her game plan. No moaning. No touching. No sign of affection. As the evening matured and the event grew closer, Brienne started to psych herself out, convinced Elia would discover the affair. This is a horrible date.

She walked into the bathroom, undressing as someone ran up the stairs. Brienne frowned when a concerned Lyanna stepped into her view. "I think your friend is here?" Lyanna breathed out, motioning downstairs with her eyes.

Brienne faltered—frowning until she realized it might be Sansa. Brienne forgot everything else and rushed down to the main floor, skipping steps and racing to the bottom. A baby cried.

When she arrived to the first floor, Brienne stopped and stared. Elia held Eddard. Brienne blinked and gazed past them. A handmaid stood behind Elia, her head covered by wings and fixed on the ground. Sansa?!

Brienne wanted to ask so many questions, but she lived in Gilead. Elia's brown eyes stabbed Brienne. I can't stare. Brienne averted her eyes to the ground while both marthas entered the room.

"These are your marthas, Mace. Welcome to your new home!" Elia said, talking to the baby.

Both Osha and Lyanna stood shocked, glancing over at Brienne to see if she knew. Brienne widened her eyes and shook her head once.

"The handmaid?" Osha asked, timid for her personality.

Elia bounced the baby in her arms, looking back at the woman behind her. "Well, I compromised. Mace needs milk and she won't be here long. At least we finally have a baby."

Brienne's eyes fell lower. Fuck off.

Lyanna smiled and stepped forward, reaching out to introduce herself to the baby. Osha reserved herself, standing several feet away. "What about his mother?" Lyanna asked.

Elia took a step back and tilted herself away from Lyanna. "I am his mother," she said.

What? Brienne's eyes flashed across the floor, wondering what she meant. What happened to Cersei? Brienne's lips quivered as the unknown began to haunt her. Elia walked past the women and Sansa followed in tow. As she brushed by, Brienne reached out to touch Sansa's hand. They briefly squeezed each others scarred fingers before their moment ended.

"Mrs. Lannister, what about the ceremony?" Osha called out.

"Does it look like I'm available? Cancel it." Elia said, halfway up the stairs.

Brienne huddled into the kitchen with the marthas.

"How does your beau explain this?" Osha asked in an angry whisper.

Brienne shrugged and widened her eyes. "I don't know...He said his sister had to remarry, and Mace would be adopted by a new commander."

"Sounds like that plan went well," Osha said, scoffing. "Let's hope you stick around with the new handmaid, little one."

Brienne shook her head and waited—counting down the minutes she could walk upstairs. Jaime wasn't home, and it wasn't Jaime she needed to speak to. Her feet carried her to Sansa's new room, on the second floor. Brienne knocked and opened the door for herself. Sansa sat on a small bed in the corner. Beside her bed was a manual breast pump, half full with milk. Sansa's bagged eyes glanced up. Dark circles surrounded her, but a small glimmer of light beamed when she saw Brienne. The two of them reached out for each other and met in the middle of the room in a tight, unmovable hug.

“I am so glad you’re here,” Brienne said, almost crying. Sansa sobbed against her. They both held each other for several minutes.

“Am I safe here?” Sansa finally asked. Her eyes glanced around the room as if monsters might jump out.

“Very,” Brienne said, trying her best to seem welcoming. “What is happening, exactly?”

Sansa looked up at Brienne with caution as she sat on her bed. Sansa's face fixated on her hands, twisting and knotting within themselves. “I don’t know," Sansa said, and words continued to flow. "Aunt Ellaria said I would have a new commander, because Cersei was engaged and marrying soon. Cersei kept me locked away for so long, I couldn’t wait for someone to help. But I heard arguing this morning. Hours later, this Podrick guy came to pick me and Ned up. Ellaria is supposed to visit here tomorrow, and I don’t know if I’m replacing you or?” Sansa fidgeted with her hands. “I really don’t—I just want to find Theon and—”

“Who is Theon?” Brienne knew Jaime wouldn't leave her, but she had never heard Theon's name before.

Sansa winced. She gulped. “The driver. Eddard’s father.”

Loras isn't Mace's father. Brienne let out a small sigh, followed by a smile. Sansa loves Theon. Brienne walked forward, sitting beside Sansa on the bed. Her arm reached around to rub Sansa’s back. “I’ll find him,” Brienne said.

Sansa frowned, not believing her.

Brienne took in a deep breath. She needed to protect them. “I have connections now. And I’m getting you out.”

Chapter Text

“Why are we going to work so late?” Brienne asked as she sat in the car. Jaime climbed in next to her and motioned Podrick to start driving. She dressed in her martha clothing, just as Jaime told her to, but she had never visited the factory at night. She hadn’t seen the factory in weeks.

“Don’t call it work, call it—Okay, it’s not work, but I needed to get you out of the house,” Jaime said.

Brienne glared, crossing her arms over her chest. She stared outside the tinted window at the world she rarely witnessed. Car rides used to be boring. Not anymore. They kept quiet, glancing at each other in the backseat in random bursts and smiles. Brienne frowned when they crossed the first security checkpoint. She leaned down, hiding from guards.

“You’re safe with me,” Jaime said.

“I know,” she whispered.

Brienne offered a weak smile, and it disappeared when Jaime's right hand found her left one. Our only good hands left. He brushed the tips of his fingers against her skin, dragging it along every edge of her hand. Both of them watched as he traced an imaginary maze on her. Shivers distracted her, rippling from her hand throughout her body. The car stopped and Brienne's eyes glanced out the window. Jezebel's. Her face scowled in an instant, and Jaime threw his hand up in defense. Podrick left the car to open their doors and Jaime explained in the brief moment they were alone, "I promised you a date, remember?"

Her frown turned into a smirk as she blushed, unable to hide her sudden enthusiasm. Podrick opened the door and she looked away. Tyrion is home, right?

Instead of entering the lobby, full of its demons, Jaime walked alongside Brienne up the stairs. They arrived to a room close to the stairwell and he opened the door with a keycard. Like a gentleman she saw in the movies, he held the door open for her. He smiled, waiting for her to enter first. She did.

She half expected them both to tear off their clothes or start their usual quick routine, but flickering candles stole her eyes. Behind her, Jaime held back a smile as he closed the door, locking it behind him. Brienne walked towards the candles. A paper with text rested front and center on the table, far enough from candles and beside two tall glasses with bubbling liquid and strawberries. Out of instinct, Brienne avoided the paper and looked away.

“Read it,” Jaime encouraged.

She took a deep breath and looked it over, feeling awkward reading in front of a man. Gilead had changed her.

“AUTOMOTIVE SERVICE EXCELLENCE

Be it known that

Brienne Tarth

having successfully passed the examinations and satisfied the experience requirement is hereby CERTIFIED as a MASTER AUTOMOBILE TECHNICIAN with COMPETENCE in the following areas:

Engine Repair
Automatic Trans/Transaxle
Manual Drive Train and Axles
Suspension and Steering
Brakes
Electrical/Electronic Systems
Heating and Air Conditioning
Engine Performance”

Her eyes looked it over again and again, noting every black and blue letter. Between shaking fingers, she picked it up and smiled. Her sunlight grin grew wider as she read it over again—filling her soul with pride. Her father would be so proud of her—if he knew. Jaime’s gift warmed her heart, and the man smirked beside her. His chin lowered while he smiled. He looks damn proud of himself.

Naturally ruining the moment, Jaime said, “You should have seen the hoops I had to jump through to make this. If anyone saw your name, I would have never come home.”

Brienne gave him a single warning look, although her smile begged to disagree. “You risked everything to make this?”

Jaime scoffed, turning around to drag a wheeled cart over to the table. “You're horrible at giving and receiving compliments. You're welcome."

Bashful, Brienne wet her lips and pressed them together, wishing she answered differently.

He motioned for her to sit after he pulled off the cover of the cart. She followed his cues, not exactly sure how to act like a stereotypical lady. The delicious smell of warm cooked pasta filled her nose, and Jaime took his time setting the certificate aside. He took longer with one hand, but Brienne allowed him to continue—always threatening to smile. In front of her was pasta with mushrooms, leaks and a delicious cream sauce. Brienne took off her cap from her head, letting her blonde hair fall to her neck.

"I suppose I do have a lot to be thankful for," Brienne said.

"And so do I," he said, sitting across from her.

After eating in silence, Brienne observed him set down his fork to reach for a glass of water. “Do you miss your hand?” she asked, remembering the first time she thought of him as Jaime and not Commander Lannister. I never would have called you Jaime. Brienne set her fork down. If Gilead happened, I never would have met you.

“If you’re asking if I’d do it again, the answer is yes. Do you miss my hand?”

“I think you do well without it.”

She expected a one-liner, but none came. Instead, he humbly smiled, completely catching her off guard. She loved that smile. Even when he smiled only for her, she couldn't bring herself to ask him his feelings. She barely admitted to herself that she loved him. Actions spoke much louder than words, and she listened to his. The way he coveted her, teased her, served her, protected her—Brienne wanted to do the same to him.

"What happened to Cersei?" Brienne asked.

Jaime sighed and looked at Brienne, giving her a look like she shouldn't have brought it up. After a few blinks, Jaime said, “She's still a widow. Probably always will be. The more I learn of her, the less I know her. She’s all smiles and joy with my decision," he said in sarcasm. "It didn’t seem completely unordinary to take in her kin—Sorry, the baby, so I did. Elia has her spawn. Cersei wanted to send Sansa to the Colonies—" Jaime looked at Brienne, turning serious. "I couldn't let that happen."

Their plates had been empty for several minutes. The tall glass were still full of alcohol—untouched by either of them. “How long do we have here?” she asked, wondering why he remained so calm. We probably have to leave in an hour.

“Till late morning.”

Oh. Brienne widened her eyes, looking around. It was a similar room to the last one: a king sized bed, expensive furnishings, thick curtains, tall ceilings, bathroom—Brienne didn't know what to do with herself.

“I'm taking care of it,” he said, reaching over and placing his right hand on her left. He squeezed her hand.

Brienne remained quiet—speechless. He promised a date and delivered ten times that. “Jaime,” she whispered as he set his napkin on his plate and stood.

He stepped towards her. “Come closer,” he said.

After releasing a shivering breath, she stood. Her nerves tensed at the thought of hours alone with him: a privilege she never expected. By the time her eyes stopped fogging over, he fumbled his hand over his white shirt buttons.

“Jaime,” she whispered again.

He stopped, letting his eyes survey over her gray martha outfit. His hand left his own shirt, halfway undone, and reached for the back of her dress. Brienne remained frozen. She felt like a bow, pulling and pulling into a rigid and stretched line. This has to be a dream. Her mind drifted back to reality again when his fingers roamed around her back. He didn't know how to undo the martha dress. Brienne turned her head to her right side. Jaime moved his hand, always paying attention to her, and his hand found the zipper. The metal zipper sound dragged down her waist while his hand tugged it down.

“Jaime,” she breathed, hoping to receive a response. Any response. Brienne endured silence while the dress loosened around her body. He brushed one delicate sleeve down her arm, taking his time, letting gravity pull the fabric to the ground. Dressed only in a sheer white bralette and white underwear, Brienne stood still as her breathing increased.

His hand left her alone, turning back to his shirt. Jaime lifted his chin, working on his shirt buttons. Brienne's eyes followed his fingers. He breathed out, covering her with his scent: distinct and powerful. Her mouth watered.

With the last button undone, Jaime struggled out of his dress shirt, shoes and socks. He smirked when he untucked his undershirt—knowing his power over her. Brienne admired him, fixating on the subtle chest hair across his torso and lower abdomen. She wished she saw and felt them more often. Before she reached out, he touched her cheek. His hungry eyes—Brienne never felt so desirable in her entire life. Jaime brushed his thumb against her face, and Brienne averted her eyes away. His grip firmed, instructing her to look at him. When she couldn’t escape his gaze any longer, she breathed in and muttered what she repeated many times before, “Jaime.”

Very briefly, he smiled. He parted his lips and replied, “Brienne.”

Her bow snapped. Brienne leaned forward and kissed him. Taken aback, Jaime stumbled backwards. After a few steps, he held his ground, roughening his grip on her cheek. Brienne dragged his lower lip between hers, sucking on it while Jaime almost whimpered. His hand left her cheek and yanked her bra straps to the side. She let go of his lip, lingering their passionate kiss into a slow, smoldering fire. Brienne kicked off her shoes, continuing the kiss. Gaining his senses and impatient, Jaime yanked her bra up, throwing it across the room. For the first time, they stumbled to a bed.

It began like every other time they made love: hands roaming everywhere before neither of them could stand being separate anymore. Brienne forced Jaime’s shoulders away from her. The air around rattled while her blood pressure rose. He caught his breath in his throat, discerning her intentions while she shivered at the sight of his swollen, wet lips. She crawled over to him. He raised his eyebrows as he rested on his back, letting her hover over him. Confusion flashed over his face as she pinned him down with her hand firmly pressed on his chest.

His stump and hand helped her climb over him into a straddling position. Brienne felt excited—and naive. Based on his apprehension, she realized he hadn’t experienced this position either. They both gave each other timid smiles, sharing an odd moment of hesitation.

Leaning back while he pushed his erection up, Brienne felt herself grow taut while his cock pressed against her. She shifted her body, and he slipped inside her. At that very moment, all nervous smiles washed away and they both closed their eyes as she continued taking him in—slowly sinking on top of him. He filled her completely, pressing against undiscovered parts of her. Their sighs, however full they felt, remained quiet—for fear of someone hearing. It was a hard habit to break.

Brienne remained still, straddling him and placing her hands on the bed, next to his hips. She didn’t know what to do. Jaime’s left arm and stump rested on her right thigh while his right hand wandered around her chest and side. Caught off guard by him touching her, Brienne sat straight and watched him gazing over her. He licked his lips and rolled his hips under her, causing her to lose her balance as her mind drifted off into pleasure. The new position felt more natural than the idea of taking their time. They took several moments to appreciate and explore each others bodies with their hands. Either to tease her or to satisfy himself, Jaime occasionally thrust. His advances startled her every time and each time they smiled at each other, only fleetingly. He refused to give up complete control, but neither would she.

Growing impatient, Brienne started to grind herself on him. His exploring hand slowed as her movements distracted him. She watched him relax and flex underneath her—his eyes closed with tormenting pleasure. It didn’t take her long to recognize the power she possessed over him. He responded to her every move. When she sped up, he was more passionate and distracted. When she slowed down, he relaxed and savored her every dragging move. When she stopped, his fierce eyes opened and demanded her to keep going. He fell victim to her. His reactions were the closest Jaime Lannister would ever come to begging for it. It satisfied her plenty.

Over time, their sighs turned into moans and loud gasps, mirroring the intensity of her pace.

Hearing Jaime’s sinful voice pushed herself along faster than expected. His cock and body thrust her closer to finishing. Jaime caressed her breast for a few moments until she came, throwing her head back and moaning his name loudly while he slowly rolled his hips underneath her.

She gasped for air, looking down to see him shrouded in absolute hunger. Brienne stopped, still swollen around his cock. She roamed her hands over his chest. He deliberately ignored her soft touches and pulled her down. She grunted and relaxed, placing her hands beside him while their chests came together—Brienne still on top. He placed his stump and hand on her hips and thrust his cock into her in rough thrusts. Brienne clenched her eyes and buried her head next to his, unable to hold back moaning into against his neck.

He tensed up, pressure undeniably building in his moan. His cock plunged into her while his hand gripped her hip. He came, and his fingers sank into her skin—harder when she bucked her hips back and let his cock sink deeper as he filled her. Brienne bit her lip—addicted to the mixture of pain and pleasure. His hand slowly let go as his breathing evened out. Jaime took in deep breaths and small groans escaped his throat while he exhaled. Both of their chests eventually found the same rhythm, expanding and contracting together while Brienne rested on top of him, hair falling on his face. Their damp, hot skin stuck together.

His eyes closed and face relaxed. I'm too heavy. Brienne started to lift herself, but his hand held her still. His eyes searched for hers and she could tell by his expression that he wanted her to stay still. Brienne granted his request, feeling him become soft inside of her for the first time.

After a few minutes of holding each other, Jaime snored. Brienne retreated herself off of him and slowly lay down on her side beside him. His eyes fluttered, and a small moan came from behind the apple in his throat. Brienne smiled and ogled him. She could easily draw a straight line down his forehead, then his mouth and chin. His stubble ended ideally underneath his prominent cheekbone, highlighting his handsomeness further. She loved his nose, no matter the angle. His jaw rivaled perfection, profile or not. Brienne bit her lip and slipped off of the bed, withdrawing to the bathroom.

She took her time treating herself, debating between vanilla or lavender shampoo—coconut or shea butter lotion. The bathroom counter had snacks, many old, forbidden brands. She avoided the makeup, fragrances, gum, condoms, cigarettes, lube and a bunch of other sexual objects she didn’t recognize. Almost all of it was contraband in Gilead. Brienne took a shower, waiting until the water ran cold. The showerhead didn’t reach her height, but something felt so unbelievably great about standing under falling warm water.

When she arrived into the main room, Jaime was awake. He smiled at her… the same charming smile that distracted her many months ago.

“Hi,” he said, gazing her over.

A wrapped towel barely covered her. She felt on display for him, and he didn’t bother hiding himself. “Hi,” she said, smirking.

They cuddled together in bed, snuggling under a large comforter. Jaime offered to take a shower or clean up, but Brienne pulled him back. She loved his smell. While curling up together naked, his hard cock pressed against her. Jaime sent her an arrogant smirk until she forced him on his back. His conceited attitude turned to shock when she straddled him—again. Brienne and Jaime found their rhythm, and she came quickly around him. He kept thrusting, and he felt amazing, so she continued. Not long after her climax died down, she peaked again, losing her voice while his hand gripped and tugged on her hip. When she came to, sweat beaded down her back, chest and forehead. Jaime looked perfect, as always, focusing on her.

Brienne was weak and tired by the time he flexed underneath her. She leaned forward, needing to take a break. Jaime pushed himself up to sitting, staying inside of her the entire time. He positioned himself, wrapping his legs around and underneath hers while she sat in his lap—facing him. Her thighs and legs wrapped around him. She forced her arms around his back when her body leaned backwards. He did the same to her, hugging her so incredibly close while his cock still throbbed inside her. Both of them embraced while he slowly fucked her, grinding against her as their foreheads touched. Brienne’s third climax came suddenly. She whispered his name against his cheek while she clenched around him. He moaned her name and gripped her while Brienne felt his cock grow and pulse inside her. He softened quickly, and they both tumbled to the side in exhaustion.

The combination of the comfortable bed and cuddling with Jaime proved to be the best night sleep Brienne remembered. Her feet didn’t dangle off the bed and a martha didn’t barge into the room to wake her up.

Instead, a knock at the door woke them. “Breakfast is outside your door, sir.”

Jaime groaned in annoyance while Brienne sat straight up. Brienne shifted herself in bed, moaning at the soreness in her thighs and abdomen. She moved to climb out of bed, and Jaime's hand reached out to stop her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked in a dry voice.

Brienne swallowed and looked around.

“Lie down,” he said, pushing through grogginess.

“Why?” Brienne asked, smiling.

He ignored her jest, scoffed, and threw the comforter over his head. He disappeared under the sheets. Brienne frowned. What is he doing? Light trickled into the room as the sun came up and Jaime descended. Underneath the comforter, his face grazed by her hips and his hand guided her thighs apart. She hesitated—soon allowing him. His long stubble grazed across her inner thigh. His mouth tasted her, exploring between her thighs. She rested back and closed her eyes, focusing on him moaning against her. She squirmed and writhed against him, and he attempted to hold her still—not succeeding.

Without warning, his mouth stopped and he crawled up and over the length of her, slipping his hard cock inside of her while she welcomed him. He fucked her steadily, dragging his jaw and lips against the skin on her neck. She smelled herself on him. Brienne lifted her hips and wrapped her legs around him. Jaime sighed, groaning from the back of his throat. He held his forehead above hers while she cupped his face. Passion swelled within them and both Jaime and Brienne cried out, orgasming together and not caring who heard.

Jaime’s alarm buzzed while they both caught their breath against each other. Even while soft, Brienne and Jaime winced while he pulled out. Sore and spent, Brienne smiled regardless. Jaime squeezed her thigh before he left the bed to freshen up. As he left, reality sank in and Brienne remembered where she was. We need to leave soon.

Brienne dressed in her martha clothing and opened the door to the room. No one appeared outside, so she dragged the breakfast cart into the room. She wheeled it over to the table. As she set up breakfast, she noticed a small wrapped package on the bottom of the cart. Scowling, she reached down, pulling up the wrapped box and read the note on top. “I thought you might need this. - V”

Brienne swallowed and sat at the table, scowling. Varys. It's the package. Jaime walked out dressed, and she had no time to hide it. "Quite the multitasker, aren't you?" Jaime asked. His eyes begged her for an explanation.

They talked over breakfast, and Brienne divulged as much information as she knew. She offered to open it with him, but Jaime declined. They spent most of their time stealing slow bites and smirking, their soreness still smoldering. Brienne wished every day could be like this one.

Duty and Gilead called, and on the ride home, Sansa entered her mind. “Do you know where Theon is?” Brienne asked.

Jaime kept his distance from her, even though Podrick likely had many guesses what happened between them. Jaime’s body swayed with the car as it drove. He frowned. “How do you know about Theon?”

"She told me. Where is he?"

He sighed, leaning his head back against the cushion behind him. “Cersei had him executed months ago. That isn’t even the worst of it. She’s told her handmaid that he abandoned her and never loved her. She’s a spiteful, hateful woman.”

Chapter Text

"I need to leave for an unexpected work trip. I'll be back before the next ceremony," Jaime said, eyeing everyone except Brienne.

Brienne's legs and arms tensed and twisted—not wanting him to leave. Eddard babbled inside Elia's arms, and Sansa's eyes focused on him. Osha, Lyanna and Podrick stood with their hands clasped in front of them. Reminded to appear proper, Brienne mirrored their posture. Her hands clenched each other until her scars burned white.

The house was empty without Jaime home. The news of Theon's death rotted and festered within Brienne. I need to tell her. When Elia took Eddard out the house for a long play-date with other neighborhood wives, Brienne found Sansa pumping milk in her room. Her dead eyes glanced up. "What is it?" Sansa asked.

Brienne's mouth ran dry. As Sansa cleaned and covered herself, Brienne used a gentle hand to close the door. "Theon..." she said, and Sansa eyes sharpened. Brienne paused—wishing—hoping it wasn't true. Sansa stood, but her spirit started to crumble. Brienne clenched her eyes closed and said, "She executed him months ago."

Brienne refused to look—at first. Sansa sobbed. Brienne opened fluttering eyes and reached for Sansa, pulling her into a hug. Sansa wept against Brienne's chest. As her tears soaked into Brienne's dress, Brienne felt the pain just as much. What if Jaime died? Would I feel this? Brienne winced and tightened her embrace around her friend.

Her weeps turned into a sniffles, and Sansa asked, “How are you getting us out?”

“With my bare hands, if I have to. I promise you,” Brienne said. And while Sansa nodded, Brienne rubbed her back. No one wanted to stay in Gilead. The suffocating country had choked love out each and every person with its tenacious, invisible fingers. Gilead was poison. And it was only a matter of time before it murdered them all. Brienne took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Escape only came to those who tried. Brienne pictured Jaime—someone who didn't want to try. I need to convince him to leave. Brienne opened her eyes. To do that, I need to find a way out myself.

"Come on, I need to show you something," Brienne said.

Sansa followed Brienne downstairs and into the kitchen. Osha crossed her arms at the sight of the two handmaids and Lyanna managed a weak, but kind, smile.

"We need to get out of here," Brienne whispered.

While Lyanna nodded, Osha sent a disappointed look and said, "You make it sound like I haven't been trying since this thing started." Osha looked at Sansa and narrowed her eyes. "Smart ones don't get burned.”

Sansa's mouth fell open.

Brienne shook her head and said, “I have the package—from Varys.”

Everyone's eyes raced to Brienne. After a second, Osha glanced around her, as if the package would materialize out of nowhere. Brienne walked over to the stove and reached above the stove hood, where almost no one could reach without a chair or ladder. Brienne opened the cabinet door and pulled out the paper wrapped box.

"Praise be, bitches," Osha said. She stretched out hungry hands and Brienne let her take it. The four women huddled around the box while Osha ripped the paper off the box. It opened—and all of them stopped and stared. Brienne leaned over to take a closer look. Inside was a square candle, multicolored plastic beads for a child, a lip balm stick and a plastic baby formula container. What the fuck? Redness crept along Brienne's neck and chest. This is all my fault. Brienne lowered her eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry.” She had gotten her hopes up by thinking this package was going to help them escape. She was too naive.

“Formula for Eddard?” Sansa asked, shaking her head. “He doesn’t need it.”

“Eddard?” Lyanna asked.

Sansa offered a shy smile. “His name isn't Mace. It's Eddard, after my father.”

“Eddard Stark?”

“Yes?”

Lyanna let out a small gasp. “He’s my older brother, but I—”

“Ran away, you’re—” Sansa erupted into a big smile.

“Your aunt!” Lyanna said, raising her eyebrows as her lips grinned. They crashed into each other, embracing into a hug. Brienne smiled for them.

“Can you celebrate later?" Osha said, "This is all contraband and I don’t want it in my kitchen any longer than I need to!” Her whispers were harsh and gamy.

Lyanna pulled back from the hug and said, “It isn’t baby formula. I think I know what it is.”

Osha snatched the formula and unscrewed the purple lid. Once opened, she peered inside from afar. "Looks formula enough,” she said. Osha lifted the container to her nose and immediately coughed and gagged, turning away from the container while she held it. Lyanna reached forward retrieved the container with a budding smirk. A rotting, pungent whiff hit Brienne—smelling worse than hanging bodies. Everyone gagged.

“Sulfur,” Lyanna said, smiling while she screwed the cap on. “The more humidity and water we let into this, the worse it will smell.”

“How do you know that?” Brienne asked.

“I was—am a chemistry teacher." Lyanna managed a small smile while Sansa took the closed formula container.

Sansa turned it over, inspecting it. She shook it and powder rattled inside.

“Don’t shake it, you might build up static,” Lyanna warned and Sansa turned to stone. “This is the last ingredient we need to make our own gunpowder. For years, we’ve tried to get our hands on gunpowder from ammunition or the factories, but they inventory every gram and ammunition round. So we’ve been making our own. We just need charcoal, easy enough, and potassium nitrate.”

Sansa's eyes widened. Brienne smirked.

“We got the potassium nitrate," Osha said, "Farm down the street’s been harvesting it. Throw urine in with some manure and wood shavings, and ten months later, you get the goods.” Osha shrugged.

Brienne blinked and asked, “What did you do before?”

“Survival classes for troubled youth.”

Brienne nodded, although her skin started to burn red. How did I not know these women?

“You two are doing all of this?” Sansa asked.

“Of course not!” Osha whispered, “It’s an entire network. We’re not even in charge of the gunpowder. We’re just mules for now. The candle and other shit make no sense to me…” Osha’s glare softened. “Wait.” Osha rushed the candle over to the stove, turning the gas on and placing the glass contained candle over the flame.

Brienne reached in and examined the lip balm. Brienne popped the top off and instead of slimy chapstick, there was a USB insert. A flash drive. “I’ll use the commander’s laptop,” she said. Osha nodded her head, dismissing the three of them to continue their quest while she worked on the candle.

In Jaime's room, Brienne rushed to the desk while Sansa's eyes scanned around. Brienne unlocked the drawer and pulled out the laptop he used at home. Brienne flipped the laptop open. The password screen booted up. Brienne ran her fingers across the keypad, entering his password correctly the first time.

“Wait, how do you know his password?” Sansa asked.

Brienne's heart stopped. Beside her, Lyanna grimaced and looked away. Sansa doesn't know. Brienne blushed, unable to think of what to say. “Uh—” she said. Sansa looked to Lyanna, who winked and smirked. Sansa scoffed while her mouth fell open. Brienne shook her head in frantic bursts. “He’s not pro-Gilead, I swear," Brienne said. "He has honor. He helped me build this plane to smuggle people out—"

“He's a Lannister, there's no way—”

“It's true,” Lyanna said.

Sansa closed her mouth and glared. "You trust him?" Sansa asked, glares intent. "You both trust him?"

Lyanna nodded and Brienne said, "Yes."

Sansa and Brienne locked eyes for a moment. Silence surrounded them until Lyanna reached in and snatched the flash drive to plug it in.

“A file? For… Podrick?” Lyanna said, reading the file name. "I'll go get him," Lyanna said, abandoning the desk and the room.

Not even a minute after she left, Osha walked in with the glass candle jar. She showed the most confident smirk Brienne witnessed in years. “A map," Osha said, "written on folded aluminum.” She pulled out the folded, thick aluminum from the candle container. The wax had been melted and poured out. Osha, Brienne and Sansa looked at the map in Jaime's room. The map showed familiar landmarks, including a creek and field for an airplane to land. The airplane I worked on. Brienne’s heart fluttered.

By the time they figured out the direction of the map, Podrick and Lyanna entered the room. Brienne straightened her back, expecting him to threaten them. But he smiled and walked over the huddle with his same kind expression. He's with us, too. All four women gave him space to look through the file on the laptop until Osha couldn't wait any longer. “Well, what is it?” Osha asked.

Podrick blinked his eyes and said, “It’s a plan to make a 3D printed gun. I can probably make it at one of the factories, but I need the right plastic.”

“Plastic beads?”

“Uh, yeah,”

“When?” Lyanna asked.

“Next week?”

“Do we have a week?” Lyanna asked. Osha shrugged, turning the map over.

Brienne frowned, perplexed by the concept of time for a plan she didn’t understand. Wanting to clarify, Brienne asked, “Does it say who we are helping escape?”

Osha and Lyanna glanced up at Brienne for a moment, and then each other. Osha rolled her eyes. Lyanna said, “Us.”

Us. Brienne’s stomach fell to the floor, realizing they were one of the many intended rebels to escape on the plane. Jaime wouldn’t join them, she knew. Ache spread through her while she heard Osha read the backside of the map. Words fell into Brienne's ears, but she heard none of them. I need to convince Jaime to come with. But there was no time. Brienne's heart vanished within her.

“Does anyone know riddles?” Lyanna asked, taking the map from Osha.

Blinking back into the moment, Brienne said, “I know someone who might know riddles.”

“Who?” everyone asked.

Brienne led everyone to the attic and opened the door. Tyrion stood by his bed while everyone entered. Brienne mildly smiled while Tyrion's eyes gazed over everyone.

“I don’t have enough wine glasses for all of you,” Tyrion said.

Brienne spent the next few minutes explaining everything she knew. Her friends needed to be on the same page. When ready, Lyanna showed Tyrion the riddle on the back of the map.

“Bright and dark. Black and white.
I am the shepherd of the night.
Fast and slow. Rise and sink.
Blind, yet every month, I blink.”

Tyrion raised his eyebrows.

Sansa asked, "You know it?"

Tyrion nodded. "Think through it. It sounds like you need to read more, especially the women."

Nearly everyone groaned until Podrick said, “The moon.”

“That doesn’t tell us when,” Sansa added.

Osha said, “When it blinks. The new moon.”

“That’s three weeks from now,” Lyanna said, gesturing to the window. They all walked over the small window, huddling closer to look outside together. Three weeks. Three short weeks. They needed to prepare.

One week later, Podrick slipped the plastic gun into Osha side pocket without Elia noticing. Brienne helped Lyanna transport the sulfur to a martha at the grocery store. The martha traded with them by giving them a single round for the plastic gun.

When it came to decide who to carry the single loaded gun, they decided Tyrion should have it. It would be protected best in the attic. Brienne brought up fresh food to Tyrion every evening after Elia went to bed. Tyrion appreciated it, although he asked for more wine several times. He tried his best to make Brienne chuckle, but she gave him smiles instead. He acted like a professor, or at least a grad student. Brienne thought of him as eloquent, compassionate and astute. Tyrion was nothing like Cersei or Tywin.

When Brienne expected Jaime to come home, Elia announced Jaime had called. Elia said he would be gone at least another week and Podrick planned to join him within a few days.

Brienne couldn't stop her legs from fidgeting, no matter where she was. The stress of his absence and the plan for escape plagued her. A never-ending bitterness lingered in her mouth—almost metallic. Brienne sat in the drawing room, peering out into the growing fall colors on the trees. She liked to imagine herself as a pine—able to handle harsh winters and withstand horrible storms. Instead, she felt more like an oak tree: decaying and dying one leaf at a time. Brienne shook her head to herself.

"Can you help me with something?" Lyanna asked, knocking on the entryway to the drawing room.

Brienne nodded and stood—willing to do anything to get her mind off of escape or Jaime.

Lyanna held a cup and walked to the bathroom. “Have you peed recently?” she asked.

Brienne scowled. What?

Lyanna ushered Brienne into the bathroom and closed the door. She whispered, “Just pee in this and we can test it!”

“Test what?!”

“You’re late," Lyanna said. "Your period.”

Brienne ghosted over. What? Brienne blinked and looked away, trying to calculate how late she was. No, I can't be. Brienne's arms started to shake.

Lyanna held Brienne's shoulders and said, “Hey, I’ve already told Elia you had your period, don’t worry. We can’t have a handmaid get pregnant on a month with no ceremony, am I right?”

Brienne’s heart sank. She shook her head. Lyanna coached her through it, telling her exactly how to use the contraband pregnancy test she pulled out of her pocket. When Lyanna left to give Brienne privacy, Brienne's body couldn't stop shaking. She held her breath to stop quivering as she peed in the cup over the toilet. On the sink, Brienne trembled as she placed the strip in the urine. Shit. She couldn’t remember how long it needed to rest in there. After a few seconds, she pulled it out and set it on the counter. How long? Brienne closed her eyes. She wouldn't open them. Not now. Shit. Shit. Shit.

The door knocked. "Hey," Lyanna whispered, "it's me."

Brienne winced harder and squeaked, “Come in.” Keeping her eyes closed, Brienne leaned her forehead against the bathroom wall while Lyanna entered and closed the door.

“It’s ready,” Lyanna said. Her gentle hand clasped around Brienne's arm and guided her back over to the counter.

Brienne followed, still shaking. When Lyanna dropped her hand, Brienne fluttered her eyes open. The test showed two red lines.

“It’s positive,” Lyanna whispered, smiling.

Brienne shook her head, fixating her eyes on the test in front of her. “Maybe it’s expired. I left it in too long, or not long enough—it’s probably a false positive."

Lyanna reached over to rub Brienne's back. “There are no false positives,” Lyanna said.

Brienne reached out for the edge of the counter. Her sapling legs and full heart threatened to snap. She brought her burned hand over her lower stomach. Inside her… new life. She breathed in a deep breath, hearing her own heavy pulse over Lyanna's smiles and giggles. The fog lifted away from her mind, and Brienne knew what she had to do. She needed to escape—with or without Jaime.

Chapter Text

The denial of her pregnancy waned as new symptoms appeared. Her breasts ached. Her stomach lurched. Her lungs struggled to breathe whenever she climbed stairs. Her bladder lied—she had to pee all of the time. She took naps whenever Elia left the house. Her dreams haunted her. She was gone—without Jaime. Alone. She was free, but her heart was chained—squeezing and twisting until it blew apart. Brienne lay in her bed, hand cradling her stomach. She needed to leave. If she was pregnant with a girl...Brienne knew how Gilead treated girls.

Jaime never came home. He was still missing, and without a word. Elia, with her previous baby, cared less about his absence. In her mind, her life was complete. Brienne almost threw up half of her stomach at the thought of Elia kidnapping Brienne's baby. Brienne glanced away—but it didn't matter. It was the day before the new moon.

Even if Brienne wanted to stay, she had to explain how she became pregnant on a month without a ceremony. In addition, if Jaime's marthas and driver escaped, their entire house would be on lock down. Brienne's teeth tapped against each other—nervous and shaky. She had heard rumors of Gilead handcuffing pregnant handmaids to beds—the ones who misbehaved. Even Jaime couldn't protect her. And how is he going to survive when his house escapes? Brienne's eyes filled with tears. She'd be betraying him...leaving him.

Brienne slipped off of her small bed and reached high into her closet. She pulled out her old martha outfit. Her hand trailed over the zipper, where Jaime touched it. Brienne closed her eyes, wishing she could sneak into his room and smell him again. But he had been gone three weeks, and his smell started to fade.

A loud yell came from downstairs. Brienne plummeted down the stairs as fast as she could without tripping. Downstairs, Lyanna covered her own open mouth with her hands while Osha rushed through a cabinet. Brienne's body paralyzed as Osha thrust up a butter knife in defense, looking behind Brienne.

“Thank you, for joining us,” a female said behind Brienne.

Brienne whirled around and stood in front of Cersei—venom spilling from her eyes. She no longer wore black. She wore blue. “I’m here to get Mace and that whore back, where is she?”

Brienne looked down at Cersei and shook her head.

Cersei managed a beautiful smile. “If you don’t tell me, he’ll find her next. After he deals with you, first.”

Eddard cried from downstairs. Without thinking, Brienne rushed past Cersei. Brienne charged down the stairs.

“No, wait!” Lyanna called out, and Brienne ignored her.

Brienne flung the basement door open, smashing it against the brick wall. Eddard wailed, echoing throughout the basement. She stepped down the stairs and spotted Eddard on the ground—tears down his face. Behind him, Elia slumped against the wall, face down. Blood trickled from above her head, as if someone tossed a bucket of red paint to watch it drip to the ground. Moldy, stale wood filled Brienne's lungs. A large man stepped forward—the same man from Cersei's house. Brienne lost her breath, but only for a moment. She broadened her shoulders and lunged down the stairs. Her right hand picked up a spare steel pipe, lifting her new sword. The man faced her, laughing in disbelief. He stood between Brienne and Eddard—between Brienne and Elia's body.

He bulldozed forward with hunched shoulders. Even so, this man transcended over her height like a storm. Brienne pulled her arms back, winding up energy before she unleashed it, swinging the pipe against his grappling hands. It clobbered him, giving her a chance to throw her knee up at his abdomen. Her force hit a stronger wall, not even a huff escaped him.

Unmoved, he lunged and pressed Brienne forward until her back crashed into the wall behind her. She resisted, barely softening the fall enough to prevent her head from smashing. The man’s eyes widened at her defense before narrowing in rivalry. Brienne howled out and forced her body towards him, pushing him back inch by inch. He flexed more muscles, surmounting her strength as he stood firm. She pulled her shoulder back and pipe between them while his hands encroached around her neck. Brienne's raging pulse drowned out Eddard's wailing cries.

The man never lurched forward, and instead, jammed his knee up towards her stomach. Nothing else mattered. Brienne thrust down the pipe to block his oncoming knee. She growled, throwing her head forward. Their foreheads met with a tenacious clash. He stumbled back, snarling in annoyance while she lifted her pipe to swing again.

Before she swung, he yanked it out of her hand. His other hand swooped, aiming for her stomach again. With no great ability to defend herself, she twisted and crouched, letting him punch the side of her chest. The air vanished from her lungs as she gasped out, closing her eyes while he threw the pipe to the side. Metal rattled across the floor.

Eddard cried out again, reminding her to survive. The man stepped towards Brienne, pulling her by her hair to standing. With just enough spirit left, she thrust a fist forward. Instead of striking his face, she aimed lower, punching the Adam’s apple in his throat. He gagged, coughing while his grip loosened her hair. With both arms available, Brienne cried out and flattened her hands, swinging them both around to slap the palm of her hands against both of his ears. Brienne leapt forward and jabbed two fingers into each of his eyes, soft and vulnerable. He stumbled backwards, shouting. His hands reached up to grab her just before his feet tripped on the lawn mower.

She fell with him to their knees, continuing to stab her fingers in his eyes. Blood oozed out and onto her hands. He regained strength and grabbed her shoulders, throwing her down onto her back. Her fingers lost her grip, trying to push him away at his shoulders. He towered over her, pinning her down while her heart exploded with fear. She wrestled, unable to unseat him. If anything, she let her thighs separate just enough for him to immobilize her further, forcing her thighs to spread beneath him. He sank his weight on her, breathing heavily over her while he reached down. He reached for a handgun out from his holster, swinging it out to aim directly at her. His blind eyes beat red, but he only needed to aim well once. Brienne struggled, abandoning his shoulders with her hands to force his own hands and gun away from her. She wheezed, losing breath as his bulky weight imprisoned her.

Brienne knew she only had seconds left to live. With one hand, she held his grasped gun away from her—a standstill. They wrestled their hands against each other while she reached down, pulling her dress up. In one swoop motion, she pulled out the sheathed knife Jaime gave her. She invaded her hands beneath his neck and slashed him, dragging the knife along the man’s throat. The skin gave way as the blade pierced through his flesh, spilling blood out. She inched it across his throat and against his windpipe. Warm liquid poured down on her while he choked and gagged on his own blood. He grew limp, and she heaved him to the side while she panted for air.

Her entire body ached: sore and weak. Everywhere she looked and turned, iron and blood surrounded her. Blood seeped into her dress, dyeing the fabric into a darker, crimson color. Eddard cried, still sitting near Elia.

She inhaled trembling, shallow breaths. She wiped the knife clean and resheathed the knife. His gun still rested in his hand, spread across the floor. Brienne reached over and took his gun, securing the awkward metal in her bralette. Eddard bawled, even as Brienne crawled over to him and picked him up. His breathing continued to shake while she held him. Both of them startled when a loud gunshot popped above them. Brienne held Eddard closer and lunged up the stairs.

Opening the door, Brienne saw Tyrion first. Osha, Lyanna and Sansa stood next to him and everyone stared at the floor. Brienne stepped through the door. Cersei sprawled out on the wooden floor. Next to her, Tyrion held the multicolored plastic gun. One by one, their eyes met Brienne, and Sansa rushed over to take Eddard, now smeared in blood.

Lyanna stepped over Cersei to get to Brienne. “Are you hurt?!”

Brienne shook her head, still catching her breath.

“Well, there goes our gun,” Osha said, glaring at Tyrion. He tilted his head and sneered.

Brienne said, “I’ve got a better one.” She reached underneath her handmaid dress and pulled out the gun from downstairs.

Osha scoffed out a smile. “That’s one way to get a gun. What do we do with the two bodies?”

“Three.” Brienne said.

Lyanna’s eyes enlarged. “Elia?”

Brienne nodded. She never wanted Elia to die, especially not like that. Escaping is harder than I thought it would be. “We need to tell Jaime.”

“There’s no way to call him. Only he can call us,” Osha said.

Brienne glanced away, still not able to swallow the realization that she would be leaving Gilead without even saying goodbye.

The five adult survivors cleaned the carnage, trying their best to hide the bodies in the basement. Escaping the next day weighed heavily on everyone’s mind, and Brienne felt like the only person who dreaded it. Without Jaime, she’d never get to see him again. She’d never get to tell him she was pregnant. She couldn’t sit still, living through each minute second by second, waiting for him to walk through the front door. She held her own breath, as if she could slow time down. Stop. Think smarter than that. Maybe it was better if he never came home. She doubted he would let her leave. She doubted even more that she could convince him to come with. It would be easier to raise the dead.

The evening of the escape, Brienne sat on the edge of her bed, dressed in gray martha clothing, cap off. Her hair pulled into a small bun behind her head. The sun set slower, it seemed, and she watched every inch of the star sink lower into the sky. Brienne thought of the hours she’d have left in Gilead, hopefully less. She recalled how many weeks it took to recognize Jaime’s smile across a room. How many conversations it took to understand him. How many months it took to create life, whose heart beat inside of her. Everything took time and time took everything. Even the new moon needed time to rise. Nothing else matters.

Brienne stepped her last walk down the stairs as the house grew alive in the night. Almost everyone fidgeted, except Osha. Eddard rested his head against Sansa's chest while his tiny hands clutched her arms.

Lyanna asked, “Is everyone ready?”

No.Brienne bit the inside of her lip.

“Let’s go, before anything else can go wrong,” Osha said, heading towards the door.

Brienne dragged her feet behind and followed Osha, Lyanna, Sansa, Tyrion and Eddard out the door. They traveled through the woods behind the house, beyond Podrick’s guesthouse. The shadowed trees crept into the sky like tall cranes. An eerie, whispering wind blew around them, bringing with it a smell of decaying matter and leaves. It was fall. And the goosebumps on Brienne's covered arms proved it. They directed themselves towards the creek, only a thirty minute walk through woods. Their pack walked, crunching over sticks and twigs under their feet. Osha led them as stars ripened one by one above them.

Brienne smelled the stagnated scent first, instantly recognizing the smell of fallen, wet leaves. Their group heard its water flowing and bubbling over fallen rocks and boulders. When they stepped up to it, they all stared at the flowing water below them. A natural wall formed around the creek, where the water eroded into the ground for years. The earth around them couldn’t have been very stable. Logs and large rocks strewn along the sides and in the water. Brienne watched a gray leaf float down the stream, pondering how nature knew nothing of Gilead’s horrors. This small creek continued on with its existence with or without restraint, carving into the earth as it wished—free. Brienne wanted freedom.

Osha pointed to the left, signaling for the group to keep moving. Brienne followed, until Osha stopped, pivoting around to her left—away from the water. Something was wrong.

“Get down, hide!” Osha whispered, pointing everyone to climb down the ledge and hunker down. Brienne's muscles listened while her brain screamed. If Gilead caught her, she would be killed. If Gilead caught her and knew she was pregnant, they would chain her to a bed and steal her baby. Brienne jumped down first and reached up to take Eddard. Sansa leapt down and took Eddard while Brienne's right arm stretched for Tyrion. He paused—not wanting to jump. With both hands, Brienne hoisted him down to below the ledge. Osha and Lyanna hopped down. As an entire group, they huddled like a cluster of logs in the creek beside them.

They held their breath.

Footsteps approached.

Brienne looked at Tyrion, whose hand trembled while he held the gun across his chest. Shit. Brienne bit her lip while her mouth parted to let quiet air move in and out.

The footsteps came closer.

They stopped.

A bright light shined down on Brienne's eyes—blinding her. She winced and widened her arms to grab her group. Her eyes adjusted to the bright light and glared up, staring at a man dressed in dark clothing. She could barely see the outline of a dark beard, adjacent to dark brown straight hair falling besides the man’s face.

“Aye, you’re blonde enough,” the man said to Brienne, accent thick.

What?

“Bronn?!” Tyrion said. The light left Brienne’s face, highlighting Tyrion and blinding him next.

“You little bastard,” Bronn said, letting out a single laugh. “Come with me, everyone. Guards are up the creek. They’re looking for Cersei,” Bronn added, reaching down to pull up the first person brave enough to take his hand. Lyanna, Osha and Sansa stepped back. Brienne’s fists remained tight at her side. Tyrion scooted closer to Bronn, but he stood too short. He glanced back at Brienne and forced a small smile.

“I’m not your bloody brother, but come on,” Bronn said to Tyrion.

You know Jaime? Where is he? Brienne held her tongue. Tyrion continued to plead with his eyes, and Brienne grumbled her way forward. She lifted Tyrion by the waist until Bronn helped heave him to the surface, away from the creek. Brienne ascended last, refusing help from the man as she climbed on a nearby log to hoist herself up back onto solid ground. She brushed herself free of debris as everyone started to walk, following Bronn in the opposite direction of their goal.

“Tell me about life on the other side,” Tyrion asked, walking beside Bronn.

The confident man walked as if he was sight seeing. His shoulders slumped and his legs moved with a mild, barely noticeable limp. “Well, I’m engaged!”

Brienne rolled her eyes.

“Lollys?” Tyrion asked. Bronn gave a single nod, dodging a large log. Tyrion laughed and said, “She’s dim witted!”

“If I wanted wits, I’d marry you,” Bronn said. Tyrion scoffed, and they both laughed. Bronn pointed to a vehicle, a large, Gilead black van. He opened the doors and helped everyone in, explaining he’d take the van straight to the field. Brienne barely trusted the man, and if Tyrion hadn’t known him, she would have ended him already. Bronn closed the doors.

In the van, everyone sat on benches, lined across from one another. A small light illuminated the car ceiling above them. Brienne started to shake.

“Are you okay?” Lyanna asked to Brienne.

Brienne glanced away, not sure if she should be honest or lie. She wasn’t. Her mouth was dry with fear, her stomach achingly nauseous and her body sore from the fight the day before.

“Will Mr. Lannister be there?” Sansa asked.

Tyrion let out a sigh. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I do know Bronn helped me hide from Gilead. Jaime knew Bronn from before, as well.”

Brienne winced, clasping her hands tightly together in her lap as she stared down, focusing on her burned scars. The van ran over a speedbump and Brienne instinctively reached down to hold her stomach, as if she could protect what mattered most to her. Nothing else mattered. When the vehicle stopped rocking, she glanced over at Tyrion. His broadening eyes honed in on her stomach. Shit. Brienne sent him a look to keep quiet. He smirked and averted his eyes away.

The van stopped, and everyone braced themselves. The engine died, giving off a creeping silence until the air filled with a much louder noise from outside. It sounded like a plane. The wasp plane.

Bronn opened the doors, gesturing everyone out. Brienne exited last, stepping onto a dark field with an even darker plane. The C-119 plane was open, filled with people clambering inside. She received her wish to see the engines all used at once, but it didn't feel right. Cold air surrounded her, along with the loud vibration and hum of the engines. She glanced around, peering onto rushing, shadowed faces. There was no sign of Jaime. Brienne stepped forward, slowing down as her friends sped up. They jogged towards the ramp that led to the belly of the plane. Brienne stepped with hesitation—procrastinating. Each step cut into her heart, leaving pieces behind in a world she wanted to leave.

The sturdy tips of Brienne’s boots hit the metal ramp—halting her body from moving forward. She planted her firm feet down, closing her eyes. Just keep walking. Brienne grimaced. She couldn't. Tears welled in her eyes, knowing she would make a mistake either way. If she stayed, she would likely die. If she left, she would never see Jaime again. But nothing else mattered.

As she debated, holding still, life moved around her. They shouted to close up the ramp. Brienne’s heart raced in anguish, unable to decide. Tears spilled over as she shook her head, deciding to stay in Gilead.

Someone yanked on her clenched fist. It pulled her upward with a power stronger than gravity. She opened her eyes, ready to fight whomever wanted to force her into a prison of a choice she couldn’t make herself.

She saw Jaime.

His rough, right hand continued pulling on hers, hauling her up the ramp and into the fuselage of the plane. This has to be a dream. He had said he wouldn't escape, yet here he was. Brienne stumbled forward, barely lifting out of the haze. He glared back at her and said, “You ought to be blowing me kisses."

I ought to punch you in your perfect face.

They walked deeper into the plane. He wore his usual long sleeved, buttoned white shirt—standing out from the many dozens of others: dressed in red, gray, pink, blue and black. He was the only commander—the only ex-commander.

The plane door closed and locked as Jaime reached the end of the fuselage, close to the cockpit. Jaime pivoted, turning and pulling Brienne into a tight hug against him. She inhaled, smelling his unmistakable scent resuscitate her. This isn't a dream. While she meant to let out a laugh, she broke down instead, hunching over into him while she wept against him. He curled away from her, placing his covered stump and hand to her cheeks, forcing her to pull back and look at him.

Brienne lifted her eyelids, expecting to see outrage from him. His eyes told relief, affection and grateful. Thousands of pounds lifted off of her shoulders. Absolutely overwhelmed, she regarded him with tense eyebrows and pouting lower lip.

The plane moved, forcing everyone in the plane to find their footing. Jaime guided Brienne to a bench near the edge of the cabin, holding onto her with his hand the entire time. The plane accelerated, bouncing and racing until it started to tip upwards, entering the air. They sat together on cold metal benches, and the metallic smells of the plane mixed in with autumn air. Jaime cradled Brienne against his chest as best as he could. His tight embrace comforted her, and her breathing started to match his. She inhaled him in, instantly comforted by his intimate, familiar scent. The loud engines on the plane made it hard to hear anything, due to the lack of insulation. So she listened to his chest. His pulse was calm and steady.

As they soared into the air, the cargo hold of the plane reduced to a frigid, cold temperature. Women and children huddled together in clumps. Brienne and Jaime appeared to be one of the few couples on the plane. Despite the hundred or so people around them, Jaime chose to stay by Brienne and Brienne only. She opened her eyes, scanning the fuselage around her. She saw Podrick, Tyrion and Bronn in a huddle, chatting like they were on a lunch break. Osha sat by herself, arms crossed. Lyanna held Eddard while Sansa hugged another girl against her. They both smiled. The girl had Lyanna's brown hair.

To prevent herself from trembling, Brienne snuggled into him further. He accepted her, taking his right hand and rubbing it along her back like he had never left her.

Several minutes later, Bronn whistled loudly in the center of the plane to gather everyone’s attention. Brienne frowned. With his arms out in a welcoming, broad gesture, he loudly exclaimed, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve crossed the border.”

Brienne’s eyes filled with tears, only then fully believing they had a chance at freedom. Cheers and claps echoed throughout the plane. Jaime held Brienne closer, burying his head next to hers.

Bronn approached the two of them with two shot glasses of clear alcohol. “Celebratory drinks to stay warm?”

Jaime smiled, stretching out his hand to accept one of the shot glasses. Bronn turned to Brienne as she froze. Shit. Brienne's awkward eyes glanced between Bronn and Jaime, both starting to frown at her reaction. Brienne reached for her stomach, clutching at the fabric. She shook her head.

Bronn raised his eyebrows in surprise and gave a faint whistled, twirling away while Brienne felt Jaime’s eyes bury into her. Brienne peered over at him, and intense didn't describe his eyes with enough justice. She pulled her hand away from her, and his eyebrows furrowed lower. Brienne gulped, pressed her lips together and nodded her head. She needed to tell him.

Jaime’s eyes grew, looking back down at her stomach while she nodded her head again—faster—unable to hold back her smile. A single tug of his lips turned into a flash of a smile before emotion mounted in his eyes and pride radiated over his face. Brienne inhaled, soon exhaling a large breath while Jaime threw his shot glass on the ground, reaching forward and pulling her into a passionate kiss.

Brienne leaned forward, and he smiled against her lips. She grinned back, ending the kiss with a small laugh against his mouth. Happiness swelled between them. Jaime held her head and showered it with kisses, pecking her chin, cheeks, forehead and hair. She fully yielding to him as he pulled her into a tight embrace against his chest. Brienne closed her eyes as the plane descended, flying towards freedom. Cheers around them continued, although neither of them paid any attention. Jaime’s chin rested on the top of her head while her ears settled again over his heart. His pulse raced. His single hand sought out her hand, entangling their fingers together against her stomach. Nothing else mattered.

Chapter Text

Brienne closed her eyes and held her breath. Bright lights still bled through her eyelids, and she opened them while she exhaled. Her toes curled and waved in her shoes. She sat in a large courtroom, towards the back. Its large space, rounded ceilings, stained glass windows and dangling crystal chandeliers made her feel like she was at a school dance. Dances were almost as terrifying as this. Instead, she opened her eyes and stared at a dozen judges—robes and eyes black, chatting during an intermission. Some of them smiled and laughed while others glowered through their break. Every judge came from a different country, all to decide Jaime Lannister’s fate. Behind them, large screens displayed live replays of the courtroom’s proceeding. Dozens of cameras lined the edges of the room, filming every vilified second of the months long trial. Some said the entire world watched. People prayed for Jaime Lannister to rot away for life behind bars. Some said they wanted his head, but international courts didn’t fight fire with fire.

Shifting in her aching seat, the waistband of her pants scratched into her growing belly. Her long legs never found enough room to rest comfortably. Nausea floated away when she entered her second trimester. Except now I have to pee all the time. Still, she tried her best to ignore the hammering in her bladder. She would sit for hours if she needed to. With the trial so close to finishing, she wanted to spend all day and all week in the suffocating courtroom—but responsibility did not offer such luxury. She was lucky if she could squeeze out three days a week to attend the trial, however uncomfortable it was.

Sitting beside her, Sansa reached over and touched their scarred hands together. Brienne closed her eyes and smiled. Sansa supported her most: through every sleepless night and crying nightmare. Almost all of them lived in the same cramped apartment, and Brienne shared her room with Sansa, Eddard and Arya, Sansa’s sister. It was a small room, and Brienne had to sleep in the fetal position on a twin mattress—but at least she was free. Lyanna, Arya and Brienne couldn’t find jobs without proper paperwork, so they volunteered at the refugee center. Mountains of smiles and work came in whenever the plane brought in more refugees from Gilead. Jaime keeps saving people. And look how they’re treating him.

Podrick shuffled through an aisle of chairs, almost spilling his hot cup of coffee as he made his way towards an empty seat by Brienne. She did her best not to glare at him—the repulsive stench of coffee beans sent Brienne’s mind gasping and retching. Brienne smiled instead and Podrick returned her expression with a nod. He sat next to Brienne, set his coffee down and rubbed his cold, cracked fingers over the steaming liquid. The poor guy found paid work, but it was farming labor...in the middle of winter. But he never complained.

Little wings flew inside Brienne, fluttering as the baby moved and kicked itself around—barely feeling any at all. It was just about time to start feeling the baby, the doctors said. She had reached a huge milestone of pregnancy, and the baby’s anatomy scan was scheduled later that day. Brienne could hardly wait to see the baby again. Our baby. Brienne smiled and glanced down. Despite not seeing or talking to Jaime for months, a request from his lawyer, she had a lot to be thankful for. They shared letters—writing long lists of activities they wanted to do when this was all over. Gilead had taken so much away from them...from everyone. Sail. Ride horses. Take their baby to a park.

Brienne had also been overwhelmed with happiness to find her father alive. He managed to escape Gilead, although he fell into a constricting system of poor healthcare. His leg continued to give him trouble, and over the past five years, he rotated in and out of the hospital. He hated the cold. He was still her father—but Brienne had changed. She still hadn’t mentioned Jaime to him.

Lawyers rushed into the large room. Everyone’s back straightened. The judges, the whole lot of them, stood behind their large table and watched while four attorneys walked to the prosecution side. Everyone in the courtroom stood and waited. Intermission was over. From the side, Jaime’s lawyer stood next to a security guard—back towards the court. When he turned around, Brienne saw Jaime. He was beautiful: clean shaven, dressed in a suit and eyes forward. Jaime gave the security guard a quick smile and followed his lawyer to the defense table. Brienne’s breath caught in her throat—hoping, waiting for Jaime to look at her. His eyes focused on his table instead.

The room quieted, with the exception of a few muffled coughs. Jaime’s lawyer glanced back at Brienne and offered a faint smile. She nodded back as the lead judge instructed everyone to be seated. Brienne descended back to her seat, inching closer to the edge while her neck craned up to see the back of Jaime’s head. He trimmed his hair. Not a strand is out of place.

Jaime remained standing, and his head moved, walking forward to the witness stand. Brienne’s heart raced. She had listened to hours and hours of arguments, witness testimonies and evidence. But she only ever wanted to hear Jaime’s voice. He turned and patted his suit as he stood behind the witness table. With his only hand, he unbuttoned the front of his jacket and seated himself in front of a standing microphone. He let out a long breath—nearly every piece of him remained calm and collected.

“Mr. Grey,” the lead judge spoke into her microphone. “You may start.”

The short haired, young lawyer approached the witness stand, and Jaime’s face illuminated both large screens on the wall behind him. Brienne chose to look at him instead of the screens.

“For years,” Mr. Grey said, “you planned to help refugees escape Gilead, correct?”

Jaime opened his mouth to speak—

“Objection,” a blonde haired woman said from the prosecution table. She was short and young, but fierce. “It’s a leading question.”

The lead judge stared ahead and said, “Objection sustained.”

Mr. Grey winced for a brief moment. Jaime closed his mouth into a more charming smile—as if he wasn’t bothered at all. Brienne twisted her hands together, squeezing the edge of her blue shirt. Jaime’s eyes didn’t glance her way, not even once.

“Tell us about how Gilead started, from your perspective,” Mr. Grey said.

Jaime nodded, blinked, wet his lips and leaned closer to his standing microphone. He looked at his lawyer while he answered, “It started with my father, and a few other well off families who were…frustrated with where things were going. I grew up in a very strict household and questioning our father only made him stricter. He married me off, secured me a job protecting the president and I refused to participate in the massacre—”

“Objection. Narrative answer,” the woman lawyer said.

Several judges glanced at one another before the lead judge said, “Overruled.”

The female lawyer’s mouth clenched.

Jaime continued, “I refused. I had realized too late that my father had set me up. He didn’t want his son to protect the president, he wanted me to help carry out his plan. When shots screamed out, the president was already down and a gun pointed at my throat.”

Mr. Grey nodded. “How did you save your brother?”

“I hid him in my attic.”

“How long?”

“As long as I needed to. It took five years.”

Mr. Grey looked down at the blue carpet and walked around the space between the witness table, defense table and a center area in front of the head judge. “Tell us about how you planned to save Gilead.”

Jaime frowned and brought his chin lower. Brienne closed her eyes. He said, “I—I could have done more. My father placed me in charge of the military in my district while he worked at the capitol. I was surrounded by true believers and every step I took or word I spoke could have been my downfall. I started by limiting information when rebellions broke out. Over the first few years of the rebellion, I slowly took away rebellion equipment and supplies to bring them inside. Almost everything was damaged or on its last legs. I needed help.” Jaime’s eyes started to look towards the gallery. Before his eyes found Brienne, he closed his eyes. “I could only trust so many people. I worked with Bronn, the arms dealer, across the border. And over time, I pulled strings to get a large C-119 aircraft running. I wanted it to smuggle people out.”

“And how many people has it smuggled out?”

“I don’t know.” Jaime shook his head and frowned. “I’ve heard it’s flown a dozen times.” Mr. Grey opened his mouth to speak, but Jaime added, “I doubt it will fly much more after they watch this trial.”

Mr. Grey forced a thin smile. Jaime spoke out of turn. Direct examinations were supposed to be rehearsed, word for word. Brienne gripped her shirt harder. Jaime never appreciated rules.

“Why did you smuggle these people out?” Mr. Grey asked.

Jaime reached to his face and rubbed his jaw. Brienne closed her eyes again while he said, “They don’t belong there. No one does. Not even Gilead.”

“Those are all my questions, Your Honors,” Mr. Grey said, nodding in the direction of the judges.

Brienne opened her eyes and Jaime let out a huge, quiet sigh—although his eyes still avoided her. Pressure thickened every particle in the air. Brienne wanted him to look at her—but he needed to remain strong. And if he looked at her...Brienne wasn’t sure if she could prevent herself from welling up. The stakes of their lives were all hanging on a singular thread, and these next few moments would decide their future.

Jaime offered a subtle, sweet smile to the opposing lawyer. She stood, walked closer to his table and replied with a similarly honeyed expression.

The lead judge said, “Ms. Targaryen, you may start.”

Ms. Targaryen’s smile continued as she asked Jaime, “Did you murder a little person who looked like your brother to fake his death?”

Jaime blinked several times. His smile widened and faded. He swallowed. “No.”

“Not you personally?” she asked.

“Objection.” Mr. Grey said from his seat.

“Sustained,” the judge said, tucking her chin closer to her chest. Her neck rolls swallowed her chin. “A few more minutes before a break, Ms. Targaryen.”

Ms. Targaryen grinned again, as if she was having fun. “Gilead found several bodies in your home. They have requested your extradition for trial for these murders. Several people lived and escaped from your home, including Martha Osha, Martha Lyanna, Handmaid Ofjaime, Handmaid Ofloras, Mace Tyrell, and Tyrion Lannister. Gilead claims you murdered your sister, Cersei Lannister, your wife, Elia Lannister, and Gregor Clegane. Someone had to murder them.” The lawyer paused and narrowed her eyes. “Did you?”

Jaime’s chin lifted and his jaw flexed. “Yes.”

No. Protest erupted from Brienne’s throat while gasps flushed the courtroom. I need to say something. Brienne’s stomach tightened as she tried to stand—but Sansa’s hand reached over and flattened on Brienne’s lap. The world disappeared while she closed her eyes, drowned in people’s whispers. Her hope drifted away—her hope of freedom and family washed away with a single stroke of a lie. Brienne’s face soured and grimaced while Sansa clasped her hand. I know you’re lying to protect us, but I can’t sit and say nothing. Brienne bit into her tongue—unable to decide what to do. If she stood up and spit the truth, she’d be thrown out of court. If she admitted to murder, she could be sent to jail, or worse: back to Gilead. Brienne’s lips quivered as she fluttered her eyes open. She decided to stay quiet.

“Before break, I have one more question,” Ms. Targaryen said. She turned, extended her arm and pointed directly at Brienne. In an instant, almost every pair of eyes landed on her. The lawyer asked, “Are you in love with your previous handmaid, Brienne Tarth?”

A frozen fool without remembering how to breathe, Brienne sat still. Her eyes snapped over to Jaime, and his glare burned into the lawyer’s back.

“Objection,” Mr. Grey said, “relevance of question.”

Jaime looked over to the judges, whose eyes gazed at Brienne across the courtroom. She was a freak all over again. They wanted to hear Jaime vomit at the question. Dressed in a stretching, plain blue shirt and dark pants, Brienne tried to hide her ugliness—but it was no use. Everyone’s eyes already saw her. At any moment, Brienne expected the entire room to erupt in manic laughter.

“Objection overruled.”

Jaime’s eyes lowered to his table. He was required to answer. He had never told her he loved her—although she swore she felt it. She swore she felt every possible interpretation of the word “love” when he was smiling at her, reaching for her, looking at her, making love to her—she had felt it. And still, she didn’t believe it. Jaime’s chest lifted and fell. Brienne’s throat tightened—awaiting his response. Her skin blotched into patches of red and white. They had been through so many unimaginable things together, yet in this moment, she had never been so scared in her entire life. His eyes climbed and locked with hers. Brienne petrified. His hand clenched and relaxed—in and out of tight fists. Jaime refused to look away from her as he swallowed and his lips parted.

“I do.”

Hours later, galloping heartbeats echoed into Brienne’s ears, along with the buzzing and hum of the ultrasound. He loves me. She burst into spontaneous, giggling smiles during the ultrasound. She had left the courtroom, unable to see the rest of the day’s proceedings because moving her doctor’s appointment would have been a nightmare. Brienne’s friends mustered up every last bit of extra change they could find to pay for the out of pocket visit.

Their baby seemed happy, too, fluttering, kicking and bouncing inside her. Brienne’s back ached, but so did her smiling cheeks. The technician waved her wand over cold gel on Brienne’s growing bump and measured every little budding inch of the growing baby. Brienne received her second bit of best news in weeks when the doctor walked in and said her baby appeared perfectly normal. Perfectly normal. And perfectly loved.

Brienne held her stomach as she walked out of the office, but her feet didn’t prepare her for the blaring TV in the waiting area. Flashing red banners crossed the screen and Jaime was shown walking back into the courtroom. The trial was already over—and the judges had reached their verdict. Brienne’s lips quivered.

She pulled out a flip phone—the mess of a cheap thing she could barely afford—and she didn’t have enough time to get to the courthouse. I need to try. She rushed outside, frantic eyes searching for a taxi, bus or anyone to take her to the courtroom—only a twenty minute drive away. With what money? Brienne bit her lip and whirled around until her feet started to carry her. They stepped in the direction of home. Maybe their one shared car would be there and Osha, the only one with a driver’s license, could race her to Jaime. I need to be there.

Brienne walked faster. Her long legs floated her around staggering people while every guilty nerve squeezed through every step, all for not being there. Her chest craved more air as she rounded a corner, descending into shadows of a large, downtown building. A frigid breeze assaulted her, stinging the sweat in her palms. Brienne pushed through a busy street, gridlocked in a rush hour traffic jam. People honked. She didn’t care.

She hurried—until she saw a sports bar on the corner of a street. Its open patios had several TVs and many people standing—waiting—watching. Unable to turn away, and short of oxygen, Brienne pushed her way to the front of the crowd to listen. Others gathered around her in hushed silence, craning their heads up to gaze at the screens. The camera focused on Jaime’s face. He sat at the defense table in the courtroom. Brienne crossed her arms, huddling herself in the cold with a jacket one size too small. Banners scrolled across the TV screens.

”BREAKING NEWS — JUDGES EXPECTED TO DELIVER VERDICT IN MOMENTS”

Piles of strangers blanketed around her—unknowingly blocking her from the wind and weather. Warmth settled in as screen split into two views: one of the lead judge and one of Jaime. People behind Brienne sniffled and quieted.

The judge instructed the court to stand. Everyone around Brienne held their breath while the judge read over the case name and number. The lead judge cleared her throat, “After reviewing the evidence and testimony, we find the defendant not guilty of charges of crimes against humanity.”

Fireworks rattled inside of Brienne, building and building until the first spark fluttered when Jaime closed his eyes. His lips parted, and she could taste the smile forming on his lips. Hope surged within her, flying up and out through her body, reaching into the skies in a wide embrace of sparkling smiles. Brienne looked up and had never seen the sky smile so much.

A thrum buzzed by Brienne's ear. The large splat squished against the TV in front of her. Someone had thrown their coffee at Jaime’s face. The crackling joy inside Brienne's ears were no longer hers, but strangers throwing pretzels and peanuts around her. They booed, yelled and cursed at the TVs in front of them. More objects flew around her—all aiming at Jaime's picture. Trickles of murky brown liquid slid down the TV while bartenders and servers groaned.

"Send him back to Gilead," someone said.

"Not a chance. He won't survive a day on the streets."

Brienne's paper dry eyes followed the trails of bitter coffee down the screen. It dripped onto the floor, mixing into bits of black snow and smothered cigarette butts. He's not welcome here.

Her feet carried her away. The sky frowned and she walked in shadows. Riots broke out in random clusters. Women wailed. Men scowled and shook their heads. Brienne avoided everyone for fear they may have seen her during the trial. The freak he loves. Brienne embraced herself tighter as she walked. The public’s scorn out-burned his admission of love. What is the point of freedom if no one welcomes you?

Keys mindlessly opened their apartment’s hollow, cheap door. It swung open and Brienne entered an empty home. Everyone was likely working or at the courts—except innocent Eddard, probably smiling his way through an afternoon playgroup at daycare. They won’t take our baby. Brienne closed her eyes and sighed, feeling a mixture of emotions to be alone. She sat on the large futon in the small living room.

The apartment was dark, so Brienne reached over and flipped the cracked switch on. A dim, warm light tried its best to brighten the room, but it did nothing to brighten her mood. Brienne’s eyes crawled over the living space. Half open cans of beer littered the coffee table, just out of reach of Eddard’s stretching fingers—if he was home. Tyrion slept in the living room, and his habits of living in a squalor attic continued with him. Clothes, toys and building blocks littered the floor. Brienne’s scarred fingers reached for the remote, unable to resist temptation to watch more. A part of her hoped everyone came to their senses and the rioting stopped, or judges ordered peace…or something. But it didn’t matter—the public had already decided their verdict.

The TV flickered on. It was already on the news. Cameras and interviewers flooded the front steps leading up to the courtroom. Both sets of lawyers divided up into several groups, swarmed by reporters and citizens holding up signs.

The camera settled in on a male reporter extending a microphone to a bundled up young woman. A caramel scarf matched her skin, wrapped around her neck while her breath blew out in clouds of mist. Her brown eyes peered at the reporter as she turned to face him, ignoring the camera as she awaited his question. Her wiry hair stood upright, and Brienne noticed her handmaid scar imprinted on her ear.

“You say you came from Gilead, correct?” the reporter asked.

The woman scowled and nodded. “Yes, I was rescued on that plane.”

“Everyone is really upset about this turn of events. What do you think about the not guilty verdict?”

She blinked and shook her head. “Upset?"

"Oh yes, riots all around the country. Are you not upset?"

The woman scowled. "No. He deserves it."

The reporter choked on his breath. "Why?"

“He’s done more for us than any of you have.”

The reporter stared—speechless.

Brienne remained glued to the screen. These people don’t know. The reporter released a brittle laugh. Brienne knew his look and his laugh. Half of the country supported Gilead refugees, and the other half saw them as a nuisance. Stories of rape, murder and Gilead’s totalitarianism evoked strange reactions from its neighboring countries. Brienne had seen children young enough to know nothing different. She had seen Gilead supporters—saying they deserved what happened. Brienne closed her eyes, wishing she was somewhere else...Somewhere Jaime and Brienne could walk down the street holding hands without getting doused in hatred. It felt too close to home I’ve left Gilead. I can leave here.

Sansa opened the apartment door, holding Eddard and rubbing her hands warm. She came in with a beaming smile. “You saw?” she asked and set Eddard down. With his shoes still on, he wobbled over to the coffee table. As expected, he went right for the beer cans. Sansa scooted a few of them out of his way. Her attention stayed on Eddard as she said, “I just picked him up. Osha’s downstairs with the car. We’re all going shopping and cooking at Missandei’s house—for a surprise party.” She looked at her own flip phone. “Do you want to come with or stay here for when Tyrion brings him—” her eyes lifted and frowned when they settled on Brienne. “You look…sad.”

Brienne blinked and averted her eyes away. Her heart couldn’t believe it. He’s already headed home? Here? Her fingers twisted beside themselves. Thoughts of herself and other refugees angry and lonely boiled her courage to the surface. “Do you think—” Brienne stopped, running her eyes over her blue shirt. “Do you think we’d be happier somewhere else?”

Sansa tilted her head to the side and watched Eddard as he cruised around the coffee table. “Happier?”

Brienne muted the TV, hating the mummifying sounds of boos and complaints. “Somewhere farther from Gilead. Would you come with?”

“To live?” Sansa said, sitting on the futon. She smiled.

“What?” Brienne asked, frowning.

“It’s just...” Sansa said, growing pink, “I’ve already thought about it.”

Brienne’s breath felt heavier. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’ve talked with the other mothers. It started off as a joke, because why would we want to leave—But after this—Are you sure you want to talk about this now? Jaime’s on his way—”

“Can you ask everyone? If they’d move?” Brienne asked, now sitting on the edge of the futon. Her eager eyes begged Sansa to say yes.

Sansa’s lips curled into a sprouting smile. “Of course. But…what will Jaime say?”

“I’ll ask him.”

Sansa raised a brow. “Good luck,” she said, standing. She walked over to the coat rack and reached into a jacket, pulling out extra coins. She turned around, ducked and swooped an unsuspecting Eddard into her arms. He giggled. “Osha’s waiting. You know how she is. I’ll see you in a couple hours, okay? Don’t bring him over too soon, and don’t spoil it!” Sansa stepped closer to Brienne. Without words, their scarred hands met and clasped around each other. Sansa gave a large smile. “Congratulations,” she said. “We’ll be happy again, wherever we are.”

Brienne nodded, but moving her head felt as hard as moving an over-tightened bolt on a strut tower underneath a car. Her eyes snapped back to the TV screen as Sansa made her way out. Though muted, Brienne could still hear people’s yells, cries and complaints. It was childish to think a safe and happy world would be waiting for her. That world never existed. Brienne slumped against the futon, eyes glazing over at the TV. Those people hated her. Since her arrival from Gilead, she received cold-eyed stares and gawked mouths at the sight of her. Nothing new to me. But now, those snarling expressions directed towards a man she loved. People hate Jaime more than me… Brienne’s fingers twisted at the thought of it. She needed to talk to him. She needed to convince him to leave with her...again. What if he says no?

The door opened. Brienne expected to see Sansa’s flustered face rushing in, but instead, Tyrion stepped into the apartment. He stopped and stared at Brienne, only feet away. “Oh—I thought—” he said. Tyrion’s eyes grew as he turned around and looked outside their apartment door. Behind him was Jaime.

Brienne clambered to standing. A tingle itched on the back of her tongue and a shiver rolled down her spine. He’s here. Jaime’s eyes met hers while Tyrion waddled in between them. Brienne stared. It surprised her to see his suit still clean, not damaged at all by the onslaught of infectious anger in every corner of the city. His tightened black tie accented his neck, just below a whisper of stubble across his jaw and face. Jaime’s mouth parted, and Brienne followed his eyes to her belly. It wasn’t huge—not yet. But he had already missed almost half of it. It had been easy for Brienne to watch him every day, whether it be on TV or in the courtroom. But he didn’t get a chance to watch her. They hadn’t spoken or touched since officers arrested him minutes after their plane landed. Brienne lifted her eyes back up to Jaime, and his lips curved up into the slightest, breathless smile.

“I’m going to get a few drinks,” Tyrion said. “Maybe some more from the store.” Tyrion raised his eyebrows a few times at Brienne, as if to inform her of the same plan Sansa already divulged. Tyrion scratched his neck and asked “Want any? Jaime?” he looked back at his brother, who continued to stare at Brienne—gaze unmoving. Tyrion turned to Brienne. ”Brienne?”

Only then did Brienne feel the heat swarming her skin—hot enough to burn. Her paleness reddened while her hand patted her belly twice.

“Oh—right,” Tyrion said, letting out a dry chuckle. “I’ll text you.” He shuffled his way out the door. His tiny hands gestured Jaime inside, whose feet stepped stepped with caution. Tyrion reached in to swing the door closed and deadbolt clicked closed.

She wasn’t sure if they were going to continue to stare or crash into each other. Surely, it was inevitable, but his eyes wouldn’t stop feasting upon her several feet away. Brienne’s scarred hand remained on her belly, unable to feel tiny flutters from their baby or her heart. Everything quivered inside of her: both lips, every strand of hair and each muscle—and her eyes shuddered and blinked to remind herself this wasn’t a dream or a fantasy. He was real. And free.

Jaime’s only hand rolled and rubbed itself—his thumb pressing against his index finger. His chest filled with a deep breath and his eyes broke away, taking in the apartment living room for the first time. “You all should be professional cleaners,” Jaime said, forcing a small laugh.

Brienne didn’t laugh. Pulled away from her distraction, she blinked and pressed her shaking lips together.

“I’m sorry. I can help—later, it’s just—” he said, walking towards her.

“Miserable?” Brienne asked.

He stopped walking and released a subtle frown. “No, it will take time. We’ll find our own way and—”

“What if—” she said, still stifling her own trembles. Her outcast future crept into her present, and she couldn’t shake it out of her mind. His expression turned to concern at the sight of her. Brienne asked, “Would you be willing to live…somewhere else?”

He held back a laugh, she could tell. His quick smile transformed into the same calm, collected and perfect face she fell in love with. The same face the entire country watched walk away with an unofficial guilty verdict to his name. He walked closer to her, stopping within a foot of her. His eyes, just below hers, narrowed as he asked, “Why?”

“You’ve seen them,” she said. He frowned. Brienne shook her head. “We’ll never be welcomed here.” Every corner of her body screamed. “Gilead will never leave us alone.”

Jaime’s brows furrowed deeper. “We’re alone right now.”

Brienne closed her eyes. His deflective answers tormented her, but not nearly enough as her ability to feel his body mere inches away from hers.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Keeping her eyes closed, Brienne inhaled thick and heavy air. If he meant to distract her, he succeeded. Her breath draped over parted lips—releasing a whispered, “Yes.”

Jaime’s hand cupped her cheek. It left a sizzling, almost numbing touch. Between them swirled his restless scent, capable of both awakening her or lulling her to sleep. His breath touched her before his lips. He, too, wanted to breathe her in. Brienne leaned forward, their heat swelling. Like an engine cylinder, her lungs dropped, drawing in air and energy between them. Her quivering lips froze when his lips touched hers—a spark. He ignited her. Fire spread through compressed air and fuel, pressurizing her heart faster, faster, faster. Her chest revved. Her lips stalled—still savoring the soft rounded sensation of his mouth on hers.

His hand and lips harshened, pulling her into him. Brienne yielded, leaning closer. It felt as if she could finally breathe again. Or as if her lips finally met water after months of languishing in a desert without him. Her mouth, dry from months of not tasting him, couldn’t drink him in fast enough. Their kiss turned feverish, their hands turned curious—exploring each other’s bodies for what felt like the first time.

Their kisses traveled to their cheeks. Brienne tasted a subtle, salty aftershave on his jaw. Over her ear, he whispered, “Are you nauseous?”

Brienne shook her head. At the base of her spine, Jaime’s hand tugged her closer. She whimpered, growing wet.

His nose pressed into her hair. “I missed you,” he said. Her body melted, even her hands struggled to make up their mind. They loosened his tie while his lips dragged across her ear. He whispered, “Did you miss me?”

Brienne nodded, eyes filling. She missed him more than he knew, but she couldn’t find the voice to tell him. He loves me. Brienne guided him to the futon, straddling over his lap while he sat. Her fingers reached for his belt, unbuckling it while his breath caught in his throat.

After a shuddering, Jaime tilted his face up towards hers and asked, “Do you want me inside you?”

Closing her eyes, Brienne swallowed and nodded. In this moment, she wanted nothing else. His buckle clanked open.

She expected him to ravage her. He cradled her instead, spooning her from behind as they lay together on their sides. His hand, his only hand, sprawled and spread over her hip and thighs. Brienne opened her eyes and turned to look at him. He lifted to meet her, kissing her while their three hands pushed down her pants to her upper thighs. His moan escaped into her the moment his hand inched between her thighs. She moaned. Their kiss, lazy and dreamy, broke when he stroked her. Against her ear, he whispered, “I thought of you every night. Every day.”

Brienne closed her eyes and arched against him—her hands and heart unable to hold herself back. Her scarred fingers reached and tugged on his belt, still looped inside his suit pants. His welcoming fingers dragged out from between her legs and helped her push his pants down far enough to free his cock—already hard and waiting for her.

“I imagined every little detail of you,” Jaime said, meeting the edge of his lips to the skin on the back of her neck. His cock pressed against her and she held her breath, half tempted to throw him to the ground and ride him empty. But he wasn’t just teasing her—he was savoring her. “How I get to sleep next to you,” he said against her neck. Jaime pressed forward, entering her with a single, gentle thrust. She bit her lip, grinding back as a low growl came from behind her. His hand wrapped around her, holding her closer in a tight hold. He said, ”How I can argue with you.” Brienne’s eyes parted, along with her lips, and as she was about to turn her head to glare at him, he thrust again. His hand answered her moan by reaching for her left hand. After a shaky breath, he whispered, “How I’ll marry you.” The tips of his fingers clasped her ring finger. Marry me— The realization of his meaning warmed and chilled her. Jaime cupped her jaw, forcing her to look at him. She stared at animal eyes. Above her mouth, he said, “How I’ll fuck you.” Brienne’s eyes fluttered closed.

Together, they breathed each other in, lips dangling off of each other while Jaime slowly thrust into her. Brienne opened her eyes. Flickering lights from the muted TV danced off of his face, and above him, a crack ran across the apartment ceiling. Brienne didn’t care. Her hand cupped the back of his head while his hand reached between her thighs. They almost never talked during sex, and yet, they had a lot of time to make up for. At the same time, Jaime seemed to enjoy the power of his words over her. And although her eyes closed while her climax built, her ears listened for him. Rough grunts and the sound of his short stubble raking against her neck pushed her closer. His teeth dug into the junction between her neck and shoulder. “Fuck—” she said, breaking the silence.

Jaime breathed her in. They both started to lose themselves, and yet, Jaime said, “Wherever you want, I'll go.”

She smiled, convinced her fogged mind played tricks on her. His sudden acceptance of her request was no mistake. He intended to drive her wild—pushing and teasing her to a point where she thought of else but him. Brienne almost didn’t believe him. “Jaime,” she whispered, pressure rising.

“All of it—” he said, breath hot against her skin. “I promise—”

Snapping, Brienne came. She clenched as tightly as if she drove a car straight off a cliff. She floated, only half able to hear Jaime lose his own control behind her and inside her.

His velvety, guttural groan spread over her and within a few blinks, Brienne realized where she was: almost fully clothed on someone else’s bed. Jaime's words replayed in her running, dancing mind—he loved her, he wanted to marry her, he would leave with her. Brienne’s eyes clenched into a wince while her heart smiled. His hand slipped out between her legs and crawled over her belly, holding her.

She wet her lips, now dry, his taste still lingering on her, and she promised never to forget it. “You’ve said a lot today…” she said, not knowing which topic to bring up first.

His lips curved against her skin, and she imagined his sweet smile. Even sweeter, his voice said, “I have a lot to say.”

Brienne stared ahead, joining her hand with his over her stomach while she gave a smile he couldn’t see.

Jaime sucked in a breath while he pulled out of her. “I wish I could say more but that damn party—”

“You know?” Brienne asked, gripping his hand harder as she turned her head over her shoulder to look at him. He smiled as she asked, “You don’t want to go?”

“We both know what I’d rather be doing.”

“Oh, please.”

“I’d rather be planning where we’re going to live.”

Brienne stifled a laugh. “Really? Planning?” That doesn’t sound like you. He was right, they were destined to argue, and in a strange way, she looked forward to it.

"It matters a great deal to you, I can tell. Where do you want to go?"

Her skin reddened. It still surprised her, his willingness to drop everything for her. He once said he would never escape Gilead, and here he was, with her. She once saw him as a monster, and he was anything but. He sacrificed his own name to protect people he loved. He’s my gift. Brienne’s lips twisted into a smile. His eyes continued to ask his question. Truth be told, a dull ache worried inside of her and probably would never stop. Despite not feeling welcome in this foreign country, she had built a community there. And what are the chances they want to pack their bags and follow us, of all people? Brienne cleared her throat and pulled up her pants while Jaime did the same, patiently waiting for her answer. She closed her eyes, picturing their family, including her father, basking under palm trees on a beach. Jaime’s hand snaked over her belly, rounding over the small slope of her stomach. Her eyes fluttered open, grinning at the possibility. She knew what mattered the most to her. Brienne said, "Somewhere safe… to raise a girl."

Jaime’s hand stopped. “A… girl?”

Brienne nodded, smirking rising on her face.

They shared a moment Brienne convinced herself was impossible. They turned to each other, smiled and burst into bubbling giggles as if Gilead never existed. And their moment of chocolatey happiness continued even after Brienne’s flip phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Troubles washed and floated farther away when Brienne opened her phone and read Sansa’s text. Brienne’s whispered voice struggled to say the words. “They said yes.”

“They’re ready for the party already?” Jaime’s arms wrapped around Brienne while she continued to stare in awe at her phone.

Brienne’s eyes looked to Jaime’s. “It won’t just be our family moving.” A child’s smile tiptoed onto her face. “It will be all of us. Together.”