[ His mother had sent him to Kingslanding to try and tame him. Even though she hadn't said it to his face, Johnny had heard her talking to his father in the kitchen when they thought he was asleep. After all - what grown man still lived with his parents, unmarried and childless if there wasn't something wrong with him? Johnny was surprised they hadn't sent him to the Wall, but maybe they knew (just as he did) that he wouldn't last ten minutes there. His eccentricities were only heightened with the fact he was so fucking queer and well, people weren't like that. Not out loud.
So he found himself here, cleaning out some fucking horse stables because he had an interest in animals and he wasn't from some fancy family like the Lannisters which meant he spent more time with horse shit than the actual horses. And Johnny made his feelings known loudly. ]
Mr Lannister!
[ He whined one morning when he saw Jaime - Mr Kingslayer, Mr Handsome, Mr Bend-Me-Over-This-Bale-Of-Hay - enter the stables dressed for a ride. ]
I can't keep doing this job! Every time I clean them out they make a mess again and - [ Johnny whinged again ] it SMELLS so bad! Is there anything else I can do?
The title is Ser, Johnny. [ A distinction Jaime, the current Lord Commander of King Tommen the First's Kingsguard, had had to make countless times before, except it never seemed to stick in this man's mind (if he indeed had one that worked). One would assume the glinting, golden armour decorated with Baratheon antlers would give him away, but perhaps Jaime simply gave the man too much credit. Gods knew the fact he knew his name was already a big enough kindness he didn't deserve.
Still, Jaime approached his horse, gorgeous as the creature was with his gleaming white coat (matching Jaime's cloak, no less), and moved to take a brush and all the implements and saddle parts he needed. Jaime was one of the few with mounts at the royal stables that refused to rely on servants for these things; Cersei didn't approve of the filth, of course, but Jaime didn't care for dirt as much as he didn't trust easy. And he trusted even less with men like Johnny working there. ]
If you'd like a change in position, I'd suggest a consultation with the stable master. [ His horse pressed his nose to Jaime's gold hand, affectionate, and Jaime shushed him gently as he brushed his coat to a gorgeous shine. ] I'm afraid there's not much I can do to help you.
SER [ Johnny emphasised, making sure that Jaime would know that he took the title very seriously. Because everyone had to be serious in Kingslanding. They should rename it Seriouslanding, or something. Johnny didn't know. All he knew was that he had filth other than dirt in his fingernails and quite frankly he wanted to ride a horse. ]
I could ride with you.
[ It was a bold suggestion, but when did Johnny not say what was on his mind? It'd probably get him hanged one day. Still, that day (he hoped) wasn't today. He watched Jaime walk over to his horse, all gentle and soft and sweet and Johnny smiled at the interaction. ]
There's -- a smaller horse. One that's not been, well I don't want to say claimed because horses shouldn't be claimed it's really unfair -- [ Johnny caught himself before he went off on a tangent. ] -- that no one is riding. I could. I don't know. Look after the horses when they rest?
[ He took a step closer to Jaime - perhaps a bit too close than one should get to Ser Lannister - and ran a hand over Jaime's horse. ]
[ Jaime is leaving to squire for Barristan Selmy in a fortnight, and it is the most excited he's ever been about anything. He's always wanted to be a knight like the men in the stories (what he could read, anyway, when the letters weren't scrambling, or what he could get people to read out loud for him), and with Ser Barristan being the most honourable knight that Jaime knows of, he can only imagine that he'd follow in his footsteps. To be knighted in the light of the Seven, to take his oaths and to serve the people-- it's all he's ever wanted, and it's all he can ever talk about.
There are some bad things, though. Becoming a squire means he'll be living in King's Landing for the foreseeable future, never to return home. Becoming a squire means he'll be at battle, and one day he might not live to come back.
Becoming a squire means leaving Casterly Rock, and leaving Casterly Rock means...
Standing in the doorway to Tyrion's room and leaning lazily against the frame, he watches his little brother at his desk and asks, ] You're not studying again, are you?
[ It means leaving Tyrion.
And Jaime is-- well. He's a lot of things, for Tyrion. Thinks a lot of things. Feels a lot of things. When Maester Volarik had kissed him in the library, Jaime had gone away inside and thought about Tyrion the whole time.
Clever, witty Tyrion. Tyrion who he can't stomach being away from without going sick with worry. How is he going to fare alone, here, with their father? With Cersei? With anyone, for that matter? Who will keep him safe?
(And would Tyrion hate him forever if he kissed him, he wonders, just as much as Jaime hates their maester and wishes him dead?) ]
You know, little brother, I worry the moment I leave you're going to forget how to have any fun.
[Jaime’s living and Tyrion doesn’t want to think about it anymore. His one friend, one companion, one family member that treats him like a human being and he’s going off to live his dreams. And Tyrion will be stuck at Casterly Rock with everyone else that hates him; with nothing but his books for company. Jaime might not be as smart as Tyrion, so they struggle to have intellectual conversations, but Jaime is company, Jaime is protection he’s…. so many things to Tyrion that he doesn’t want to let go of.
There’s a fortnight left, so still time, but alas time continues on even when you want it to stop. No matter how much you want it to stop. Tyrion wishes there was a way to make it stop. He wishes so much that he keeps reading the same sentence over and over again and doesn’t hear Jaime’s voice until his brother speaks to him again about leaving.
His eyes rise from the page and fix on his big brother – his handsome, athletic, charming big brother and something inside Tyrion twinges. ]
I worry the moment you leave you’re going to forget how to read. [ Tyrion counters with a raised eyebrow. His wit and his words are his defence, and if he doesn’t hone his skills, he’ll lose his talent. But he’s only joking, and he gives his big brother a smile to show it, closing the book and putting it to the side. ]
Are you sure it’s a good idea to go? [ Tyrion asks. He’s asked the same question each day this week and he’ll ask it each day for the next fortnight and hope that one time Jaime will give him a different reply. ]
[ Immediately, Jaime's nose crinkles at the thought of reading. ] I don't need to know how, anyway. [ And he's told Tyrion many times, every time it's come up, that he has no intention of holding the Rock when he's older. That he plans on relinquishing every title he ever gets, that it'll all go to his little brother instead. Jaime isn't a ruler, and frankly he doesn't want to be one. He imagines becoming Kingsguard one day, of swearing never to marry, never to hold lands, never to have children-- he imagines living his life for battle and honour and protecting the realm and it means the entire world to him.
He walks across the threshold, moving from the doorway to Tyrion's desk and pulling one of the stools in the room along with him. Though set by Tyrion's chair, Jaime turns so he's sitting backwards, his back up against the desk and his hands folded neatly-- faux innocently-- on his lap. He watches Tyrion with a curious expression. ]
You're the smart one. [ It's something Jaime admires him for greatly (especially given how young Tyrion is, and already he's twice as smart as some on their father's counsel), but couldn't ever hope to be himself. Rather than envy him, Jaime's accepted this and cares little about it besides. ] What terrible things do you think lie ahead for me?
If you find something good, I might just think about it.
[ The battle's over, for good or bad. All told, they weren't as bad off as they could have been. Still enough to muddle forward with. Tormund's still high off the battle, the song of violence belting its way though his veins, louder for having survived it, and it's with a horn of ale in a hand and light feet against the floorboards that he makes his way through the halls.
Jaime's face pulls a wide grin firmly into place, and he closes the distance to clap him on the back. ]
Well! You survived it too, I see. Good.
[ A beat, then he offers the horn to the lion. ...it's been doctored, but it still looks like ale. ]
[ Jaime... is amused by Tormund Giantsbane, as little as he knows about him. He finds him fascinating in that 'I've never seen anything like you' way, and he's not sure yet whether this means he likes him or not.
But even in his amusement, he's tired. He finds the fight for survival had been less exhilarating than all the other fights he'd been in-- a product of how damn difficult it was with his left hand, maybe, and the fact Jaime had never been more uncertain of his skill in his life-- and all he wants to do is rest.
So when he sees him approaching, the biggest, most ridiculous smile on his bloody, muddy face, instantly he opens his mouth to start with: ] I don't... [ really have the time for nonsense now, is what he wanted to say, except the ale is lifted and Jaime is reconsidering his options.
Alcohol is meant to help with sleep, isn't it?
While he does raise a brow in question, Jaime ends up taking the offered drink and giving it a look. ] Where did you find ale?
Don't drink too deep, little lion, it kicks harder than you expect.
[ Yes, it's not an answer to the question asked of him, but there's an extra twinkle in his eye when he says it all the same. Good, the man isn't too bowled over by the fight; a little overwhelmed but not too much, not the way some get. A true warrior, then. ]
[ It's over, and whilst Tyrion knows he needs to make sure everybody is okay, including Daenerys, he has to go somewhere else first. He has to find Jaime. Sansa can take care of her people; she can make sure everyone is safe and okay and well considering the undead Starks had broken from their tombs and started to attack a few innocent people. Tyrion needed to be selfish.
So he'd disappeared (for once, he's thankful for his small height) and went off in search of his big brother. Gods, he hoped Jaime was alive. His heart thudding hard in his chest and Tyrion was actually running through the stone corridors, the sound of his footsteps echoing. ]
Jaime?
[ He called out, moving towards the entrance to the square, where the gates were, where Jaime would hopefully be if he made it back. He caught someone moving in his side eye, and turned. He could hear his name being called. Jaime? Was it Jaime? Tyrion turned and ran after the sounds, shouting for his brother and then he was there in front of him. ]
Jaime.
[ He breathed out a sigh of relief, and moved over to his brother quickly. He wanted to hold on and never wanted to let go. ]
[ There are so many dead, and Jaime sees none of them. Not now. Not when the sun is rising and the light is shining and there are no more threats of the Night King and his hoards. Possessed, Jaime runs (limps to the best of his ability) through Winterfell, ignoring the blood that trails down his back and legs, the burns on his skin, the horrid aches and pains and the definite crack in his ribs, and he knows there's only one place-- one person-- he needs to get to.
He doesn't realise he's calling Tyrion's name, not really. But it echoes off the walls and people keep looking at him, and Jaime sees none of them as he goes. He trips over a corpse or two, but he always gets back up, and he rushes, and runs, and stops only when he hears a Jaime tag him back. ]
Tyrion? [ He's exhausted. He hurts and he aches and he thinks he may fall over, but he needs to be sure he isn't imagining things, needs to know that what he hears is real, that Tyrion is real, that... ]
Oh, Gods.
[ ...that his little brother is all right.
Tyrion is running towards him, and Jaime has never been happier to see someone in his life. His eyes feel wet and he blinks them hard to get the tears to go away, but his lips pull into the brightest smile he's worn in years all the same.
He can't speak; his mouth forms the name Tyrion but he can't seem to say it, not even when he turns and rushes and meets him halfway. Jaime's legs give out from under him and his knees dig into snow, and his arms wind around Tyrion's body to hold him as close to himself as possible.
Tyrion's armour clinks; it's hard against Jaime's own leathers, but he's laughing as he kisses his brother's cheek hard and presses their foreheads together. ]
I kept my oath. [ He's breathless, and bleeding, and Tyrion's face is lit beautifully by the pink-orange of dawn, and Jaime isn't sure any of this is real. ] I'm here, Tyrion. I made it. I'm with you, I...
[ He can't think. He can barely catch his breath.
Jaime doesn't think before he catches Tyrion's face in his hands and kisses him. It doesn't matter, whoever sees-- let them see, let them know, let them judge. ]
[ As soon as Jaime falls to his knees, Tyrion clings onto his brother and can't stop the relieved sob that racks through his body. He buries his face in Jaime's shoulder for a moment before hands are on his cheeks and there are lips and foreheads pressed against each other and he can see Jaime's bleeding, muddy face but it's Jaime and that's all that matters. ]
You're here, you're--
[ The kiss is a surprise but Tyrion doesn't shy away. After everything that has just happened, why would anyone be surprised? Why would anyone care? Tyrion certainly doesn't, and he kisses his big brother back hard again and again and again, making up for the time they lost by being apart and thanking the Gods that Jaime is okay. ]
I love you. I love you, I love you.
[ He's clinging to his brother but he doesn't care. They could do it now - they could run away together like they said the night before. ]
[ It's not so difficult securing a jug of wine, not when they're being passed around like nothing in the wake of all this joy and celebration. Jaime holds this in his good hand, making his way through the corridors of Winterfell to his room and its broken door. It's certainly in a state thanks to the wights that had stormed through, but at least the walls are still intact, and it's not like Jaime needs a bed frame to sleep on, anyway.
True enough, the Red Woman is there. Jaime doesn't know much about her besides her connection to Stannis Baratheon and the fact she has the power to use fire magic, but it's not as if he needs to know anything to drink with her. ]
I couldn't carry any goblets. [ It's his off-handed way of apologising. He goes to stand by her (and sway, just a bit; Jaime's the only Lannister in the family who hasn't ever been fond of drinking), and then holds the jug out for her to take. ] I hope you don't mind sharing.
[ Stannis Baratheon had been a quiet, brooding man, persistently confounded by most, if not all, social interaction, and it had taken years to to put him at relative ease – but even then, he had been quiet, and brooding. There were exceptions of course, two main subjects, really: what he felt he was owed, which was plenty, and who had wronged him and/or Westeros.
And in that context, she had heard about Jaime Lannister, at great length, and with a primary focus on his sins, both true and speculated. But he had fought in the Long Night. Stannis' battles were no longer her own. And she would like to drink with him, so she will.
She had made good of her promise and lit a fire, and her red, red eyes meet his as she takes the goblet into both of her hands. Light reflects of his false one, the ruby of the choker around her neck pulses and flickers, and if he stands close enough, he can feel that she is practically radiating heat. ]
I do not. Isn't it a Westerosi custom, from time to time? Wine passed around and shared, for unity, I believe? [ She takes a deep sip from the jug, the taste bringing a different kind of warmth with it, and offers it back to him. ] Last time a man offered me the courtesy, he had tried to poison me. This is much better.
I'm not much for poison. [ What he wanted to say is my son died from poison, but he doesn't. He does, however, take the jug back, and he lifts it up to his lips to take a proper drink-- one that trickles, just slightly, out from the corner of his mouth to his beard. Jaime either fails to notice this or doesn't pay it any heed; in any case, he licks his lips and hands it to his side. ]
And I've no reason to kill you. [ A beat. ] Not really. Not when you're just as out of place as I am.
[ Jaime's gaze is a little hazy and his head is a little heavy, but that doesn't make him any less observant, even though when he turns to watch Melisandre the action is more casual than scrutinising. The fact he knows close to nothing about her makes this simple. He's just trying not to be so lonely. ]
Did you light the fire the way normal people do? [ Jaime gestures, messily, to the fire that burns in its hearth. ] Or did you... whatever it is you do. Did. Whatever you did to those Dothraki blades.
[ Jaime knocks against the door to Brienne's chambers with the gold hand-- two solid thump thumps that end with him opening it. He doesn't bother asking if she's decent; anyone coming from an alcohol-related accident, he's sure, wouldn't have the sense for anything like that, anyway. ]
I'm sure it's not that bad... [ This is what he leads up with, but then he gets a proper look at the room, which may or may not be as he says it is. ]
[ Brienne is decent in the since that she is under the furs in her bed, though if she were to leave it the story would be a very different one. She is very pale, and her hair is sticking to her brow with sweat.
As for the room, nothing is broken or anything of the sort, there is just... a lot of vomit in various places. Brienne is not sure she has ever wanted anything as badly as she wants to clean this mess up, and yet standing up has become something of a struggle. ]
[ Brienne's comment is unnecessary, but it certainly adds a comical element to what would otherwise just look depressing. Jaime's head turns slowly, surmising all the parts of the room that's covered in sick, and then he goes to meet Brienne's gaze where she watches from her bed. ]
...I should have brought rags. Why in seven hells did you move so much?
[ Jaime is going to have to leave the room to grab things to clean with, but he doesn't want her to think he's running away (not that he isn't thinking about running, of course, but he's trying to be good, here). So for now, he comes forward, sidesteps a puddle on the floor (thank the gods it's stone), and then goes to sit at the edge of Brienne's bed. ]
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@soullessalex | modern au
Re: @soullessalex | modern au
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well he can come and get me if he wants me.
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i pwomise i go 2 bed after sending this in Holy CHrist
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stable boy johnny
So he found himself here, cleaning out some fucking horse stables because he had an interest in animals and he wasn't from some fancy family like the Lannisters which meant he spent more time with horse shit than the actual horses. And Johnny made his feelings known loudly. ]
Mr Lannister!
[ He whined one morning when he saw Jaime - Mr Kingslayer, Mr Handsome, Mr Bend-Me-Over-This-Bale-Of-Hay - enter the stables dressed for a ride. ]
I can't keep doing this job! Every time I clean them out they make a mess again and - [ Johnny whinged again ] it SMELLS so bad! Is there anything else I can do?
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Still, Jaime approached his horse, gorgeous as the creature was with his gleaming white coat (matching Jaime's cloak, no less), and moved to take a brush and all the implements and saddle parts he needed. Jaime was one of the few with mounts at the royal stables that refused to rely on servants for these things; Cersei didn't approve of the filth, of course, but Jaime didn't care for dirt as much as he didn't trust easy. And he trusted even less with men like Johnny working there. ]
If you'd like a change in position, I'd suggest a consultation with the stable master. [ His horse pressed his nose to Jaime's gold hand, affectionate, and Jaime shushed him gently as he brushed his coat to a gorgeous shine. ] I'm afraid there's not much I can do to help you.
[ Not that Jaime cared enough to help, either. ]
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I could ride with you.
[ It was a bold suggestion, but when did Johnny not say what was on his mind? It'd probably get him hanged one day. Still, that day (he hoped) wasn't today. He watched Jaime walk over to his horse, all gentle and soft and sweet and Johnny smiled at the interaction. ]
There's -- a smaller horse. One that's not been, well I don't want to say claimed because horses shouldn't be claimed it's really unfair -- [ Johnny caught himself before he went off on a tangent. ] -- that no one is riding. I could. I don't know. Look after the horses when they rest?
[ He took a step closer to Jaime - perhaps a bit too close than one should get to Ser Lannister - and ran a hand over Jaime's horse. ]
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prepare for a whiney baby
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@witandintellect | hidden relationship
There are some bad things, though. Becoming a squire means he'll be living in King's Landing for the foreseeable future, never to return home. Becoming a squire means he'll be at battle, and one day he might not live to come back.
Becoming a squire means leaving Casterly Rock, and leaving Casterly Rock means...
Standing in the doorway to Tyrion's room and leaning lazily against the frame, he watches his little brother at his desk and asks, ] You're not studying again, are you?
[ It means leaving Tyrion.
And Jaime is-- well. He's a lot of things, for Tyrion. Thinks a lot of things. Feels a lot of things. When Maester Volarik had kissed him in the library, Jaime had gone away inside and thought about Tyrion the whole time.
Clever, witty Tyrion. Tyrion who he can't stomach being away from without going sick with worry. How is he going to fare alone, here, with their father? With Cersei? With anyone, for that matter? Who will keep him safe?
(And would Tyrion hate him forever if he kissed him, he wonders, just as much as Jaime hates their maester and wishes him dead?) ]
You know, little brother, I worry the moment I leave you're going to forget how to have any fun.
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There’s a fortnight left, so still time, but alas time continues on even when you want it to stop. No matter how much you want it to stop. Tyrion wishes there was a way to make it stop. He wishes so much that he keeps reading the same sentence over and over again and doesn’t hear Jaime’s voice until his brother speaks to him again about leaving.
His eyes rise from the page and fix on his big brother – his handsome, athletic, charming big brother and something inside Tyrion twinges. ]
I worry the moment you leave you’re going to forget how to read. [ Tyrion counters with a raised eyebrow. His wit and his words are his defence, and if he doesn’t hone his skills, he’ll lose his talent. But he’s only joking, and he gives his big brother a smile to show it, closing the book and putting it to the side. ]
Are you sure it’s a good idea to go? [ Tyrion asks. He’s asked the same question each day this week and he’ll ask it each day for the next fortnight and hope that one time Jaime will give him a different reply. ]
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He walks across the threshold, moving from the doorway to Tyrion's desk and pulling one of the stools in the room along with him. Though set by Tyrion's chair, Jaime turns so he's sitting backwards, his back up against the desk and his hands folded neatly-- faux innocently-- on his lap. He watches Tyrion with a curious expression. ]
You're the smart one. [ It's something Jaime admires him for greatly (especially given how young Tyrion is, and already he's twice as smart as some on their father's counsel), but couldn't ever hope to be himself. Rather than envy him, Jaime's accepted this and cares little about it besides. ] What terrible things do you think lie ahead for me?
If you find something good, I might just think about it.
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Jaime's face pulls a wide grin firmly into place, and he closes the distance to clap him on the back. ]
Well! You survived it too, I see. Good.
[ A beat, then he offers the horn to the lion. ...it's been doctored, but it still looks like ale. ]
Let's celebrate.
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But even in his amusement, he's tired. He finds the fight for survival had been less exhilarating than all the other fights he'd been in-- a product of how damn difficult it was with his left hand, maybe, and the fact Jaime had never been more uncertain of his skill in his life-- and all he wants to do is rest.
So when he sees him approaching, the biggest, most ridiculous smile on his bloody, muddy face, instantly he opens his mouth to start with: ] I don't... [ really have the time for nonsense now, is what he wanted to say, except the ale is lifted and Jaime is reconsidering his options.
Alcohol is meant to help with sleep, isn't it?
While he does raise a brow in question, Jaime ends up taking the offered drink and giving it a look. ] Where did you find ale?
[ Gods, his voice is hoarse. ]
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[ Yes, it's not an answer to the question asked of him, but there's an extra twinkle in his eye when he says it all the same. Good, the man isn't too bowled over by the fight; a little overwhelmed but not too much, not the way some get. A true warrior, then. ]
Those in pursuit of it have their methods.
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So he'd disappeared (for once, he's thankful for his small height) and went off in search of his big brother. Gods, he hoped Jaime was alive. His heart thudding hard in his chest and Tyrion was actually running through the stone corridors, the sound of his footsteps echoing. ]
Jaime?
[ He called out, moving towards the entrance to the square, where the gates were, where Jaime would hopefully be if he made it back. He caught someone moving in his side eye, and turned. He could hear his name being called. Jaime? Was it Jaime? Tyrion turned and ran after the sounds, shouting for his brother and then he was there in front of him. ]
Jaime.
[ He breathed out a sigh of relief, and moved over to his brother quickly. He wanted to hold on and never wanted to let go. ]
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He doesn't realise he's calling Tyrion's name, not really. But it echoes off the walls and people keep looking at him, and Jaime sees none of them as he goes. He trips over a corpse or two, but he always gets back up, and he rushes, and runs, and stops only when he hears a Jaime tag him back. ]
Tyrion? [ He's exhausted. He hurts and he aches and he thinks he may fall over, but he needs to be sure he isn't imagining things, needs to know that what he hears is real, that Tyrion is real, that... ]
Oh, Gods.
[ ...that his little brother is all right.
Tyrion is running towards him, and Jaime has never been happier to see someone in his life. His eyes feel wet and he blinks them hard to get the tears to go away, but his lips pull into the brightest smile he's worn in years all the same.
He can't speak; his mouth forms the name Tyrion but he can't seem to say it, not even when he turns and rushes and meets him halfway. Jaime's legs give out from under him and his knees dig into snow, and his arms wind around Tyrion's body to hold him as close to himself as possible.
Tyrion's armour clinks; it's hard against Jaime's own leathers, but he's laughing as he kisses his brother's cheek hard and presses their foreheads together. ]
I kept my oath. [ He's breathless, and bleeding, and Tyrion's face is lit beautifully by the pink-orange of dawn, and Jaime isn't sure any of this is real. ] I'm here, Tyrion. I made it. I'm with you, I...
[ He can't think. He can barely catch his breath.
Jaime doesn't think before he catches Tyrion's face in his hands and kisses him. It doesn't matter, whoever sees-- let them see, let them know, let them judge. ]
I love you.
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You're here, you're--
[ The kiss is a surprise but Tyrion doesn't shy away. After everything that has just happened, why would anyone be surprised? Why would anyone care? Tyrion certainly doesn't, and he kisses his big brother back hard again and again and again, making up for the time they lost by being apart and thanking the Gods that Jaime is okay. ]
I love you. I love you, I love you.
[ He's clinging to his brother but he doesn't care. They could do it now - they could run away together like they said the night before. ]
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@voktys | tfln cont
True enough, the Red Woman is there. Jaime doesn't know much about her besides her connection to Stannis Baratheon and the fact she has the power to use fire magic, but it's not as if he needs to know anything to drink with her. ]
I couldn't carry any goblets. [ It's his off-handed way of apologising. He goes to stand by her (and sway, just a bit; Jaime's the only Lannister in the family who hasn't ever been fond of drinking), and then holds the jug out for her to take. ] I hope you don't mind sharing.
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And in that context, she had heard about Jaime Lannister, at great length, and with a primary focus on his sins, both true and speculated. But he had fought in the Long Night. Stannis' battles were no longer her own. And she would like to drink with him, so she will.
She had made good of her promise and lit a fire, and her red, red eyes meet his as she takes the goblet into both of her hands. Light reflects of his false one, the ruby of the choker around her neck pulses and flickers, and if he stands close enough, he can feel that she is practically radiating heat. ]
I do not. Isn't it a Westerosi custom, from time to time? Wine passed around and shared, for unity, I believe? [ She takes a deep sip from the jug, the taste bringing a different kind of warmth with it, and offers it back to him. ] Last time a man offered me the courtesy, he had tried to poison me. This is much better.
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And I've no reason to kill you. [ A beat. ] Not really. Not when you're just as out of place as I am.
[ Jaime's gaze is a little hazy and his head is a little heavy, but that doesn't make him any less observant, even though when he turns to watch Melisandre the action is more casual than scrutinising. The fact he knows close to nothing about her makes this simple. He's just trying not to be so lonely. ]
Did you light the fire the way normal people do? [ Jaime gestures, messily, to the fire that burns in its hearth. ] Or did you... whatever it is you do. Did. Whatever you did to those Dothraki blades.
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@chivalrouswench | tfln cont
I'm sure it's not that bad... [ This is what he leads up with, but then he gets a proper look at the room, which may or may not be as he says it is. ]
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As for the room, nothing is broken or anything of the sort, there is just... a lot of vomit in various places. Brienne is not sure she has ever wanted anything as badly as she wants to clean this mess up, and yet standing up has become something of a struggle. ]
It's not good.
i'm sorry i'm so late omg
...I should have brought rags. Why in seven hells did you move so much?
[ Jaime is going to have to leave the room to grab things to clean with, but he doesn't want her to think he's running away (not that he isn't thinking about running, of course, but he's trying to be good, here). So for now, he comes forward, sidesteps a puddle on the floor (thank the gods it's stone), and then goes to sit at the edge of Brienne's bed. ]
How do you feel?
never a problem, don't worry!
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@aureum | tfln cont.
though you've only yourself to blame, should you be dirtied again.
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although, perhaps you needn't wait to strip, either.
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