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milfsloverblog · 2 months ago

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Yield (nsfw)

Brienne of Tarth x Fem!Reader

A/N: I’m in my Brienne era, dreaming of a female Knight in shining armour—vowing their life to me. Ha, a girl can dream! I hope you’ll enjoy this fic, I sure did giggle and kick my feet writing it!

The sun burned low in the sky, stretching the shadows of the field long and gold. Dust curled in lazy plumes where hooves had pounded earlier in the day, and the crowd now buzzed for the final match, eager for blood, for victory, for the thrill of steel meeting steel.

Brienne of Tarth stood tall in the centre of the arena, a vision of quiet strength, her armour catching the last of the light. Her grip on the sword was firm, but her stance relaxed, confident, composed. She was favoured to win. Of course she was.

You watched her from across the field, adjusting your helmet. The weight of it grounded you, familiar and steady. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, steady but hard. You hadn’t fought her before. Not like this. Not in front of so many eyes. Not with your identity buried beneath plate and leather.

No one knew what you were about to do—not even her.

Especially not her.

Your armour bore no sigil. No name. You were simply a late entry, a nameless challenger allowed into the ring thanks to coin, anonymity, and the chaos of an already packed roster. Your heart clenched, not with nerves—but with something hotter. Heavier. You had something to prove. Something to feel.

You wanted to face her. Not as her lover. Not as the woman she kissed behind tent flaps and starlight. But as her equal.

The horn sounded.

You advanced.

Brienne’s expression shifted at once. Curiosity narrowed her eyes as she raised her sword, taking you in with a practiced gaze. You knew that gaze. It had scanned battlefields and challengers, had lingered on your face in candlelight.

She didn’t recognize you.

Yet.

The first strike was yours. Fast, clean, testing. She met it with ease, parried with the grace of someone who’d fought all her life. But there was no condescension. She didn’t underestimate you.

Steel rang as she countered, a measured blow that caught your side and sent you staggering back a step.

You grinned beneath your helmet and lunged again.

The crowd roared at the speed of your retaliation, your blade clashing with hers in a flurry of sparks. She blocked high, then low, pivoting around you with growing focus. Her brows drew tighter, suspicion creeping in.

You fought harder. Pushed her. She was taller, stronger—but you were fast, fluid, unpredictable. You circled, ducked, feinted, then struck low to draw her balance. Her blade scraped your vambrace. Yours barely missed her thigh.

She grunted softly, more in surprise than pain.

“You’re quick,” she muttered, just loud enough for you to hear. “But reckless.”

You danced away, giving her nothing.

She came at you again, this time with real force behind the blade. You blocked, barely, the impact jarring through your wrists. Brienne pressed forward, step after step, until you were nearly at the edge of the ring.

Her sword pressed lightly to your shoulder.

“Yield,” she ordered sharply.

Still, you said nothing.

You dropped and rolled out of her reach instead, dust clouding up in your wake. The crowd erupted again, some cheering for you now, others laughing at the way you'd ducked a knight like her with no name, no house, no honor.

Brienne turned to face you, her lips parted, breath rising. Her eyes had narrowed in recognition—not of you, not yet—but of something familiar. The way you moved. The way you tested her limits.

She was starting to sense it.

“You fight like someone I know,” she said quietly.

You didn’t answer.

You just struck again.

The fight continued, longer than anyone expected. Sweat beaded beneath your armor, trickling down your spine. Brienne’s hair stuck to her forehead in golden strands. Your limbs were aching, breath coming harder now, but neither of you relented.

She locked your blade in a twist and leaned close, her voice low and urgent.

“Yield, damn it. You’ll get yourself hurt.”

Still, you didn’t break. Didn’t speak. You shoved back with a surge of strength, forcing her off-balance for just a second.

It earned you one final clash—one last, desperate flurry that ended in a brutal pivot and the flat of her sword knocking yours from your hands.

The crowd howled as your blade hit the ground with a thud.

Brienne stepped in fast, placing her sword to your chest, her shoulders heaving. “Yield.”

This time, you did.

You dropped to one knee, panting beneath your helm. “I yield.”

Relief rippled across her face. She lowered her sword an inch—but didn’t step back.

You reached up slowly and removed your helmet.

The shift in her face was instant.

Shock, horror, disbelief.

Her mouth parted, but no sound came. Her eyes swept over your face like she couldn’t trust it, like she wasn’t sure she was seeing you at all.

“Gods,” she whispered.

You gave her a slow, crooked smile.

“Told you I’d find a way to fight you.”

Her sword lowered all the way now, slipping to her side like she'd forgotten she was holding it.

“You can’t— What were you thinking?” Her voice trembled slightly, but not with fear. With anger. With disbelief. “If they knew—if anyone knew—”

“They don’t,” you said calmly, getting to your feet. “They won’t.”

“But you could’ve— I could’ve hurt you.”

“You were supposed to try.”

She stared at you like she didn’t know whether to kiss you or drag you out of the arena by your collar.

You stepped a little closer, letting your smile soften just enough to cut through the tension. “You beat me fair and square, Ser Brienne.”

The official was announcing her victory in the background. The crowd roared her name.

But she wasn’t looking at them.

She was only looking at you.

And there was something in her eyes—rage and heat and longing all tangled up beneath the armor.

You let the tension hang there between you as the moment passed.

Later, when the moon had risen and the wine had quieted the campfires, you’d find her again.

You didn’t return to your own tent after the match.

Not right away.

You wandered the edges of camp instead, letting the quiet settle back into your limbs, into your chest. The tournament had drawn to a close with laughter and mead and the clang of mugs against steel, but you kept to the shadows, avoiding the firelight and the curious questions.

No one had recognized you. No one had pieced it together.

Except her.

She hadn’t looked at you during the celebration. Not once. Hadn’t approached while the other knights clapped her on the back, praising her victory. Her smile had been hollow, her eyes always fixed somewhere just beyond the crowd.

You knew that look.

Brienne was angry. Not because you’d lost. Not because you’d surprised her. But because she couldn’t say what she wanted to say.

Not there. Not in front of them.

Which was why you weren’t surprised to find her in your tent.

You slipped inside quietly, lifting the flap with a practiced hand. The lantern was already lit. She sat on the edge of your narrow cot, legs apart, elbows on her knees, hands clasped like she was trying to hold herself together.

She’d removed her armor, though the padded tunic beneath still clung to her frame. Her hair was damp from a rushed wash, curling slightly at the edges.

She didn’t look at you when you entered.

“I could’ve hurt you,” she said, voice low and tight.

You closed the flap behind you. “You didn’t.”

“You could’ve broken something. Your wrist. Your ribs.”

“I didn’t.”

“You could’ve ruined us.” Her voice rose then, only slightly—but enough to twist the air taut between you.

You stood still. “But I didn’t.”

Brienne finally looked up.

Her eyes, storm-dark, caught yours like a snare.

“You’re reckless.”

“I wanted to know if I could hold my own against you.”

“That wasn’t the way.”

You stepped closer, slow and quiet, like you might spook her.

“It was the only way. If I asked, you would’ve said no.”

She looked away.

“That’s not true.”

“It is. You’d have said no to protect me.” You crouched before her then, knees aching a little from the day’s battle. “And I love you for it. But I needed to do this. I needed to see.”

Brienne’s eyes flicked back to yours. “You could’ve said something.”

“In front of all those people? Who still think I’m only the King’s niece with a fondness for swords? You know what they’d do if they found out about us. About you.”

Silence stretched.

Long and heavy.

And then—very slowly—Brienne lifted one hand, rough and callused, to your face. Her thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, soft as a breath.

“I knew it was you,” she murmured. “Not at first. But something about the way you moved. I kept thinking: she fights like someone I know. Someone I—”

She stopped herself, but you heard it in the space between the words.

Someone I love.

You leaned into her touch. Let her feel you, warm and real and unbroken beneath her fingers.

“I never meant to frighten you,” you whispered.

Brienne let out a soft exhale. “You didn’t. You just… undid me.”

You stood then, slow and deliberate, your eyes locked with hers. Her hand dropped to her lap as you stepped between her knees. Her breath caught when your fingers gently found her jaw.

You kissed her—softly at first. Testing. A question.

She answered in kind, her hands finding your hips, her mouth moving against yours with slow, desperate hunger. Like she’d been waiting all day to touch you. To taste you.

When you broke the kiss, your lips barely brushed hers as you whispered:

“Yield.”

Her breath shuddered against your mouth.

And then she did.

She slid from the cot, dropping to her knees before you with a grace that made your stomach twist. Her hands smoothed over the backs of your thighs, reverent. Her eyes stayed on yours, blue and burning.

No hesitation. No shame. Only need.

“I would,” she murmured. “Only for you.”

You threaded your fingers into her hair and smiled, the kind of smile meant for no one else but her.

The kind that said mine.

Her breath hitched softly when your fingers curled tighter in her hair. She looked up at you from her knees—flushed, devoted, undone. No armor. No titles. Just Brienne.

Your Brienne.

You stroked your thumb across her cheek, marveling at the heat in her skin, the way her pupils stayed fixed on you like you were a star and she, a knight who’d spent a lifetime following the wrong light.

“Take your time,” you murmured. “No one’s watching now.”

Her lips parted slightly. You saw the hesitation flicker in her expression—respect, restraint, reverence—but you didn’t want reverence tonight. You wanted to be known.

You stepped back, just enough to unlace the front of your trousers, fingers a little clumsy from the nerves still buzzing under your skin. Brienne didn’t help. She waited, watching, breathing unevenly through parted lips.

When you bared yourself to her, you saw the change in her eyes—how they went darker, heavier with want. Still, she didn’t move. Not until you whispered:

“Please.”

That single word undid her.

She leaned forward, kissing the inside of your thigh first, just above your knee, soft and reverent. Then higher. Another kiss. Then a third, closer now, her breath warming your skin until your legs trembled beneath her. Her hands slid up to hold your hips—firm, grounding you—just before her mouth finally found you.

You gasped.

Her tongue moved slow, deliberate, drawing a long stroke through your folds like she meant to memorize you. She groaned low in her throat at the taste, the vibration sparking deep in your belly. Her hands gripped your thighs tighter as she licked again, pressing firmer now, more sure.

“Gods, Brienne—” Your head fell back, knees threatening to buckle, but she didn’t let you fall. Her arms wrapped around your legs, keeping you steady, holding you right where she wanted you.

Her mouth worshipped you like she was praying—gentle, rhythmic, unrelenting. Every flick of her tongue pulled another sound from you, raw and breathless, until you were panting her name in broken syllables.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Everything she wanted to say was in the way her lips wrapped around your clit, the way her tongue flattened and lapped, the way she kept moaning softly between your thighs like this—you—was the only thing that had ever made her feel alive.

When your fingers tangled tighter in her hair and your hips began to rock against her mouth, she didn’t stop. She adjusted. Let you chase it. Let you grind against her tongue as if nothing in the world mattered but getting closer.

You came with a cry muffled against your own knuckles, stars bursting behind your eyes, thighs shaking around her shoulders. She held you through it. Steady, patient, reverent still—as you rode the wave down, gasping her name.

When you finally opened your eyes, she was still on her knees, lips wet, eyes burning.

You tugged her up to you by the front of her tunic, crashing your mouth into hers, tasting yourself on her tongue. She kissed you back, deep and hungry, like she needed to remind herself you were real.

You pulled away just enough to murmur against her lips, “Lie with me.”

Brienne didn’t answer. She simply scooped you into her arms and settled you both onto the narrow cot like you weighed nothing at all. Her hand found yours between your bodies, fingers lacing together.

And in the dark, tangled in sweat and breath and silence, you pressed your forehead to hers and whispered:

“You can always ask me to yield for you.”

She smiled then—small, shy, and entirely hers.

“I know.”

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numbyday · 2 months ago

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Finished product if you care hehe..😍

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yourlocallunatic · 11 months ago

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My Lady.

podrick payne x Lannister f!reader

18+

summary: Bastard daughter of Jamie Lannister you’ve stayed in the Red Keep as a ladies maid without your family's knowledge, after Jeoffrey dies it’s no longer safe for you so your father sends you with his new ally.

warnings: smutttt! piv sex, oral, m & f receiving. lovey dovey shit. lannister trauma. probably some typos….sue me.

WC: 7.4k

The commotion during the week after your cousin's death was something you hadn’t seen since the former King Baratheon died and the ‘usurper’ Ned Stark was beheaded. They were questioning you, you knew they would—you had been working for Sansa Stark ever since she arrived in King’s Landing, of course, her ladies' maid would know something of her disappearance as well as her new husbands. You and Shae had been asked to testify against Tyrion in the trial, you knew you couldn't testify against your uncle without revealing your true lineage. Not many knew of it, but your uncle was one of them.

You'd been waiting in your chambers silently for days, sneaking out only to steal food from the kitchens. When your door busted open suddenly you thought the worst, Cersei had found you out, or even worse Lord Tywin, he wouldn't think for a second before killing you. A bastard in his family. How shameful.

"My daughter, come with me now," you were shocked to see your father, he didn't engage with you unless absolutely necessary. As devastating as it was that you hardly ever saw him, you knew it was for your safety. You glance down to his now golden hand, having only heard from the other maids and squires of what happened to him. "Come, quickly now, pack a sack we don't have much time." what were his plans now though? He'd only just gotten back.

"What are we doing?" you began to slowly gather a couple of dresses and slips, but Jamie was clearly in much more of a rush, tearing a long, grey cloak from your cabinet before unbuckling a golden, lion-pommeled dagger and tossing them in a bag.

"You mustn't use this unless you need to. And we aren't doing anything you are going away."

"But you told me it was safer here, where you are!" you picked up the pace, tying your bag together as your father draped your cloak and hood over you, nearly completely concealing your face, "I can't see anything! Can't you just tell me what's happening?"

"Keep your voice down please," he whispered grabbing your hand before tearing into the hallway. "I'll explain in a moment I promise." You huffed quietly—annoyed—but following him anyway. What else could you do but trust him? You had no one else to trust.

Winding through the halls you came to an abrupt stop outside the back entrance of the Keep. And there stood a woman you'd never seen before, she was beautiful in a way you'd never expect, tall, impressive, mighty, her eyes a striking blue. This had to be Brienne of Tarth, the woman you had heard brought your father back to King's Landing.

"Brienne please," you had never once heard your father plead. "This is the one favor I'll ask of you," he speaks to Brienne as you walk to the edge of the forest where there are three horses and two men waiting. "And here he is, your last gift," he says smiling as he pulls one of the men next to him. You knew his face. Podrick Payne. He was your uncle's squire. You two had often seen each other in passing once Tyrion and Sansa had gotten married, he was a quiet boy, but always spared a smile and a nod towards you. And you had noticed just how gorgeous his smile was. You pull your hood over your face a tad more, not knowing if you could really trust him yet.

"I don't need a squire. She'll slow me down enough already," Brienne scoffed and nodded her head in your direction.

"I won't slow you down ser-... my lady," Podrick quickly fixed his mistake before promising to serve Brienne well. The other man, Bronn you think his name was, a friend of Lord Tyrion's handed Podrick an axe before rushing him off to ready the horses.

"I trusted you to get me back to the Keep, and now I'm trusting you with my daughter. She's safest outside of King's Landing." your father glances at you and then back at Brienne, "she's been found out. If not yet then at tomorrow's trial. I can't have her killed." You look at him before grabbing his golden hand.

"Please don't. She said it herself, I'll slow her down! I can find a better place here, in the city so you can keep an eye on me!" You beg.

"You know I can't darling," he brings his hand to your face stroking your falling hair away from your eyes, "You know how jealous your aunt can get, and how protective your grandfather can get of our family. They'll find you here." you may not have known him well enough but he was your father, the only family you'd had for years. Tears welled in your eyes before you wrapped your arms around him. He held you tight, it was the first you'd been held in years, and you relished the moment. "I trust Brienne, and if you trust me, you'll trust her, Podrick's a good lad too! You know him, they keep you safe." you pulled away from him and sniffed, wiping your tears away.

"The horses are ready my lady," Podrick walked back towards you and Brienne.

"Very well. Get the lady on her horse and we'll be off soon."

"Yes, my lady."

"I'm not a lady, get her on the horse," she says sharply. You gave one more look to your father before walking with Podrick, leaving your father and Brienne to talk.

"Have you ever been North, my lady?" Podrick strikes up a conversation as he ties your bag to the back of the horse, securing the saddle before kneeling before you and setting his hand out to help you on the horse. You hadn't seen him his close before, freckles scattered his cheeks and his warm chocolate eyes stared into yours as he recognized who you were. His brows furrowed but he didn't ask questions. The loyalty of a squire.

"Never, I don't suppose I'll like it though. I'm not fond of the cold," you answer, smiling slightly to try and lighten the mood. Your hand rests on his broad shoulder as he lifts you to the horse. You let out a small yelp as you went, not expecting the strength he had, you quickly tried to play it off "Gods I hate horses, haven't ridden one in years, and last time I did I nearly got stepped on." He chuckles at you as he adjusts the stirrups for you.

"Well I'm sure he could teach you to ride," Bronn comes from the other side of the horse, patting Podrick on the back roughly as Podrick glared at him. Giving you the impression that he was often teased by the older man.

"Not sure I'd help, I haven't ridden in a while either," he turns back to you, giving you a shy smile as Brienne and Jamie start back towards you.

"Wasn't talking about horses," Bronn smirks and ruffles the top of Podrick's head, the younger man trying to push him away. "See, this lad's got a magic cock, all the girls in King's landing want him now, three whores turned away a load of gold 'cause he was that good."

"Shut up!" Podrick growls as he walks away to mount his horse, redness growing on his cheeks. You knew your face was growing hot too at the image. You'd heard plenty of stories from the other ladies' maids about what intimacy was like, and hardly ever did you hear of it being good, let alone good enough to turn away money. You adjust yourself on your saddle, a warmth quickly settling in your belly.

"Better make sure your daughter watches herself around that lad!" Bronn walks past your father patting him on the back. Your father's eyes now stare darkly at the squire who looked absolutely humiliated.

"I hear anything about you touching my daughter I'll have Brienne chop that 'magic cock' off in your sleep," Podrick looked utterly shocked, his daughter? But it was quickly replaced but fear. "You hear me, boy?" Your father's hand moved to hold the handle of the sword at his side.

"O-of course, Ser! I would never, I-I'm a gentleman, I've always respected your daughter." A blush begins to form at the tips of your ears, respect. You look to him to give him a reassuring smile and nod, just like the ones he'd give you every time you saw each other.

"Keep her safe, Brienne. Keep your oath." and that was the last you saw of your father for quite some time.

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Traveling with Brienne and Podrick had actually been somewhat enjoyable. Minus sleeping outside every night and enduring Brienne's constant grumpiness you were actually getting used to it. You and Podrick just grew closer and closer, each telling one another stories of your squiring and maid days.

Once, he questioned your lineage, and you gave him the truth. "My mother died when I was young, she was a Lady of the Court, Jamie didn't know I was his child until right before she passed. And well... you know the rumors about him and the Queen...she wouldn't have taken well to knowing he had a child that wasn't hers. Foul of them both honestly..."

"What happened after that?" Podrick urged on gently, looking at you from where he rode next to you on his horse, you could tell he was trying his best not to pry but was too curious.

"Well, he had me raised in the Keep. I worked since I could walk, in kitchens, wait staff, whatever you could think of. He always made sure I knew who he was, hardly ever saw him though."

"Does anyone else know?"

"My septa, I'm sure Varys knows because Tyrion found out recently and who else would he hear it from?" you laugh at the absurdity of the thought that your uncle had a whole other niece living under his roof and he of all people didn't know. He smiles at your story, not a single bit of judgment in his eyes.

You too had learned so much more about the sweet man that squired your uncle, even hearing of the time he and Bronn had forced Podrick to tell them everything that had happened in Littlefinger's brothel the night the women turned away the gold. That story had been told after one evening you three had spent quite a while in a tavern, seeking the warmth from the rain with fire, and probably too much ale. He had been so embarrassed the next morning when Brienne told him to stop bragging about how good he was in the bedroom.

"What are you talking about? I didn't brag about anything!" He'd said defensively as he readied your horses the next day, his face already going red. That was also the first time you heard Brienne laugh.

"If I recall, you said word for word," she said before deepening her voice to imitate Pod "'Oh Y/N, they just wouldn't stop asking! How many times am I supposed to say that I'm just good, it's all about receiving and giving.'" Podrick's mouth dropped open as he shook his head looking between the two of you.

"I-I, no I didn't say that!" he looked at you for a response and all you could do was shrug and give him an awkward smile that confirmed his fears. He looked down at his feet, ashamed, "Never let me drink that much ale again." and he was silent most of the day's ride.

As embarrassed as he was you were even more aroused. The man had grown on you, he was sweet, and always looked after you and Brienne before doing anything for himself. It didn't help that one evening he was without a tunic for a while as you washed it in the creek. He sparred with Brienne, he was getting stronger from his training, you could see it as you watched the muscles in his chest and abdomen ripple as the swords clanged together, or his arms tensing as he held defense against Brienne. He had caught your eye as you were looking at him, but you swiftly turned away in embarrassment, practically drooling. Then it had been you that didn't talk for most of the next day's ride.

Some weeks after that, you sat by a fire after the longest day you'd had. Sansa rejecting Brienne's protection, and her not trusting you for one second after she found out who you were. You'd been chased by some of Littlefinger's men, losing both Brienne and Podrick for some time. It was the first time you'd been in that much danger since Brienne defeated the Hound. Brienne slept a ways away, claiming she was too irritated with Pod to stand the sight of him. Your legs were tucked underneath you and you held your hands close to the fire.

"Are you cold, my lady?" his voice held a teasing tone, you'd told him many a time you weren't a lady, but he didn't stop, and you knew he called you that just to tease you. You were in no mood for it though, the girl you'd known and cared for for years now didn't trust you. Littlefinger had gotten into her head. You were angry, at her, at Baelish, at your father for leaving you, your mother for dying, at Brienne for picking on Podrick, and even at Podrick himself for running off without you and leaving you.

"Of course I'm cold, we're in the North now Podrick," You spat out at him. You know you'd regret your harsh tone later but right now, fuck it.

"Have I upset you?" he says softly, just the sound of his voice melting your heart. You close your eyes, all the anger and heartbreak you've had today began to swim in your eyes. "Y/N..." gods his voice couldn't be more perfect, it broke you. A sob left your lips and they didn't stop. "Whoa, woah, what's going on?" you didn't hear him stand up from his side of the fire and make his way to you before he put an arm around you. You fell right into him, he was too warm to resist, too gentle. He shushed you and rocked you in his arms until the crying stopped.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Podrick," your voice nasally from crying "I shouldn't be mad but I am. I cared for Sansa, she became a sister to me and now she doesn't trust me. I cared for my father and he sent me off, I cared for my mother and she died before I could even speak, I care for you and you left me, I know it wasn't on purpose but I was so afraid without you. I'm sorry, I don't want to be mad but I can't help it!" you choked out another sob before he looked at you and wrapped his arms around you again.

"No, no, don't say sorry, it's alright, it was a hard day, you can be mad. I-I hate that I left you...I promise I d-didn't mean to but the horse..." he trailed off pulling back to look you in the eyes. Gods you loved those damned eyes, his brows were pulled together as you stared each other in the eye, not a look of pity, just sympathy. You lean forward to rest your head against his chest, so worn from the long day. He smelt of fire smoke and evergreens. It felt so right you didn't even realize this was the closest you two had been to one another. His strong arms held you close and he rested his chin atop your head. You wondered if this felt just as right to him as it did to you.

"Pod?" you break the peaceful silence and he hums an answer in response not wanting to let go of you, "Do you care for me too?" these words made him let go, looking at you with a mixture of confusion and nerves.

"W-what?"

"I-um, said before that I cared for you, do you care for me too?" his mouth closed and opened like a fish out of the water as he searched for words, always so unsure of himself.

"Of-of course I do! I'm here to protect you." those weren't the words you'd wanted him to say.

"No, Podrick, do you care for me?"

What little remaining confidence he had left his body, he closed his eyes tightly gathering whatever courage might be inside of him before opening them and looking you in the eye, moving quietly to grab the side of your face, still wet with tears. "Yes. Very much." the tension left your body and a smile grew on your face. Your hands moved to grab behind his neck and pull his forehead to yours.

"Please, kiss me Pod, I want to know how you feel."

And he didn't even hesitate to smash his lips to yours and practically swallowing you whole. This Podrick was different, he was moved by passion and love and lust. He wasn't the clumsy boy right now, this was the broad-shouldered man you saw sparring (of course they were both just as good, they were both your Podrick). He took hold of your body and didn't let go, one of his hands was entangled in your hair holding the back of your head to pull you closer, and the other gripped your hips tightly, he was feral. You held the sides of his face and gently pushed him away so you could come up for air. You made eye contact and began to giggle at him, he let out a huff of a laugh before resting his forehead on yours.

"Sorry," he mumbled becoming the shy Pod again, "I've been wanting to do that for so long now."

"Me too."

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More weeks had passed and more things had changed. You and Podrick would sneak hidden hugs in the mornings and quiet kisses in the night when the dark had fallen. As much as you'd both like to believe you were keeping a good secret, Brienne could feel the change, she could see it in the glances and little smiles you gave each other. You'd continued to follow Sansa so Brienne could fulfill her oath. But when you came upon the aftermath of the battle between the Boltons and Stannis things went downhill. Everything was all over the place, and when you finally found Sansa she and the Greyjoy boy were being attacked by men from Ramsey's army. As Brienne and Pod went to take down the men you rushed to Sansa, you jumped off your horse and pulled her up from the ground. You watched from afar, the dagger your father gave you at your side. Your heart raced in your chest as you followed Podrick with your eyes, watching from every angle to ensure he was safe. He ended up on his back—swordless—with a man about to kill him, your body betrayed you, and standing from your safety you rushed right to him, "Podrick!" you screamed as you ran, hoping to reach him before the man struck. Your breath was stuck in your lungs but released when Theon struck the man from behind. The two men nodded at each other, Podrick's a sign of thanks.

"Oh gods," you rush to him the rest of the way and throw yourself on top of him, "I almost lost you!" you cried into his cloak.

"You won't lose me, my lady," he shoved you off of him and stood to help you up, "not now." he pressed a kiss to your forehead, not giving a flying fuck Brienne was watching. You made eye contact with her, looking away shyly and burying your face in Podrick's chest. You didn't see the small smile that graced her lips.

A few more days passed and you came to Castle Black, Sansa had apologized for not trusting you, and you gave your own apology for not telling her the whole truth. She was stubborn, it would be a slow rebuild of trust, but you could already see the young girl you first knew peeking through. Just before you reached the castle you and Sansa rode on one horse behind the two others. Podrick had looked back at you and you gave each other a shy smile. As confident as he could be sometimes, usually his nervousness won out, but so did yours.

"You love him don't you?" Sansa's voice rang behind you quietly.

"I really do," your voice sounded dreamy, something it never did. Perhaps something good might come out of this.

Jon and Sansa had reunited and things were calm for a moment. You were able to bathe, eat, and sleep in a bed covered with furs. The North was cold, you hated it just as much as you thought.

"My lady," Podrick came to sit next to you in the hall where you tried to keep warm by the fire. You immediately pull him closer trying to gather any warmth you could, "Why aren't you in bed?" he asks as he takes off his cloak to drape it around you.

"My room is freezing! I can't sleep in there! Thought in here I could at least sit by the fire."

"I don't like the thought of you here alone, the men of the Night's Watch, lots of them are dangerous...why haven't you just lit the fire in your room? That should warm you." he rubbed slow circles on your back, but your quick turn to look at him startled him back an inch.

"There is no fire in my room, don't you think I'd have lit it by now?!" the cold made you intensely irritable but you still snuggled closer to him. "Wait... Pod? You have a fire in your room?"

"Uhm...yes? You don't?"

"NO! I just said so! Ohh that is so unfair! I bet it's because I'm a woman, the fuckers."

"Hey it's alright," He says trying to calm you, "You can um, you can stay in my room if you'd like." He looks you in the eye and your gaze softens.

"Really?"

"'Course, the fire's already going, should be nice n' warm already."

"Take me there m'lord oh the chill has seeped into my bones! I need a big strong man to help me!" you faint into him dramatically. He laughs at your bad attempt at acting and helps you to your feet.

"Let's go then, my lady."

He was right the room was already warm and cozy, filled with his scent from the worn leather tunic resting over the chair. You immediately took off both of the cloaks that now rested on you and kicked off your boots, flopping into the bed and under the furs, kicking your feet as you inhaled his scent. From the door he smiled gently at you, seven hells he was head over heels.

"Goodnight then, my lady," He moved to open the door, his cheeks red as he watched you cuddling into the bed.

"Podrick? You're not staying?" the thought of him leaving had you on your feet and straight to him before he can set his hand on the knob. You pull his arm away and bring it to you.

"I don't think we should..." He looks away from you clearly very nervous about something.

"Do you not want to? I can just go back to my room, I just thought... maybe you'd want to be together, while we have the chance," you look up at him through your lashes, confused at why he'd want to leave.

"No, no, I-Just. I really don't think I could...is all," your brows pull together trying to understand, he sees the confusion and continues to explain as he moves to hold your face in his hands, "You. Lying next to me. In bed? I-I don't think I could control myself if I wanted to."

Realization flooded your expression and then you began to think. You. Him. All those stories he'd so stupidly bragged about, the thoughts of his naked chest consumed you. You'd wondered what he looked like below that too. You hadn't been with a man, not like that. A few kisses here and there but this? Something different entirely. And you wanted it. You wanted him to make you feel good, just as he'd said. So you plucked up the courage.

"Then don't," you stepped closer to him taking his hands and moving them from your face to your waist, "please Podrick? I trust you."

Every ounce of his self-control was now gone in the wind as you all but pleaded for him. "Fuck." he cursed pulling you into him and pressing his lips to yours. The Podrick you saw the night by the fire was here again, and he was hungry. You didn't hear him curse often but this, his raspy, needy voice felt like fire in your veins. You didn't think it was possible for him to hold you any closer as his face buried into your neck and his lips trailed down, nipping and licking and sucking. You'd never felt anything so heavenly.

"Pod, I... I want to see you," you pant out, beginning to pull at the strings of the thin under-tunic he was left in after he'd given you his cloak in the hall. He helped, finally pulling the top over his head and leaving his chest bare. You immediately began to trail your hands down him, feeling every single inch as you had so often dreamed of doing. "So perfect," you whisper, beginning to place feather-light kisses across the span of his chest.

"Y/N, you um, you need to tell me if you really want this, I don't want to take something from you if you value it," he spoke quietly and shyly as you continued running your hand all over him, feeling the strength of his arms, the broadness of his shoulders, the smoothness of his chest. How could you not want this?

"I want this, it is important to me, and I want you to have it," you look him in the eye, speaking your truth, "Show me, Podrick, I want it." You take your hands away from him and begin to undo the ties of your dress, wanting him to see you for all you are. He watches you intensely. Short, quick breaths leave him as he feels himself growing harder and harder within the confines of his breeches. You were magnificent, your dress slowly fell down your body and pooled on the ground by your feet. Podrick couldn't help but stare and stare and stare. The longer he did the more nervous you grew, slowly moving your hands to cover yourself.

"No," his voice was low, full of desire, "don't cover yourself, you're fucking breathtaking," he gasped out. He sounded confident, and dominant, but not in a demeaning way, in a way that made you feel loved and cared for. He reached out, grabbing your breasts in his hands and plucking softly at your hardening peaks. A soft gasp left you and he covered your mouth with his, slipping his tongue inside as he continued caressing you. His hands went lower and lower, reaching around to your backside and giving it a quick squeeze making you moan into his mouth. "You trust me, yes?" he asks, and you nod continuing to kiss him, moving to his neck like he had done to you. Shit. He tasted so good. "I want to hear you say it," he speaks, pulling your head away with the hand he now held on your cheek.

"I trust you. I love you. Do whatever you want to me," the desperation was evident in your voice and your actions as you couldn't take your hands off of him.

"Go lay down," he kissed your forehead softly before pushing you gently towards the bed. The back of your legs hit the bed and you fell back, leaving your legs hanging down. A stroke of confidence befell you and you opened your legs slightly, showing him your pussy on full display. He walked towards you excruciatingly slow and when he finally reached you he touched you so very lightly. He traced his fingers across your hip-bones, across the tops of your thighs and right down in-between, so close to where you needed him. "You've uh, have you touched yourself before?" a tremor of anxiety running through him. You meet his gaze as his hands grow closer to your center, you nod at him shyly, should you be ashamed? He quickly answers your question. "Yeah? Good." Then it happens, his rough, calloused fingers finally meet where you most need him. He's so slow it almost kills you, dragging his fingers up and down gathering your arousal on his fingertips before bringing them to your throbbing bud. He elicits the most desperate sound out of your throat. "Is that where you touch? Is that where it feels good?"

"Yes, yesyes. It feels so good," you didn't recognize your own voice so desperate and wanton. Your head falls back against the furs on the bed as he continues his work, then OH gods. You feel his soft, wet tongue touch your center. Your head whips up and you look him straight in the eye from where his mouth connects to you, as his eyes meet yours he lets out a groan, and his eye slip shut fully enamored with the taste of your pussy. You hadn't ever felt anything so perfect, but maybe he'd change your mind later. His fingers massage the insides of your thighs as he laps and sucks at you. For the sake of the Night's Watch, you try your hardest to contain your noises but when a finger slips up and starts circling around your entrance you lose it, slapping a hand to your mouth to muffle your moans. His finger slips in slowly—too slowly—and you buck your hips forward aching for more.

"Be patient, I want to make sure you're comfortable," Podrick mumbles against your pussy, you can barely hear him but listen anyway as he works you open. A second finger joins soon and he sucks and licks your clit while his fingers move in and out of you, steadily building up a pace.

"Oh Pod, please don't stop, it feels so, so, good," your hand moves down slowly working its way into his hair and holding firmly as he does as you say, not stopping for a second. You can see his torso rhythmically jutting forward, trying to grind himself against something—anything. That brings you so close to the edge thinking of him, just as desperate as you are. A couple more laps of his tongue against your clit and a single groan into your pussy and you're falling over the edge. You pant and squirm as his motions don't let up. "Podrick, Pod, I can't 's too much," He finally pulls away from you, taking his slick-covered fingers and sticking them in his mouth, sucking away your juices. A down-right sultry moan leaves your lips at the sight and you slap your hand to your mouth before falling back against the bed again.

"Was that alright?" he asks, his hair is tousled and he slowly kisses up your body stopping to lick across your nipples, tugging one with his teeth slightly.

"Alright? You're a god Podrick," you pull his face to yours kissing him deeply. "Does it feel that good for you too? Can I make you feel like that?" He chuckles at your eagerness and kisses you again.

"I imagine it would with your mouth, but I want you to feel good tonight," now laying beside you, you see the evident tent in his breeches. You reach your hand down and grip him through his pants, moving up and down against the hard length experimentally.

"Please, Pod? It's only fair," you grin at him and he nods quickly at you, the pleasure too intense for him to just ignore. You shuffle down the furs and untie his breeches, letting your fingers drag down the curls on his lower belly and groin as you do so. You remove his pants quickly, you are just as desperate to taste him as he is to feel you. You move your hand up and down his length, leaning down to suck the drops of him from his tip.

"Gods, fuck, Y/N."

"Tell me what to do," you look up at him, he was so needy and desperate to feel you around his cock, but he'd let you have your fun first.

"Spit on it," and you do just as he says, you let the spit dribble down your chin and fall right on his cock, "now keep going up and down." following his directions you stroke him at a steady pace. "You can use your mouth too," more of a suggestion than direction but you dive right in taking his length in your mouth, doing just what felt right taking him deeper and deeper, and rubbing what you couldn't fit in your mouth. Woah. Now that you had your mouth and hand around him you realized just how large he was, would he fit? Thoughts coursed through your head as you continued your ministrations. So caught up you didn't hear his voice till he pulled your head off of him with the hand that was weaved through your hair. "Stop, stop," you heard the gasps and immediately grew worried.

"Was it not good?"

"It was too good," he huffed, out of breath, "I want to fuck you before I finish." his words brought you to reality a small fear settling deep in your gut. Your expression must've betrayed you because his hand moved to cradle your face. "We-we don't have to, whatever you want to do, I won't make you, my lady," he pecks your cheek and looks you in the eye waiting for a response.

"I-just...do you think you're going to fit?" genuine worry laced in your voice. He tried his best not to giggle at you, this version of you was so different from your normal snarky self.

"I got you nice and ready for me, if it hurts too much you say the word and I'll stop, I promise," how could one man be so utterly perfect? He shuffled out from underneath you and in one swoop you were now beneath him. His shining eyes stare down at you in adoration. His hand moves down to mess with your pussy again, moving your slick all around to make sure you were nice and wet for him, all the while keeping eye contact and watching your face contort in pleasure. “you want me to fuck you?” his voice was laced with lust but also a genuine concern for you. You nod vigorously, not being able to wait another second. His hand drifted away from your cunt causing a whine to leave your mouth. Taking his cock in his hand he pumps it a few times before taking the head and rubbing it all through your slick.

“Please, please,” you moan out reaching for his shoulders to pull him into you, your nails desperately scraping down his back.

“Please what?” his voice was teasing and you could tell this was his way of taking back every time he had been teased, flipping it around to make you a frustrated, whiny mess under him.

“Ugh, please Podrick, I want you to fuck me! I want to feel you inside of me, please,” you’d never been so desperate for anything in your life.

“‘Course love, whatever you want, I’m gonna go slow, ‘right?” you silently thank him for his consideration, he knew you were nervous, but you knew he would take care of you, just as he always did. The stretch was magnificent. He slid into you, taking his time and watching your reactions. A small wince at the dull pain that made you feel so achingly full, and an open-mouthed look of pure pleasure as he fully sheathed himself inside of you. “this good?” he asked, you could tell he was trying his hardest to hold himself back for your sake.

“‘S good Pod, please keep going,” your hands were still in his back practically digging your claws into him. Then he pulled out and pushed back inside in one motion, a loud moan left your lips as he groaned out a curse. You were squeezing him so nicely. His pace slowly formed as he kept moving in and out, his forehead falling against yours and your hot breaths mingling together as you panted and moaned. He rutted into you as he held you close, closer than anything you’d felt, you were one.

“That’s it, love,” this new name had you keening your head back. “knew you could take it, take me.” his words were barely coherent and he kept thrusting into you. You felt so full, so good, it was everything you could've hoped for.

"Love you, love you so much," your words made him groan out a "fuck" and he picked up his pace, fucking into you like a madman.

"Love you so much, you're—oh gods, fuck—doing so, so well," you could feel the sweat dripping down his back from where you held and you knew he was holding himself back as best as he could. Podrick was a sweet man, probably the kindest you'd ever met, but what you felt now wasn't kindness, it was desperation, fierce desperation to fuck you and fuck you good and hard. You knew men got like this, so eager for sex, you'd heard the stories about how violent they could get, but you'd never thought about Podrick having the same needs. He wouldn't escalate to violence, not ever, but you could feel the hunger in his thrusts as he gripped your hips tightly. The warmth from before started growing in your belly again, winding up and ready to break; and it got even more intense when he moved a hand from your hip back closer to your center, putting his calloused thumb right on your aching bud and rubbing it in circles. Your needy whines grew more desperate and your nails dug harder into his back—undoubtedly leaving marks. "Feel good?" he asked yet again, constantly making sure everywhere he touched you brought intense pleasure. You nod against his shoulder and move your legs to wrap around him. "There you go, m' getting close love," he grunted out, his thrusts growing sloppier. You cry out as the intense feeling washes over you again and he continues rubbing your clit to work you through it. As soon as it's finished he pulls out of you quickly, spilling himself all over your stomach and tugging on his cock as his spend continues to leak out of him before grunting once more and flopping next to you. Both of you pant hard, trying to recover from the intense feelings. His seed pooled on your stomach stickily and you reached a hand to run your fingers through it before moving them to your mouth and sucking his flavor off of them. You wouldn't lie and say it tasted good, but it was his essence and that alone aroused you again. He looked over at you and smiled cheekily before kissing your forehead.

"Could you, uhm..." you say nodding downwards to where his seed lay cooling on you.

"Oh-oh, 'course, sorry," He jumped up from the bed, the shy Pod returning with a rag and cleaning you off. His face was red, all of a sudden nervous as he realized what you two had just done. "That was good, right? I didn't hurt you or anything?" he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as he used the other to stroke up and down your thigh, comforting you.

"It was amazing," you smile at him, trying to be reassuring before a smirk grows on your face. "Glad I was able to feel that 'magic cock' after all," you poked his ribs.

"Gods, I wish Bronn had never said anything, I wish I had never said anything!" he whined, moving off the bed to put his breeches back on, turning his face away from you.

"Come on Pod! I'm just teasing, you know I love it," you sit up and cover yourself with the furs, your body growing cold again as your sweat dries. "Come lay with me please," you beg, "just be with me." He turns his head back to you his brows curving down in adoration, your braids became messy and your lips were flushed pink from all the kissing. You'd never have any idea of how much he truly did love you. He walked back to the bed and rolled under the furs, pulling you into him and holding you tight.

"Sleep. You should be warm enough now, my lady," you giggled as you nuzzled your head into his neck and fell into a dreamless sleep.

When you woke the next morning Podrick was gone. Your heart dropped as you thought of countless reasons as to why he would leave. Was he done with you now? Was he ashamed of you? You got dressed quickly and tried your best to fix the mess your hair was without undoing the braids you had from yesterday. You opened the door slowly, looking both ways making sure no one would see you leaving Pod's chambers. You made your way to the hall for breakfast, still seeing no sign of Podrick. You sat beside Sansa with your bowl of oats and pushed it around with your spoon.

"You, uh—you haven't seen Podrick have you?" you asked her quietly, still worried he had just up and left.

"Don't worry, I saw him walking with Brienne to go train," she gave you a cheeky smile. "he had quite the smile on his face too." you blush at the thought of seeing him so happy because of you. You hurry to finish your breakfast so you can make your way out to see him.

You stood on the upper level, looking down on the yard where Podrick was sparring against a new member of the Night's Watch, Brienne watched from afar, occasionally shouting directions out to Podrick. Even though his skills were improving he still had a long way to go to match Brienne's level, that being said you had never seen him win a match against her. But sparring against this boy, someone more his size and skill level, he was doing amazing. He'd knocked the sword out of the boy's hand and walked closer to him, pointing his sword directly at his chest and smirking at him. Wow. You really must've given him the stroke of confidence that he needed. A steady smile sat on your face and you looked around only to see Brienne already staring at you. Her gaze was hard and your smile fell, she moved her head in one short movement to signal you to come down to the lower level. You walked towards her gradually, slightly worried about what she might want to speak to you about. As you reach her side, Podrick begins another round against the boy, catching your eye and giving a sweet smile (for luck he would tell himself, but really it just distracted him).

"Podrick seems happy this morning," Brienne states, eyeing you sideways.

"Suppose he does yes," you feign innocently.

"You weren't in your room this morning," your face falls and a blush grows rapidly on your face.

"I-I was in the kitchens.."

"Oh don't play coy, I know very well what happened," she looks you in the eye, very clearly feeding off your nervousness. "Just be careful, and don't let your father know or he'd have me chop off his 'magic cock' just like he said before we left. And as much as I'd like to do just that sometimes..." she trails off and looks back to Pod fighting before smiling softly at you, "he really makes you happy?"

"Yes, he really does," you turn to watch the man you love continue his fight before disarming the other lad again and putting the sword to his throat. Seven hells, he grew more and more handsome by the day. You could see his stubble shining in the winter sun as he looked to smile proudly at you and his eye glowed with joy. Yes, he made you very, very, happy.

#podrick payne x reader #podrick x reader #podrick payne #got x reader #got #asoiaf #brienne of tarth #jamie lannister #gameofthrones x reader #got smut #smut

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franouo · 1 month ago

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hii it's been so long since my last post here and i really missed it, i want to go back and draw more, but for now here 's a little fluffy little smt with brie and riss hope u like it, ly 🫂💙

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems #gwendolineuniverse #brienne of tarth #lgbtq #larissa weems smut #larissa weems x reader #brierissa #ser brienne of tarth

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poisonousrain222 · 5 months ago

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hands 🤤

#fake blood #tw blood #sandor clegane #the hound #sandor the hound clegane #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #got/asoiaf #asoiaf #asoif/got #brienne of tarth #sandor vs brienne #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane x you

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weemssapphic · 7 months ago

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Am I no good?

Brienne of Tarth x f!reader

“I loved him. I loved him and I-” She chokes on her own words, unable to verbalize what she did - but she doesn’t need to, you know already, and Brienne doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. You don’t either.

CW: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat - see A/N at end Cannibalism, slight gore, necrophilia, trauma, hallucinations, night terrors, hurt/comfort, smut, several mentions of Braime

Words: ~7.5k | ao3 link in title

Brienne gets night terrors.

As a member of the Kingsguard your room is adjacent to the Lord Commander’s and one night, not long after her return from the North, you’d woken to a blood-curdling scream that had pierced even the thick walls of the Red Keep’s tower. The Lord Commander had been, for a few terror-inducing minutes, inconsolable; thrashing about, trying to get out of bed, and, being that you were both closest to her and the only other woman amongst the knights, your peers had bowed out and left you to ‘deal’ with her.

At first you’d tried to restrain her, resulting in an accidental black eye. You’d changed your tactic as a result, tried to be gentle with her, coo her back to sleep - which, fortunately, had worked. Then the next night, it had happened again, and again you’d stayed with her until she’d fallen back asleep. Soon after, she’d begun to sleepwalk, and so, to prevent her from getting hurt, you’d started sleeping on a pile of furs on the floor beside her bed.

Eventually, and as your relationship with Brienne had slowly changed, evolved into something, you’d started sleeping beside her in bed - anything to keep her from hurting herself, to help lull her back into a fitful sleep.

It had never been like this before, not in the time you’d known Brienne, anyway. She’d always been a light sleeper, sure, but a sound one. Even after the most brutal of battles, she’d never even woken with a start from a nightmare as you and so many of your fellow knights had. But something had changed when she’d gotten back. Something had changed since she’d lost Jaime.

She talks in her sleep now, too. That’s partially how you know what happened during all those months when she was in the North.

When it first started, you thought the sleep talking was just a part of whatever nonsensical dream (or, more likely, nightmare) she was having, conjured up, perhaps, by the imagination of a person who has seen too much and suffered too greatly.

But then she’d woken with a start one night. It wasn’t a night terror - though she was clearly upset, she was fully lucid. This time, she didn’t scream. Didn’t thrash. Instead, she’d clung to you like a little girl, curling up against you in a way she never had before, seeking comfort. She confessed in hushed, shaky whispers between suppressed sobs the terrible things that had happened in the North. The unforgivable things that she’d done in the North. The real reason why half of her Kingsguard had disappeared. The real reason why Jaime hadn’t returned by her side.

~~~

You’ve known Brienne for years, becoming a member of her Kingsguard when she’d become Lord Commander. She’d wanted a woman under her command, and so she’d knighted you herself. The two of you had quickly become friendly with one another, sharing the unique bond of being women in a still male-dominated profession (and wasn’t that an understatement).

Though you found yourself slowly and quietly falling in love with her, your bond had never gone past friendship - it couldn’t, not with Jaime by Brienne’s side. Not when the tall, blonde knight looked upon her lover as if he held within him the key to the universe. Her first love.

Still, you were, out of all the knights in her Kingsguard, out of all her friends, closest to Brienne, and it filled with you a subconscious sense of smugness. It made you feel special, that the strong, courageous, just, loyal, beautiful Brienne of Tarth would value your company, your opinions. That she would consider you, as she once told you, her equal, a true friend. That she held love for you, even if it wasn’t romantic love, even if it wasn’t the same kind of love you held for her. It was clear you meant something to her, and the memory of the love shared between the two of you is what you would cling to in the many months during her absence.

King Bran had had official business in the North. Some threat looming past Winterfell, beyond the Wall. Whispers of White Walkers returning - mostly fear-mongering, Brienne had figured. But King Bran had made for Winterfell to convene with the Kingdom of the North, and the Lord Commander and her Kingsguard had followed, to protect him firstly and then to head even farther north towards the Wall and beyond, to scout out the supposed threat.

Except for you. You’d been nursing a fresh injury at the time of departure, and it had been deemed too risky to allow you to join, lest the threat be real and your injury be your downfall. Brienne had tasked you with taking over some official duties during her absence - in a month or two they’d all be back, anyway. On the day that they’d left, she’d left you at the entrance of the Red Keep with a smile on her lips, that kind of crooked, cheeky one she had reserved solely for you. The one that would be seared onto the backs of your eyelids, conjured up every time you closed your eyes, for months to come.

~~~

She shouldn’t have followed that absolute dolt’s directions, Brienne thinks bitterly. She trusts her men, she truly does - she wouldn’t have appointed them to her Kingsguard if she didn’t. But today, for the first time, she wishes she could strangle one of them with her bare hands - the one who led them off the path, convinced he’d known exactly where they were going, until it had become clear that he had absolutely no idea.

They set up camp for the night and Jaime has to calm Brienne down in her tent as the others set about lighting a fire. The cold is brutal this far north - it cuts at their skin and claws its way down to their bones, and Brienne huddles close to Jaime to share in the warmth he always seems to radiate.

Despite the cold, and despite how tired he is after trekking through the snow all day, Jaime cracks a joke, and despite how cold and tired she herself is, Brienne chuckles and rests her head on his shoulder. He reassures her that they’ll get a good night’s sleep and find their way tomorrow, and they’ll only really have lost a few hours, a few miles, at most.

Brienne trusts him.

A few hours and a few miles turn into a few days and a few more miles. It seems to Brienne, the more time passes, that the vast, icy wilderness of the North is actively conspiring against them - dead set on keeping them from both their goal and, in turn, from returning to Winterfell.

At first, it’s more of a nuisance than anything. They still have plenty of food and water. They camp out each night, huddle around the fire, weary from trekking for miles and seemingly getting no closer to anything. But optimism lingers - they’ll find their way soon, Brienne thinks, and Jaime affirms her, and her other men agree. They trust her.

Once, after a particularly long day and to keep Brienne’s spirits up, Jaime makes love to her - or tries to, anyway. The biting chill ruins it a bit, he can’t focus long enough to keep it up, keeps going soft as the cold seeps into his bones and makes his teeth chatter. Brienne cannot help but to find it funny - she laughs, and Jaime shushes her, a little embarrassed, but at least he’s made her pale lips turn up into a rare smile, and at least she’s holding him close and wrapping him up in her strong, loving embrace underneath their furs, and at least they have each other.

~~~

A few weeks in, one of her men falls ill from the cold, already weakened from the lack of sustenance as their food supply has dwindled down to nothing. He develops a cough, complains of chest pains. He stops often, slows down the group. Wheezes audibly as he clambers to keep up with the others. He’s feverishly warm and he looks to be a hopeless case. In just a few days, he’s gone - he dies in his sleep, and Jaime is the one to find him beside the fire, unmoving.

What ensues after will haunt Brienne for the rest of her life.

She suggests that they hold a short funeral for the fallen knight, burn the body then continue on, in the hopes of finding their way back to Winterfell - their plans to scout out the threat past the Wall all but abandoned, so long as they make it out of the North’s unforgiving clutches alive. Everyone agrees, and they use the extra wood they have for the fire to build a small, makeshift funeral pyre. Brienne says a few words and Jaime lights the fire, sets the warrior’s body ablaze.

After a somber moment of silence, Brienne orders her knights to pack up camp. One of them lingers near the pyre, staring at the charred body of his former peer, stepping closer even as the others turn their backs to him. He ignores his Lord Commander when she says it’s time to leave. He’s hungry, he says - yes, we all are, the Lord Commander replies, a bit impatiently.

They could use the strength, they need to eat something, he argues, or they’ll meet the same fate as the knight roasting over the fire. Brienne doesn’t understand - until she does. Then she’s horrified, by both the suggestion itself and the lack of horror that the rest of her knights display. She argues - Jaime tries to back her up - but they’re overruled.

As her men feast on the body of the fallen knight, she sits on a fallen tree trunk away from the group. She refuses to eat one of her Kingsguard for breakfast.

But things are never that easy. Her men have had a taste of the meat. They remember, finally, what it’s like to have full bellies, to have enough energy to carry themselves through the day, to keep their legs going for miles on end. And, with that, any trust that Brienne has in her knights, and they in her, slowly disintegrates.

The North is a strange place, and it has a tendency to drive even the most composed, civilized men mad. Hunger, also, has a tendency to drive men mad. And driven mad they are. With no knowledge of how much longer they’ll be stuck out in the wilderness, and thus no knowledge of when their next meal will be or where it will come from, with a taste for the flesh that may be their only chance at survival in the barren wasteland beyond the Wall, the knights begin to practically search for reasons to turn on one another.

So, inevitably, begins what haunts Brienne for the rest of her life - the Hunt.

It’s simple: Hunt or be Hunted. Kill or be Killed. Eat or be Eaten.

It’s almost a blur to Brienne.

Except for Jaime. When it comes to Jaime, she remembers every detail vividly. Too vividly.

Jaime twists his ankle one day, starts to limp a bit as he drags himself through the snow. Brienne pulls him roughly aside, her brow furrowed with fury and her grip tight.

“You cannot let them see that you’re hurt. You have to walk normally, goddamnit,” she spits out. The words are filled with vitriol - because she’s afraid. Terrified. If any of the other knights sense his weakness, Jaime will be next. And, for all that he’s one of the strongest, most strategic warriors Brienne has ever known, even Jaime cannot outrun a group of hunger-crazed men on a twisted ankle.

He insists that he’ll try, but Brienne can see the doubt in his eyes - she can feel it when he kisses her and soothes his hands down her arms; the hesitation, the trepidation. Her heart thumps so loudly she’s sure he can hear it, too.

Try as he might, even Jaime Lannister is unable to escape his fate. The knights are restless - it’s been two weeks again (or maybe three?) since their last proper meal, and they’re hungry. Brienne is hungry, too, but when Jaime suggests he sacrifice himself so that she can eat, knowing that he’s growing too weak to go on as the pain in his ankle spreads up his leg, she gets angry. Brienne knows he’s getting weaker, but such a sacrifice is unthinkable.

“Get. Up!” Brienne shouts vehemently, the blood flowing through her veins turning to ice when, as the group treks through the snow one afternoon, Jaime feels a sharp pain in his leg and falls to the ground. She doesn’t like the resignation in his gaze, she doesn’t like how the others advance on him like he’s prey, she doesn’t like how she’s powerless to stop them because she knows, even if she fights for Jaime - defends his life - that he’s a lost cause one way or the other. She doesn’t like the sound Jaime’s neck makes as it snaps at the hands of one of her men.

She insists on being the one to handle his body and, because she’s still their Lord Commander but mostly because the others know they’ll have full bellies in a few hours, they let her. They give her privacy as they wait, huddling around the fire they’ve built.

Jaime’s eyelashes are frosty, and Brienne places her hand over his eyes, closes them. His lips are blue - they’re cold against her own and the absence of his warm breath makes her heart clench. She pushes her tongue into his mouth, exploring, memorizing. One last taste. Tears burn her cheeks - it’s not the same when he doesn’t kiss back. She flicks her tongue against his - still, unmoving - and moans, and it turns into a sob.

She rests her forehead against Jaime’s, her breath tickling his face, her tears dripping onto his cheeks, her hands starting to undo his furs, his cloak, his armor, his shirt - lovingly, almost as if she were undressing him, as she often used to do, after a long day of work. She places her hands on his bare chest. It’s cold. His lungs don’t expand and his heart doesn’t beat. It feels both achingly familiar and completely alien to Brienne. She tosses his clothing to the ground, the pieces of his armor clattering against each other and disrupting the quiet peace of the forest. Her hands move to his trousers - as she undoes them, her lips trail down his jaw, his beard scratching at her skin in a familiar sort of way. She reaches his pulse point and sucks - she pretends she can feel a pulse, she smiles in spite of herself and she sucks and sucks and sucks at his skin, before kissing her way down the column of his throat, his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his shallow breaths.

Jaime’s trousers and undergarments join the rest of his clothing in the snow, and Brienne’s hands curl around his upper thighs as her lips find the crease between his hip and his thigh. She breathes him in and lets out a shuddering moan, and she can feel his hands scratch at her scalp, pull at her golden locks. She squirms - it makes her wet. She can feel his hips rise beneath her lips and her fingernails scratch at his outer thighs as she runs her tongue along the seam of his crotch.

Her stomach rumbles audibly and she sobers, just enough to pull back from the cold, unmoving corpse of her dead lover, hunger and guilt promptly replacing her arousal.

She straightens, reaches for the knife at her side, places the blade against Jaime’s chest. She sniffles and uses her free hand to wipe the remaining tears and a bit of snot off her face. Then she makes a clean cut down the length of Jaime’s torso.

There’s a ritualistic quality to her movements. She prepares his corpse with precision, her mind going blank, blissfully blank, as she saws off his extremities, removes his organs. It’s serene, ceremonial, as if she’s in a trance.

Later that evening, as Brienne lifts a chunk of warm, tender meat to her lips, chews it slowly, savors it, she feels a warm glow in her chest. As if Jaime is now with her, always - a strange, twisted sense of intimacy unfurling within her, a wave of peace washing over her.

~~~

When you first see Brienne again, you run to hug her, but something stops you in your tracks. She stands still, watching you stoically, trembling. You reach out to touch her but she shrinks away from your hand. You’re so focused on her that it takes you a moment to notice that she’s only come back with two of her men, and that Jaime isn’t one of them.

All you know is that the expedition in the North was unsuccessful - with no further details as to what happened, or why your Lord Commander and her men were gone for so long. You hope that she’ll let you comfort her as time passes, that she’ll confide in you, but she doesn’t. King Bran works out a plan for Brienne to slowly take over her duties again, the ones you’ve been carrying out - she insists upon it, and he trusts her. The next few weeks are filled with strained council meetings, and it’s the only time Brienne allows you to interact with her, only ever about ‘official’ topics, skillfully side-stepping anything remotely resembling something personal, anything to do with her time in the North, anything to do with Jaime.

Until the night terrors begin.

~~~

You pass Brienne on your way to breakfast the morning after her first night terror. The corridor is narrow and, with each of you clad in armor, you have to turn to the side a bit as you pass each other in order to not bump shoulders. Brienne’s gaze sweeps your face, then pauses. It gets stuck on the fresh bruise around your eye, and her brows knit together in confusion.

“How did this happen?” she asks softly, raising her hand to your face but stopping just shy of touching you, as if she can’t bear to. Her fingers twitch and she drops her arm back down to her side.

You frown. “You don’t remember?”

She’s silent for a moment - you can almost hear the cogs turning in her head. She shakes her head, a strand of hair falling onto her forehead. It takes all of your restraint not to reach out and brush it back with your fingertips.

You almost want to make up a lie as to what happened - you don’t want to put her through any more misery than she’s already experiencing. But you know it’ll all come out sooner or later, so you tell her the truth.

As you explain what had happened, the lines on Brienne’s face deepen, her skin grows pale, her lips part to let out a shaky breath. Then she presses her lips into a hard line, offers you a slight nod of her head. There is an apology in her eyes, unspoken - she brushes past you and disappears around the corner without another word.

She doesn’t join you and the rest of the Kingsguard (what few men had been left, and a couple of newly appointed men) for breakfast, nor does she show up at lunchtime, and her seat remains empty at suppertime. You contemplate going to her chambers and seeing if she’ll talk to you. Remembering how unwilling she was to say even a word to you this morning, you decide against it - though you’re woken once again by a piercing scream at a quarter to four in the morning.

Again you sit with her, try not to touch her, to just let her screaming and thrashing run its course as you coo at her as you would a child. Again it works, but this time you linger a bit longer by her bedside once she’s fallen back asleep, just watching her.

Guilt muddles the sympathy and longing that gnaw a deep pit into your stomach. Brienne looks almost angelic, curled up on her side in the soft glow of moonlight filtering in through the window. It renders the eyelashes on one half of her face translucent, the other side cast in deep shadow. Her chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths, her hair falls in sweaty strands across her forehead, her fingers twitch against the furs on her bed - it makes you long to curl up against her back, wrap your arms around her waist, bury your nose in her hair, feel her lungs take in air and her heart pump blood and all the things that make her alive and real. Watching Brienne sleep, a dam inside you breaks - all of the feelings you’d suppressed for her sake, for Jaime’s sake, come bubbling to the surface.

~~~

Against your will, you’ve fallen into a routine with Brienne.

Neither of you talk about it. You’ve never been more intimate with her, and yet you’ve never felt so separate from her. The worst part is that you can tell she feels the same, but whatever happened to her is preventing her from opening up to you. So you give her the space she needs during the day, and try to reign in your emotions during the night.

Your little routine changes after about a week and a half when, lying wide awake and staring at the ceiling, you hear the creak of a door. Padding to your own door and peering out, you see Brienne exiting her room.

“Brienne?” you call out.

She ignores you, closing her door behind her, and you creep into the hall, the stone floor cold as ice beneath your bare feet.

“Brienne, where are you going?”

“We need food, or we’re going to die out here,” she hisses urgently. You furrow your brow. What the hell is she on about?

“Brienne, it’s the middle of the night. Are you okay?”

“Make yourself useful and get wood for the fire.”

It takes a moment but then it hits you - she’s not awake. She thinks she’s still out there, in the North. You approach her cautiously, well aware that one wrong move could get you punched in the eye again.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” you say softly, stepping in her way to prevent her from heading towards the stairs. You gently point Brienne back towards her chambers, trying to coax her into going back to bed with promises of finding food and getting her warm. Eventually you succeed and she’s crawled beneath her furs once more.

Sitting gingerly at the edge of her bed, every muscle in your body stiff as a board and every hair standing on end, you watch her intently, waiting until her eyes have fallen shut and her breathing has evened out. Even then, the thought of leaving her alone like this nearly kills you - you’re not sure you’re in your right mind but, spotting a woven blanket on the chair in front of Brienne’s wardrobe, you take it to her bedside and wrap it around yourself as you settle on the ground.

Hugging your knees to your chest, you try to generate enough warmth to be able to fall asleep. You’re only partially successful and sleep finds you an aching, shivering mess sometime just before dawn - only once your mind, running rampant with worries, has finally tired itself out enough to allow for an hour or two of rest.

~~~

Dawn breaks, the first rays of early morning sun licking at the windowsill, spilling onto the dusty floor of Brienne’s chambers and illuminating your sleeping form, and Brienne stirs in her sleep.

She stretches her arms over her head, letting out a soft groan at the ache that spreads through every muscle in her body. Mornings have been hard for her since she’s gotten back - she often feels as though gravity is conspiring against her, chaining her to the bed with a heaviness that takes over every limb, every muscle, every organ in her body.

As she turns onto her side, fighting the pull to just remain in bed all day and try to sleep away the pain, her gaze lands on a lumpy blanket beside the bed - a lumpy blanket that’s breathing, with a head of unruly curls poking out.

Brienne’s breath stutters in her chest and she props herself up on her elbow to lean over the edge of the bed. Relief floods her body as she realizes it’s just you - though that same thought, a mere moment later, causes her pulse to race.

Before she’s had a chance to wonder what you’re doing on the floor beside her bed, your eyelids begin to flutter and you shift beneath the blanket. Your eyes open and meet Brienne’s, and for one fleeting moment, it feels like the most normal thing in the world as your lips spread into an automatic smile and Brienne’s heart skips a beat.

Your smile quickly fades, however, when you wake up enough to see the perplexed frown etched onto Brienne’s face, and you quickly scramble to your feet, stuttering out an apology.

“Why are you sleeping on the floor?” Brienne says, pulling her own furs up to her chin, as if doing so will hide the vulnerability that’s crashing over her in waves.

Your brow furrows. Brienne’s stomach sinks - she hates feeling as though she’s being kept in the dark. “What?” she huffs out impatiently, anxiety lapping at her ribcage from the inside.

“You, um…” You hesitate, your voice still gravelly from sleep. You clear your throat. “I found you in the corridor last night, sleepwalking… I didn’t want you to get hurt so I stayed.”

It’s clear from the way you can hardly meet Brienne’s eyes, instead shifting your gaze to your feet as you subtly shuffle them, that you’re nervous. About what? Brienne wonders. Being reprimanded? She uses your lowered gaze to her advantage, her own gaze raking over your form from head to toe and back again, drinking you in. She feels a pang of regret. The two of you used to be close. She used to confide in you, used to trust you. But after everything that happened, who can she trust? Certainly not herself.

Still, she feels as though she owes you something.

“Thanks,” she mumbles. You look up and her heart clenches as a tentative smile spreads across your face. She offers you one in return - it feels a bit foreign, to smile again after so long. As if she’s forgotten how.

You reach down, folding the blanket and placing it at the foot of Brienne’s bed. “I’ll see you at training?” You look as if you’re about to say more - Brienne wishes you would say more - but you don’t.

Brienne swallows thickly, nods. “Yeah. See you.”

It’s not until you leave the room that she feels her fists unclench against her furs.

~~~

Brienne sleepwalks again the following night, and again you guide her back to bed and make a nest for yourself on the floor beside her. This time, you manage to sneak back into your chambers just before dawn, though you leave the blanket on the floor, so that she knows you were there, so that you don’t feel like you’re sneaking around.

The night after, Brienne wakes as you try to sneak back to your own bed (your back is stiff as a board). Her voice calls after you in the darkness as you’re halfway to the door, giving you a start.

“Just get in the bed, for God's sake…”

You can hear the sleepy exasperation in her voice and you quickly insist that you should go back to your own bed, that it would be improper - the moonlight casts an eerie glow on Brienne’s eyes when she rolls them. She scoots towards one edge of the bed and awkwardly pats the space next to her.

Neither of you sleep a wink for the rest of that night. You’re too distracted by the heat of Brienne’s body, too afraid that, if you fall asleep, you might wake up spooning her. She’s too focused on your breathing, acutely aware that you’re lying awake beside her, wishing she could take comfort in your presence but too afraid to do so. Your combined warmth beneath the furs is like a furnace, but you don’t dare move, for fear of spooking Brienne and being sent away.

As dawn breaks, you climb out of one side of the bed and Brienne swings her legs over the opposite side. You say “see you” and Brienne grunts in response, and the whole experience is so awkward and tense that you almost don’t go to her chambers the following night. Habit, however, guides your feet right to her door, and she opens it as she hears your footsteps approaching, as if she were waiting for you. This alone, the lack of rejection, makes you braver - that night, you dare to lie just a little bit closer, your arm touching hers.

Every evening you get a bit more daring, and every morning is a little less awkward than the last. Brienne’s walls are far from torn down, but every so often she shows a sliver of genuine warmth that makes your heart skip at least three beats: a shadow of a smile flitting across her face when you show up at her door in the evening; a lingering glance after the two of you have said goodnight, filled not with annoyance or trepidation but with curiosity, perhaps even a hint of gratitude; a gentle brush of soft fingertips against your arm as she adjusts the furs so that you’re both covered.

The night that she wakes with a start and tells you everything would be seared into your mind for the rest of your life as the turning point in your relationship with Brienne. It isn’t about the things she confesses to you - though horrified at the anguish that plagues Brienne, you can’t find it in you to judge or condemn her. Not when she’d woken you in tears, her hand tentatively curling around the sleeve of your night shirt, her lower lip trembling as she’d whispered that she had to tell you what had happened, and then, later, pleaded with you to stay. Nothing she told you, nothing she would tell you, could make you leave. Quite the opposite, in fact - the worse her confessions seem to get, the closer your bodies get, until she’s curled into you with her face against your chest and your arms wound tightly around her, your lips pressed to the crown of her head - anything to provide some semblance of the comfort that she’s sorely been missing.

Once the dam has broken, once Brienne has laid bare all of her sins - and is met not with condemnation but with unwavering support - she starts to let you in, little by little. Little by little, she starts to trust you again and, little by little, she lets you care for her.

~~~

Brienne is standing in front of the fireplace when you enter her chambers. You can’t see her face but you don’t need to - you know that her eyes are fixated on the flames, flecks of warm orange licking at bright sapphire irises. Lost in thought, in some place deep within her where you cannot join.

You close the door with a bit of force, so that Brienne hears it, knows you’re there. You approach her from behind with audible footsteps, then wrap your arms around her waist. You turn your head to rest your cheek between her shoulder blades. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. She smells like soap and burning wood and something else, something ineffable, something distinctly Brienne.

She stays where she is but folds her arms over your own, leans back ever so slightly. You don’t know how long the two of you stand there, but eventually Brienne starts to turn and you loosen your grip to allow her to face you. She looks down at you, her eyes dancing between your own. You think she might kiss you, like she sometimes does nowadays. You’re certain that there’s a hopeful glint in your eyes as your gaze flicks briefly to her lips, then back up to her eyes, though you try not to show it, try to let Brienne set the pace.

Instead of kissing you, she takes a step back, and you let your arms fall to your sides, feeling a bit cold after the sudden loss of her body heat. Brienne’s eyes never leave your own as she starts to untie her shirt at the front with long and nimble fingers. In your peripheral vision, you see her fingers work their way down her shirt, which then slides off her shoulders and falls to the floor. You cannot break eye contact, however - there’s something in her gaze that you’ve never seen before, not directed at yourself anyway, and it has you pinned in place, frozen in space and time.

Brienne’s tongue darts out to moisten her lips and she steps closer again, and the movement breaks you from whatever spell you’re under. Your gaze drops to her bare breasts, the small mounds of flesh pale and supple, nipples soft and pink, not quite fully hard yet. A wave of arousal washes over you as you allow your eyes to trace her body - every soft, womanly curve, every hard, toned muscle. Brienne, the woman. Brienne, the warrior. You feel her eyes on your face - you know she’s watching you drink her in, and it makes your breath quicken.

Reaching up to your own shirt, you start to untie it - until Brienne’s fingers brush against your own, gently pushing them aside and taking over for you. She takes her time, and her fingertips caress your skin, and you shiver as your shirt joins hers on the floor.

She steps closer still, until there’s no more room between the two of you. Her breasts press against your own and her skin warms yours, and then her hand slides into your hair, cupping your neck just beneath your ear and pulling you towards her until her lips meet your own. They’re impossibly soft and a little wet, and you’ve kissed Brienne before but it feels different this time, and it makes you moan - not a soft, sweet moan of pleasure but a deep, guttural moan of desire, and then Brienne pushes her tongue into your mouth and her free hand flattens against the small of your back, keeping you flush against her as she walks you backwards in the direction of her bed.

“I want you,” you whisper against her lips as the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, and Brienne pushes against you, until you’re on your back and she’s on top of you. She resumes the kiss, her breath coming out in little pants against your lips as she straddles your waist and you scoot back into a more comfortable position.

Large, callused hands slide down your torso, leaving a blazing fire in their wake. They reach the waistband of your trousers and you raise your hips, silently inviting Brienne to pull them down - she does, along with your underwear, and discards both.

Her lips trail along your jaw and you tilt your head back and to the side, giving her more access to nuzzle and kiss and suck and nip. The little noises that escape her lips and vibrate against your skin are heavenly, stoking the fire in your belly and ringing in your ears like the most beautiful melody you’ve ever heard.

Her teeth, hard and dull-edged, sink into the junction between your shoulder and your neck - a stark contrast to the feeling of her tongue, warm and velvety, running up the side of your neck just a moment later - pausing at your pulse point, feeling the pounding of your heart, the rushing of warm blood through your body. Your pulse quickens even more as she lingers there, and then you feel a wetness.

You feel no pain but, still, you wonder if it’s blood, if she’s somehow broken skin.

Then you realize that the droplets dripping onto your neck are Brienne’s tears.

You pull back, placing your hands on her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are dark and stormy as she wrestles with something that you aren’t privy to. Her shoulders start to shake beneath your palms, her entire body trembling as she begins to sob in earnest, sitting up and dropping her head into her hands, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes as she lets out a low, shaky wail.

“Brienne?” you whisper cautiously, sliding your hands from her shoulders up to her neck, prying her hands off of her face and cupping her cheeks, urging her to look at you. Your thumbs soothe across her cheekbones, wiping away each tear as it falls - her eyes dance between your own, uncertainty and pain reflected back at you in equal measure. But there’s something else there, a deep longing, a hunger, and you aren’t sure what for and you aren’t sure if you want to know.

“I love you,” you say, your voice quiet yet firm. You say it partially because you don’t know what else to say, but also because you know it’s true. You do love her, more than you’ve ever loved anyone else, more than you ever thought you could love another person, more than life itself, perhaps.

“Don’t say that,” Brienne chokes out, her brow scrunching as she sniffles and tries to suppress another sob, making her chest heave.

“I love you.”

“P-please…”

“You’re not a bad person, Brienne, in spite of what you may think.”

“I am,” she spits back, her tone harsh in contrast to the softness in her eyes as she wants desperately to believe that you could be telling the truth. That you could love her, and think she’s a good person, worthy of being cared for. “I loved him. I loved him and I-” She chokes on her own words, unable to verbalize what she did - but she doesn’t need to, you know already, and Brienne doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. You don’t either.

Brienne sobs. Her forehead wrinkles and her mouth turns down at the corners and she sobs. She buries her head in your chest, squeezes her eyes shut. Her tears wet your bare skin, her hand curls around your waist hard enough to bruise, gripping as if she’s holding on for dear life. As if you’ll evaporate if she lets go.

You coo at her. Run a hand through wavy blonde locks. Let your fingertips trace her spine. You tell her how good she is, that she’s safe, that you care for her. You tell her that you love her, over and over again, as many times as it takes to make her believe it. You tell her that Jaime loved her, too. That he would have understood, and forgiven her. That he would want her to be happy. She sobs harder, shakes her head, and you cup her cheek and stroke your thumb across her cheekbone. He would want the world for her, you tell her, and you believe it. You believe it because it’s what you want, and if Jaime loved her half as much as you do, then, surely, he would want that, too.

Finally, her tears subside. She hiccups, and it makes you smile in spite of it all. You kiss the tears off her cheeks, lick gently at her salty skin. Then you capture her lips in a sweet, wet kiss. She kisses you back. You keep it slow, gentle - you part your lips, an invitation for Brienne to set the pace. She licks into your mouth, entangling her tongue with your own, whimpering softly.

“You t-taste so good,” she mumbles, and then she freezes. The double entendre doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you ignore it - you moan and deepen the kiss, because it feels good, and because Brienne tastes good, too.

Her fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, keeping you close, and your hands slide down her back. They slip beneath her trousers and cup her ass, and she rolls her hips against you with a breathy sigh.

You push her trousers down, then her undergarments, and she helps you remove them completely. You push her onto her back, hovering over her - you give her a sweet kiss, then trail your lips slowly and reverently down her body. Your hands caress her sides, curling around her waist as your thumbs trace over her ribs and your tongue runs down the center of her abdomen.

Brienne’s hips push upwards as her head tilts back, and you look up through your lashes to see the underside of her jaw clenched; her breasts rising and falling; her nipples hard, rosy peaks that jut out into the air. You moan as you settle between her legs and kiss the crease of her hip, the scent of her arousal strong and heavy, making you feel dizzy.

You trace a path up her slit, using the tip of your tongue to part her sticky folds. Her arousal gathers on your tongue, exploding on your tastebuds like sweet ambrosia - you savor it, swallow it down with a hum. You get greedy as you retrace the path of your tongue, eager for more, humming gutturally, and then you feel Brienne’s fingers thread into your hair, her legs parting even further as she pushes you towards her clit.

Latching onto the throbbing bud, you suck feverishly, relishing in the wanton moan that erupts from deep within Brienne’s chest. Her fingers tighten in your hair, knuckles going white as her back arches off the bed and her abdomen ripples. You can feel the heels of her feet press into your back as her legs bend at the knees, her entire body responding to your hungry ministrations.

Brienne quivers. Releases the tension in her body like an arrow gone into flight. Her arousal coats your chin, sticks to the furs beneath her ass. She tugs at your hair, insistently, even as you lap at her folds, cleaning her up. You relent and allow her to pull you up, allow her lips to meet yours, and she moans at the taste of herself on your tongue and licks her own arousal off your face, desperately, as if she’s trying to devour you.

Her hand remains threaded in your hair as her other hand slides down your abdomen. Short, labored breaths leave her lips and hit yours in little puffs as long fingers feel how wet you are, smear your juices across your clit, dip into your center, stroke your walls.

Her eyes are open and she maintains eye contact with you as she fingers you. Her gaze is soft and loving beneath the lust, drinking in your every reaction and holding your heart, soul, body captive. She can tell you’re getting close and she pulls her fingers from your cunt, pushing you onto your back and sinking between your legs to finish you off with her mouth. Her lips latch onto your clit and she sucks hungrily, her eyes still on yours, her pale eyelashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks as she brings you over the edge.

When you cum, she kisses your inner thigh, mumbles “I love you” as if it were a confession. Then she says it again. And again. Repeats it as if it were a mantra. It rings in your ears, as if all you’ll hear for the rest of your life is the echo of Brienne of Tarth telling you she loves you. You.

~~~

The embers of the fire are slowly dying. Brienne is on her back and you’re curled up against her side, an arm slung around her waist. Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness and are tracing her side profile, your heart swelling at the sight. It feels different after what you’ve just done. You feel light - euphoric.

“Do you like it when we lay like this?” you ask her softly, suddenly. Your voice is gravelly with a pleasant exhaustion and your eyelids are starting to feel a bit heavy, but you feel you cannot rest if you don’t ask.

Brienne pauses for a moment, as if she’s mulling over your question in her head. Her lips curl into a small smile - the special one, the one reserved for you, the one you feared you might never see again. She turns her head and meets your gaze in the semi-darkness. “Yes,” she says decisively.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion, but Brienne sleeps through the night.

---

A/N: I know this is truly a very ~niche~ fic, but if you made it to the end, thank you! This fic popped into my head late last year when I was obsessed with Yellowjackets and kind of imagined a Yellowjackets-type scenario with Brienne - the smut was actually the first thing I wrote, and then I wrote the rest around that. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

#brienne of tarth x reader #brienne x reader #dead dove: do not eat

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cappulcino · 7 months ago

Text

Where The Wild Things Rest

Read on AO3

Words: 10,122

Pairing: Brienne of Tarth x Fem!Reader

Summary: See prompt here. You're the keep's master of King's Landing and find yourself under the protection of Brienne of Tarth on a quest for medicinal herbs. When a violent ambush leaves Brienne wounded, you seek refuge in an abandoned shack to treat her wounds and wait out the upcoming storm. One thing leads to another, and Brienne gets cared for in more ways than one.

Tags: Slow burn, smut, mutual pining, soft dom!reader

Trigger warnings: NSFW, description of violence, mentions of injuries and blood, graphic description of nudity and explicit sexual content (minors DNI)

A/N: If you're interested, you can find the link to the playlist I listened to while writing here.

"Honestly, Ser, I'm perfectly capable of fetching a few herbs on my own. I doubt the Kingswood has become a den of outlaws overnight."

With one hand resting firmly on the hilt of her sword, Brienne stood unwavering by the gate and her horse, her eyes not unkind but uncompromising on you. You were about to leave the city and had found her there, waiting for you. Apparently, the King himself had asked her to accompany you on your journey, and she would not budge.

"Many refugees and former soldiers have turned to theft and smuggling after the war I'm told, and the forest is less predictable than you'd think."

"I suppose I cannot convince you," you tried.

"No. My orders were clear," Brienne insisted with a firm shake of her head before she buckled her own saddlebag. "His Grace does not want you travelling without a guard."

You sighed, casting a sideways glance toward the treeline where the road to the Kingswood began. You didn't dislike Brienne of Tarth, quite the contrary, but you needed to focus on your mission, and you feared she would be… distracting.

"Well, His Grace worries too much. It'll only be a few bundles of feverfew and willow bark… maybe some yarrow. It's not that valuable and neither am I. The horse is worth more, but–"

"The king believes you are valuable enough, and so do I," Brienne cut you off, taking a brisk step closer. "We have already lost too much. We cannot afford to lose someone with your knowledge and skills. Not now."

She paused briefly and avoided your gaze as she spoke her next words, her voice mellowing ever so slightly.

"Or ever."

You put your hands on your hips and, again, looked into the distance, considering your options.

"Thieves, you say?"

"And smugglers. They might find you an easy target."

You gasped and raised your eyebrows at that statement, only half-feigning the offence showing on your face.

"I did not mean to call you weak," Brienne quickly rectified. "But with your hands full and your attention elsewhere, anyone could come from behind to attack you."

Brienne had a point. You tended to get quite absorbed by any task you undertook and crouching down to pick the herbs wouldn't exactly put you in the best position to retaliate and defend yourself should someone come at you. Still, you didn't understand why the King had appointed his best knight to this mission.

"Very well," you said. "I give up."

You pulled yourself up on your horse and went through the gate, and, from the outer corner of your eye, you saw Brienne letting out a soft exhale. Her apparent relief made you smirk, and you suddenly found yourself thinking that perhaps her company wouldn't be so bad.

For the first hour or so, you both rode in a silence interrupted only by bird songs, your horses' hoofbeats, and the metallic sounds of Brienne's armour. For some reason, she was riding a couple paces behind you and had not uttered a single word since you had left King's Landing.

So you took a halt and turned your horse around to face her, and Brienne, apparently too caught up in her thoughts, almost didn't notice you were no longer advancing and stopped abruptly, a mere pace away from you.

The face she made then and the way she quickly made her horse step back pulled the corner of your lips up once more.

"If we are to spend the day together, we might as well ride side by side," you said. "And maybe talk, get to know each other a little?"

Brienne blinked.

"We have known each other for months already," she replied, furrowing her brow.

"Correction: I know your name and you know mine, I have repaired your armour twice, you constantly refuse the ointments I make for the knights' wounds, and we exchange banalities regarding the keep's security when we cross paths. This is not what qualifies as knowing someone."

Brienne shifted her weight in her saddle, somewhat uncomfortable.

"There isn't much to say."

"Oh, I beg to differ. One cannot become the first female knight of all Westeros, first Lady Commander of the Kingsguard, and say she has no stories to tell."

"My stories have already travelled further and faster across the country than I have."

You weren't sure whether to laugh or roll your eyes at her reluctance to share the slightest bit of information.

"They have indeed," you confirmed. "And I have listened to each of them with great interest. But perhaps you wish to tell me your own version of those accounts, or to share stories yet unknown?"

"I would only be boring you, I'm afraid."

That was it; you rolled your eyes and resumed riding. Brienne could be stubborn as a mule if she wanted, and you couldn't waste the entire day trying to make her understand that you were, in fact, very much interested in anything she would be willing to say.

Brienne stayed frozen in place behind you a couple seconds, trying to make sense of your sudden wish to bond with her before she ordered her horse to catch up with yours in a quick trot, making her armour clank loudly as it did so.

"I don't understand why you would want to get to know me better," she said, now riding to your right.

You snorted softly.

"Evidently."

"An hour ago, you didn't want me around."

"I merely said I didn't need your protection." You glanced sideways at Brienne, and she looked rather disappointed by your constant dismissal, so you quickly added, "But since you must be here, why shouldn't we try to make it enjoyable for us both?"

When Brienne said nothing, you fully turned your head to face her. But she looked away, pretending to survey your surroundings for your safety, and you understood she didn't believe you could truly enjoy her company. The realisation made your heart clench harder than it should.

"Ser Podrick Payne was right," you muttered after a moment of silence.

Brienne's eyes skewered you. She had spent a long time with Podrick back when he was her squire, and she had opened up to him in ways she had rarely done with others. The idea that he could have betrayed her trust and repeated things she didn't want you to know made her blood boil.

"What did he say?" she asked in a clipped voice.

Your expression softened and you offered Brienne a small smile, trying to let her know that she didn't have to worry. Ser Podrick Payne would be the last knight to speak ill of her.

"That you wear more than one armour. And it's a shame."

Again, Brienne didn't reply to your comment. But you saw the crease between her eyebrows relax ever so slightly, and it gave you enough hope that, by the end of the day, she would trust you enough to let you in.

Another hour had passed, and you were now in the Kingswood, keeping your eyes peeled for the herbs you needed to gather.

Brienne still hadn't spoken much, but your genuine softness towards her had somewhat appeased her and you had been pleasantly surprised to find out that while she wasn't one to talk about herself so much, she could be a good listener –one who seemed keen on hearing about anything you had to say.

And so, in the past hour, you had answered many of her questions and told her about your childhood –what you remembered of it, at least–, where you had learnt about the duties of a keep's master, how the King had come to appoint you. And Brienne listened to each reply, with great intent, it seemed.

"Look, feverfew," you said, suddenly putting an end to your monologue.

Brienne followed your gaze and noticed the little white flowers blooming by the trail, right where the sunlight filtered through the trees.

"There is never enough of it in our inventory," you added as you pulled on the reins before handing them to Brienne. "Here. Would you hold onto Galewind for me? He likes to run away when I'm not looking."

Brienne gathered her own reins in her right hand before reaching with her left to grab yours. And as you handed over Galewind's reins, your fingers brushed against Brienne's –a fleeting contact, yet enough to make you pause.

You glanced up at her face, momentarily struck by the unexpected tenderness of the touch while Brienne's eyes flicked down to where your fingers had touched her hand, her expression unreadable. She shifted slightly in her saddle, her lips parting as though to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she only nodded, assuring you your horse was in good hands.

"Thank you. He can be stubborn," you said as you dismounted before clearing your throat in an attempt to chase the awkwardness away.

"Of course," Brienne replied, her tone uncharacteristically soft.

You walked to the feverfew and knelt down to examine the flowers, but your mind lingered on that moment. True, you had "known" Brienne for a while now, yet she remained as much an enigma up close as the stories had painted her from afar. But with what had just happened, you considered for the first time how much strength and gentleness seemed to coexist in her –and you weren't entirely sure she wanted others to notice that other side of her.

From behind, you could feel her eyes on you, watchful and cautious, as if she were guarding more than just your back. A flicker of something stirred in your chest, but you pushed it aside. There were herbs to gather, and you didn't have time for silly, fleeting thoughts –not now, anyway.

A couple of hours later, you had already gathered quite a good amount of herbs and were enjoying the slow ride along the trail when the soft sound of rushing water caught your attention. Glancing toward the noise, you spotted a narrow stream cutting through the trees. At first, you only admired how the water glittered in the sunlight. But then your eyes honed in on a cluster of tall plants nestled on the far bank.

"Motherwort," you murmured, almost to yourself, before halting. "That's a rare find."

You then turned towards Brienne as she stopped beside you and winked at her.

"Perhaps it is you bringing me luck. I shall take you with me more often."

"What is it used for?" Brienne asked to create a diversion from your comment –though the brief clenching of her jaw and the faint blush on her cheeks seemed to indicate you had actually hit the target.

"Oh, many things if you know how to prepare it. But mainly female health."

Brienne nodded in a detached way as if she didn't even feel concerned, and you went back to the matter at hand.

"But it's on the other side of the stream and at this time of year, that water is freezing. I'd rather not risk crossing."

Brienne tilted her head.

"Why not have Galewind jump it? He would clear it."

"Not without trampling the herbs," you pointed out, stroking your horse's neck. "Besides, he has a habit of… misjudging his landings."

Brienne arched an eyebrow in a somewhat judgemental manner, wondering why you insisted on riding this colt if he had that many flaws. This time, you were the one ignoring her and you turned back to the stream, trying to think of another solution.

"We'll have to find a way across."

Brienne's expression shifted, her eyes scanning the area before landing on a large fallen tree a few paces away. She pointed at it.

"What about that?"

You blinked.

"The trunk? Ser, that thing must weigh more than both of us combined."

But Brienne had already dismounted, her boots crunching on the damp soil as she walked toward the tree with purpose.

"I'll manage."

You watched, half in awe, as she planted her feet and bent down to grip the log. Her arms strained, muscles shifting under her tunic and armour, yet she dragged the trunk closer to the stream swiftly and made it look almost effortless, rotating it until one end caught against the bank.

"That should hold," she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face and staining her pale forehead with a bit of dirt. "I'll cross first."

You kept looking at her as she stepped onto the log with care. The wood creaked under her weight, but she moved steadily, her balance precise. When she reached the other side, she turned back and gestured.

"Your turn."

You still hadn't dismounted and hesitated. Brienne could leave her mare without a care in the world, but you had had to chase Galewind too many times to do the same without worry.

"I told you my horse liked to wander off."

"He's grazing," Brienne pointed out. "He'll be fine for five minutes."

You sighed, reluctantly getting off your saddle and stepping onto the makeshift bridge. The bark was slippery from the recent rain, and the rushing water below only made it harder to concentrate.

About halfway across, you noticed Brienne offering a hand and you looked up. But the sight of her muscular silhouette waiting for you made you lose what little focus you had left since that fortuitous skin contact, and your foot slipped, causing a yelp to escape your lips.

Before you could topple, the same firm hand grabbed your arm. Brienne hauled you upright with ease, pulling you against her steel-covered chest. Your heart was still pounding as you looked up at her to find her eyes filled with concern.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice once again unusually soft.

"Just my pride," you muttered, realising how your hands had instinctively gripped her shoulders for balance. "Thank you."

Brienne's lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile and her hand lingered on your arm a moment longer than necessary before she seemed to realise what she was doing and let go of you.

"Well, go on, then. The herbs."

"Uhm, yes. Of course."

You took a step back, re-establishing a proper distance between the two before you went and crouched by the patch of motherwort, carefully snipping the stems and placing them into your satchel.

"We should follow the stream," you said on your way back to your horse –which, thankfully, had deemed the grass much more interesting than running away. "Many herbs that I need grow where the soil is wetter. Then maybe we can stop somewhere to rest for a bit. You brought something to eat, yeah?" You asked, not wanting to waste time hunting.

"I did."

"Good. Then let's go. And, well… Thank you again for not letting me fall, Ser."

"You're welcome," Brienne said, visibly content to be of some help to you. "And if it pleases you… Brienne's enough."

The stream widened into a river ahead, its current rippling faster over smooth stones. On the banks, the graceful bows of willow trees dipped toward the stream, their leaves fluttering like whispers in the breeze. You tugged on Galewind's reins and pointed to a flat patch of grass beneath one of the trees.

"We should stop here. I need some willow bark, and the rocks will make decent seats."

Brienne agreed and dismounted with ease, then cast a practised eye around the clearing before securing her horse to a sturdy branch. You followed her lead, double-checking Galewind's knot.

"No escapade this time. Right, big boy?"

From your satchel, you pulled out two modest bundles wrapped in cloth. Brienne joined you as you settled on a smooth rock close to the river's edge. The air wasn't too chilly when the wind calmed down and it carried the faint scent of damp earth and leaves that had decomposed during winter. For a moment, the two of you sat quietly, the sound of the rushing river filling the space between.

Then, breaking the silence, you gestured to Brienne's meal.

"What'd you bring?"

Brienne unwrapped her bundle: strips of dried meat, a hunk of bread, and a slice of cheese. She glanced at yours, which displayed colourful slices of carrots and radishes nestled beside cured meat.

"If that's not a proper knight's meal…" you teased lightly, breaking your bread.

Brienne didn't reply, but her lips twitched –an almost-smile that warmed you more than you cared to admit.

You looked up to see movement on the opposite bank. A magnificent deer had emerged from the undergrowth, its antlers rising like branches. Its coat was sleek and golden, catching the sunlight in a way that seemed almost unreal.

"Look at that," you breathed, leaning forward. "Isn't he magnificent?"

Brienne lifted her head, her expression impassive as she studied the creature.

"He'd make good stew," she said matter-of-factly.

You blinked, startled, before a loud, genuine laugh escaped you.

"You cannot possibly look at that majestic creature and think... stew!"

Brienne's straightforwardness, combined with the absolute seriousness in her tone, was too endearing to be frustrating.

"Do you see beauty in anything at all? Or just potential dinner?" you asked as your laughter slowly died.

Brienne's brow furrowed, and for a moment, you thought you'd offended her. But then she spoke, her voice quieter than before.

"My father had a fondness for deer. He liked how graceful, quiet, and watchful they were." She looked back toward the forest, her expression softening. "He also said does reminded him of my mother." A pause. Then, almost to herself: "I never knew her well enough to say if he was right. I never knew her at all."

The unexpected vulnerability caught you off guard. You held your breath, not wanting to disturb the moment. For once Brienne dared to talk, so you would let her. Her gaze remained on the deer, now grazing on the other side of the river.

"Once, when I was little, he found a fawn tangled in some brambles. It must have been abandoned, it was too weak to fight. He carried it home and we tended to it for weeks, feeding it by hand. He told me he wanted to teach me the gentleness my mother could no longer teach me and how to care for the weak. He said even the smallest life deserved consideration."

You kept staring at her, struck by the tenderness in her voice.

"What happened to the fawn?" you asked softly.

"It got strong enough to run." Brienne shrugged, her expression hardening slightly. "One day, it left. I suppose it went back to the forest."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The deer on the far bank raised its head, as though sensing your attention, before darting gracefully into the woods. Brienne turned back to her meal, the shutters of her composure sliding back into place.

"That was a long time ago," she said as she briefly shook her head, her tone almost dismissive. "And then my father taught me how to fight instead."

You wanted to say something, maybe tell her both her parents would be proud of the woman, the knight she had become. That, in a way, she still took care of the weak. But the words felt too heavy for the moment, so you swallowed them.

Instead, your gaze fell back to her meal and you decided to try to lift the spirits.

"You know, I don't see a single vegetable in there," you said, a teasing lilt in your voice. "Here, have this."

You plucked a bright chunk of carrot from your bundle and held it out to her. Sensing her confusion, you insisted, jerking the vegetable in her direction.

"They make you loveable, you know."

Brienne frowned.

"Loveable?"

"Absolutely. People see you munching on a carrot, and they think, 'There's someone approachable.'"

Brienne stared at you, her lips parting slightly as though to protest, but then the words tumbled out. Now she was offended.

"I don't suppose I seem approachable to most," she said as she snatched the piece of carrot from your hand and glanced away, her voice stiff. "I try to be better, more gentle. Like my father first wanted me to be. But... I'm just not."

You blinked, surprised by the sudden confession.

"Brienne, I–"

She barrelled on, as if afraid to let you interrupt.

"I'm too blunt. Too hard. Pod was right about what he told you. And since travelling with him, I've tried to be better. I've tried with many people, but… Maybe if I were different, I–"

"Brienne, stop."

Your voice was soft but firm, and it made her pause. You leaned closer, meeting her gaze.

"You don't have to change. Not for anyone. You're perfectly fine as is."

Her expression faltered, a flicker of disbelief in her eyes.

"You don't mean that. No one–"

"But I do. I like you. Just the way you are." You said it simply, but the conviction in your tone made Brienne gawk at you, stunned into silence.

Only then did you notice the smudge of dirt on her forehead. It made you smile.

"But if you do want to change one thing, maybe start with that dirt on your face."

Her hand shot up as her cheeks turned crimson, and she awkwardly wiped at her forehead. But instead of cleaning it, she only managed to smear the dirt even further. You chuckled, pulling a cloth from your satchel.

"Here, let me."

"I'm fine."

"Clearly… Now stop whining, and let me help."

You reached up, the cloth brushing her skin as you wiped the dirt away. She stilled under your touch, her eyes locked on yours, and the air between you suddenly grew heavy with unspoken things.

In the silence that followed, your gaze lingered. Brienne had always appeared to you as striking in her own way –an unpolished charm she seemed intent on hiding beneath layers of stoicism and practicality. But here, now, with the golden sunlight catching in the loose strands of her hair and the silver gleam of the water reflected in her eyes, she looked... ethereal.

It wasn't just her appearance that caught you, though that alone was enough to leave you momentarily breathless. It was that, for the first time, she felt closer, not the distant figure of knightly legend but a woman, warm and real, and achingly human.

Your thoughts wandered to places you hadn't allowed them to go before. Had they been there all along, quietly waiting, or was this the first time you truly left your mind unbridled? Either way, you found it impossible to look away, and something deep in your chest stirred, a pang you didn't want to understand but couldn't ignore.

But then came the sound of snapping twigs, interrupting the beauty of the moment. Brienne's head whipped around, and her hand instinctively moved to her sword.

"Someone's here," she muttered, her voice low and sharp.

You both stood up as six men emerged from the trees, their faces covered by hoods or old helmets, their intent clear in the way their hands rested on their weapons. One, slightly older with a jagged scar tracing his jawline, stepped forward.

"Nice horses," he said, his tone almost conversational, though his grin was anything but friendly. "And a nice haul of herbs, too. You've saved us the trouble of finding our own."

He then looked you up and down in a way that repulsed you so much you found yourself shivering and added, "Maybe we'll take that one back to the camp, too. And your money."

"Leave now," Brienne commanded, "and no harm will come to you."

The leader chuckled, glancing at his companions who sniggered as well.

"That's rich, coming from one damsel against men like us. And no helmet? Bold choice."

Brienne's hand tightened on the hilt of her sword, her gaze never leaving the man. She turned her head slightly, just enough to murmur to you, "Get behind those trees and stay out of sight."

"But–"

"Go," she snapped, her tone brooking no argument. "I'll handle this."

Reluctantly, you obeyed, slipping behind a thick oak as the tension in the air snapped like a drawn bowstring.

The scarred leader barely had time to shout an order before Brienne's sword slid out of its scabbard with a metallic hiss.

She surged forward, her blade arcing in a precise downward cut. The man nearest her, wielding a rusted mace, barely raised it in time to block the blow. The force sent him staggering backwards, but Brienne pressed her advantage. She kicked his knee with her boot, sending him to the ground with a cry.

Another man darted in from her right, swinging a short sword. Brienne pivoted, deflecting the strike with her armoured forearm before slashing across his chest. Blood sprayed, and he collapsed.

The youngest of the group, barely more than a boy, took one look at Brienne's bloodied sword and at the two downed companions before turning tail. His cowardice earned him a curse from the leader, who was now advancing on Brienne.

"Get her!" he barked, drawing his own blade.

Brienne turned to face him, but the man she had kicked earlier had regained his feet. With a snarl, he swung his mace into her exposed flank. The dull thud of impact echoed in the clearing as Brienne fell to the ground, her breath catching.

"Brienne!"

From your hiding spot, you watched the fight unfold, your chest tightening with every blow she took. She moved with precision and strength, but there were too many of them. The man's mace strike had slowed her down, and you saw the hesitation in her steps. You gripped the tree bark, your heart pounding and feeling utterly useless.

The leader lunged, and Brienne barely managed to parry his sword in time before slamming her fist repeatedly in his face. Groaning, he reeled back long enough for Brienne to roll them over.

She was about to punch him some more when one of his accomplices grabbed her from behind and pulled her back to her feet, attempting to strangle her. She once again freed herself by pushing her elbow into his ribs before driving her shoulder into his chest and forcefully crushing him between her armour and a tree.

The leader, weakened but still willing, charged at her with his sword. Brienne raised her blade to shield herself from his attack, but the movement left her vulnerable and allowed a fist to crash above her eyebrow. She stumbled, a cut opening and blood trickling into her eye.

Yet, through it all, she didn't stop. She growled, planting her feet and driving the leader back with a series of quick, precise strikes. Her sword then found his thigh, cutting deep. He crumpled to the ground with a scream, clutching the wound.

"Enough, dammit!" He cried out. "We're done!"

One of the others pulled him by the arm and dragged him away followed by the last uninjured men, leaving their fallen comrades groaning in the dirt. Brienne stayed still, her chest heaving, sword raised in readiness until they disappeared into the trees. And then, as though the fight had drained the last of her strength, she dropped her sword and fell to her knees, her breaths ragged.

"Brienne!" you yelled, coming out of your hiding spot to lunge by her side.

"I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth, attempting to wave you off.

Obviously ignoring that lie, you looped an arm under hers and did your best to haul her upright, the effort straining every muscle. Even without the steel plating, Brienne was solid as stone, and the armour made her nearly impossible to move. You groaned and so did she, her strength faltering as she slumped heavily against you.

The sky that had already turned grey during the fight chose this moment to crack open with rain.

"Of course," you muttered bitterly.

As if getting Brienne back to the horses wasn't hard enough, the rain would soon start to make her armour slippery and you weren't sure you would manage at all.

"Do you think you can get up?" you asked Brienne as you reached her horse.

"Yes…"

But Brienne half-lifted herself before sagging back, too weak to climb.

"It's alright, let me help."

You tried a couple times to lift Brienne up so she could get on her saddle but to no avail. Her armour made her too heavy and her horse was too tall –you lacked the strength to pull her onto a mount so high.

"Seven hells," you cursed when Brienne fell back down for the third time.

"I'm sorry…"

"No. Don't you dare be sorry, Brienne."

Turning around to look at Galewind, you wondered if you should try to get Brienne onto him instead –he was shorter after all.

Galewind's ears flicked toward you and suddenly, as if sensing your desperation, he bent his forelegs to the damp ground and shifted lower.

You barely believed it but had no time to marvel, and promptly guided Brienne to push her onto his back. Her weight nearly sent you sprawling, but this time, you miraculously managed.

"Good boy," you murmured, patting Galewind's neck once Brienne was secured into place. "Hold on, will you?" you told her.

As you hopped on Brienne's horse –which displeased the mare, though she chose not to make a fuss–, you took a second to look at the darkening sky above you and assess the situation. The wind only seemed to bring more charcoal clouds, with no hope for clearing in the distance.

Returning to King's Landing wasn't an option with Brienne in this state, and you wanted to be gone before more men came back for their wounded peers –if they ever did.

Think, you urged yourself. Then you remembered seeing a cabin a league back, just off the path. A forester's or healer's shack, maybe, abandoned but intact enough to provide sufficient shelter.

"Hold on, Brienne," you repeated, as much for yourself as for her, urging the horses forward.

The ride was somewhat gruelling because of the stress it caused you as you saw how Brienne kept swaying dangerously with each step every time you turned around. But Galewind almost seemed to understand he needed to be careful and to have forgotten his fugitive tendencies. Your heart ached for Brienne, perhaps in disproportionate measures, but you had no time to think about this now.

By the time you reached the cabin, the rain was a steady downpour, soaking through your cloak and threatening to make Brienne slip off the saddle. So you pulled both horses to a halt and dismounted with haste to help her down.

She leaned heavily on you, her breaths laboured, as the two of you staggered toward the door. Kicking it open, you guided her to the straw bed there was thankfully still inside. She slumped onto it with a groan, her head lolling back as exhaustion overtook her.

"Stay with me," you ordered in a whisper as you brushed a strand of wet hair from her face before running back out to get your satchels and herbs.

You felt guilty for leaving the horses out in such weather, they could get seriously sick. But you had no choice and other priorities –well, one priority.

Back in the shack, you moved with purpose, thoughts reeling as you began to work.

"First things first, fire," you said, needing to enunciate everything you were doing to keep your mind from wandering back to the feelings Brienne had strangely ignited inside you.

You noticed a pile of firewood under a dirty cloth next to the stone hearth and threw a few logs into it. The air was damp for the rain, and your fingers fumbled over the tinder you had also found nearby. It took quite a good amount of tries, but finally sparks caught, flames flickered, and the fire took.

"Good."

As you rummaged to find something to put some water to boil, you couldn't help but keep glancing at Brienne, slumped on the straw bed. You were worried sick for her.

"No sleeping yet, Brienne. You hear me?"

Brienne didn't answer and it got you even more worried, but you kept working.

At last, you found a stewpot and a clay basin.

"Perfect."

It wasn't ideal, but you decided the quickest way to gather water. You would boil it anyway so it would be drinkable. So you took the stewpot outside and left it there. As you did so, your eyes landed on a patch of stinging nettle. You decided it could be useful and harvested a few handfuls.

Back inside once more, you grabbed the satchels you had brought in, pulling out the gathered herbs that you methodically placed on the dusty table next to the stinging nettle.

You glanced at Brienne once more, and her pallor was far from reassuring. But then again, she had always had an extremely fair complexion –one of the things you found most beautiful about her.

Your heart ached to see her like this, though you were silently commending her for defending you against those thieves. She had fought so hard, so bravely… Those men had never stood a chance –in your eyes anyway.

"Brienne…" you called out softly as you approached the bed she was lying on.

"I'm fine."

"You are anything but."

"You worry too much."

Brienne's voice was hoarse so you walked back to the table to grab your flask in your bag. You had almost no water left, but Brienne needed to drink.

"Open up," you urged, slipping an arm under her shoulders to lift her. "Don't make me pour it down your throat."

Your tone –half-teasing, half-desperate– made Brienne huff, enough to let you tip the flask against her lips. She drank sluggishly but obediently, her eyelids fluttering as her body resisted consciousness. Then you laid her back down gently.

"Will you let me take off your armour? You can't breathe properly like this."

Brienne nodded weakly and you moved tentatively to undo the straps of her armour. But your hands were shaking and you found yourself struggling, until a rugged hand reached for yours, brushing almost tenderly against your fingers.

"Leave it," Brienne rasped. "I can do it."

You weren't so sure about that but let Brienne work out those straps. It was embarrassing for you as you were supposed to know how to deal with that kind of equipment, and your cheeks slightly turned pink. You counted on the dark and Brienne's poor state to hide the blush.

Brienne pulled on the straps and they seemed to fall right off. You cleared your throat and thanked her with a silent nod as she let her arms fall back on the bed. Then you started by removing her gorget, pauldrons, and rerebraces, setting each piece down nearby with care.

The cuirass' turn then came, and you couldn't help but wince in sympathy when you heard Brienne hiss.

"Sorry…" you muttered, though you knew the word wouldn't help.

Brienne shook her head as if to dismiss your apology and groaned through gritted teeth, her fingers clutching her arming doublet. You quickly understood that her abdomen was injured and that any heavy layer caused discomfort. So you took the padded jacket off as well and folded it into a makeshift pillow for Brienne.

"Better?"

"Yes."

With that done, you decided to let Brienne rest for a moment and got back to work. First, you retrieved the stewpot from outside, now brimming with rainwater, and set it over the fire. Once the water was finally boiling, you scooped some into the clay basin and set it aside. Some of the water would be used for a willow bark and stinging nettle decoction, and some for a comfrey poultice. The latter would help with the bruising, the former was for pain relief. Yarrow would help with the bleeding, too.

You crushed the willow bark and stinging nettle between your fingers and sprinkled them into the stewpot with practised precision. You let the mixture simmer and moved on to the comfrey root, crushing it into a thick paste in the clay basin with the handle of your dagger. Finally, you sat at the old table to pluck the yarrow leaves you needed from the stems.

It was only as you caught yourself staring at the remedies that you realised Brienne's breathing had slowed down.

"Hey, no, no, no!" you commanded as you rushed back to her side. "I said no sleeping yet."

"I'm only resting my eyes."

"Later. When I'm sure you're alright."

Brienne shifted a bit to be more comfortable then and hissed again, her face contorting as she grabbed her stomach. You had to take a look.

"Alright. Uh, Brienne…" you said, your voice much softer now, almost a whisper. "I have to check your wounds. And your tunic… It has to come off, or I cannot treat you properly."

Brienne's brow furrowed faintly and she turned her head away from you, stubbornness lingering despite her exhaustion.

"Please, Brienne," you insisted, your fingers now hovering hesitantly near the hem of her tunic. "I will only do what's necessary. Nothing more, I swear."

A long moment passed before she gave the faintest nod, and you pulled the fabric up and away, trying to keep your touch clinical despite the sudden heat rising to your cheeks. You expected another layer beneath, but there was only bandaging, tightly wound around her chest and soaked with blood. Practical, efficient, and utterly intimate in a way you hadn't anticipated. Your breath hitched and you looked away immediately, your face now crimson.

As keep master, you spent many hours a week in the infirmary and had seen many people in various stages of undress. But for some reason you had yet to understand –or rather, yet to admit to yourself–, it all felt much different with Brienne.

"I-Is that… from an older wound?" you stammered, pointing at the blood stain on Brienne's ribs.

Brienne followed your gaze.

"Yes."

"We… We'll deal with those later."

You took a deep breath in to compose yourself, and let your eyes roam as professionally as you could over Brienne's body trying to assess her injuries, then tentatively brought trembling fingers to her bruises, starting with those on her collarbones. Thankfully, they weren't broken and nor were the ribs above her breasts either, so you moved on, checking her arms and hands from every angle. You could feel Brienne trying to keep her body limp, abandoning herself to your expert hands, trusting you completely.

Once you were certain she had no broken bones or dislocated limbs, you carefully let your fingers slide over her abdomen, stopping here and there to apply gentle pressure and check for deeper damage, and wincing at every hiss she couldn't suppress.

Eventually, you reached Brienne's hips and lower abdomen, and she flinched and let out a soft gasp when your fingers dipped right between her navel and pelvis. You froze and your eyes shot up, meeting Brienne's for a brief instant –a fleeting second that still felt like an eternity– before turning away.

"Did that hurt?"

"No, not really," Brienne replied, her voice low and still roughened by fatigue. "Carry on."

You nodded, willing yourself to stay focused, then went and retrieved a piece of cloth from your bag –you always had a few, just in case– and plunged it in hot water before coming back to sit by Brienne's side on the straw bed.

"I need to clean those wounds before I can treat them."

Brienne took a sharp, shaky breath as if needing to compose herself, too, and you began gently cleaning the cuts and scrapes on her hands and face. She had one particular cut over her left eyebrow that you knew would need more than one yarrow leaf. You dabbed at it and, as you did so, glanced at her eyes again. With the flames that danced in the hearth lighting up her face, they looked like clear skies pierced by a winter's sunset. You were captivated, bewitched. But you cast those thoughts aside –now wasn't the time.

Pulling away, you went to fetch the processed herbs, then made her drink a bit of decoction and sat down again before busying yourself with applying the poultice.

"This will help with the bruising," you explained needlessly, now avoiding Brienne's gaze.

"You're kind. Too kind, perhaps," she suddenly said.

You glanced up, startled by the softness in her tone.

"You would do the same for me."

"Aye. But not with such… tenderness."

With the way your heartbeat quickened and each breath seemed harder to take than the previous one, you felt as if the air had considerably thickened.

Searching for a safer ground, you added, "Tenderness is the least I can offer someone who has risked everything for me. Besides, we cannot afford to lose someone with your knowledge and skills. Not now. Not ever."

The words managed to make Brienne smile faintly. But the corners of her mouth quickly fell back down when she noticed you setting the poultice aside and glancing at her bandages. She knew what your expression meant.

"I… I need to check that wound, too. I don't want it to get infected," you said, confirming her thoughts. "May I…"

Brienne's jaw tightened, but she nodded once more. You carefully unwound the binding, the linen sticking stubbornly to the flesh. She tensed but didn't complain.

Controlling your breathing became harder at the sight of her completely bare chest. Her breasts were small, but you couldn't help the thought crossing your mind that they would fit perfectly in a palm –your palm.

Mentally berating yourself for such a lewd thought in such a grave moment as this one, you gently poked around the reopened scar to see how it was healing. You thought about asking Brienne how she had got it to distract you both from what you were doing, but no words came out, and you figured it was best if she didn't waste her energy anyway.

Leaning over her, your breath tickled her skin lightly and, as you dabbed the wound with the damp cloth, your attention got caught by the goosebumps on her skin and her nipples, peaked and taut in the cool air. You immediately averted your eyes, your face burning once more.

"Are you cold?"

"N-No," Brienne stuttered awkwardly after a while as rosy patches formed on her neck and across her upper chest.

The single syllable hung between you, heavy and impossible to ignore.

"You're so different…" Brienne eventually whispered out of nowhere.

You didn't dare ask what she meant. Instead, you rested a reassuring hand on hers, careful but steady.

"Rest now. I'll be here."

"I thought–"

"Rest. I still need to apply yarrow leaves here and there but you can close your eyes now."

Brienne's eyes drifted shut, and her fingers brushed yours before dropping still. You watched the firelight dance across her face and her chest, rising and falling steadily.

Your thoughts churned as you placed crushed yarrow leaves on her face, scraped knuckles, and chest, and adjusted your cloak as a blanket over her, unable to suppress a silent ache of longing and gratitude. Brienne was strong, stubborn, yet startlingly vulnerable and… well, excruciatingly beautiful in her own, unconventional way.

Truth was, Brienne had always unsettled something deep within you, something you had never dared name. You had told yourself time and time again that it was merely admiration, respect for her strength, her relentless honour. But you would be lying if you said there hadn't been nights when her image had haunted you, unbidden and unrelenting –so much that your mind and hands had gone to forbidden places.

You loved the sharpness of her jaw, the fierce intensity in her eyes, and the way she rode her horse with effortless grace despite her imposing frame. Of course, you had long dismissed such thoughts as impossible, shameful even. And yet, seeing her now –scarred, undeniably her and, above all, naked–, the ache you had buried carved its way back to the surface.

The soft rustling of straw pulled you from your thoughts. Brienne stirred, blinking groggily as her gaze landed on you. You straightened abruptly, anxiously waiting for a reaction. Brienne's brows knit in confusion before she noticed your cloak draped across her bare chest.

"You didn't have to," she said, clutching to the hem of it as if the gesture meant more than she let on. Her expression softened –not quite a smile, but something dangerously close. "How long have I been asleep?"

"I'm not sure," you said, standing up to go fill your flask with more decoction and bring it back to Brienne. As she sipped from it, you added, "I had time to add two other logs to the fire and replace the leaves, though."

Brienne glanced at the dirty window near the bed and hummed. The sun was still hiding behind dark clouds, but what little light filtered through them did at a much different angle than when you had first laid her down.

"I'm sorry I left you alone all that time," she muttered.

"Nonsense. You needed to rest. How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Better, much better. Thanks to you."

"I'm glad."

Brienne's gaze lingered on your face with an intensity that made your chest tighten. Determined to regain control, you focused on your task.

"Let me recheck your wounds."

You gently lifted the cloak, mindful to avoid staring at Brienne's breasts again –though her nipples were still deliciously hard– and started cleaning the poultice before inspecting each bruise and scrape with the same care as before.

Brienne kept watching you, smiling ever so slightly at the line that had formed between your eyebrows while you peeled the yarrow leaves off her cuts and scrapes –on her hands first, then on her chest. Finally, you reached for the leaf above her brow. Carefully, you set it aside, then leaned in to examine the cut.

It looked good and had stopped bleeding. But before you could say anything about it, Brienne's hands shot up to cradle your face. She pulled you down firmly then and her lips crashed into yours, fierce, urgent, leaving no room for doubt.

Your breath hitched as Brienne's lips claimed yours, heat surged through you, from your face down to your chest. But then a thought struck like a blade.

So you pulled back, trembling. Not because you didn't want her –you did, you ached for her– but because the world spun too fast. Brienne. Brienne of fucking Tarth… kissing you? You had never dared believe she could want someone like you –or anyone at all, really.

Did she mean this, or was it just a fleeting need, a desperate attempt to feel something other than pain? Was she seeking comfort, something temporary and raw after coming yet again so close to death?

Brienne saw your hesitation and expression twisted painfully, then hardened into something bitter. She scoffed, the sound as sharp as steel grinding on stone.

"Of course," she spat, voice cracking. "Kind words, soft touches… They meant nothing. What was I thinking?"

"Brienne…"

"What an utter fool I am! I should've known. Men mock me, women pity me, even you."

"What? No, I–"

"Don't. You needn't spare my feelings."

"That's not what I–"

"Save it!" Brienne snapped, fists clenched tightly around your cloak. "Everything you have to say, I've heard it all before. I thought maybe, maybe this time… I should have known better."

Before she could retreat deeper into her wounded thoughts, you were the one to crush your lips to hers. She gasped, trembling beneath you and hesitated for a moment, then kissed you back just as hungrily, fingers tangling in your hair like she feared you might vanish. There was no hesitation this time, but though the kiss was passionate, your hands cupped her face delicately and your thumbs brushed over her cheeks as if she were made of glass.

"I wasn't pulling away because I don't want you, Brienne," you confessed when you broke the kiss for air. "I pulled away because I do. More than you know. And I'm scared. Scared that my passion may cause you pain, scared this might not mean what I want it to mean."

Brienne's breath shuddered against your lips as her fingers loosened their desperate grip on your hair, sliding down to your jaw with surprising tenderness. Her eyes searched yours, still wary but now lit with something… alive.

"Do you think I'm not scared, too?" she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. "I've never… I mean, I have but not like this."

"We can take this slowly if you–"

Brienne shook her head impatiently, then tilted her chin so her lips grazed yours.

"I'm tired of not taking what I want. So, if you'll have me…"

"Yes. Gods, yes."

Something inside you snapped. You claimed her mouth in a kiss far deeper, more insistent. You worried about her wounds and feared she might be in pain, but she met you with equal intensity, pulling you down even closer.

Your hands slid down from her face to her shoulders and bruised collarbones, then lower, finding the strong muscles of her arms that had briefly held you up earlier today. You traced them as if committing them to memory, marvelling at the sheer power contained within her tall silhouette.

Brienne shivered under your touch, and a low, involuntary sound rumbled from her throat as your fingers brushed her bare skin. Emboldened, you let one of your hands travel more daringly to the swell of her breast, enjoying how good it indeed felt in your palm. The sound she made in response sent more heat coursing through you, this time pooling in your belly.

For the first time, you were acutely aware of the heat radiating from her skin and the steady thrum of her heartbeat. When she arched her back to press herself against your body, you seized the occasion to let your mouth trail from her mouth to her jawline, then down the column of her neck, nipping and licking at her pulse point, all the while you made her nipple roll under your thumb.

"Please," Brienne begged, though it seemed she wasn't too sure what for.

But you knew.

"I want to see you," you whispered seductively. "All of you. Touch you everywhere I can."

Brienne's only response was a weak groan and a faint roll of her hips. The vulnerability of the gesture, the trust it implied, sent a jolt of arousal through you. Driven by those sweet sounds, you lowered your mouth, capturing one sensitive nipple while your hand lavished attention on the other. Her fingers tangled in your hair once more, holding you close as she whispered your name like a prayer to both the old gods and the new.

Then, in a matter of seconds –you weren't exactly sure how but you didn't care–, you were both fully naked. You took Brienne's other nipple in your mouth while her hands slid down to your waist. The touch was a bit tentative, as though she feared you might withdraw again. But when you didn't, when instead you leaned into her touch, she grew bolder and her hands tugged you down until you were straddling her.

"Brienne, your bruises…"

"I don't care."

You stopped for a moment to make sure she wasn't lying or trying to be brave, but the eagerness in her eyes and the way she repeatedly pushed her hips into yours encouraged you to keep going.

So you started rolling your hips as well, gently, letting your cores meet for the first time. Brienne's head jerked backwards and arched her back even more, and you could only marvel at the magnificent chiaroscuro the fire burning on the other side of the room created on her alabaster skin.

"You're so beautiful," you murmured as you leaned in again to kiss her temple.

Then you moved to her brow bone and planted gentle kisses around the cut there, a painful reminder of how valiantly she had fought for you.

"So strong…"

With the way she whimpered then, you understood Brienne only half-believed your words but secretly liked to be praised. So you kept showering her with compliments while your hands explored her, tracing every bruise, every scar, every place she might have thought unworthy of touch.

"Keep going," she demanded, voice raw with need.

You obeyed, sliding your hand lower, over the firm lines of her abdomen, until you reached her thighs and the heat between them. Brienne hissed then, and your head shot up.

"Is that not alright?"

"No, it's just… Your hands are cold," she admitted.

"Forgive me."

You pulled back and lifted your hand so you could warm your fingers in your mouth, but Brienne snatched your wrist and brought them to her own lips instead. Her eyelids fluttered as her tongue ran over the pads of your middle and ring fingers, and the sight made you groan.

"Heavens…"

You brought your hand back down between her thighs again, and this time, her breath shattered into a broken moan as your fingers parted her folds, finding her slick and ready. You circled her clit –slowly, at first–, savouring how she writhed beneath you, her body offering no resistance, only hunger.

"Gods, yes!"

Brienne kept moaning and calling your name like a desperate mantra, her legs instinctively parting wider the more you stimulated her bundle of nerves. You watched as she bucked against your hand, her breath coming in ragged gasps, then leaned down again to pepper her body with more pecks and nibbles, kissing her injuries better.

When you finally pushed a finger inside her, Brienne cursed like you never thought could be possible, and her hips rose to meet your thrusts. You set a slow, deliberate rhythm, drawing out every shudder, every broken moan. Then your thumb found her clit, circling with just enough pressure to make her tremble uncontrollably.

"Oh, fuck!"

The more you pumped into her, the more you could feel Brienne lowering her inhibitions and finally being her most genuine self.

"More! I need more!"

What a demanding dame, you thought as your finger kept sliding in and out of Brienne's warm depth. But she had told you she didn't want to wait to get what she wanted any more, so you indulged her and pulled your hand back until you could ease your ring finger inside her as well. Brienne was so relaxed and wet by now that it took practically no effort at all.

Brienne wailed loudly as your fingers stretched her, filling her with a heavenly ache she seemed desperate for. Her thighs quivered against your sides, strong muscles twitching uncontrollably with every deliberate thrust as you slightly picked up the pace. You could feel her slick juices coating your hand as you drove deeper and curled your fingers just right to hit that sensitive spot inside her.

"Right here! Don't stop!" she cried out, voice breaking with unprecedented pleasure.

Your wrist began to hurt, but you obeyed, setting a relentless rhythm, your thumb pressing harder against her swollen clit. You felt like you had no right to be tired when she had not once spared herself for you. So you kept going.

Suddenly, Brienne's leg shifted between yours, pressing firmly against your core.

"Gods, Brienne…"

The pressure made your head spin, your body involuntarily rolling against her muscular thigh as you kept thrusting your fingers inside her. It all felt too good and you couldn’t suppress the needy whimpers spilling from your lips. Your shameless humping made it harder to focus, of course. Yet you didn't stop and your mouth was now making its way down her body, forcing you to shift and let your wetness trail down her skin, coating her all the way to her shin.

When you eventually reached her lower abdomen and nipped at her hip bone, you took a moment to look up, wanting to make sure this was still alright for her. The helpless jolt of her hips was the only sign you needed and, with one last kiss to her mound, you lowered your head to take her bud between your lips.

Her light brown curls were damp from arousal and tickled your nose. Her scent enveloped you –a musky mix of sweat, leather, and something uniquely Brienne, earthy and wild, like wind-swept forests after a rainstorm.

You groaned softly, intoxicated, and pressed your mouth fully against her. Brienne cried out, and, suddenly, her fingers gripped your scalp once more to keep you in place while she practically fucked herself on your tongue.

You circled her clit with your tongue and kept teasing the rough patch behind it relentlessly while your free hand held her thigh tight, no matter how hard her thrusts made it to keep the rhythm going.

"You're so perfect like this, so beautiful," you whispered between heavy pants when you pulled back for a second to catch your breath.

Brienne bucked against your mouth, utterly wrecked, hooked her free leg around your waist to keep you exactly where she wanted, and let out a strangled moan, her whole body tensing under your praise.

You felt her inner walls clench around your fingers, tightening with every thrust as she spiralled closer to the edge. You could also feel your own release creeping closer with every grind, though you never faltered in your devotion to her.

She was close, you knew it. Her pleasure was your command, your entire world reduced to the taste of her, the sight of her, the feeling of her trembling under you. So you took her deeper, sucking gently, taking care of her clit with calculated strokes of your tongue.

"It's alright," you cooed, voice thick with lust and affection. "You can let go."

"Yes!"

With a guttural cry, Brienne came undone. Her entire body arched off the bed, trembling violently, and you felt every pulse, every desperate squeeze of her core around your fingers and thighs locking firmly around your head as wave after wave of ecstasy overtook her.

The leg she had between yours shot up with the force of her climax and parted your own folds so perfectly to brush against your needy clit that you immediately joined her in release, shouting her name at the top of your lungs.

You kept licking, sucking, and thrusting as best as you could during your orgasm and held Brienne through every quivering aftershock until you could move no more and let your head fall limp against her thigh.

"Gods be good…" Brienne panted before one last whimper escaped her lips.

Her hands then gently cradled your face, guiding you back up into her arms. She kissed you with overwhelming tenderness, her lips still trembling, and you kissed her back with equal adoration. Then she smiled at you –a real smile–, and you knew, you just knew, you had had the honour of making Brienne feel like her truest self for the first time.

"It's so different," she mused sometime later.

You had both fully come down from your high and were holding each other close on the small bed while the fire still crackled in the hearth and the rain drummed steadily against the roof, sealing you both away from the outside world.

Your fingers didn't stop their soothing patterns on her upper arm, but you lifted your head, brows knitting in puzzlement.

"Different?"

"When… When it's someone who wants you just as much as you want them, someone who is ready to return the same affection and loyalty you offer them. It's different. It's… better."

Brienne spoke those words in a soft tone, albeit heavy with the weight of old wounds and betrayals. You saw it all in her eyes, and your chest ached with fierce, protective love.

You suddenly felt the urge to hurt anyone who had caused Brienne all that pain, but you knew most of them were dead and it was useless to dwell on the past. So you smiled instead.

Gently, you cupped her face, your thumb brushing tenderly over her cheek.

"Then know this, my lady. As long as I draw breath, you shall never question where you stand with me. You will be loved –fully, fiercely, and without shame."

Slowly, reverently even, Brienne pressed her forehead to yours, exhaling a trembling breath that seemed to release a lifetime of hope.

"I'm no lady," she corrected with a tender smile. "But I am forever yours."

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#reblog appreciated #brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne of tarth x you #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #gwendoline christie fandom #gwendoline christie #cappulcino writes #possible inaccuracies #author hasn’t watch GoT

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no-phrogs-in-hats · 2 months ago

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Masterlist MDNI

Hello! This is my brand new masterlist because I accidentally fucking deleted my original one that contained the links to every single piece of fanfiction I've written since 2021. This one is much more organized, though, and it's a lot prettier too!

Read my works on Ao3 here

18+ server here

Things to keep in mind when sending in requests:

I do not write dom! or top! reader. I'm very sorry, but I am the biggest fucking bottom and sub in the world and if I wrote dom!reader, I would not do them justice.

I will only write x readers

I do not write AOB (unless you wanna pay me; I have nothing against it, just not my cup of tea)

I do not write monster fucking (again, unless you wanna pay me; I have nothing against it, just not my cup of tea)

Please be as detailed as possible. When writing a request, I want to adhere to your preferences as closely as possible.

I will not go below the age of 25 for the reader.

Not mandatory, but I do work very hard on my writing, so feel free to leave a tip here if you want:) Buy me a coffee here Cashapp Venmo

Agatha Harkness

Step by Step !NSFW!

Say it Like You Mean it !NSFW!

Back in the Closet !NSFW!

Back in the Closet Part 2 !NSFW!

Avenger!Agatha

Lifeboat 14

Billiards !NSFW!

21 Days !NSFW!

Snacks, Candy, and Prenatal Vitamins

Suburban Sunrises and City Sunsets !NSFW!

A Night Out (On the Couch) !NSFW!

Read on Ao3 here

Avenger!Agatha 2.0

Laugh Tracks

Laugh Tracks Part 2 !NSFW!

Death and the Fool

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Read on Ao3 here

Sweet as Sugarcane

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Read on Ao3 here

Maya Mason

What do you Know? !NSFW!

Sin City !NSFW!

Polly Gray

Trench Coats and Lingerie !NSFW!

Narcissa Malfoy

Read With Love here on Ao3 (WIP)

Larissa Weems

20/20 Vision !NSFW!

You're a Pain in my Ass side

Take a Look in the Mirror !NSFW!

Grape Juice Stains

If I Could Turn Back Time

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

Read on Ao3 here

Baby Steps

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Read on Ao3 here

Brienne of Tarth

*No longer being written for

I Will Always Love you, Sir Brienne of Tarth

Late for Dinner

Love and War Part 1

Love and War Part 2 !NSFW!

Leonora Lesso

*No longer being written for

A Cup of Tea and a Bit of Kindness

Take a Break

Addison Montgomery

In the Shadows and Under the Sheets !NSFW!

Addison x reader imagine

Regina Mills

How to Throw a proper Punch (Daughter!Reader)

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Prologue

chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

read on Ao3 here

Valentina Allegra de fontaine

To be written

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llonelygoddess · 2 years ago

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How they react to...Finding out you're pregnant

Romantic Pairings: Ned Stark, Margaery Tyrell, Theon Greyjoy, Jaime Lannister, Khal Drogo, Jorah Mormont, Brienne of Tarth, Missandei, Podrick, Gendry

Ned Stark: This man is over the moon when you tell him you’re expecting. He’s raised 5 already but for you he’d raise another 5 if possible lol He’s always got his hands on your belly and asking if you need anything. His favorite thing to do is talking to the baby later at night when you’re asleep, whispering how much it’ll be loved and cared for by the both of you.

Margaery Tyrell: Thrilled. You two definitely planned this pregnancy so she’s thrilled to hear you’ve finally conceived. She’s keeping Maesters around the clock just for you and making sure you have regular check ups. You both love looking at all the fabrics and books and toys you’ll be gifting your baby. She wants this child to have everything she had and more, so beware your child may be spoiled rotten lol

Pre Reek!Theon Greyjoy: Theon doesn’t even know what to say. He’s nervous about what that would mean for you and the child title wise. Would the babe be labeled a bastard? Would you be treated as a whore? The questions will drive him crazy if you don’t bring him back down to earth. As much as he’s there for you, you have to be there for him during this time.

Jaime Lannister: In the beginning he’s more worried than anything. Knowing how crazy Cersei is he has to hide you away, promising to be with you soon. Once he finds a way to sneak away to you for good, he’s all hands on deck. He’d learn to cook a bit, take up the cleaning, even learn to stitch a little to give the baby an embroidered blanket. It’s not what you expected but considering his other kids barely know him it makes sense how serious he is about this one. He wants to get it right this time.

Khal Drogo: He sees you as his goddess, mesmerized with the way you carry his child. He kisses your belly and announces it to the whole Khalasar. During your pregnancy he doesn’t baby you, finding beauty in your strength, but he is wary of you being around the other men. They’re rough and callous and you are soft and breakable, something that keeps him up at night. Whenever he goes out riding he always comes back with a gift that he presents to you in front of everyone.

Jorah Mormont: He never thought he’d be lucky enough to have children, especially with someone as special as you. He’s definitely crying when he hears the news. He can’t help it, a family of his own is all he’s ever wanted. Even knowing how strong you are, he’ll ask you to stay home and to let him do any and all work that needs to be done. He’s heard horror stories of pregnancies going wrong and he refuses to let anything happen to you.

Brienne of Tarth: Finding out you're pregnant would be the scariest moment of her life. Which isn't to say she doesn't want kids, but the world you live in wasn't ready for a relationship like yours. Two non-men finding love within each other wasn't accepted, let alone them raising a child together. Eventually, through many talks with you and Podrick, she calms down enough to enjoy this special moment in time with you.

Missandei: When Missandei first finds out, she's immediately in preparation mode. With the life she's lived she knows how cruel and evil life can be, so she takes it upon herself to make everything as perfect for you and the babe as possible. She’s asking Danaerys for healers and compiling blankets and toys from nearby towns. You’ll want for nothing with her by your side. When she’s not in crisis mode she’s sitting with you in bed fantasizing about the languages and history she’ll teach the baby.

Podrick: He gets so overwhelmed when you tell him he faints. Poor bb. When he wakes he asks if it was a dream and when you tell him no he kisses you. He’s another one that never really thought about having a family but he’s more than ready and capable of doing it. He’s always gushing about you and the baby to Brienne or really anyone who’ll listen. Loves to put his ear to your belly and just listen.

Gendry: He never planned to have kids so young, but when you told him about the baby he realized this was his moment to step up and be better. Being a Lord now he’s able to take care of you in ways he never thought he could. Giving you a handmaid and guards is just the beginning of how he wants to support you. He worries all nine months about whether he'll be good enough for your babe, so please rub his back and tell him he'll be the best dad ever. And he will.

#game of thrones preferences #game of thrones #game of thrones headccanons #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #ned stark x reader #margaery tyrell x reader #khal drogo x reader #brienne of tarth x reader #gendry x reader #podrick x reader #missandei x reader #jorah mormont x reader #jaime lannister #theon greyjoy x reader #got x reader #got fanfiction #got #got headcanons

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charliedawn · 2 years ago

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GOT characters x Reader

"Please. Dance with me."

Sandor Clegane :

Sandor was standing near the exit—ready to call it a night. He was tired of seeing all those high borns dancing and getting drunk on expensive Dornish wine. But when he was about to leave, he felt an arm wrap around his and looked down to find you—clinging to his arm. He was about to ask what the hell you were doing when he noticed how terrified you seemed.

"Please…Don’t let him take me."

You were on the verge of tears. He looked in the direction you were staring at and found some lord with a sleazy smile on his face. He was walking your way and Sandor instinctively raised his hand to clasp it on your arm.

"The lady’s taken. Piss off."

He felt you tense up next to him, but his hand on top of your arm kept you in place as the man decided to finally leave. Once he was gone, you wanted to thank him…But, Sandor pulled away and walked away.

…He needed a drink.

Daenerys Targaryen:

When a man offered you a dance, you smiled and tried to politely decline the offer. But, the man wasn’t having no for an answer. Finally, he grabbed your arm as you were about to leave. Fortunately, Daenerys arrived just in time and stood between the both of you.

"I believe she has been quite clear. She doesn’t want to dance with you."

The man was about to protest, but quickly reconsidered. He left and you let out a sigh of relief. But, as you were about to thank her, Daenerys turned towards you with a soft smile before offering you her hand.

"Would you like to dance with me instead ?"

Her hand was opened invitingly and her eyes showed nothing but good will. So, you took her hand with a smile.

"I would be honoured, khaleesi."

Ser Jorah :

"Would you dance with me, Ser Jorah?"

Jorah looked up at your hand and was about to politely decline your offer when he noticed your uneasy smile and the other man standing a few feet away behind you. He immediately understood the situation and smiled before taking your hand.

"It would be an honour, my lady."

He kissed the back of your hand and you smiled before being led away. You swayed left and tight slowly together and even though Ser Jorah only wanted to dance to help you—he found himself enjoying it as well. You closed your eyes and didn’t even think about your 'problem'.

You just enjoyed the dance until the very last moment when you had to part.

"Thank you."

Whether it was you or him who said it first—neither of you could tell.

Brienne of Tarth :

Brienne had just won her final battle for the tournament organised by your father. She had put to the ground many of your father’s best knights and when her face was revealed…You were immediately impressed. A woman of such strength on your side would surely end in a successful alliance.

So, you waited.

You waited and when it was time to celebrate, your eyes landed on the fiercest woman who had succeeded in defeating most fighters of the court. Her eyes didn’t settle on you however.

You felt a little disappointed by it, but the night was far from over. You tried again and again to get her to see you, but she always seemed to escape your sight. Finally, you decided to give up and sit down. But, you then felt a hand land on your shoulder and when you looked up, you found one of your father’s choices staring down at you with a malicious smile.

You tried to tell him no. He ignored your request.

But, he finally listened when the woman you had been trying to talk to suddenly appeared behind you in all her armoured glory. She didn’t need to speak a word as the man immediately released you and walked away.

"Are you alright, my lady ?" She asked you and you replied with a smile of your own.

"I am now."

Jon Snow :

Many people had warned you about Jon Snow. Some called him the King of the North—others a demon. You weren’t really interested in rumours though, but by the truth.

Hence, you had accepted to go and meet with him.

A war was brewing and you knew that strong allies were necessary. However, when you found yourself in front of the man who claimed to be Jon Snow, you immediately knew it couldn’t be him. The man before you couldn’t possibly be the King of the North. He wasn’t a giant. He wasn’t heavily armed. Or looked like a living dead. He seemed…normal.

"I am Jon Snow."

"..."

You looked him up and down.

Before he could say another word, you threw a dagger at him and he didn’t even flinch as it landed in a tree behind him. You both stared at each other for a minute until you finally smiled.

That man was Jon Snow.

For you saw no fear of death in his eyes.

"A pleasure to meet you, my King." You introduced yourself and bowed before him. "…The man who danced with Death and survived."

Tyrion Lannister:

"No."

Tyrion was aware of your situation. He knew perfectly well of the unfortunate circumstances of your upcoming betrothal. But…He couldn’t bring you even more dishonour by agreeing to dancing with you.

"Do not look so disappointed, my lady. Even though I am sure you are quite lovely, I wish you to spare yourself the humiliation of dancing with an imp."

Such harsh words which ignited a general hilarity that made you red in the face with fury. But, not against Tyrion. You didn’t blame him for his refusal. You knew how it sounded and the pain behind such a request. But, you didn’t want to give up. So…You did something that no person had ever dared. You knelt before him—your eyes staring at the floor in respect.

"I see no imp. I see a valorous and just prince. And I still wish to dance with you. Please."

It made the crowd around you fall silent. Tyrion’s eyes widened and he seemed speechless for a while. But, he finally smiled before slowly reaching for your chin to lift it up so your eyes may meet.

"…Don’t you lower your gaze. You hold more bravery and wit than anyone else in this room. And if that is truly your wish ? Then I would be more than happy to dance with you."

Jaime Lannister:

You were sitting down when you felt a presence in front of you as you ate. Your eyes looked up to find your ‘fiancé'. He was looking at you with such disgust that all food got stuck in your throat. You knew it was but an arranged marriage, but everyone knew that your betrothed hated your family with passion. Your eyes glanced away and met with another man. He smiled at you. You smiled back.

Unfortunately, your betrothed caught the exchange and suddenly grabbed your arm—ready to strike. But before he could as much as lay a finger on you, the tip of a sword was pressed against his throat.

The room fell silence as none other than Jaime Lannister had come to your rescue.

"I believe this is no way to treat a woman—even less a lady."

He then sat down next to you and smiled before eating next to you—an arm wrapped around you. The message was clear. And the man left.

"…You will get in trouble for this." You warned him, but Jaime replied with a cocky smile.

"I am a Lannister. And lions are not scared of insects."

Oberyn Martell :

You were trying to leave the party. This was too much. A man was persistently trying to get a dance with you, but you didn’t want to dance with a man who surely did not care about you. You were almost there when you collided with another man who grabbed you before you could fall to the floor.

You looked up and your eyes widened as you saw who it was.

"Prince Oberyn of Dorne…" You gasped and the man gave you a small smile before looking behind you at the man following you.

"Is this man bothering you, my lady ?"

You gulped and suddenly took his hand. If you were to say anything, your father would blame you.

"Please. Would you dance with me, Prince of Dorne ?" You asked and the man following you seethed.

"You were promised a dance with m—!"

"I believe the lady asked ME for a dance." Oberyn cut him off with his usual charismatic smile. "Unless your title happens to also be Prince of Dorne."

The man huffed before walking away and you let out a sigh of relief. You were about to leave when Prince Oberyn grabbed your wrist.

"Now now…Where are you going, little sunflower ?"

You frowned in incomprehension until Oberyn smiled again and pulled you flush against him.

"…I believe you owe me a dance."

Peter Baelish (Littlefinger) :

Lord Baelish had had your eyes on you for a while and he knew that being part of your powerful family would be extremely valuable. Hence, he asked your father for your hand. But, there were too many contenders for him to even be considered as a good choice. So…He observed you.

You were young, but promising as you danced with grace and proper etiquette with all your possible choices. But, he could see right through you. You weren’t exactly happy to be here. And when one of your possible betrothed stepped on your foot.

He stepped in.

He took your hand and almost pulled you away from the man. You were about to thank him, but Baelish had other plans.

"What will you give me for my rescue ?" Baelish asked you. You sighed. Of course he’d want a reward for acting like the hero he wasn’t.

"What do you want ?"

Baelish seemed to think about it before offering you his hand with a smirk.

"A dance."

Your eyes stared at his hand suspiciously. But, at this point ? You would have accepted anyone’s help in order to escape. He pulled you flush against him and started dancing with you. Your eyes widened as he led you away to the center or the room.

He knew everyone could see the both of you, but he didn’t stop—not even when you tried to pull away.

"Lord Baelish…That’s enough."

Your father tried to stop him, but Lord Baelish only smirked before surprising everyone by kissing you. Your eyes widened and you were momentarily took off guard. When he pulled away, he smirked before glancing challengingly at your father.

"Now…About my wedding proposal ?"

Sansa Stark :

"My lady…Would you please give me the chance of a dance ?" You asked Sansa who hesitated for a moment before smiling and slipping her hand in yours. You smiled before kissing the back of it and led her to the dance floor. Sansa had always wished for someone to take her hand and make her feel like a princess.

She had first thought Joffrey to be the one, but that felt like eons ago. She had long learned her mistake. But, it didn’t mean she didn’t still wish for someone to make her remember what it felt like when her innocence and virtue were still recognised.

And you were more than happy to make her remember who she used to be.

"You are beautiful." You told her truthfully and she smiled.

She even graced you with a small chuckle as you made her twirl and made sure not to touch her that might trigger her in any way. After her awful treatment under Ramsay, you only wanted her to feel at ease. At peace.

And she knew it.

When she looked at you and a smile graced her lips—your heart seemed to skip a beat.

The pretty wolf was still a stealer of hearts, and you couldn’t wait for her to devour yours.

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k4marina · 14 days ago

Text

— xi. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: a one handed man comes to join the fight for the realm, a new knight of the seven kingdoms emerges, answers are given, and the dead march closer

warnings: got-cannon themes/violence/and language, angsty, swearing, not proofread, shits getting dangerous.

a/n: decided to add my own twist to planning and tbh idk why they didn't think to do what i said. working on the next episode as we speak as well as a classic "tony starks kid" fic, so if you're interest keep your eyes open.

series masterlist || next part

11.6k word count

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif is mine]

The news spread early in the morning that Jamie Lannister had arrived at Winterfell. He’d came with the many men who also traveled all throughout the long nights from other parts of the continent to fight against the army of the dead. The castle, and its inhabitants, had been thrown into a frenzy as the news spread leaving behind a million other questions.

Was he really here to help or is this another one of the Lannisters lies? Why is he all alone? Where are the other reinforcements? And if he’s here then– what about Cersei?

Three tables were set at the front of the hall. One at the front, one on the left and the other on the right. Jamie Lannister stood in front of us, like a criminal on trial, while a wall of Unsullied and Stark soldiers stood behind him at attention ready for their Queen’s command. He looked tired and disheveled, no doubt from riding North all day and night, and wore modest leather and wool clothes, stripped of any Lannister gold, aside from his hand.

At the head of the room, Daenerys sits in the middle while Jon, Sansa and I are sat at her sides. To the left is another table where Varys, Missandei, and Jorah sit while Tyrion stands to the side, his eyes downcast. And to the right, Ser Davos, Lyanna Mormont, Lord Yohn Royce, Alys Karstark, and Brienne of Tarth sat. The floor is set, the mood is heavy, and everyone’s on edge. Jamie stands there, awaiting whatever was to come towards him.

“When I was a child,” Daenerys’ tone is cold and unwavering. “My brother would tell me a bedtime story about the man who murdered our father.”

Silence hangs in the hall, no one daring to speak. The plethora of guards behind Jamie keep their eyes trained on him, daring him to make a wrong move.

“Who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat. Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor.” Daenerys keeps her eyes trained on him, completely unwavering. “He told me other stories as well. About all the things we would do to that man once we took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasps.”

She pauses, everyone hanging off of her words.

“Your sister pledged to send her army north.”

Jamie swallows, sneaking a glance towards me. “She did.”

“I don’t see an army. I see one man. With one hand. It appears your sister lied to me.”

Tyrion looks up to his brother and Jamie looks back, both of them powerless and terrified of the ramifications. Jamie swallows down his nerves. “She lied to me as well. She never had any intention of sending her army north.” He then turns to me. “You were right.”

Daenerys turns her glare towards Tyrion for a brief moment, chastising him for the idea in the first place.

“She has Euron Greyjoy’s remaining fleet and 10,000 fresh troops. The Golden Company from Essos, bought and paid for. Even if we defeat the dead, she’ll have more than enough to destroy the survivors.”

I leaned forwards, “what do you mean the Golden Company has sent 10,000 troops? We stopped you from looting Highgarden. You’re dirt poor compared to the other houses in Westeros. How did she manage to pay for them?”

Jamie hesitates, “she sold them a dragonskull.”

You could hear a pin drop in the hall. Everyone turns their head in utter shock towards Daenerys, even some of the guards. Anger oozes off of her, fire in her eyes and her hands gripped the arms of the chair.

“Which one?” She’s not asking, she’s demanding.

“I don’t know.” Jamie licks his chapped lips. “It was small, no name, one of the few that were left.” Then he meekly adds, “the big ones wouldn’t fit on the ships.”

I scoffed loudly in utter disbelief and anger. I cross my arms over my chestplate and lean back in my chair. I don’t have to turn to Daenerys to know she was equally, if not more angry. “If you don’t kill her, then I fucking will.”

“I promised to fight for the living.” Jamie double downs. “I intend to keep that promise.”

Quickly, Tyrion jumps in hoping to help ease the tension in the room.“Your Grace,” he walks closer to the table . “I know my brother–”

“Like you knew your sister?” She quickly snapped.

“He came here alone, knowing full well how he’d be received. Why would he do that if he weren’t telling the truth?” He tries to persuade her and show her that Jamie had true intentions.

“Perhaps he trusts his little brother to defend him, right up to the moment he slits my throat.” Daenerys stares down at the Lannister.

Tyrion glanced at Jon and I, hoping one of us would side with him and vouch for his brother.

“You’re right.” Sansa finally speaks, keeping her eyes steady on Jamie. Daenerys turns her head towards the red-head as she speaks further. “We can’t trust him. He attacked my father in the streets. He tried to destroy my house and my family, the same as he did yours.”

“Do you want me to apologize?” Jamie interrupts to defend himself, though I doubt that it was a wise decision. “We were at war. Everything I did, I did for my house and my family. I'd do it all again.”

“The things we do for love,” Bran– who’d be seated to the right of Sansa– repeated.

All eyes fell on him while his remained on Jamie who stared at him wide-eyed, almost scared and ashamed of what those words meant. He subtly takes in a breath, but I could tell that what Bran said had shook him to the core.

“So why have you abandoned your house and family now?” Daenerys draws the attention back to her.

“Because this goes beyond loyalty.” He glances back to Brienne momentarily remembering those words she’d said to him in the Dragon Pit. “This is about survival.”

Tyrion turned to Daenerys who’s still debating what to do with Jamie when Brienna abruptly stands and takes a step towards her friend.

“You don’t know me well, Your Grace.” She moves to stand beside him. “But I know Ser Jamie. He is a man of honor. I was his captor once, but when we were both taken prisoner and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jamie defended me and lost his hand because of it.”

She turns to address Sansa next. “Without him, my lady, you would not be alive. He armed me, armored me, and sent me to find you and bring you home because he’d sworn an oath to your mother.”

Sansa considers Brienne’s word, knowing well that she wouldn’t be saying all of this if she didn’t mean it. Brienne wasn’t the type to just vouch for anyone, she valued honor and integrity the most. “You vouch for him?”

Brienne nods, confident. “I do.”

“You’d fight beside him?”

She holds her head up and stands straighter when she answers. “I would.” Jamie watches, touched, that Brienne held him in such high regard, despite his shortcomings.

Sansa takes a beat to carefully make her decision. “I trust you with my life. If you trust him with yours, we should let him stay.”

Daenerys turns her gaze towards Sansa, stunned that she’d sided with Jamie despite all he’d done to her and her family. Weren’t they just on the same page?

“What does the Warden of the North say about it?” Daenerys turns to Jon who sighs.

“We need every man we can get.” It’s clear that he doesn’t like him, that’s something Jon has always made note of, but if we’re supposed to fight as one force against the dead then having him stay is the right decision.

She turns to me next. “She’s honorable and she’ll keep him in line. And he’s one of the best, if he’s around then our chances are a lot better.” I leaned in closer, “besides, he was a key figure in all of this the first time and his usefulness still stands. We need him.”

Daenerys gives me a subtle nod and I turn to look at Jamie. “The more the merrier.”

The room falls silent as Daenerys takes each of our words into consideration. It was clear that she would agree– she’d done it before– but her concerns still lingered in her mind. “Very well.”

Tyrion exhaled in relief and Jamie looked grateful. She gives Grey Worm– who’d been standing at the left edge of the table– a nod and he picks up Jamie's sword and roughly hands it to him.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he bows his head, and despite addressing her corectly, there’s still some of his signature sass behind those words.

Daenerys stands up and the rest of the room follows. Sansa leaves first and Daenerys goes to speak to Jon, but he leaves right after, unable to look her in the eyes. I sighed inwards as last night's conversation with Jon was still hanging in my head. Daenerys turns to leave, rounding the table and out through the main doors of the hall with Tyrion, Varys, Missandei, and Jorah behind her. She passed Jamie– who bows his head– without sparing a glance. Brienne’s the next to go and the others soon followed after her, leaving through different exits. Jamie's eyes linger on Bran’s who eventually asks the Maester to help him to the Godswood, leaving just the two of us.

I round the table, stepping towards him. “I told you not to trust her, but you did.”

He nods, looking down. “You did. But-”

“But what? She’s pregnant and she’ll do anything for her child? Is that it?” I say, unimpressed. “Have you forgotten her behavior after Tommen killed himself? Your baby-boy took his life and she had the audacity to blame him for it. That woman isn’t a mother, she’s a murder. She’s killed at least a dozen of Robert's bastard kids just so her own bastard kids wouldn’t be affected.”

I paused knowing that me berating him isn’t going to do much of anything after all, he was a Lannister. “Go,” I waved him away. “There’s armor at the forge, find whatever you can. It’s no Lannister gold, but it’s good enough. We’ll be planning our attacks later today in the library, so if you’ve got any bright ideas, you know where to find us.” I craned my neck side to side, rolling out the knots from all the heavy armor I’d been wearing. “Time is running out, the Night King can be here any moment. There’s no point in going back and forth on useless shit.”

I walked out the room, leaving Jamie standing there. There was too much to do in too little time and I was close to losing my mind. I walked down a hallway when I spotted a maid walking.

“Do you know where Lady Sansa is?”

“She’s in the library with Lord Royce, My Lady.” She replies meekly.

I smiled, though it doesn’t do much to calm her nerves. “Thank you.” I turned and headed for the library. I’d already managed to get one Stark girl on our side (however much that may have been) and now it was time for the other. After Jon, Sansa held the most authority in Winterfell, and it was clear that she wasn’t the biggest fan or Daenerys and I. If I could find a way to get her at least a bit more friendly with us then our future plans would go a lot more smoother. The door was open and I could hear two women speaking inside. I stepped in closer and realized it was Daenerys and Sansa. They’re sitting at the table, Sansa’s hand on top of Daenerys’s clearly having a bonding moment.

“I'm here because I love your brother and I trust him, and I know he's true to his word. He's only the second man in my life I can say that about.”

“Who was the first?” Sansa asks.

Daenery smiles, “someone taller.”

They both giggle with one another, like two ladies gossiping over tea about knights and Lords, and whatever else they did during this time.

“And what happens afterwards? We defeat the dead. We destroy Cersei. What happens then?” Sansa’s tone shifts from happy to something more serious and anxious.

“I take the Iron Throne.” Daenerys says as if it’s set in stone.

“What about the North?” Sansa tries to pry. “It was taken from us, and we took it back. And we said we’d never bow to anyone else again. What about the North?”

Daenerys’ smile fades and her mood shifts to a more serious one, but before she can do anything I made my presence known..

“Well you’ll be Warden of the North and Lady of Winterfell.” Their head snaps towards my direction, surprised. I walked closer to them. “The Stark bloodline will continue through you, my lady.”

“What about Jon? He’s Lord of Winterfell.” Sansa frowns.

“Don’t worry too much about him. He said it himself, he didn’t want any of this. But you, you’re the eldest daughter of Ned Stark. You may look like a Tully, but you’re a Stark through and through.” She doesn’t say anything, clearly confused, but I could tell that she was intrigued– just the slightest, but enough for me to keep going. “After the Great War and after we’ve dealt with Cersei, we’re all going to need each other's help to rebuild the country. Three hundred years ago, the Seven Kingdoms were unified for a reason. This is the reason.”

Sansa looks down at her hand over Daenerys’ thinking when the Maester interrupts us.

“Apologies, my lady, Your Grace. There’s someone waiting for you in the hall.”

––

We’re led back to the hall where none other than Theon Greyjoy is standing, surrounded by many Ironborns. Daenerys looks pleasantly surprised while Sansa looks stunned at his unexpected arrival. Theon glanced towards her with a similar expression. He turns his gaze away from her and walks up to Daenerys and bends the knee.

“My Queen.” He bows his head.

“Your sister?”

“She’s taken the Iron Islands in your name.”

“And Euron?” I ask.

“Yara has him in a cell, awaiting execution, My Lady.”

“Why aren’t you with her?” Daenerys asked.

Theon turns his gaze towards Sansa, who has tears brimming in her eyes. “I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa. If you’ll have me.”

She rushed past Daenerys and I and quickly wrapped her arms around Theon. He carefully wraps his own arms around her and the two share a very touching moment. They savor it, eyes misty and arms tight. The last time either of them had seen each other was after Theon had helped free Sansa from Ramsey Bolton’s sadistic grasp. Sansa’s the first to pull away, tearfully smiling. She doesn’t have to say anything aloud as her answer is already known. The reunion is quick and we exchange some more words. Daenerys and I excused ourselves to give the two some more privacy for them to catch up.

Daenerys decides to go find her advisors and I decided to go walk around the castle grounds to clear my head. Like the past few days, the place is filled with people. A group of children sat huddled together with wooden bowls and spoons in their hands as they quietly ate their meals. Men and women worked hard to dig up trenches and set up traps for the dead.

Time was running out. Each minute that went by was a minute the undead marched closer to us. Despite the impending doom, we were still underprepared and soldiers were still making their way up north to fight alongside us. Hopefully, the added numbers would help us in somehow overpowering the undead. Compared to before, when it was only Dany’s armies and the northern armies, we were better equipped this time. We had the Dornish and the Westerland armies on our side now, allowing us to have an even better chance against the undead than before.

So many died whilst protecting the realm, regardless of how big or small their roles were. The God of Death came for many that night, but ultimately the living had won, but only by the skin of their teeth. If everyone hadn’t played their parts then the dead would have won, no doubt. It was sheer luck and the God’s taking mercy on them that they’d won.

Like the days before, people worked tirelessly in the snow, digging trenches and fortifying the wall. I walked around the dirt path towards the northern part of the castle, where we assumed most of the fighting would take place. Traps were being dug out and tested for their effectiveness and what to improve on.

I glanced around one last time when I spotted Jon talking amongst a group of men. I stepped closer to him once they’d left to carry out their tasks. “You haven’t talked to her.”

He glances at me, but isn’t surprised at my words. After what I’d seen him do in the hall this morning, Jon knew that I would be coming. “I’m busy. I have men to command.” He’s quick with his responses, yet also defensive. It’s clear that what was revealed the night before weighed on his mind and wanted to keep his mind off of it.

“And you can’t leave them for a few minutes to talk?” I walk over and stand in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.

“We’re at war with death, time is something that we don’t have.” He brushes past me and helps out a couple of men unloading another wagon of dragonglass.

“We’re always at war.” I leaned against the wagon with my arms crossed. “Jon, we have to do this now. The longer we let this be, the worse the fall out. Trust me, just a couple of minutes and then it’s over. Alright?”

He paused and considered my words. Truthfully, he wanted to tell Daenerys immediately, but feared the fallout. His identity, regardless of how much he denied it, was a threat to her and her claim and whatever they had between each other. He breathes out his nose giving me a glance. “Alright.”

I give him a small smile when out in the crowd a red headed woman catches my eye. “No fucking way.” Jon frowned and followed my sight to find where, or rather who, I was looking at. “Fuck is she doing here?” I asked no one in particular.

Jon spots Melisandre dismounting a horse. “The Red Priestess?”

I nodded, keeping my eyes on her. She hands the reins off towards someone else and walks into another crowd and disappears from view. “She's supposed to come,” right before the battle begins, “later… much later.”

Suddenly, a horn is blown in the distance, signalling that riders from the Wall had arrived. Jon and I brushed past a group of people and into the northern courtyard where more soldiers worked in fortifying the castle. Heavy wooden gates are opened and a group of men– presumably the last of the Nights Watch– walk in. Sam, who’d gotten here before us, pulls a man wearing all black leathers and a heavy black fur cloak into a tight hug. Jon follows after them, smiling to see his friend– Eddison Tollett– the current Lord Commander alive and well. He goes for a hug when someone rushes into him, knocking him a step back.

“My little crow,” Tormund gives Jon a big and probably suffocating hug. The nickname is affectionate and reminiscent of when Jon used to be in the Night’s Watch and lead them.

Jon smiles, holding his friend close. “I thought we lost you.”

The wildling man cocks his head, “almost.” Tormund pats Jon’s back and lets him go, letting him embrace his other friends. Just as I came close, Tormund turned to me, “Lady Dragon!”

Before I can respond, the winds almost knock out of me as Tormund tackles me into a hug of my own. Surprised, I wrap my arms around him, patting his back. He pulls back, allowing me to breathe again, and has a big goofy smile on his face.

“Good to see you too.”

“Is that Dragon Queen here?”

I nodded and his grin grew wider.

“Is she tall?”

I laughed, “no.” What’s up with this guy and being tall?

He frowns, confused. “Do dragons like small riders?”

��Jon’s a dragonrider too,” I pointed out, surprising Sam and the other man.

Unphased, Tormund looks at Jon and then back at me. “He’s short.”

“I’m not short.” Jon argued. “I’m average height.”

“No you’re not. You’re short.”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” I hushed the two before they could go any further.

Beric, who’d been behind the others, steps forwards and shakes Jon and I’s hand. The six of us stood around in a circle, the light-heartedness simmering off a touch as the mood shifted to a more serious one.

“How did you meet?” Jon asked Edd.

“We met up at the Last Hearth.” Edd replied, glancing at the other two men who he’d come with.

“The dead got there first,” Tormund answers.

“The Umbers?” I asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“Fighting for the Night King now,” Beric replied. Jon turns to me, giving me a nod as a thank you for not letting him send any more men out of Winterfell.

“We had to travel around to get here.” Tormund says. His voice drops a pitch lower. “Whoevers not here now is with them.”

They give a few more details. Tormund, Beric, and the other men of the Night’s Watch had just narrowly escaped the collapse of the Wall. They fled Eastwatch with the Night King hot on their trails, all the way to Last Hearth where Edd and the rest of the Night’s Watch had regrouped to gather supplies and help facilitate the evacuation of the castle. However, the undead were far too quick and within a day they were on the horizon of Last Hearth, making steady progress towards Winterfell.

Solemnly, Jon asks, “how long do we have?”

“Before the sun comes up tomorrow.” Tormund replied.

The realization hits Jon and I and a shiver runs down my spine as time ticks down. Jon and Sam share a glance, the pair talking with their minds it seemed. Soon, very soon, death would be at our steps. It was almost time, and yet we weren’t as ready as we hoped.

Tormund looks around behind him, searching. “The big women still here?”

None of the others replied, but I did “Brienne? Yes she is.”

Jon breaths out after taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “We need to get ready.”

––

We’re all standing in the library. The room’s lit with dozens of candles, all emanating an orangy-yellow hue. A hearth is lit for warmth and light as the sun creeps below the horizon and the cold sets in. We huddle around a large square table in the middle of the room with a large drawn aerial map of Winterfell castle and its surrounding lands laid over it. Various markers are laid out by the northern castle walls in battle formations, each respective group representing the various armies that have joined forces together. In front of them are dozens of small rectangular white and gray markers that represent the Army of the Dead. There’s an overwhelming amount laid out, nearly taking up the entire upper fourth of the map, as a way to show just how many there were and how easily outnumbered we were.

“They’re coming.” Jon’s voice is firm as he speaks. “We have dragonglass and Valyrian steel. But there are too many of them. Far too many.” He looks at each and everyone of us in the makeshift war room. “Our enemy doesn’t tire. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t feel.”

At the very front, in two groups, were the Dothraki riders. Behind them, and between the fortified walls, were the Unsullied forces and the catapults that were made that they would operate. To the right, were the mish-mash of northern forces and the handful of Dornish and Westerland armies as well as those who’d traveled North to fight alongside us. And to the left, were the Aryn forces with the remaining Stark combined forces behind them. Within the castle, there were few groups for reinforcements and added protection around the castle crypts. The few– but powerful, Mormont soldiers were stationed inside to help facilitate and protect the castle gates while also making sure that everyone who wasn’t going to fight were all in the crypts.

Jon, Sansa, Arya, and Sam stand by the south side of the castle, by Kings Road, while Daenerys, Jorah, Tyrion, Varys, Grey Worm and I stand by the eastern wall. Theon, Alys Karstark, Brienne, and Jamie stand across from us and Tormund, Ser Davos, Lyanna Mormont, and Lord Royce stand where the undead army is placed. Behind Jon, besides the lit hearth, Bran sits quietly and watches on as the planning is finalized.

Jon stands slightly hunched over the mapped table. “We can't beat them in a straight fight.”

“So, what can we do?” Jamie asks.

“The Night King made them all.” Jon makes a face, recalling his encounter with the entity Beyond the Wall. He glances over to Jamie as he answers. “They follow his command. If he falls,” he pauses, but everyone knows what he’s trying to say. “Getting to him may be our best chance.”

Jamie furrows his brow. “If that’s true, he’ll never expose himself.” He’s not pessimistic, just realistic, his years on the battlefield both as a soldier and strategist behind him. If slaying the Night King was the way to end all of this, he’s not going to be there on the front lines.

“Yes he will.”

Everyone’s head turns to Bran as he speaks up, sure of what he was saying. “He’ll come for me. He’s tried before, many times, with many Three Eyed Ravens.” Something about the way he says it– with no emotions, but total reassurance sets the tone to a more ominous one.

“What’s a Three Eyed Raven?” Alys Karstark asks aloud for most of everyone.

“They’re greenseers,” I explained, recalling back the chapters I’d memorized whilst I was in school. “They hold the memories of past and present; everything that’s ever happened and is currently happening. Three Eyed Ravens date far back to the Children of the Forest, they even share the same powers as them.”

Everyone's attention shifts back to Bran, somewhat– but not quiet– understanding his role.

“Why?” Sam asks the second question. If all Bran could do was see the past and present with his ravens, then why is he such a threat to the Night King? “What does he want?”

“An endless night.” Bran turns his glance towards Sam. “He wants to erase this world, and I am its memory.”

Sam somberly takes a look around the room. “That's what death is, isn't it? Forgetting. Being forgotten. If we forget where we've been and what we've done, we're not men anymore. Just animals.” He turned back to Bran, “Your memories don't come from books. Your stories aren't just stories. If I wanted to erase the world of men, I'd start with you.”

“How will he find you?” Tyrion asks.

“His mark is on me.” Bran pulls back the sleeve on his right arm, revealing four red-ish brown lines on his skin. It looked as if someone had tried to grab and pull him so tight that it left deep bruises all the way to his bones. “He always knows where I am.”

“We’ll put you in the crypt, where it’s safest.” Jon decides.

“No.” Despite his even tone, Bran is firm in his answer. “We need to lure him into the open before his army destroys us all. I’ll wait for him in the Godswood.”

“You want us to use you as bait?” Sansa says angry.

“We’re not leaving you alone out there.” Arya agrees, doubling down. The two sisters stood firm in their resolve. In no way were they going to let their baby brother, regardless of his abilities, come face to face with a being that’s already made a threat to his life before and those who came before him.

“He won’t be.” Theon catches everyone's attention. “I’ll stay with him. With the Ironborn.” He turned to Bran, who'd covered his arm again, “I took this castle from you. Let me defend you now.” Bran doesn’t reply, but gives Theon one nod as a thank you. This was going to be his redemption.

Jon, who’d been quiet for some time, also gave a subtle nod towards Theon– his own thank you for risking his life for his younger brother’s safety.

With that, Ser Davos decided to continue forwards. “We’ll hold off the rest of them for as long as we can.”

“When the time comes, Ser Davos and I will be on the walls, to give you the signal to light the trench.” Tyrion adds on.

Daenerys frowns, against the idea. “Ser Davos is perfectly capable of waving a torch on his own. You’ll be in the crypt.”

Tyrion looks at her determined, ready to protest. “Your Grace, I have fought before, I can do it again. Alongside the men and women risking their lives.”

“There are thousands of them and only one of you.” Daenerys puts her foot down. “You can't fight as well as they can, but you can think better than any of them. You're here because of your mind. If we survive, I'll need it.”

Understanding, Tyrion nods, but I could tell that he was still against it. Something in him wanted to fight alongside everyone, like he’s done before, but despite that, he knows that Daenerys was right.

“The dragons will give us an edge in the field.” Davos said.

“If they're in the field, they're not protecting Bran.” Jon glanced over to his own advisor. “We need to be near him. Not too near, or the Night King won't come. But close enough to pursue him when he does.”

“Dragonfire will stop him?” Arya turned to ask Bran.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “No one's ever tried.” Arya looks back, her expression a mix of worry and disappointment.

“Dragonfire will kill wights, but not the White Walkers or Night King.” I chimed in. “Fire will kill the wights, so use whatever you can to light them up, which I’m sure goes without saying.” I turned to Jon, “do you have what I asked for?”

He nods and motions for the Maester to hand me a cloudy glass bottle. It had a rag, presumably scrapped fabric, shoved halfway down the bottle with about an inch and a half worth of fabric hanging out. The other end was swimming in some unknown liquid.

“This is a molotov, doesn’t look like much, but packs a punch. To use it, you’re going to have to light this end–” I point to the bit of fabric sticking out, “–on fire, but you’ll have to act quick once you do. The fabric will catch on fire and travel all the way down to the bit that’s in oil. So light it and toss it at the dead, preferably when they’re near the castle walls. The bottle will shatter on impact and the fire will go everywhere.”

No one says a thing as they process what I’d just shown and said. Jamie, who had the same confused frown on his face as his brother, opened his mouth to speak. “Where did you even come up with the idea for that?”

This time, it was my turn to frown. Don’t tell me molotov cocktails aren’t a thing yet. “It doesn’t matter, what does is that these things,” I lightly shook the bottle and the oil swished around the, “are going to help us win.”

“How is it going to do that when we can’t even kill the Night King with fire?’ Sansa asks aloud, not fully convinced of the plan.

I glanced towards her. “He’ll die either by dragonglass or Valyrian steel. Someone will have to get close. His generals are the same.”

“Gernerals?” Sam asks surprised, taken aback. How can an undead army have commanding officers?

“The White Walkers. They’re the ones who control the wights. In theory, you get one of them and you knock down a chunk of the undead army.”

“How many are there?” Arya asked.

I gave a half shrug, “I don’t know. Craster's son’s– the ones he sacrificed to the Night King– were most likely turned into White Walkers and the Night King’s generals.”

“And I’m assuming that they won’t show themselves to us like the Night King.” Ser Davos says.

“No.” I replied. “But if we want to make a dent in their forces we need to get to them, and if we want to end it quickly then we need to go against the Night King.”

Silence falls over us as the realization hits that this was it, this was our one shot– our only opportunity to get this right– or else we’d all be marching in the Night King’s army down to King’s Landing and knocking on Cersei’s door.

“We’re all going to die.” Tormund says. He glanced towards his right to Brienne. “But at least we die together.” She says nothing and looks back down at the map, but his earlier words still linger in her mind.

‘Let’s get some rest.” Jon dismissed with a deep breath.

One by one, everyone left to do their own thing, believing it to be their final night alive, wanting to make the most of whatever they could. I turned to leave, leaving behind Jon and Daenerys, and Tyrion and Bran in the room. Unknown to me, Jon comes walking out behind me, clearly still avoiding Daenerys.

I reached out for his arm, halting his steps. “You still haven’t done it?” I couldn’t help the annoyance and surprise in my voice.

“I can't," he doesn’t bother looking me in the eye. “I have to get ready, we have too–”

“No, all you have to do is have one conversation with the woman you love. “ I firmly cut him off of his excuses. “Jon, a dead man marches towards us ready to kill us all. Don’t let this be in the back of your head and pull you away from this. Don’t live with any regrets, not while this could be our final night alive.”

Just as he was going to counter, Daenerys walks out of the room. I give his army one last firm squeeze and then let go of his arm. Jon looked between us and I lightly nudged Daenerys towards him when I walked past her. I don’t have to look back to know that the long awaited and strung out conversation was going to take place.

I retreated to my room to have a moment to myself as the hours dwindled down and everyone began to grow more anxious. Everyone knew their place and what they had to do, it was only a matter of time before the fight for humanity was at our doors. Women, children, the old, and sick all hunkered back down to the crypts while soldiers made up of men and women from all over the continent got ready and lined up in their posts.

I was in my room, having a quiet meal of rabbit stew, bread, and a small apple tart. If this was going to be my last meal then a little bit of dessert wouldn’t hurt, right? The hearth was lit, keeping me warm and a glass of wine in front of me that I’d leisurely sip whenever I’d catch my hands trembling or thoughts spiraling.

Truthfully speaking, I hadn’t thought this through (no shit, right?). When I arrived here and declared to Daenerys that I’d help win her the throne, it was merely out of self preservation and sheer hubris. In all honesty, I was way in over my head (guess hindsight’s 20/20). Riding dragons, fighting in battles, making alliances, changing the course of history with absolutely no care about its ramifications in the future. I thought that I had some sort of invisible plot armor around me leading me to think that I had nothing to fear.

But I’ve survived this long haven’t I?

But this was different. This was actual life or death.

ābrar iā morghon

And I was fucking scared.

My body trembled with fear. Mind racing with a hundred different ‘what-if’s,’ that I couldn’t shake away. What if I actually die here and now? What if Daenerys dies? What if Jon dies? What if the Night King wins? Then it would all be my fault. If I hadn’t gone and stuck my nose into all of this then humanity would’ve lived like before. But then again, I couldn’t take all the blame.

I didn’t choose to come here, I was brought here– dragged through the fabric of time and thrown into one of the most dangerous and tumultuous periods in Westerosi history– all for a reason that I still haven’t figured out. So, if anything does happen, then it wouldn’t be my fault. I was someone in an unimaginable situation who had to do anything that they could to survive.

Bang!

I jump up in my seat and whip my head around to the door slammed open and Daenerys standing in my doorway, fuming and glaring at me.

She knows.

“Did you know?” She demands from me. But there was no point in asking, she already knew my answer. I knew practically everything.

I calmly set my spoon down against the rim of the warm wooden bowl and stood up slowly. The wooden chair screeched against the stone floor and the hearth lightly crackled filling the silence.

“Know what?” I walked past her and over to the door, peeking out and looking both ways to make sure no one was there before closing and locking it shut.

“Jon.” She spits out his name. “About who he really is?” I walk over to the side table and pour a glass of wine for her, but don't give it to her just yet.

I set the cup down and turn to face her. “I did. It’s a major part of Westerosi Studies and Targaryen History.”

Her eye twitches, “is this a joke to you?”

“No it’s not.” A joke? Honey, I’m having a quarter-life crisis over here and you’re asking if I’m joking?

“Why wasn’t I told?”

“You didn’t need to know at the time.”

She scoffs, “always with your ‘you didn’t need to know’. How do you know what I should and shouldn’t know?”

“Because I just do.” I huffed, crossing my arms. “If I told you within a week of meeting me that your allies would die one by one, your dragons would die one by one, you would have spiraled. Yes, Jon is Lyanna and Rhaegar’s son. Yes, he has a better claim than you. Yes, if the people knew his true identity then they would champion him. If I had told you his real identity– that he just found out yesterday may I add– that’s what would’ve gone through your mind.”

I let out a shaky breath and reached over for my own glass of wine, gulping down the red liquid while I calmed myself. She stays silent and watches me set the glass down, but her anger is still there.

“Be honest with me, swear to your dragons and your people, if you knew who he was would you have welcomed him like an ally or would you have sent the dogs on him? Would you have given Jon a chance?” There’s no sarcasm in my tone, no bite or defensiveness, just me calmly asking her a simple question.

Daenerys stares at me, her anger slowly dissipating. She’s stuck between her stubbornness and my reasoning. She clenched her jaw and sighed, letting go of her pent up anger. She knew I was right. If Daenerys knew who Jon was before meeting at Dragonstone she would have dealt with him like he was the enemy and not like an ally. She would have lost the North and ultimately we would have lost the Great War.

“Daenerys,” I said her name softly. “Do you know how long I’ve been here?”

She lightly furrowed her brows. “No.”

“Almost eight months.” My answer weighs heavily. “In eight months I haven’t gotten one lead as to how I can get back home or why I was brought here. Frankly speaking, I’m stuck here. So why would I try to do anything hurtful towards you, knowing what you’re capable of. I have no lies, no false narratives or hidden agenda’s– all I have is the truth. Why would I risk it all to lie to you?”

Her face contorts between guilt and sadness as my words sink deeper into her consciousness. She’d been so caught up in her campaign that she’d overlooked my own footing in this world. She lets out a deep sigh and walks over to sit on the foot of my bed while I reach over grabbing her glass of wine.

“You’re right,” she says, face buried in her hands. “I shouldn’t have any reason to doubt you. It’s just.. I’m so close, so close. And it seems every time I take a step forward something gets in the way.” She takes the glass from me and I go to sit next to her. “And the way everyone looks towards Jon, it just makes me second guess myself.. if I’ll be accepted by the people here.”

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, bringing her in close. “You are and you will be a great leader. Don’t ever doubt yourself, you’ve come a long way and have done great things. Do you have any idea how loved you are throughout Essos? The Dothraki named you their Great Khaleesi, only recognizing you as their leader, so many years later. The former slave cities have raised statues in your honor and hail you as their savior. You’ve grown so much from where you started, don’t give up now.”

Daenerys’ face softens around the edges at my reassurance, but a sliver of self-doubt still lingers.

“Trust me, people still praise you. They still remember you as a liberator and a great leader who did the impossible. Don’t ever doubt yourself, okay? The people of Westeros will come around, you just have to give them some time.”

She sighs out a breath she’d been holding since her talk with Jon. “What do I do then?”

“Turst.” I squeeze her arm gently. “Don’t overwhelm yourself and trust in those around you. It’s tough, but you’ve gone through the worst already. Just one more hill to climb over and then you’ve done it.”

Daenerys sits silently, but listens closely. All her life she’d fought for survival, she’s had to jump over hurdles to get to where she was now. It wasn’t totally out of left field for her to feel how she did. This wasn’t supposed to happen, the dead were just a story that parents would tell their kids– not a real threat to all of humanity.

“Alright. I will.”

It wasn’t an ideal relationship. This all started as a difficult deal; I helped her and she gave me protection. But slowly, it grew into something more familial and authentic. We had only one common ancestor and hundreds of years in between us, but we were the closest family either of us had right now. Maybe if I really was from this time and truly born as Daenerys’s sister I could have helped and protected her from the cruelty of the world.

“Go to him.” I quietly said.

“To who?”

“To Jon.”

She frowned, “but what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” I stood up, bringing her up with me and walked the two of us to the door. “It’s our final night alive,” I opened the door, “go be with him.”

She waits for what feels like minutes, but what was only a few seconds and just stares at me. Then, she wordlessly warps her arms around me, pulling me in. I sighed and embraced her back before letting her go. With a final look, she quickly walks down the hallway and back towards Jon. I sighed out once she turned the corner and turned back into the room. Quietly, I grabbed Dark Sister and fastened her across my hip and then I slipped Aegon’s Dagger, that Daenerys had let me hold onto, into its place.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Visenya’s armor glimmered red from the candlelight and fire from the hearth. I stared at myself, taking in my appearance. Eight months ago, if I were to be wearing anything remotely similar I’d look out of place, but now, it looked natural. My face, that used to have some roundness, was slimmer and had harsher shadows thanks to the environment around me. I tried to picture myself from before all of this, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t picture who I was before all of this– a University student in King’s Landing from the modern world.

I peeled away from the mirror and left the room, closing the door behind me. I mindlessly walked down the halls hoping to clear my head when I ran across someone who could give me an actual answer.

“Melisandre.”

The Red Woman stops walking, turning towards me. “Lady Vellarys.”

“We need to talk.”

Understanding, but albeit confused, she quietly leads me to her room. The door closes behind me and she stands in front of the lit fireplace.

“What do we need to talk about?”

I take in a deep breath. “Eight months ago I traveled to Dragonstone for a school project.” She frowns at my words. “I walked into the Dragonglass caves and passed out. When I woke up I was alone in the cave. I stepped out of the cave and was brought here, in the past.”

“Lady Vellarys, what are you trying to say?” She asked, sounding very skeptical of what I was saying.

“I am from the future. I’ve read– no, I’ve studied all of this. The Great War, the Long Night. I know who dies and who lives and what happens afterwards. I even know what you’re going to do tonight. You’re going to enchant the Dothraki’s swords and then you’re going to walk out into the freezing snow and take that off,” I point at her necklace, “and you’ll be your true age and wither away in the snow.”

“How do you know this?” Her body shifts to a more protective stance, shielding herself from what I was saying

“Because I’m from the future, I know what happens. And I want to know why I was brought here in the first place.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’ve looked everywhere I could. Every goddamn scroll, book, ancient text and I’ve found nothing. And now you’re my only hope before you have to leave.” I let out a shaky breath, “please, Meslisandre.”

She stares at me, taking in my wild story, that she somehow found believable. Maybe it was how adamant I sounded or my behavior towards what was taking place that she’d noticed since our first meeting. She knew there was a reason why she felt something different about me, but she was never able to put her finger on it.

“Why?” I ask. “I need to know why… please.” Melisandre looks down for a brief moment and I feel like ripping the hair out of my head. “And don’t tell me that this is all the ‘Lord of Lights’ doing. I need answers, Melisandre, and we both know only you can give them to me.”

“I can, but I don’t think they will be the answers you are looking for.”

I swallow, nervously, “I don’t care. I need to know.”

She’s silent and I start to think that she doesn’t believe me. “Very well.”

She reaches into the open chest at the foot of her bed, pulling out a knife decorated in silver and jewels, its Valyrian Steel glows in the candle light. She then reached over to me, her ice cold hands sending goosebumps up my arm, and led me to the lit fireplace.

Her grasp loosens and travels down to my hand, turning it palm side up. Her eyes find mine, determined to do what I’d asked. She’s searching for something, doubt, uncertainty, but finds nothing. I had thought that her eyes were a deep amber color, but the light from the fire shows that they’re a deep red.

“I must warn you, you may be left with more questions than answers.” Her voice is firm and lower in pitch.

“I know.” I nod, firm in my decision

She gives my hand a squeeze before she starts chanting in Valyrian under her breath. Her left hand brings up the blade and places its sharp edge horizontally against my palm. I suck in a breath as she swiftly cuts into my hand. Beads of blood start to pool out of my hand and she moves my hand to the fire, tipping it and letting the blood flow from my cut and into the fire.

The room grows hotter and I could swear that the flames get deeper. My eyes shift to Melisandre who’s staring deep into the flames in some sort of incantation. The longer she stared the more on the edge I got.

What was she seeing? Was it something bad? Good? Why is it taking so long? Am I going to die?

Her grip on my hand tightened for a moment– as if she was seeing something she couldn’t believe– before she broke out of her trance. The room got cooler, back to his regular temperature, and the flames died down to their original hues.The silence in the room was palpable. No one said a word. Mellisandre kept her hold on my hand, though more relaxed now, her eyes stayed on the burning flames. My heartbeat thumped loudly in my ears and my breathing grew shallow as I waited for my answers.

“You were brought here for a reason, a reason you already know.” She began. “The Lord chose you to help the Prince Who Was Promised.”

“I figured that.”

She pauses before speaking again, careful with her words. “I don’t know if you can go back.”

“What?” I pulled my hand away from hers, not caring about the cut and the blood dripping down. “What do you mean? You said that the Lord shows you things– Melisandre– what did you see?”

She furrows her brows, thinking back at what she was shown. “I saw you, brief moments of you in the future. I saw you marry, have children, age. Y/n, you live the rest of your life here. Not once did I see you go back or if you could go back.”

I felt my chest tighten and I stepped back, anxiety filling my veins.

“No.”

My body moved on its own, walking out of Melisandre’s room and down the halls and then outside. Tunnel vision kicked in, my eyesight narrowed and everything became muffled as if my head was underwater. The winter cold and my bleeding hand were all forgotten as my feet carried me until they couldn’t. I collapsed onto the snow covered ground, feet aching and heart thumping loudly in my ears.

I could feel its eyes on me, looking down mockingly. Leaves fell down around me, my hands fisting the snow below me. There's a pounding in my head and an ache in my palm. My vision slowly clears and my hearing returns. I could hear the wind rolling past me and its leaves rustling.

I lifted my tear rimmed eyes up and to its eyes.

“You brought me here and it’s your responsibility to bring me back.” I spat just loud enough for it to hear. “Do you enjoy it? Messing with people's lives? Using them as pawns for your own enjoyment?”

Hot tears streamed down my face and my dried bloody hand came up to wipe them away.

“Bring me back. I’m doing what you want me to do– I’m helping her– just like I’m supposed to. You have to bring me back home. You owe it to me.”

The red leaves on the Weirwood tree swayed as the cold wind picked up again. Its carved face only looked down on me, almost as if it were belittling me even further. This wasn’t how this would end, it couldn’t. I had to go home.

––

The hearth is lit, along with dozens of candelabra's, in the castle's Great Hall. The room is dim despite the amount of candles burning. The tables from before have been cleared away and pushed up to the sides against the walls and the chairs have been shoved into a corner. Two, though, are pulled out in front of the hearth, basking in its heat and warmth. Tyrion Lannister sits on the right and his elder brother, Jamie Lannister sits on the left chair. They each have a goblet of wine in their hands, casually taking sip after sip.

Out of the blue Tyrion speaks almost reminiscing, “I wish father were here.”

Jamie blinks back, surprised at what his brother had just said and if he was hearing him right. Tyrion– the man who killed their father– wants him here? Tyrion catches the confused expression on Jamie’s face and talks further to explain himself. “I would love to see the look on his face when he realizes his two sons are about to die defending Winterfell.”

Jamie takes a beat, but snorts out a chuckleand lightly swishes the wine in his goblet in circles. “That would be something to see.”

The old wooden chair creeks when Tyrion shifts to look behind him into the dark and empty hall. “I remember the first time we were here. First time I saw this all.” Jamie cranes his neck back to see what his brother was looking at.

Tyiron turned his head to Jamie, “you were a Golden Lion.” He subtly puts on a voice as he says the ‘title’ aloud. But then he shifts, “and I was a drunken whoremongerer. It was all so simple.”

Jamie glances from his lap to Tyrion, giving a quick shake of the head. “It wasn’t all so simple. I was sleeping with my sister, and you had one friend in the world.. that was sleeping with his sister.”

“I was speaking in relative terms.”

“Do you miss it?” Jamie asks.

“Of course I miss it.” Tyrion replied quickly, thinking fondly to back then– before all of this.

“Well my Golden Lion days are done, but whoremongering is still an option for you.”

Tyrion shakes his head, “it’s not.” There’s a weight towards his words and memories he doesn’t want to remember, “things would be easier if they were.”

Jamie watches his little brother raise his goblet. “The perils of self-betterment.” Tyrion says. Jamie raises his own glass and the two drink.

Behind them, the heavy doors open and then shut. The two Lannisters turn their heads to see Brienne and Podrick enter the hall. Jamie’s quick to his feet, “My Lady.”

Brienne walks closer with a hand resting on her sword and Podrick to her right. “Oh, we didn’t mean to interrupt. We were just looking for somewhere warm to–”

“To contemplate your imminent death.” Tyrion stands up from his chair, “you’ve come to the right place.” He then moves to the right where a table with extra goblets and a pitcher of wine were placed. “You want some of this piss? It’s not bad, it’s not good either.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Podrick moves towards Tyrion, but Brienne stops him.

“I don’t think that’s wise. The battle might start at any moment.” Podrick looks a bit down, as if he’d just been caught with his hands in the cookie jar, but then she speaks again. “Half cup.”

Tyrion pours a glass for Podrick, but overfills it causing it to spill onto the floor. The two glanced at one another, stifling their laughs like two students in the back of the classroom. Podrick takes the goblet and takes a hefty sip while Tyrion moves to fill his own glass. “And you?”

“No, thank you. I should try to get some sleep.” She replied.

“You really think any of us are going to sleep tonight?” Jamie asked, pulling up the extra chairs. “Join us,” he motioned towards the new seating arrangement.

“Alright,” she glanced towards Podrick, “just a bit.” She sits down on the left hand side of Jamie. Tyrion walks to her, pouring another glass, and hands it to her right when another person walks into the hall.

“Well what do we have here.”

“Ser Davos,” Tyrion calls, “join us.”

“No, not for me, thanks.” The older man briskly walked past them and towards the lit hearth. “Came here for this.” He turns around so that his back faces the fire and takes in the much needed heat after being out in the snow for so long. “Figured I could wait to die freezing my balls off out there,” Brienne backs stiffens as she feels someone approaching with their eyes on her, “or wait to die nice and warm in here.”

Tormund, who’d been right behind Ser Davos, comes up to the left side of Brienne, staring at her. He waits to speak when she looks at him. “This could be our last night in this world, you know.”

Jamie silently watches the exchange, sipping on his wine.

“Yes, well I’m glad you’re here.” Brienne replied, but quickly corrected herself. “Here– fighting with us– glad you survived Eastwatch.”

“Would you like a drink?” Tyrion asks, now standing by the tale.

Tormund raises what looks to be the end of a mammoth husk, hollowed out and full of whatever he’d been drinking. “Brought my own.” He then shifts his attention towards Jamie, who’d been silently watching, and sizes him up with his head tilted towards the side.

“They call you King-Killer.”

Jamie, who had to look up to look into Tormund's eyes, squinted his eyes. “I’m sure someone does.”

“They call me Giants-Bane. Want to know why?”

Jamie glanced at Tyrion while Tormund reached over to an empty chair and dragged it over to the smi-circle of occupied chairs. He sits down, eyes locked onto Jamie. “I killed a giant when I was ten. Then I climbed right into bed with his wife.”

Ser Davos glanced towards the Wildling, curious to see where the story would go.

“When she woke up, you know what she did?”

Jamie tilts his head, telling him to go on.Tomund leans in for added dramatic effect, “suckled me at her teat for three months, thought I was her baby. That's how I got so strong– giant’s milk.” He brings the horn up to his mouth and loudly starts to drink from it. Brienne eyebrows drew together in a surprised and disgusted expression as she watched the liquor spill out of the horn and down Tormund's chin and clothes and to the floor.

Jamie glanced at Tyrion as to say, what is this guy doing? Tyrion gives him an ‘I don’t know face’ and turns back to the Wildling. The gulping and occasional groaning was echoed by the hollowness of the horn, adding to the awkwardness of the whole ordeal.

Ser Davos peeled his eyes away from the horrid scene and moved away from the hearth, “maybe I will have that drink.”

Eventually it stops and everyone settles down into their seats. Tormund sits a little closer to the fire with Brienne to his right who has Jamie to her own right. Tyrion sits in between Podrick on his right and Ser Davos to his left, who’s sitting next to Jamie. Everyone’s cups are filled as they stare into the open flames of the hearth. There’s an oddly comfortable silence as they all sit there, sharing their final moments alive with one another. There’s an air of tension and fear in each and everyone of them, but also a sense of relief that at least they weren’t alone.

Tyrion’s first to break the silence. “It’s strange isn’t it? Almost everyone here’s fought the Starks, at one time or another. And here we are in their castle, ready to defend it. Together.”

“At least we’ll die with honor.” Brienne comments.

“I think we might live.” Tyrion replied, honestly. Davos and Podrick share a glance and then they both start laughing.

“I-I do.” Tyrion replied, quickly. “How many battles have we survived between us? Ser Davos Seaworth; Survivor of both the Blackwater and the Battle of the Bastards.”

“All without a shred of combat ability.” Ser Davos adds.

“Mm.” Tyrion turns to his brother. “Ser Jamie Lannister, fable hero of the Siege of Pyke.”

“Fabled loser of the Battle of Whispering Wood.” Jamie stands up to pour himself another cup of wine.

“Hear, hear!” Tyrion shouts. “Ser Brianne of Tarth. Defeated the Hound in-” He pauses, correcting himself. “Pardon me, Lady Brienne.”

“She’s not the Ser?” Tormund says, confused. He turned around to Brienne. “You’re not the knight?”

Brienne’s face slightly hardens and she turns to him to give a curt reply. “Women can’t be knights.”

“Why not?” He frowned.

“Tradition.” She replied.

“Fuck tradition.” Tromund stated bluntly.

She keeps her expression firm and just shakes her head, “I don’t even want to be a knight.” She catches Podrick staring at her, the both of them knowing that she’d just lied then. Throughout their journey together he could see how much she’d wanted to be a knight. She was good– very good, and so very deserving of that title.

“I’m no king. But if I were, I’d knight you ten times over.” Ser Davos smirked at the Wildling’s' wholesome declaration.

There’s a beat of silence and then Jamie looks at Brienne as if he’d just realized something important. “You don’t need a King. Any knight can make another knight.”

Jamie places his cup on the table, next to the pitch of wine. “I’ll prove it.” He unsheathed his sword and walked to the middle of the room, holding his sword out. Everyone watches carefully, and he turns to Brienne.

“Kneel, Lady Brienne.”

Brienne scoffs, not believing the one handed Lannister afterall, he’d been drinking for however long there was no way he was being serious.

“Do you want to be a knight or not? Kneel.” He asked, seriously. He doesn't sound drunk, far from it actually. He knows what he’s doing, he’s resolute in it.

She glanced back at Jamie who tells her to come over and kneel again. Everyone’s eyes are on her, eagerly waiting for her to get up. She looks over to Podrick who reassures her to go one. She doesn't move right then, she only gets up when she looks back at Jamie who gives her a reassuring nod. Slowly, she walks to the middle of the room, opposite of Jamie and kneels before him. Wordlessly, the others slowly stand to watch.

Brienne, now growing misty-eyed, stares at Jamie as he begins.

His grip on his sword– Widow’s Wail– tightens in his flesh hand. He lifts the sword and places the sword on her right shoulder. “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.”

He raises the sword and places it on her left shoulder. “ In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.”

He places the sword on her right shoulder again. “In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.”

He lowers the sword to his side. Slowly, Brienne raises her head up and locks eyes with Jamie.

“Arise, Brienne of Tarth, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Terry-eyed, Brienne stands up, and the two share a small moment together before the room bursts into applause and cheers. Tormund claps his hands loudly and Tyrion raises his glass in a toast.

“Ser Brienne of Tarth! Knight of the Seven Kingdoms!”

She smiles, tears of joy in her eyes. Wordlessly, she thanks Jamie who nods, smiling at her. The applause continues on and another round of drinks are poured in celebration. Once settled down, everyone sat back down in their chairs and conversations started to flow again. Eventually, though, people get tired.

Jamie lets out a groan. “We’d better get some rest.”

“No,” Tyrion almost whines. “Let’s stay a bit longer.”

“We’re out of wine.” Davos gruffs, placing the pitcher down and sitting back down.

“How about a song?” Tyrion suggests. “You must know one.” He looks to his left, “Ser Davos?”

“You’ll pray for a quick death.”

Tyrion chuckles and turns his attention to the newly knighted Brienne. “Ser Brienne?” She shakes her head prompting Tyrion to turn to Tormund who also shakes his head with an almost animalistic growl.

Suddenly, Podrick starts singing ‘Jenny of Oldstones’.

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts. The ones she had lost and the ones she had found, and the ones who had loved her the most,”

Somewhere in Winterfell's quarters Sam and Gilly lay in bed together with Little Sam between them. The two lay awake, staring at each other, sharing a brief moment before its ripped away.

“The ones who'd been gone for so very long,”

Out in the crowded courtyard, Sansa and Theon sit opposite to each other, sharing a brief moment before it all began. There’s a lit candle between them and two bowls of stew and a plate of bread. A quiet dinner with the person who’d saved them when they needed it the most.

“She couldn't remember their names. They spun her around on the damp old stones,”

In the hallways closest to the forge and smitheries, Gendry peacefully sleeps on a pile of rags with Arya laying next to him with her back turned. While he sleeps, she lays awake after the two had shared a rather intimate moment.

“Spun away all her sorrow and pain. And she never wanted to leave,”

Outside, the Unsullied start walking out of the courtyard. Missandei and Grey Worm walk together before he stops her, turns, and kisses her. It’s meaningful, both of them pouring out their love to one another, but also desperate, wanting to take as much as they could from the other person in such a brief moment. Grey Worm pulls away, and Missandei hands him his helmet. He grips it tight as he slips it over his head. Missandei pressed her forehead against Grey Worm’s helmet, savoring this last final moment. He then turns to leave and marches with the Unsullied, Missandei watching as he leaves.

Near the front gates of the castle everyone gathers for battle. Jorah rides on his horse and gazes at the horizon to only see darkness and the treeline. The Dothaki riders rode into position behind him. His hand tightens around Heartsbane, House Tarly’s ancestral sword, that was gifted to him by Sam only a few hours ago.

“Never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave,”

Down at the crypts Jon and Daenerys stand together, admiring his mothers statue. Jon looks down at her, holding her close to his chest. Daenerys brings her hand to rest by his heart, but Jon grabs ahold of it. He says something to her, and she smiles slightly. She looks back at Lyanna's statue and says a few words that prompts Jon to lean down and capture her lips in a kiss.

“Never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave,”

I walked out of the Godswood forest, the cut on my hand now scabbed over and the blood around it now dried. Just as I reached the gates, the horns that would signal the dead approaching were blown. I rushed over to the already designated spot to meet the others. When I had arrived Jon, Daenerys, and Tyrion were there, looking over the ramparts into the darkness.

Orders were being yelled out as soldiers quickly got their positions for the oncoming battle. Jon breathes heavily, and shifts his gaze to Daenerys. She looks equally as determined as him, ready to fight for the realm and face off the dead. She shifts her eyes to me and then wordlessly walks past us with the two of us following after her towards where the dragons were waiting for us. Tyrion watched the three of us depart and then turned his attention back to what was in front of him.

Up ahead, along the path to Winterfell an icy haze covers the ground, growing ticker even more. The mangled legs of a dead horse trot forwards. At the top the dead stallion was a White Walker, staring off to where Winterfell stood. Another White Walker mounted on a dead horse falls into line beside him, and a line of them emerge, all of them being Craster's sons and, more importantly, generals in the Night King’s army. Behind him, the Army of the Dead slowly comes forwards. It stretches far and wide, hundreds of thousands of undead wights. Slowly, but surely, they marched closer and closer to Winterfell.

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