Archive of Our Own ^beta

♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥

My favorite is cerulean.

I love long walks along the beach.

I have a guilty pleasure for fairytales.

I love riding horses.

Horses are not the only things I enjoy riding ;)  

♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥

Jaime twists the small heart-shaped card made of red carton and decorated with glitter and stickers between his fingertips with the hint of a smirk flashing across his face.

At some point, he still doesn’t know just why he agreed to attend this poor excuse of a party, a Valentine’s Party no less. Because Jaime is not at all impressed with Valentine’s Day in general. Yet, it’s not even that Tyrion forced him into it, which is normally the case when Jaime finds himself stuck at parties he does not wish to attend, having to either play wingman or play chauffeur when Bronn is not available.

However, to this one he agreed on his own, for some damned reason.

But oh well, sometimes even a tough Lannister heir like Jaime Lannister warms up to the wolf puppy eyes of Sansa Stark, asking him, batting her eyelashes, to attend that Valentine’s Party, because, to quote “we only invite colleagues, and it’d be great if one of the higher ranks came along, you know? That’d make the others so happy and feel like they are appreciated!” Jaime still didn’t quite figure the sense behind it, though he supposes that they were just short on people to attend that little party Sansa and her friends are hosting.

Because, with Valentine’s Parties, you will most likely stick to an even ratio of women and men, as far as he is concerned. Unless you invite people of various sexual orientations, obviously, and as far as he is concerned, Loras and Renly are happily above that and rather go to anything but those teenage girl parties, so that leaves only people Jaime knows as a matter of fact are heterosexual – and single.

If not desperate.

Therefore, Jaime supposes that they were short on one male participant for those cute little Valentine’s Games that are supposed to make hearts and sparks fly around and confetti to spread in your heart… or whatever it is that Sansa seems to have in mind with that little party of hers.

Such as this little game to which the card in his hand relates.

Upon entering, Sansa was all over him, sporting her faux cupid wings with a strange sense of pride, as she almost pushed him down the corridor leading to where the actual party was already going on for a while.

Jaime tends to always come late to parties – only the losers show up early or on time.

In the process, she thrusted a little card into his hand, and explained, if a little too fast, “We are doing a little icebreaker game. It’s total fun. I played it a couple of times at other parties already, and it was amazing. You’re going to love it for sure. You know how it is with those parties, right? People who don't know each other well or only know each other from work have a hard time easing into the mood and starting to talk, which sucks for a party meant to celebrate love, right? Thus, having them get to know each other a little better usually helps a great deal. So, the game goes as follows: You will fill out this card. You put down five statements about yourself, without mentioning your name or position at the company, though, that’d be too easy. Because in the next step, we’ll put the cards of all guests into a bowl and hand them out to everyone there, so you get the card of someone else, and someone gets your card in turn. Then what you do is that you talk to the guests and try to figure out whom the card belongs to by asking questions. You’re not allowed to just show it or to plainly ask: Is this your card? That’d take the fun out of things, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“So? Any more questions?”

“I don't think so.”

“Great, here is your pen,” Sansa said as she held out a lilac pen with glitter on it out to him, leaving Jaime wondering just how much glitter and sparkle one can bring to a party. Jaime shook his head as he put down something he cannot even recall in all detail now an hour into the whole party mess.

It was all kinds of hilarious to watch this almost ritualistic gathering of Sansa and her friends with faux cupid wings as they walked around the room, their steps heavy and in perfect synchrony, to hand out the heart cards to the guests.

And that is how Jaime came into possession of his little “match card”.

Some favorite: cerulean. Whatever that is.

Long walks along the beach.

“Guilty pleasure”: fairytales.

Riding horses.

And seemingly either up for a tease, or actually quite proactive in wanting to find a Valentine’s date for the “afterparty…” or maybe a bit of both.

Jaime has not yet decided.

In general, there seems to be something fishy about this card, and it’s not just that kissing fishes sticker on the back. Jaime can’t even put his finger on it, but something seems strange about it. Perhaps it’s the neat handwriting. It doesn’t look as bubbly as the words appear to be. Fairytales and ponies, written in a font so even and small that it would pass for being used as a font in Citadel Word.

That is not the handwriting of a girl like Sansa, or someone the likes of Amy. Jaime spoke to Amy, if involuntarily. She pretty much threw herself at him once she set eyes on him. If Jaime is not mistaken, and he is pretty sure he isn’t, her hand was threateningly close to his crotch, and for all Jaime is concerned, she might just as well have put down the words:

 ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ 

Want

To

Test

The

Mattresses?

 ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ 

So who would have written that?

Jaime lets his eyes wander through the room another time, ignoring that annoying remix of Two Hearts that Beat as One feat. Tom of 7Streams, because writing out his actual name would be so uncool… or something like that.

His gaze stops and lingers on a very tall woman standing in one of the corners furthest away from the party-fuss, nursing a drink, busy… ignoring Sansa as she keeps talking to her endlessly.

Which is relatable, Jaime assumes. 

But who is that woman dressed in plain white shirt and dress trousers – looking as stiff as a poker as she goes on shooting darts of ice with her big blue eyes at the cupid-winged Stark daughter, who seems oblivious or ignorant to that very circumstance?

Jaime knows as a matter of fact that she doesn’t work for Lannister Corp. Or else he most certainly would have noticed her. A woman that tall and with such captivating blue eyes? Jaime would have seen her from a mile away.

She is hard to miss.

Jaime finds himself motioning closer until he can hear Sansa’s voice ringing out before he can even ponder on it any further.

“… But you have to talk to the guests in order to get involved,” the redhaired girl tells her, her cupid wings bouncing along with her rolling back and forth on her heels.

“I am aware of that causal chain, Sansa, it’s just that I never agreed to any of this,” the blonde woman says, gesturing around the decorated party room. “And that I would rather be anywhere but here.”

“But you said you’d come,” Sansa moans, puckering her lips.

“You said it was an official party hosted by the company. You further assured me that you’d help me get acquainted with the people of Lannister Corp. to make it easier on me to make some relations for next week when I start there for the shared construction project. I don’t see that you were truthful to me in that regard – and as I keep telling you, I do not at all appreciate it to be lied to, or left in the open.”

“Well, and here you are, with a whole bunch of my colleagues!” Sansa argues. “So I didn’t tell a lie… technically. You could socialize if only you wanted!”

“Your mother sent me here for business, not to take part in such folly dressed in pink with heart-shaped mints. I thought this was an official meeting. It is not. This is just you partying some private friends,” the tall woman keeps lecturing Sansa. “Something I am sure your mother would rather have you not.”

“Brienne,” the girl with auburn hair mewls.

“Don’t Brienne me,” the older woman growls. “I don't appreciate being lied to. You know that.”

“I didn’t lie,” Sansa insists. “I just didn't tell you the exact details because you would have opted out, then.”

“For good reason!”

“I promised a party, it is a party! Mom also said that you should try to get acquainted, socialize a bit. You are going to stay here for a couple of months to overlook the construction project. That means you have to get to know people either way.”

“Look, the only reason why I am still at this party is because of you and your mother. If not for those two factors, I’d be long since out the door. So, don’t require me to play along with those games. That is not what I do, you and I both know it. So… don't drag me into that any further, Sansa, that’s all I’m asking for,” the older woman sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I will keep asking anyway, in case you change your mind,” Sansa says as she turns, flashing her the nicest of smiles.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“I’ll see you later!” the ginger girl says, waving at her before walking back over to her friends, the bounce in her step making her wings jump up and down as she goes.

Jaime waits until Sansa is well away before he approaches the tall woman who is still busy being frustrated, for all he can tell.

“Hi,” Jaime greets her as he covers the last bit of distance between them. The woman with brilliant blue eyes looks at him, scrunching her nose, seemingly very irritated.

“Am I interrupting you?” Jaime asks, sporting a casual smile.

“What? No, I was just… surprised,” she replies, averting her gaze.

For someone who seemed more than overly confident in herself not long ago, she does seem to have a shy streak about herself that comes to light now.

“I couldn’t help but hear the part of your conversation with Sansa about your position here. So, you are the liaison sent from Stark Enterprise, correct? I only heard about it the other day and was already wondering when I would get to meet her,” he goes on to explain, before holding out his hand to her. “I’m Jaime Lannister. Pleasure.”

“Brienne of Tarth. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lannister,” she says, shaking his hand with a firm grip. “And yes, I am here for the upcoming project.”

“That means we will get to work together next week,” Jaime chuckles, enjoying the formality she seems to cling onto quite desperately. It has something strangely intriguing about it.

“We?” she repeats with a frown.

“Well, I initiated the project,” Jaime replies, flashing another smirk at her. “I thought that you made yourself familiar with the key facts.”

“Of course I did, Mr. Lannister, I read that in the profile and reports, but I assumed that you wouldn’t take part in the following creation process,” Brienne explains, not really responding to his tease in the way he wished she would.

Defiance and overly high formality are endearing only to a certain degree.

“Why so?”

“It’s a rather small project, compared to what you usually do. We are talking about a considerably small building complex after all. And you are the son of the head of Lannister Corp., with any prospect of inheriting that position little time from now, should Tywin Lannister retire,” Brienne goes on to explain factually. “Thus, I assumed that you would rather act in the background – and that I’d mostly work with the staff responsible for the single steps of the development instead of the initiator of the project. That you would be more involved was not communicated to me before I departed from Winterfell.”

“Yeah, no, I consider that project my little baby,” Jaime chuckles. “So, you can already brace yourself for me fussing about it. I tend to be quite possessive and protective of the projects personally dear to me.”

“It’s always good to know that there will be more people invested in the project,” Brienne tells him, honestly surprising him with her words. Because normally, the reaction is quite different. Most people don’t even want to acknowledge that Jaime has personal investment in these construction projects, or that he puts in extra effort to see to it that everything works out the way it is supposed to.

Most people assume that, since he is the boss’s son, he just twists around in his chair and collects his salary by the end of the month.

But that is actually far from the truth. Specifically with this project, Jaime finds himself very much involved because they want to test a new material for the walls that is supposed to help prevent fires from catching on too quickly. After Aerys Targaryen, infamously, managed to torch down almost the entire Red Keep thanks to his pyromaniac tendencies, Jaime made it his personal obligation to see to it that such things would be prevented or at least the damage minimalized.

Which means that the upcoming construction will be a test phase for new materials as well as new and hopefully more efficient emergency routes, fire extinguisher distribution and technology, and newly designed and enhanced early warning systems, for which the liaison from Winterfell was requested, because she is an expert in the field.

“I just hope that you are still open for suggestions, Mr. Lannister,” Brienne tells him.

“You might just as well call me Jaime, just Jaime,” he says with a smile. “Since we will work closely together, we might just as well skip the formalities and get to know one another, correct?”

She looks at him quizzically.

“Jaime,” Brienne repeats after a long moment, her voice barely audible.

“But I promise to be open to suggestions, so long they are reasonable, Brienne.”

“Promises shouldn’t be made easily, at least I tend to think of it in that way,” she argues.

“That makes two of us, then. So I assume you already have some things in mind?”

“Some things, yes, but I would rather show you with all materials in front of us, or else we might have some misunderstandings. Though I just want to be sure to point out that I very much appreciate this project.”

“You do?” he chimes.

“I think safety is something that is easily forgotten in the field. We all tend to think about making it most comfortable and fancy. Form over function. Buildings ought to have crazy shapes that leave you wondering how that thing can even stand upright these days. Remember the Dragonpit construction with the huge metal planes folding in over the main building that was finished five years ago?”

“Oh yes. That… I am not too much into those overly dramatic constructions. I found it odd.”

“Needless to mention that they had major issues in the safety department. I was shocked to see that the planes could easily break off in a storm, not even a strong one, I may add. Gladly, they made some adjustments by now… but to me, they could have closed down that whole complex to redo it properly. So yes, I appreciate your project because it pushes the boundaries in that specific field that tends to be overlooked. I hope that this will inspire better and sturdier constructions in the near future.”

“That’d be to my liking as well… but… enough of work, right? As you said, we can talk about all that on Monday, right?” he chuckles.

“Right, right.”

“So? How do you find King’s Landing so far?”

“Oh, I’ve been here a couple of times, for instance when visiting the Dragonpit. So, it’s not like I am completely new here, but… it’s quite different from the North, or Tarth for the matter, that much is for certain,” she says, licking her lips.

“Well, I can’t say anything about Tarth. I have never been to the Sapphire Isle, to my great disappointment, but the North? I would rather do without. The weather is just horrific. I remember in horror having to go there to meet up with Ned Stark to talk about shared projects, because they can provide raw materials we don’t have down here, as you likely know,” Jaime explains.

Needless to mention that his relationship with honorable Eddard Stark, to this day, is about as icy as are the lands beyond the Wall.

“Yes. You get used to the weather after a while, I suppose,” she says, shrugging her strong shoulders.

Yeah, she is most definitely working out - a lot.

Something that Jaime finds himself very much appreciating, though.

“So… you didn’t really want to be at this party, did you?”

“Absolutely not. I thought this would be a casual sort of get-together to get to know the colleagues. Well, I hoped. But Sansa always has other plans… stuffed with pink festoons, a red drink of love I still believe to consist of only vodka and fake strawberry flavor, and whatever other decoration she could find.”

“She is… one of a kind,” Jaime agrees with a grin.

“So her mother told me.”

“She takes a lot after Catelyn, actually.”

“Well, I can’t say. I only know her mother for two years now, and only conversed with Sansa briefly… until recently.”

“I know her mother from when I was in boarding school at Riverrun, back when I was still a boy. And obviously, Eddard Stark doesn’t really like me… though that feeling is mutual, I suppose. I guess she therefore doesn’t like me much either. But then again… who likes the Lannisters anyway?”

“Well, I am glad that some of the family feuds between the Starks and the Lannisters could be put aside in favor of the planned shared projects. Such business ties are profitable to both sides. It’s a pity that there was no cooperation in such a long time,” Brienne says, twisting her cup in her palm.

“Tell me about it. But… Northerners tend to be… bullheaded, at least in my experience.”

“I suppose there are enough bullheads down South, too,” Brienne snorts.

“That is most likely true, yes,” Jaime chuckles.

He is a bit irritated when she doesn’t ask a follow-up question or replies in any sort of way after even a longer pause, instead just glances down at her cup with the red liquid with a taste straight from the Seven Hells.

It seems like Briennewants to signal him to leave her alone – but Jaime always enjoys a challenge once it arises, and it seems that he just found his Valentine’s Challenge.  

“So? Have you found your secret Valentine’s partner yet?” Jaime asks, wriggling his card at her with a sly smile creeping up his lips.

“I do not take part in these kinds of games,” Brienne tells him bluntly, not meeting his gaze, or even taking a look at his card.

“What? This is a perfect opportunity for someone coming new to a place to get to know other people,” Jaime argues, amused.

“By sharing a very limited set of information reaching all the way from totally arbitrary to way too personal, and that with complete strangers? I may not be the greatest kind of people’s person, but I can’t bring myself to believe that this is… a favorable practice to get acquainted with people I am supposed to work on a professional level with. Wouldn’t you agree?” Brienne replies, looking at him with a blank expression.

“You take the fun out of things,” Jaime chortles, though in fact, he finds himself enjoying that conversation quite a lot, and specifically Brienne’s dry comments regarding the matter.

“I rather live with that than becoming a figure of ridicule,” she tells him, with a surprisingly great amount of honesty resonating with the statement. Jaime sucks his lower lip into his mouth. Judging by the way she acts and looks, he can imagine that some many people will have made their fun at her expenses.

People are stupid like that. Or as Tyrion always say: Never underestimate people’s stupidity, that’s the one constant in world history.

“Well, since all people take part in it, everyone is actually a figure of ridicule in that context, don’t you think?” Jaime points out to her in an easy voice. "A strange sort of unifying force, even if it's just the ridicule that would unite us, then."

“They are not taking part in it,” Brienne argues, taking out a stack of… the same card Jaime still holds between his fingers. Jaime frowns at her.

“That should be almost all cards, lonely, abandoned, next to the punch,” Brienne says. “I think the ice was broken even without Sansa’s little game here, which proves my point that me trying to take part in that game in all sincerity would have made more of a fool of myself than does my refusal. In general, I am still fairly convinced Sansa only ever thought of that thing so that I would get to know people because… I am the only complete stranger here.”

“You just totally destroyed my illusion, how dare you?” Jaime feigns a gasp, clutching at his shirt. He can see the creases forming on Brienne’s forehead as she mulls this over.

It has something strangely endearing, he notes.

“Illusion?” she repeats.

“I still held the sincere hope that the woman of my life would hold my card, that we would find one another to see that destiny brought us together with the magic spell held with carton, glitter, and stickers, so we could flee for this place, elope, marry, and make a baby. Or more babies, depends.”

“Cheap romance novel?” she snorts.

“I prefer romantic comedies on King’s Landing Network,” Jaime laughs, winking at her.

“Ahhhh,” she says, her lips curling into a broad if uncertain smile. And while she may not have the prettiest of faces, her eyes spark up so brightly that it smooths out any of those edges to make that smile quite enchanting, actually.

“So yeah, you burst that bubble for me, how dare you?”

“Don’t you think it's better to have the truth straight away?” she argues.

“But some illusions are just oh so comfortable,” he moans.

“Well, then I guess I owe you an apology.” Brienne rolls her shoulders.

“Oh yes, you most definitely do. I will come back to that,” Jaime chuckles. “In any case… well, if the game is over anyway, I might just as well have a look at those cards, right?”

“What about your sweet illusions?”

“Those are the illusions about others. And I do enjoy good old gossip every now and then. And you must be of the same mind, or else you wouldn’t have gathered them,” Jaime argues, pointing his index finger at her.

“I was bored,” she tells him simply.

“From lurking?”

“I don’t lurk, I observe,” Brienne corrects him.

“Well, you won't get acquainted with people by just observing them.”

“Oh, on the contrary. Observing people is a good means to get a first impression of people, without having to deal with them lying to your face or hiding behind their charades.”

“You need to get in touch with people to really get to know them,” Jaime argues.

“That implies that I really want to get to know people,” Brienne snorts, though this time, the smile she flashes is a faux one, Jaime can tell.

A defense. A wall. Something to hide behind.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“I am here for work.”

“You are at a party.”

“I am aware,” Brienne replies bluntly. “But I am still here for business, even if Sansa seems to believe that she can toss me into some romantic adventure with the power of her cupid’s wings.”

“Well, who knows? Maybe that adventure is just waiting for you? Sometimes, those adventures come in the strangest of shapes.”

“They may, but… for different kinds of people,” Brienne argues.

“Why would you think that?”

“It’s a matter of experience.”

Jaime wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t like the tone of the conversation right now. He loves the light-heartedness that they had a few minutes back. So why would he bother trying to dig too deep into the matter if he can return to that?

So the Seven will, they can talk about those matters some other time, once they know each other better, right?

“Well, then what did you gather from your observations, then, if you don’t mind my asking?” Jaime asks, wanting to change the topic.

“Other than that some people tend to confuse this with a borderline orgy?” Brienne replies promptly, seemingly glad for the escape the same way, though she can’t help the frown forming on her lips as she looks past him at some of the party guests… eager to find their Valentines.

“That’s not hard to guess. King’s Landing… has something of a huge brothel house, didn’t you know?” Jaime chuckles.

“I was told,” Brienne replies. “Though it’s still quite another thing… to actually witness.”

“Case in point…,” Jaime chuckles, holding up one of the cards Brienne handed to him.

“Yeah, I read that,” she replies, making a face, the faintest of blushes creeping up her cheeks, which is perhaps as endearing as her smile.

“One, I am open for anything. Two, I am single. Three, I am anything but shy. Four, I make great pancakes, especially the morning after a great night. Five, I also do a… oh wow,” Jaime reads out, making a face. “Yeah, that’s what I am talking about. That should be Amy’s, by the way. The woman currently… trying to lick the inside of that guy’s throat… don't know who that is… Oh my…”

Jaime tilts his head to the side as his eyes take in the whole… scene. “Wow, that they do that out in the open… guts they have. Or maybe they are just really, really needy.”

“Or maybe both.” Brienne shrugs.

“Or maybe both, yeah,” he agrees, but then turns his attention back to the cards in his hands. “Those cards are glorious… I mean, some are pretty dull, but there are also surprisingly juicy bits.”

“It’s quite entertaining, I will admit. Even if some are… irritating.”

“Ha, they are only irritating so long you don’t know the person who wrote it. Once you do, it’s just juicy and dirty and all kinds of wonderful blackmail material,” Jaime chuckles with mischievous delight ringing in his voice.

“What? Will you keep those cards to bug people with them?”

“I will have them framed!” Jaime laughs. "And hang them up in my office for all to see."

“Oh goodness,” she grunts, covering her face with her left hand.

“You’ll have to learn that orgies and intrigues are the modus operandi at Lannister Corp.”

“Good to know, then, I suppose.”

“Though I still wonder about who wrote my card. I yet have to figure out that mystery. Sadly, you are not of any help because you don't know the people around here. And of course, you poor sport don’t play,” Jaime scolds her mockingly.

“Of course,” she huffs, amused.

“You don’t come to have your phone on you, do you?” Jaime asks, making her frown at him yet again. “Don’t you have your own?”

“I forgot it at the office. Otherwise I could have looked something up.”

“I left mine in the hotel, actually. But what would you want to look up?”

“Ah, so you are interested after all?” He grins.

“I am just irritated. Did the mystery woman write in a foreign tongue?”

“Nope, I just don’t come to know a word. Or maybe I normally would, but I think that red… drink… is killing braincells by the dozen,” Jaime says, scratching his head. Because yes, that stuff makes you more than dizzy in the head, a tingling sensation mingled with a comfortable sort of heat settling deep in the pit of your stomach, fingertips, and legs, creeping all the way to wrap around your brain, making your movements slower with every sip you take.

“I think it does more damage, actually. I saw how much alcohol they poured into it – and then kept adding,” Brienne argues.

“Well, I think my secret Valentine here is making fun of me,” Jaime says, returning back to the topic.

“She cannot know because she wrote the card before you got it. So, she can’t really make fun of you personally, can she? And in any case, what makes you think that the person in question didn’t just write down what was required?”

“The handwriting doesn’t fit,” he tells her.

“Are you a graphologist now or what?” she huffs.

“Valentine’s Graphologist, but yes, obviously. I need to get to the bottom of it. No way around it,” Jaime says with a smirk.

Though in fact, he doesn’t really care about that message other than figuring out the mystery of who it may be. Or rather, Jaime is much more interested in talking to Brienne right now, if only about that mysterious card.

“Right,” she snorts. “Well, then shouldn’t you go forth and investigate?”

She gestures past him, at the people chatting, drinking… and other things.

“I thought I was doing that right now. I am checking my theory by testing it with yours,” he tells her, turning his attention ack to Brienne, who only reward him with a quizzical look.

“I don't have any theories,” Brienne huffs. “As I don't even know you.”

“You lurk, observe, whatever,” Jaime replies. “And you know me a bit already.”

“I did not observe to see who might be into you,” she argues, shaking her head.

“Well, everyone is into me.”

“Oh, is that so?” Brienne cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Wealthy, boss’s son, athletic, good-looking…,” he recounts, though Brienne interrupts him, “And not at all arrogant.”

“I tend to call it self-conscious.”

“I tend to call it arrogant.”

“You don’t even know me,” he pouts, laughing.

“As I said,” Brienne replies in a sing-song.

“Which means that you have to get to know me much better before placing such judgement about my person.”

“Do I?” Brienne snorts.

“Obviously. And I am pretty sure you actually really, really want to.”

“Aha, and how do you come to that assessment?” Brienne asks, tilting her head to the side.

That woman most definitely gives him a challenge – and Jaime finds himself enjoying it more and more with every second passing.

“I am good at reading people,” he explains.

“But you fail finding your mysterious woman, despite your oh so grand people reading skills,” she points out to him.

Who could have guessed that so much sass hides behind shy smiles and uncertain glances?

“I just didn’t put in enough effort just yet. Furthermore, I tend to focus on one task at a time, and currently, you are obviously my center of attention,” Jaime replies, offering a not too dirty grin.

Not yet anyway.

“Greatest apologies for the distraction, Mr. Lannister.”

“My, my, I think our cooperation will be quite lively. I am already looking forward to arguing with you all day long,” Jaime laughs.

And that's not even a lie.

“You are looking forward to an argument?” Brienne says, wrinkling her nose in confusion. Jaime chuckles softly. “Why yes! I am intent on winning any fight, so such challenges are more than welcome.”

Brienne cranes her neck, tilting her head to the side, seemingly mulling over the information she just received – yet again. It’s quite fascinating how that woman seemingly switches back and forth between confidence and sarcasm to what appears to be insecurity and confusion. As though two sides of her were constantly at battle within herself.

“Aha,” she says after a long moment. “Well, if you are so intent on finding your mystery date, show the card to me, maybe I can be of help.”

“Nah-ah,” Jaime replies once she holds out her hand to grab the card, holding it close to his chest.

“What now?” she asks, creases forming on her forehead.

“That’d be cheating,” Jaime points out to her.

“Cheating? Really?”

“Hey, you can’t just opt out of the game and then take part again once it gets interesting. It’s against the rules to just give away the game.”

“For real,” she says, not quite believing it.

“Absolutely.” He nods.

“Well, I guess I can’t be of any help, then. So, you might just as well ask around to see who might be the lucky one,” Brienne tells him.

“And abandon you?” Jaime gasps.

Because no, he has no intention of leaving any time soon.

“It’s a party, as you keep repeating. You can talk to whoever you want,” Brienne argues, gesturing at the other party guests Jaime tries his best to ignore.

“I am aware of those social conventions,” Jaime tells her.

“Well, then what hinders you?”

“I am having conversation with you right now. I mean, she isn’t going to run away anyway, right?” Jaime argues.

“She might leave early,” Brienne warns him.

“She wouldn’t ever. I also think Sansa barred the doors once all were inside.”

“There is an emergency exit. I am pretty sure she didn’t lock that one.”

“You checked for emergency exits?”

“Comes with the job, I suppose,” Brienne says, rolling her shoulders.

“Yeah, it’s always good to have an exit strategy,” Jaime agrees.

“Exactly. I try my best not to walk into a situation unprepared.”

“Or you just can’t stomach the idea of losing control.”

“You mean to say?” She looks at him incredulously, her eyes incredibly bigger now.

“As reserved as you are, I imagine you just want to maintain the feeling that you are in charge, in control, no matter what.”

Always an exit strategy within reach.

“Curious that you come to that assessment barely knowing me,” she huffs.

“I am quite decent reading people,” he points out to her.

“Are you?”

“Why yes! Wasn’t I right in my predictions?”

“Even if you were, your expertise seems to fall flat when it comes to discovering your mystery woman,” Brienne argues.

“All in due time.”

“You just hope that she will tell you, huh?” Brienne asks, leaning more against the wall, shaking out her limbs one by one.

“I wouldn’t say no if she did that, let’s put it like that.”

“Well, I will keep the fingers crossed for you,” Brienne chuckles, taking a long sip from her drink, only to stick out her tongue in disgust. Though Jaime can relate – the taste is quite awful, and it doesn’t get better the more you drink by any means.

“In which case victory is certain for me, because if you keep the fingers crossed for me – what could go wrong?”

“Just about everything, perhaps?”

“Aren’t we pessimistic?” Jaime laughs.

“I consider myself a realist,” she tells him.

“With pessimistic tendencies,” he adds.

“Perhaps,” Brienne replies, rolling her broad shoulders. “And you?”

Jaime tilts his head to the side, contemplating. “Realist leaning towards being a dreamer every once in a while.”

“Ahhh,” she says with that sort of smile again that makes Jaime smile back at her.

He lets out a long sigh as he twists around to lean next to her against the wall, his arm brushing against hers. Jaime doesn’t look at her, but he can feel the goosebumps of her skin rubbing against his forearm.

Good.

“So, on to other matters. How did you come to the whole work complex of architecture and security systems to make buildings safer?” he asks, purposely leaving his arm dangling to brush against hers every now and then, enjoying the jolt that goes through her whenever he does.

“Oh, uhm, it was my own home that inspired me, actually,” Brienne says, trying to keep on target, though Jaime can see that her mind is yet again mulling over the information, tying to determine if he does it on purpose or not.

“Evenfall Hall, correct?” he chimes.

“Yes, it's one of the few remaining castles dating back to the times of the Andals and the First Men, as you may know. It has been redone numerous times throughout history, but that also bears the danger that something may happen due to the construction being that old. My father was very reluctant about some more recent changes that were suggested by an architect he saw about the matter. Father wanted to keep what he calls the Spirit of Tarth alive, and he feared that the metal constructions that guy kept suggesting would take that away. Well, somehow that got me thinking if there weren’t better means of going about it.”

“And so you went ahead to study that, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Did your Father agree to the changes?” he asks.

“No, but to better ones that promised the same amount of protection while maintaining the general structure. At first I thought I was really only interested in preserving old castles, but once I made the acquaintance of Catelyn, I realized that I actually enjoyed working on newer projects and architectures, really. So… I shifted over to more modern buildings and finding ways of improvement in the security department.”

“Gladly so, or else I wouldn’t have your expertise for my upcoming project. I was promised that you’re one of the best in the country for the matter,” Jaime says, taking a sip from his drink as well. “Gods, that stuff is awful.”

“Yes it is. To come back to what you said before tasting the strawberry flavored gasoline, I don’t know if I am… that, but I am most certainly thorough in my work and always give my best.”

“You should take more pride in what you do. Just as a well-meant advice. You have a more than good reputation in the field. That doesn’t come from nowhere. Trust me in this, if my Father insists to have you for the project, you can be certain that this means something,” Jaime tells her.

For a woman walking that tall, she should keep her head held even higher in Jaime’s humble opinion. It might be that it’ the Lannister pride entrenched in his mind, but Jaime does have a strong faith in you being allowed to own your success and achievements – even if people take you for arrogant in turn.

How does his Father always say? They don’t concern themselves with the opinion o the sheep.

And Jaime reckons Brienne could use some of that attitude herself.

“Some people like to overpraise a name. I tend to think that we should value each work by itself instead of just assuming all to be good because a famous name’s written underneath it,” Brienne argues. “And how comes that you shifted your focus to the security aspect? As far as I know, you used to focus on design, quite successfully so.”

“And I still do, but now it’s more about linking design to safety. You remember that fire in the Red Keep? Our company was largely involved in the restoration of the castle. And seemingly, all lost out of sight… how easily things can burn,” Jaime says, shaking his head.

The images flickering across his TV won’t ever leave him, as the news broadcasted, of the smoke rising from the Red Keep.

“It always seemed surreal to me, when I heard that Aerys Targaryen meant to torch the whole building. I mean, there were people in there, right?” Brienne says, and Jaime is glad for it that she doesn’t do what a lot of people tend to do regarding the matter – trying to find someone to blame other than Aerys for not preventing that in the first place.

Ned Stark is one of those people, obviously. So it still surprises Jaime that the stubborn Northerner overcame that sentiment long enough to agree to the working relations.

“Yes, to the police he kept repeating that he wanted to burn them all. Luckily, people could escape before he got to it. But… it was not thanks to our great security measurements. I don’t know. The thought never quite left me what could have been if they hadn’t made it to the right emergency exit in time. Aerys may well have managed to fulfill his sick fantasy.”

“I am glad that they put him into a psychiatric ward so he can never get out again.”

“Tell me about it. To imagine that I worked for that guy…” Jaime shakes his head.

“Well, you couldn’t really know that he would go that far. And now you do something truly great by pushing things in that department so we can make safer buildings,” Brienne argues.

“We will have to see,” he chuckles, rolling his shoulders.

“I think this project is really promising.”

“What about being realistic, leaning towards pessimism?” Jaime laughs.

“I am being realistic. I think this is a very good project with a great future prospect,” Brienne insists. “Or else I wouldn’t say so.”

“Ha, I knew there was a bit of dreamer in you anyway,” he hums, tilting his head from right to left and back again.

“… Maybe, who knows?” she sighs, her lips curling into the smallest of smiles no matter how hard she tries to keep a straight face.

“Ha, it’s always good to know that you are not the only one.”

“I suppose so,” Brienne agrees, if a bit hesitantly. Jaime looks around. “At some point I would really rather be anywhere else but here on Valentine’s Day, though.”

“Well, you brought that upon yourself by attending,” Brienne huffs, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“So did you.”

“I did not have all information available to me by the time I agreed to attending that… get-together,” Brienne protests, her eyes flitting across the room nervously.

“You were too easy-believing when it comes to Sansa. She may be sweet and kind at the surface, but there is a little minx resting beneath the auburn hair and Cupid’s wings,” Jaime snickers. Brienne rewards him with an amused huff.

“You might have a point. But then you’d have to ask yourself in turn just why you let yourself be convinced to attend, knowing that,” Brienne scoffs.

“It’s her direwolf puppy eyes, I am telling you.”

“She has her way of going about people, yes,” she agrees, nodding her head. After a moment of silence, he can hear Brienne’s breath catch in her throat as his arm brushes against hers yet again, with a little more pressure this time. From the corner of his eye, he can see her stealing a glance at him, but then quickly averting her big blue eyes again.

Until this moment, Jaime didn’t even know how much he’d come to enjoy such a behavior. The women he usually dates are not at all of that sort. This reluctance mingled with a faint blush, contained by a woman not wanting to give away her game, or any of her control for the matter… it has something strangely captivating about it, like a mystery you cannot really solve because the moment on you think you figured something out, something else arises in its stead.

“So… aren’t you going to look for your mystery date any time soon?” she asks, swallowing, only to take a long sip from the red drink making her wince at the sweetness and alcohol that comes with it.

“If I didn’t know better, Brienne, I would be inclined to think that you are trying to get rid of me,” Jaime hums, amused.

“If you didn't know better?” she repeats, scrunching her nose.

“Why would you want to get rid of me? I am great company,” he returns, gesturing at himself.

“And here we go again with our unhealthy portion of arrogance,” Brienne huffs, waving her hand at him dismissively.

“I find it quite healthy, actually.”

“In any case… I just don’t mean to hold you back from finding the love of your life to elope with her,” Brienne says, gesturing over to the group of guests that somehow faded from Jaime’s mind as he kept talking to Brienne.

Even though one of them, a guy whose face Jaime can’t relate a name to by any means, managed to rid himself of his shirt by now… not that this is a pleasant sight, considering the amount of… body hair, regardless of the fact that everyone seems to cheer him on for some inexplicable reason. Jaime tries his best to look away from the shirtless guy who could be a Wildling or maybe not doing his fertilization dance, into which another woman now joined… is that Amy? Or Lysa? He can’t tell. That guy keeps throwing himself at them like a bear in the heat.

“Well, up until now, the maiden I am to rescue did not reveal herself to me,” he says, making a face as his eyes catch yet another couple feeling the love. “In contrast to that guy who revealed more of himself than I ever wanted to… get to know…”

Brienne’s gaze follows his, taking in… the scenery of obscenity… only to quickly look down. “Yeah, no. Some things should stay… private.”

“Yup,” he agrees, frowning, tilting his head at one of the so-called Sand Snakes – Jaime can’t keep them apart, really, they look and sound the same kind of dumb – doing some freestyle gymnastics in a guy’s lap… oh no, lady’s lap. Yara Greyjoy’s lap, to be exact.

How do they even do that at that angle… and still fairly clothed?

“In any case, isn’t it the task of the knight in shining armor to find and rescue the maiden?” Brienne asks, not looking at him still. “Even if it’s just a crappy Valentine’s party?”

“It usually is, ever the more if she finds herself stuck at a crappy Valentine’s party, for there is no greater evil, but then again… I think there are quite a few princesses out there who can well save themselves, and the knight just stands in the way and takes the laurels for it anyway,” Jaime says with a grin, purposely brushing his arm against hers yet again. And as if on cue, Brienne’s body seems to jump at the mere contact.

This is too good, he thinks to himself. Way too good.

“Ah, really?” she asks, swallowing.

“Well, I mean, I am a useful knight, obviously, because I have all those virtues living within me, but I do hope for a tough sort of princess to rescue. That makes sweeping her off her feet so much more fun. I enjoy a good challenge, you know?”

“And your mystery date card promises that happy ending story?” Brienne questions, chuckling softly, if still with a note of uncertainty bringing a strange sort of sigh coupled with a higher voice to the words she speaks.

“She seems to be into fairytales,” Jaime says, glancing back down at the card still stuck between his fingers.

“But…,” she says after a pause. “What about subverting them? Didn’t you say that she is up for tricking you, something I still doubt, though?”

“Hm, that is yet to be determined. Something tells me that there is something written between the lines, and I still have to decipher that bit.”

“Isn’t it always something written between the lines?” she sighs.

“Well, if she does not reveal herself, I suppose you and I will have to stick together and lurk at the other people from the safe distance of this very corner… as the rest of the people keep… going down on each other,” Jaime says, nodding ahead at yet another couple seemingly having found sweet love at the bottom of a glass of the red love potion of vodka and strawberry flavor.

Could be that it’s this nutjob son to Roose Bolton and his even crazier girlfriend Myranda. Rumor has it he is into knife play. Rumor also has it that both should be in a psychiatric ward, and Jaime can’t find it in himself not to believe those rumors, really.

Jaime glances over at Sansa and her little cupids, giggling as they watch on – as though they only invited and intoxicated the guests to have something to look at, reckoning that she can count herself lucky that her parents are way back in the North, or else she would likely be grounded for life for throwing such a party.

“Well, I have to give the guy that much: He is very… eager… I hope they leave the room to a more private setting soon, though. Oh geez, keep on your pants. No one wants to see your full moon, fellow,” Jaime says, making a face, quickly looking away.

“Oh, so I am here to comfort you because you didn’t get your mystery date? Or rather, just didn’t bother going looking for her?” Brienne asks, pulling Jaime’s focus back to her at once.

“Who knows? Maybe you are my mystery date and just never bothered to tell me?” he teases.

“That would be pretty illogical, don’t you think?”

“Isn’t love always illogical? Isn’t it madness?” he asks with a sigh, flashing a bright smirk at her, to which she only rolls her big blue eyes at him, little amused.

“Love is a big word for you wanting to find the person who scribbled some random five statements on a red card to pass around to some stranger as part of an icebreaker game,” she scoffs, shaking her head.

“I am being romantic,” he mewls.

“What happened to realism?”

“I said realist, leaning towards dreamer every now and then,” Jaime argues. “You have to pay better attention.”

“So, in sum, you are a bloody, helpless romantic?” Brienne says with a smirk, this time actually meeting his gaze.

“Upon reflection, I might be,” he chuckles, rolling his shoulders.

“Shocking,” he snorts.

“I know, right?”

“So… you are either mad in love or love being mad, since love is madness to you,” Brienne goes on to say. Jaime turns to her slightly, her gaze following him this time around. “And what is love to you, then?”

She looks at him for a long moment, granting Jaime a good look at those surprisingly beautiful, deep blue eyes that pull him in so far that he even forgets about the couples now making out on the tables and chairs as though no one but them was there.

“Hopefully not just something scribbled on some red card with stickers on top,” she tells him, nodding at the card still stuck between his index and middle finger.

“Oh, c’mon, you can do better than that!”

“I don't want to do better than that. I do find that rather personal,” Brienne argues.

That woman is seemingly constantly looking for a way out once it gets too personal, too close. And while Jaime does find it endearing, a part of him starts to get frustrated at it all the same.

“What? I share all of my dark secret with you, even about my hopeless dreams of finding my mystery date on the back of a red card with stickers on top, and that is how you reward me? It’d be only serving justice to do something of the same measure.”

“I can’t help it that you keep telling me these kinds of things.”

“Deep down, you are dying to tell me,” Jaime argues, purposely running his arm against hers again, stronger this time, leaving absolutely no doubt that he does so on purpose. The shiver running through her is oh too rewarding.

“Deep down, I am just dying because this party is horrific,” Brienne argues, trying her best to keep her voice leveled. “Even the music is plain as day bad.”

“Oh, c’mon, at least you have good company now,” Jaime argues, bumping his shoulder against her before taking a sip from his drink.

Now that it’s almost lukewarm thanks to him holding on to the cup the whole time, it’s even more disgusting, something that Jaime didn’t dare believe to be possible.

“And don’t I feel rewarded that Jaime Lannister of all people bothers to spend time with me instead of chasing the unknown woman of his dreams?” she exhales, offering a faux dreamy expression that makes Jaime laugh again. “Hey, you can always convince me that you are the one, if you give it all you have.”

“I think I’ll pass,” she snorts.

“What? Why not? I mean… no opposition, right? We might just as well get to know one another… way better,” Jaime argues, turning his body more towards her, which results in an even stronger jolt from her this time, though Brienne does not want to back down or shy away completely.

Seemingly I am not the only one who takes any challenge with the intention of winning it.

She huffs loudly, then laughs nervously. “Yeah, right.”

“I… was actually sincere about that?” he points out to her, blinking once, twice.

Enough is enough. Time to move on to the next level of the game.  

“You can go ahead kid yourself, no offense,” she huffs, though the last breath seems to get caught in her throat.

“You think I am a liar.”

“I think you are trying to be polite, in a very odd manner, I may add.”

“I am too rich and entitled to bother to be polite to people,” Jaime argues, curling his lips.

“Then you are just acting decently… more or less. Which I do appreciate, but… let’s spare ourselves that whole… train of thought, really,” Brienne argues, twisting the plastic cup in her hands nervously.

“No, no, you don’t get to call me a liar and then shy away from such heavy accusations, Brienne,” Jaime insists with a sly smile, lazy from the alcohol humming in the back o his head.

“I did tell you about me being a realist – well, this is me being realistic,” Brienne replies, rolling her shoulders yet again.

“I don’t think you are being realistic, I think you are just being a pessimist about it.”

“I am not a pessimist,” she replies vehemently.

“You think I wouldn’t want to hit on you. That is being pessimistic.”

Brienne puckers her lips, only to take another long sip from her drink, inevitably leading to her making a face of disgust at the taste.

“That statement precludes that I have to think of you trying to hit on me as a sort of reward,” he brings out hastily, seemingly trying to smooth over the fact that he just said that he’d want to hit on her.

“Hm, granted, but still. You think that I don’t stand by my word,” Jaime argues, not willing to give up that oh too sweet chase. “Something I take great offense in, I may add.”

“Your word? That you say that you’d hit on me?” She looks at him incredulously.

“I am very sincere about those matters.”

“Are you?”

“Against what people may say, us Lannisters aren’t born with a genetic code that preconditions us to lie to everyone around us. I always understood our house motto of ‘a Lannister always pays his debts’ as meaning to speak the truth… most of the time.”

“Well, in that case… am I now supposed to thank you for considering me worthy of the hypothetical chance of you hitting on me?” she asks, trying her best to keep her voice and face expressionless, though Jaime isn’t fooled by that.

He can see all the other hints Brienne cannot deny herself from giving away: The shorter intakes of air, the clenching and unclenching of her wrist as she holds on to the cup with the red monstrosity of a drink, her body temperature rising higher and higher until it reaches her otherwise pale cheeks to color them different shades of pink and red… that's all Jaime needs to know. 

“Hypothetical? I think this is very… real already.”

The look on her face is plain as day priceless. The shock, the instinct to suck at the left half of her lower lip into her mouth, blinking repeatedly, mulling, thinking it through, deciphering, working on an exit route.

“What? No. You were not hitting on me.”

“Just because you didn’t realize it until now doesn’t mean I didn’t do it,” Jaime chimes, enjoying her mental and physical squirming, trying to escape his grasp, trying to escape him.

“I am pretty sure you weren’t hitting on me,” Brienne argues, shaking her head, a few loose strands bouncing up and down as she does.

“I’ve only sincerely conversed with you. If I had no interest whatsoever, I would be gone by now, trust me in this,” Jaime replies, keeping up his easy smile that seems to drive her into even more of a frenzy.

“Interested,” she repeats as though that word alone held all meaning to understand this.

“I love it how you always keep repeating bits and pieces of what I just said.”

“Okay, this is… I don’t understand. At all. Absolutely not. No.” Her movements become more fidgety by the second, and it’s all too pleasant for Jaime to observe.

“Good,” Jaime hums, though it sounds more like a low growl in his throat.

“What? Why?”

“Because you are thinking too much,” he says, turning even more towards her.

“I don’t… and even if I did, you cannot think too much. It’s about gathering the fact, making the hopefully best decisions, it’s…,” Brienne argues vehemently, gesticulating so wildly that the red liquid almost spills out of her cup.

“You are most definitely overthinking everything. Small wonder you excel at your job the way you do.”

“This is absolutely ridiculous and… and unprofessional!” she stammers.

“Unprofessional? Have you taken a good look at what is going on around us?” Jaime argues, motioning with his hand at the party guests… enjoying the party more than a lot by now.

Even Oberyn and Ellaria are having fun with their toyboy Olyvar despite the fact that they hate any gatherings including the Lannisters per se. Though now that Jaime sees those three having their fun times shaking the hips, he can’t help but wonder where they came from, because that would surely not explain why Sansa wanted him there for a balance of guests to match. Oh, but then again, Sand Snakes. That should make the record even again… Jaime looks back at the three with a grimace.

Geez, get yourself a room already.

“And if someone jumps off a cliff I should do the same?”

“Did you seriously just compare this to jumping off a cliff?” Jaime asks, blinking.

Now, that is the first time him flirting with someone was compared to… suicide.

That woman is really one of a kind.

“I… It doesn’t matter. The point is this: This is unprofessional. We are supposed to be working together, as you might recall,” Brienne tells him, her eyes trained at the ground, moving from right to left to right again.

“Only starting on Monday – and we don’t work in the same company. Needless to mention that we at Lannister Corp. don’t have the strictest rules, really. This party? Case in point.”

He gestures behind him where the red-haired guy who is as hairy as a bear now dances out of rhythm on one of the tables short before breaking down under his weight. And he seems eager to rid himself of his pants, too.

Hopefully the table breaks before that happens.

There are some things Jaime doesn't want to see, ever.

“Well, that is not how I handle things, however,” Brienne argues, pulling Jaime’s attention back to the woman before him, rewarding him with scowls and uncertain fidgeting.

“Maybe you just have to move out of your own way every once in a while.”

“Or maybe you just have to respect that I don’t.”

“Nah, not unless you have tried it, at least once.”

Brienne opens her mouth in reply, but before she can even utter a single word, Jaime takes her open mouth as an invitation to kiss her. He doens’t bother to look at her, keeping his eyes closed instead, getting lost in the other sensations flooding his mind instead. Jaime is pretty sure shock will be written all over her face, though to his surprise and delight, her lips meet his soon enough with the same fervor he feels pulsating through his veins as his mouth keeps moving against hers, eager for more, hungry for more.

She tastes of fake strawberry and vodka, but Jaime doesn’t mind, in fact, it adds something strangely foreign to this new, thrilling experience. The sensation of her lips brushing against his, the hot air blowing out of her nostrils to crush against the side of his face, it all gives him a feeling of this being so very real that he can hardly believe it that he found such a wonderful piece of reality in this utopian space of Valentine’s Madness with icebreaker cards with glitter and stickers and a drink that will likely cost some many liver cells.

He brushes the fingers of his left hand against her strong jawline to tilt her head at another angle as he deepens the kiss, eliciting a hum low in his chest, a roar almost. The hesitance mingled with an apparent need that seems to have been unleashed as she keeps pushing against him makes him dizzy.

Though the punch is surely adding to that.

His right hand comes to rest on her thick hip. While there is no real curve there, it fits his fingers well enough, and through the thin cotton of her blouse, he can feel the goosebumps reaching all the way down, which only adds another layer of thrill to his already overdriven senses. He allows his long fingers to dance up further, outlining the valleys and hills of her ribcage, which makes her shudder against his mouth.

And it only makes him wonder, no, want to find out what that would be like with less… cloth… separating them.

When Brienne pulls on his shoulder to keep him even closer to her, to the point that they are chest to chest, Jaime is convinced that this is by far the best kiss he has ever had, no matter the alcohol level perhaps adding to that assessment. He always liked self-conscious women, but Brienne is something entirely else. She is self-conscious in some aspects, but not all, but once those barriers of insecurity break away, there is just strength, strength pulling him right in, to her.

At some point, Jaime simply has to pull away to suck in much needed air, leaning his forehead against her hairline.

“Case in point,” he brings out, flashing his white teeth at her, chest heaving, lips singing from the bruising. Brienne still leans against the wall in shock, the fingers of her left hand absently clutching at the bricks whereas her right hand wanders to her mouth, running middle and index finger over the now very red lips.

She may be no beauty, yet, Jaime can’t help but find that sight intoxicating, drawing him right in, and not letting him back out again.

“Did you just…?” she stammers, her big blue eyes unnaturally wide.

“Yes,” he chuckles, enjoying her feverishness, yet again seemingly pondering the exit routes, a way out of a situation Brienne likely didn’t encounter in that way before, judging by her apparent shock.

“And I just…,” Brienne whispers breathlessly.

“Yes.”

“Oh, by the Seven, this is… bad.” She holds one hand to her forehead as it seems to finally sink in what they just did.

“Bad? I found that quite satisfactory.”

In fact, so satisfactory that it takes about all of his self-control not to tackle her lips again right now.

“No, this is bad because this is highly unprofessional. This is not acceptable. At all,” Brienne insists, clutching at her short hair with her free hand.

And if Jaime is not mistaken, her mind is yet again busy figuring out an exit strategy.

Actually, he is pretty sure about that by now.

“As I keep saying, you are here as a liaison. That means there is nothing unprofessional about this in terms of breaking any rules, trust me, I know them as the boss’s son.”

“It’s breaking my rules. I don't do that," she insists.

“You just did!”

“Shut your mouth!” Brienne cries out in utter exasperation.

“You can shut it with yours,” Jaime replies, offering a suggestive, dirty grin that only seems to fuel her oh too sweet anger.

“Ahahaha,” she huffs, rolling her eyes at him.

“You did enjoy yourself, let’s not pretend,” Jaime argues, puckering his lips slightly.

“Could we pretend that this never happened?” she groans, almost pleading now.

And Jaime loves the sound of her voice pleading for him more than he should.

Way more.

“I fear not. For that it was by far too memorable.”

“… Can we decide to get dead drunk to maybe forget about all this or at least claim alcohol as the one reason?”

“Are you bargaining, Brienne?” he laughs throatily.

Yet again that is something he never encountered after a very satisfactory kiss.

She is so very desperate to find an exit route - and it's strangely endearing nevertheless, to the point that Jaime is more than eager to close down all of those exit routes she means to use to get away from him.

“Desperate times call for desperate measurements,” is all she replies, still not daring to look him in the eye.

“I rarely get to hear that women are desperate after I kissed them. If anything, they are desperate for another, and another, and another,” Jaime argues, shooting her another dirty grin, to which she only rolls her eyes - at some point it should make her dizzy to do it all the time. “Does that usually work on the women you date?”

“Why? Doesn’t it work on you?”

“Not really.”

“Was worth the try, I suppose.” He shrugs.

“This is ridiculous, utterly, absolutely ridiculous,” Brienne mutters as she takes another sip from her cup, though it seems like that was the lost drop of red love potion.

“My, my, you are the reluctant type, are you not?”

“I am the type who regrets ever having attended that party,” Brienne says, lifting the cup to her lips another time.

“Are you seriously pretending to be drinking only to escape the conversation?” Jaime chuckles.

“… No?” she replies slowly, which only makes Jaime laugh again. “Then take the cup down.”

“Just getting the last drops,” she mutters, her lips still curled around the plastic cup.

“As if that stuff was worth it,” Jaime huffs, before he grasps the cup between his fingers and pulls it away from her.

“Hey!”

“C’mon, I’ll treat you another round of red love potion. Maybe that helps loosen up your tongue… even more,” Jaime says, giving her the dirtiest of looks he can muster.

“I think I’ll pass,” she snorts, though the blush on her cheeks tells an entirely different story.

“I think you won’t. C’mon now, you can’t suffer through those parties being sober, trust me in this. Also, if you take the chance now, maybe you can pass this off as us just having been dead drunk when we… got to know each other a whole lot better.”

“Will you quit that cock-sure grin?”

“Since I am sure in my cock I don’t think so.”

“Oh Gods,” Brienne grunts, rolling her eyes at him, shaking her head.

“You handed that one over to me on a silver platter,” Jaime argues. “C’mon. Get a drink with me.”

“I said no.”

“So I ask again until you say yes.”

“Don’t you find that manipulative?”

“Suggestive is the term I prefer.”

Brienne narrows her eyes at him, looking at Jaime for an achingly long moment. “… One drink, and you keep your hands where I can see them.”

“For all I care, you quite liked where my hands were going a few moments ago,” Jaime snorts, wriggling his eyebrows.

“Aaaand the conversation came to an end, just like that. Who could have guessed?!” Brienne says, the sarcasm heavy in her voice.

“Oh, c’mon now. I’ll get you a drink and then we can go on conversing a bit longer. Who else am I supposed to talk to?”

“Anyone but me?” she snorts.

“But you are my Valentine now, sweetling.”

“I am not your Valentine. Valentine’s Day in general is perfectly overrated and only rediscovered by florists and the junk stores to justify selling cheap teddy bears with red hearts and kitschy flower bouquets with glitter and sparkly décor in all shades of pink.”

“My, my, aren’t we unromantic?”

“I just refuse to recognize that as being romantic in the first place. Impersonalized gifts that are produced en masse and likely manufactured by little children across the Narrow Sea, people using that day to find a partner drunk enough to take pity in them, pink and red punches, and having an excuse to act like a relationship should only be celebrated that very day… then I am rather called unromantic instead of giving into that.”

She gestures behind him, where Jaime reckons to find yet another couple getting to the bottom of their glasses and each other, though his eyes remain trained on hers.

“Ever the more a reason to embrace the unexpected change that just sparked up between us two, don’t you think? That is anything but conventional,” he argues.

“I don’t mind being conventional. It’s actually quite welcome, I just refuse narrowing romance and love to heart-shaped mints and gift cards as personal as this red cup here,” Brienne tells him, puckering her lips, much to his surprise.

“Wait? You like conventional? And here I thought you were all against convention,” he chuckles.

“Just because I don’t look conventional doesn’t mean I cannot appreciate it. Conventional means following certain rules and repetitive patterns. That makes it easy for people the likes of me,” Brienne replies, now almost shyly.

That sudden change is something Jaime cannot help but find fascinating.

While she has the rights of it that she doesn't look very conventional, Jaime finds himself intrigued by exactly that singularity of hers.

That she is one of a kind.

“I don’t think there are many people quite like you.”

“You don’t say?”

“I meant that as a compliment,” Jaime says, putting more weight into his words this time to be sure that she understands that he means it. She blinks at him, seemingly still taking her time to process this. “You did?”

“Why, yes. There are no men like me either, so I appreciate it to see a woman who is not like other women either.”

“If you say so,” Brienne replies, barely moving her jaws apart.

“Yes, I say so.”

“In any case… I am onboard with being conventional. I’d rather have something very… conventional, but unconventional people rarely get that.”

“Well, considering that we just kissed on Valentine’s Day, got to know each other through work, essentially… I’d call that pretty conventional, actually,” Jaime points out to her.

“I tend to disagree because I think what is around us… is most definitely not conventional, and you and I… that is not… convention.”

“Hm, I can show you how awfully conventional I am,” he chimes, leaning in closer, which only brings her breath to hitch – yet again, music to his ears.

And much better than that awful techno version of Let Me Drink Your Beauty by yet again Tom 7Streams, this time feat. Ravella Swann.

“I need another drink,” she brings out, voice quivering so deliciously that Jaime just wants to kiss her again, press her against the wall and…

“You are just trying to escape your growing feelings for me.”

“You kissed me. Once. With likely more alcohol in our veins than we are aware of, granted that this red stuff seems to consist of gasoline with strawberry flavor. We are supposed to work together. So… no growing feelings here,” Brienne argues vehemently, shaking her head in utter defiance.

“You hesitated. You are clearly falling in love with me already,” he argues, a ridiculous smile spreading across his face.

“I am not.”

“It’s cute when you are in denial.”

“I am not in denial, I refuse that notion because I should know about my feelings better than you as an outsider, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Not really. I am good reading people.” He shrugs.

“Then how comes that you keep annoying me despite the fact that I obviously do not appreciate it?”

“I am not annoying you, I am teasing.”

“Which comes down to the same thing in the end.”

“I could answer your other needs a whole lot better if only you let me.”

“Did you lose a bet or so?” Brienne then asks, which catches him off-guard. Jaime frowns at her. “Wait, what?”

Brienne rolls her eyes at him. “Look, if that’s the case… it’s fine. I had that before, no big deal. But I’d still very much appreciate it if you left the games aside because I don't want to put up with that. In contrast to you, I am not particularly good at reading people, so I am hoping that you meet me with honesty. Can we just agree on that? So, if you lost a bet that got you having to flirt with me or kiss me, just say it. No judgement. I would just rather keep the last of my dignity, as far as that’s possible.”

“I don’t concern myself with the opinion of the sheep. That includes that I never take part in those group mob tasks. So you can be sure that I’d never make such a bet in the first place. And you can be sure that if I want to kiss someone, I do it. A bet has nothing to do with that, and won't ever,” Jaime says, leaving no doubt in his statement, despite the fact that it doesn’t seem to sweep all doubt out of her in turn.

To give weight to his words, he leans to her again to brush against her lips, softer this time. While he would rather go much faster, much deeper, he knows that sometimes the gentler touches, the smaller gestures make more of a difference. It takes a few moments before Brienne returns the kiss, moving her lips slowly, as though even her body was in disbelief about the gentleness, or the fact that he kisses her a second time.

“And just to be sure, I left my hands to where you could see them, holding the cups,” Jaime chimes once he pulls away, wriggling the red plastic cups at her with a dirty grin. Brienne mutters some incoherent curse under her ragged breath, her gaze flitting across the room to find a fixpoint, though the quest remains futile, as it appears.

“Do I need to kiss you a third time to convince you? If so, I’d be more than happy to assist?”

Brienne says nothing at all, just looks at him with a mixture of utter disbelief and growing realization that, yes, this happened.

“Well?”

“… I need that drink now,” is all Brienne brings out, ducking under to motion past him. Jaime turns on the heel, chuckling to himself as he walks after her.

Always searching for an exit route, as it appears. Even now.

“Will you quit laughing?” Brienne grumbles, making sure not to reward him with only just a glance as they keep walking past cupid-winged girls and people at various stages of getting acquainted.

“I am giddy. You are a good kisser,” Jaime argues, catching up to her, trying to get her to look at him, though she keeps up her defiance as she turns her head the other way.

“Shut your mouth – and don’t say what you replied before. That was by no means as smooth as you think it was.”

“My, my, denial and reluctance – two of my favorite things,” Jaime hums.

They reach the table where the drinks are set up.

“Oh wow, great range. Pink punch, red punch, and… pinkish punch with… is that foam?” Jaime asks, making a face.

Who puts foam on a punch?

“I suppose it’s supposed to mimic clouds? Looks like whipped cream… or beaten egg white… if we are lucky, it’s melted marshmallows, though I guess not so…,” Brienne explains, making a face.

“That is disgusting.”

“I guess here the formula is definitely form over… taste.”

“Well, that leaves us with little choice but to stick to the red love potion, I suppose – or we leave that party and get ourselves something… real to drink,” Jaime says, purposely moving in a little closer, pleased to see that the effect of it didn’t lessen in any way since he kissed her, but in fact seems to only have increased, the shiver running through her body undeniable.

“Not happening,” she argues, managing to keep her voice leveled.

“But why, sweetheart? We already kissed, twice, I may add.”

“I am not leaving that party,” Brienne insists, trying her best to keep her voice low.

As though anyone cared when they talk about a kiss. It’s still most likely that no one even noticed them kissing in the first place, bearing in mind how they all seem more preoccupied with their own Valentines. To Jaime’s understanding, he might just as well fling her down on the table in front of them and tear open that white blouse of hers without anyone taking notice.

But of course he wouldn’t do that. Jaime reckons he would not walk out of this alive, judging by Brienne’s defiance that comes from only just a kiss.

“You said that party was awful – and you are right.”

“That doesn’t mean I will just leave. I am here because Sansa asked me for it.”

“You paid your duty. C’mon,” Jaime argues.

“I am not leaving,” she repeats, her voice flat, nostrils flaring in frustration.

“Yet anyway,” he chuckles. “And to my understanding, you just don’t want to leave the safety zone of this room because you know I’d otherwise do much, much more. Even though… I guess you want to do the same things I have in mind and just don’t want to admit it to yourself just yet. You seem to be the type.”

Brienne plunges the ladle into the red punch with a plop right at that moment, hastily pouring the liquid into their cups, not caring about the drops of red drink pouring onto the table as she shakily refills the cups.

“Are we yet again back to you trying to ignore me?” Jaime hums, amused.

“I just choose not to talk about the matter,” is all he gets for a reply.

“Because you don’t want to admit that I am right.”

“You aren’t.”

“Your lips spoke another language,” Jaime argues.

“Maybe you got lost in translation?”

“I don’t think so. You had any chance to pull away, you did not. I think you are just not admitting it to yourself that you and I speak the very same language regarding the matter.”

“Drink,” she says, thrusting the plastic cup into his palm, simultaneously pressing hers to her lips, downing half of the content in two swigs.

“Careful, you might get yourself into a sugar shock,” he chuckles.

“Before I go into sugar shock, I have any intention to be drunk enough not to notice anymore,” Brienne mutters, her lips still wrapped around the cup.

“What’s wrong with this? It’s not like this is overly scandalous, considering… the very environment,” Jaime argues, gesturing around the room, filled with obscenity, one worse than the other.

“Perhaps not scandalous, but most definitely inappropriate,” Brienne insists. Jaime moves closer to her. “Inappropriate would be what I would want to do if only you’d finally let me sweep you off your feet to carry you away to my castle.”

“I thought you saved that honor for your mystery woman,” Brienne huffs, averting her gaze.

Jaime shakes his head before holding out the heart-shaped card still stuck between his fingers.

“Will you be my Valentine?” he asks in a dramatic voice. Brienne sputters her drink back into the cup, then, much to his amusement.

“Hey, you can’t blame me for not having a present ready yet. So you might just as well accept that little glittery token of my affection. I even let you read the message, hm? Do we have a deal?”

Brienne looks at him for a long moment. “You are sincere about that.”

Apparently, Brienne of Tarth takes a lot of convincing and constant reassurance. Though Jaime reckons that may be well worth it, considering that this may lead to him finding his lips back on hers soon enough.

And more.

“I am always very sincere. Even when sarcasm often gets the better of me, I will admit. Consider this: You only start when? Next week, right? Until then, we aren’t even officially working together. That means we are just two people who met at an awful Valentine’s party, and have some fun together. This is by no means as disastrous as you pretend it to be.”

She looks at him for another long moment that seems to stretch for as long as it takes for the taste of that awful drink to wash from the tongue, but then she snaps the card from him, only to then empty out the cup in one might chug.

“My lady seems to require another drink,” he laughs, taking the cup from her still numb fingers. Jaime pours some of the red stuff into the cup, briefly considering to add some of the nasty clouds, but then decides against it. He shouldn’t fuel her anger.

A bit of anger can be thrilling – and actually add to the mood, but too much will likely result in her stomping away, or so he fears. And Jaime has quite different plans for this Valentine’s Day that turned out to be not nearly as awful as the ones he had to suffer through up until today. In fact, this Valentine’s Day may be at the top of his list of all those he witnessed thus far, thinking about it.

“SAM!” he can hear Brienne shout. Jaime turns his head to see the dark-haired, chubby man with loyal eyes standing in front of his blonde Valentine, flashing an uncertain smile at her, a bead of sweat standing on his forehead as he looks around with growing agitation.

That guy always looks out of place.

“What are you doing here?” Brienne asks, giving him a brief hug, before giving him another look. “Like seriously… what are you doing here?”

She gestures around the room, moving out of rhythm to yet another awful examples of remixes of The Dornishman’s Wife feat. Alia of Braavos.

“Jon forced… I mean asked me… to see about it that his sister doesn’t let things escalate too far… I don’t think I can prevent that from happening, though. She gave me the wrong time, apparently,” Sam explains, looking around, clearly feeling out of place. “She said that the party wouldn’t start until… now.”

“I guess she knew that this would be the reason for your appearance,” Brienne says, offering a crooked smile of sympathy.

“Likely,” Sam agrees, nodding his head hastily.

“How is Gilly? And Little Sam?” Brienne asks.

Jaime decides to just watch her interact for now. Brienne seems yet again so very different. And the way she shifts, morphs, transgresses, it’s surprisingly fascinating for Jaime.

People who only look at her from a distance would likely fail to see that Brienne has that warm, gentle tone in her voice, is not as much of a lone wolf she pretends to be, and isn’t just that mannish woman lurking in the corners, watching life from a distance.

You simply have to get to know one another.

“They are well. I am glad I left them at the hotel, though.”

“That was most definitely for the better,” Brienne assures him. “So? What brings you around the area? I thought you still had that project at Castle Black going on?”

“We finished last week. Gilly and I are taking the honeymoon we never really had,” Sam explains. “That is a favorable timeslot because there are no new projects coming up for at least a while. We always delayed the honeymoon, you see.”

“Oh, that’s nice… but then again, why are you here, Sam? You should be with Gilly,” Brienne argues. “After all, it’s your belated honeymoon! That’s not the time you should spend babysitting Sansa, really.”

“Gilly insisted that I go, actually. She knows that I owe Jon a whole lot, we both do, for how he’s helped us at Castle Black. So there’s not really any asking when Jon asks a favor. We’ll take off from King’s Landing later the week to travel to Oldtown. I wanted to see the Citadel for all my life,” Sam says, his eyes sparking up at the mere idea.

“Oh, you’ll love it, I am sure. I was thrilled when I finally got to see the Citadel,” Brienne says, rewarding him with a sweet sort of smile that would get Jaime jealous, if this wasn’t Sam of all people.

“I reckon Sansa didn’t give you all information regarding the party either, huh?” the dark-haired man says, looking around.

“She played us both, if in different ways,” Brienne sighs.

“But you are enjoying yourself alright?”

“One… could say so,” Brienne says, and Jaime has to try hard not to laugh once her voice rises impossibly higher when she feels his finger secretly brushing against her lower back for emphasis, though out of Sam’s view. Jaime is not that much of a bastard.

But if Brienne keeps ignoring him like that, she has it coming, easy as that.

“Oh, Mr. Lannister! I didn’t notice you straight away, apologies!” Sam calls out once Jaime turns his head slightly. “Pleased to see you here.”

“Mr. Tarly, it’s been a while,” Jaime says, now fully turning around, resting against the table, still the filled cups in hand, only to hand one over to Brienne, who stands as stiff as a poker now again. Jaime shakes hands with Sam quickly, enjoying Brienne trying her best not squirm or give away the game.

“May I just say that I am very much looking forward to that project of yours? I heard about it on my way to King’s Landing,” Sam says.

“So am I,” Jaime replies, not bothering to hide his grin. “Just like I am looking forward to working with Ms. Tarth.”

He is most certain that Brienne is shooting daggers at him with her big blue eyes, but it only takes another swipe of his index finger up her spine to make her turn her gaze away with a sharp intake of air.

“Oh, as you should. She is great at her job.”

“Sam, you are embarrassing me,” Brienne argues through pursed lips, caught between embarrassment over Sam’s praise for her – and the embarrassment creeping up her spine from where Jaime keeps brushing his finger across it out of Sam’s view.

“But it’s the truth,” Sam insists, oblivious to Brienne’s growing struggle.

“Seems like you have more than one fan,” Jaime drawls, the implication of who her other fan may be more than clear, though Brienne quickly says, in a voice a bit too high, “Sam is just being way too kind.”

“JAIME!” a man’s voice rings out to their right. The oldest Lannister son whips his head around to see Daven approaching, still in his business outfit, though he rid himself of his suit jacket at some point.

Though Jaime still didn’t quite figure just why Daven keeps growing that beard of his. He lost a bet, fine, but even the friend he lost it to told him to finally trim that growing monstrosity, but Daven seems to have taken a liking to it by now.

While Jaime can’t say he doesn’t enjoy either man’s company, be it Sam or Daven, Jaime would rather be alone to block Brienne’s exit routes more effectively. The woman may still slip away from him if he doesn’t watch it.

And if Brienne is to flee the scene, Jaime wants to be sure to elope with her from Valentine’s Madness. He has plans now, growing more solid with every brush against her lower back.

“Daven, what brings you here? At this time?” Jaime asks with a fake smile as he turns around to his relative also working for the company – as does pretty much everyone.

It’s a family business after all.

“I come straight from the company,” Daven replies in his usual jovial voice, clapping him on the shoulder. “Your daddy was yet again more than eager to make use even of that precious holiday.”

“Tywin Lannister does not care about holidays. I still think he’d rather get rid of Easter and Christmas if only he could,” Jaime snorts, trying his best to hide his disappointment that he had to let go of Brienne’s back and thus that most delicious teasing opportunity.

“He would, I assume,” Daven agrees, making a face.

“He definitely would.”

“I was surprised to see you here the same way, I must admit. I thought you didn’t want to come?” the other Lannister man asks with a small frown.

Jaime made his discontent about that party invitation known around the office… which is to say that he has been bitching about it during lunch break, coffee break, and right after that business meeting.

Though only just a little each time, obviously.  

However, looking at things now, Jaime finds himself relieved to have attended after all. What a loss would it have been not to come by if his Valentine showed up only today in white blouse and a scowl on her lips?

“I thought I should be nice to the Starks for once, if only by attending the little Lady Wolf’s party. For that she sounded so very desperate to get more people to attend when she begged me to come, the room’s getting more crowded by the minute, though,” Jaime tells him, looking around.

The people seem to keep multiplying like bacteria.

“I think the Sand Snakes started inviting some of their own friends,” Daven explains. “I saw some of those waiting outside the building to pick them up for some activity.”

Yeah, most definitely like bacteria.

“Would explain why I recognize fewer and fewer people,” Jaime snorts.

“That, and the rest is busy making out, making it difficult to differentiate… or to tell where one person stops and another begins,” Daven says, wrinkling his nose, tilting his head to the side.

“What? Aren’t you ready to throw yourself into just that business?” Jaime chuckles. He knows that Daven enjoys just those kinds of parties himself. He already wondered why the other Lannister man didn’t mention that he would come by as well, after all, he had many opportunities in-between Jaime’s lamenting about having to attend Sansa’s Valentine’s Madness.

“Oh, you bet I do. It’s Valentine’s Day after all, and I am still looking for a sweetheart, but I have some duties before I can share in the fun,” Daven replies.

“What duties would that be?” Jaime frowns.

“Oh, your old man said that I should come by to see about that new liaison who is supposed to work with you on that project of yours. You know, show her around, introduce her to some people, show some kindness, make her feel comfortable, get her the drinks, the usual things… Wait…,” Daven says, his voice still as jovial as before, peeking past Jaime. “There she is! So that means you took over the duty? Your old man should have informed me about that! I could already be getting drunk here, Seven Hells!”

“I didn’t… we met here just now,” Jaime argues, wrinkling his nose.

“Hey, you can keep at it if you want. It’s not like I insist on showing the lady around when someone is already on the task. Your daddy said that I ought to do it. The business ties with the Starks are shaky enough, he said, so we ought to be extra considerate for our newest asset to the team. Seems like the man is growing old after all and forgot to inform me that he already had you instructed,” Daven says with a lazy smile, clapping Jaime on the shoulder once again.

“Daven, I am telling you that I wasn’t instructed.”

“Makes no difference to me. Be my guest. I’ll just greet her and then head my ways,” the other Lannister man says, motioning past Jaime, over to Brienne. “Ms. Tarth, right? Hi, the name’s Daven Lannister. Pleasure.”

Brienne shakes hands with him hastily, her expression completely blank. Jaime studies her with a strange sensation spreading in the pit of her stomach.

She no longer looks flustered or embarrassed. It’s something quite different, something completely new yet again. And Jaime feels agitation rising within him.

This is no good.

Daven wants to say something, but she speaks up before he can even attempt to utter the next sentence. “I am sorry, but I have to go.”

“Oh, that early already?” Sam asks, blinking.

“Yeah, sorry,” she tells the dark-haired man, offering a feeble smile. Brienne then turns back around to Daven and Jaime.

“After such a long time in the North, I am still not acquainted to the weather. That doesn’t mix too well with the alcohol, I assume. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lannister. If you excused me,” Brienne says hastily, making sure to keep her eyes trained on the ground instead of looking at either Daven or Jaime.

“Oh, ugh, sure…,” Daven says, confused, but then flashes a smile at the still nervous-looking man before him. “Ah, Samwell Tarly, long time no see!”

Brienne now motions past the bearded Lannister man in turn. Jaime opens his mouth to speak up, but that is when he feels her thrust the heart-shaped card against his chest. “Just so that you know, cerulean is a shade of blue. I will see you on Monday.”

And with that, she walks across the dancefloor with fast strides.

“Brienne, hey, wait up!” Jaime calls after her.

He already wants to hurry after her, but that is when the hairy Wildling dude without a shirt almost stumbles into him. If Jaime didn’t move aside quick enough thanks to his good reflexes, they would have collided most certainly. However, the fact that he doesn’t crash into Jaime means that he keeps stumbling forward, staggers a bit further, enough to fall on the table, knocking it over after he was seemingly not successful breaking the other table with his fertilization dance.

The bowls of punch are sent flying high in the air like pink mist. Jaime manages to duck away without getting hit by the love potions. He watches with fascination as the bowls crash to the ground, flooding half of the dancefloor, and a good number of guests screeching and screaming, laughing and shouting in anger. The Wildling dude lies flat on the ground, giggling drunkenly, snug in the valley that once was a table as though it was his little cave now

Pathetic.

But that is the least of his concerns – because Jaime wants to go after Brienne… if only he wasn’t forced to now glide across the ground thanks to the puddles of love potion on the ground to the point that he has to try hard not to fall over.

He looks back at Daven and Sam, who got a fair share of punch all over them. Daven breaks out laughing. Poor Sam, on the other hand, seems less amused about that circumstance. The Tarly man shakes his hands to get rid of some of the sticky drink, though Jaime reckons that this will not be very successful, licking his lips. His eyes widen at that.

“Sansa! That is alcohol! Your parents forbade you to have that stuff!” he cries out. “Jon is going to kill us both!”

“Sorry,” the red-haired cupid says, gliding by rather gracefully. As far as Jaime recalls, she is not unfamiliar to ice-skating, so that is likely the reason why. “I will get some towels!”

“Get back here!” Sam calls after her, though no matter how much he tries to sound threatening, it always fails the moment on you see his uncertain, chubby face.

“I have to get something to wipe the flooooooor,” Sansa almost sings as she glides across the dancefloor, her friends close behind her under more giggling and chuckling.

“Jon will not be pleased,” Sam mutters, eyes still wide in shock.

“Only if you tell him,” Daven argues. “If not… he’ll know nothing.”

Sam puckers his lips. “Maybe…”

“You know what we say around here? What happens in King’s Lading, stays in King’s Landing, hm?” Daven says, giving him a meaningful look, only for his eyes to fall back down on the red-haired dude now cuddling against the tablecloth as though it was his cuddly blanket. “… And some things should never have left the North, I suppose.”

Jaime snaps his attention back around to catch a sight of cupid-winged Sansa gliding by. He takes a hold of her arm. “Sansa? On a quick word?”

“But I have to help clean up the mess!” she argues. “The party will be dead in a few minutes if people run out of alcohol and a dancefloor!”

“I need less than a minute.”

“Oh, alright.” She looks at him expectantly.

“Do you know what hotel Brienne is staying at?” Jaime asks, licking his lips. Judging by the how fast she managed to disappear from the scene, Brienne could be halfway across King’s Landing by now already.

So much to Jaime’s plans.

“Hm? Wait, where is she?! We didn’t even get to the next party game yet! I wanted to have her team up with…,” Sansa gapes.

“She left,” Jaime informs her.

“How mean!” the young woman pouts.

“Sansa. Just tell me if you know what hotel she is staying at,” Jaime demands, keeping his voice polite, though he starts to run out of patience.

“Oh, so you want to shake it up a bit?” she asks with a dirty grin a girl like her should not exhibit, but does anyway.

But that is the thing Jaime learned about the Stark children by now – they tend to surprise him much more than their old man.

“… I will not have that discussion with you of all people, no offense,” Jaime huffs. Sansa winks at him, poking him in the arm. “Oh, c’mon, I saw you… standing very close. I am so happy for you two! You see, my cupid’s work is done! I knew this would work miracles!”

“In which case it’d be ever the better of you to share that information with me, wouldn’t you agree?” Jaime exhales.

“Hightower Hotels. I don't know which suite, but…,” Sansa says, tapping her index finger against her lower lip, but Jaime cuts her off, “I will figure that out, thank you.”

“Hey, I am just playing little cupid,” the auburn-haired girl replies, twisting her shoulders to make her wings bob up and down a bit.

“And don't you do one fine job? Though one advice from my side? Make that wildling dude put on a shirt again. No one wants to see that… beside Lysa and Amy perhaps,” Jaime tells her.

“I am tryyyyyying,” she moans.

“Well, good luck, then.”

“Same for you!”

“Sansa! Is that vodka in your hand?!” Sam shrieks atop of his voice.

“No?”

“It damn well is!” he curses.

“… Maybe?”

“SANSA!!!”

Jaime glides his way outside, shaking out his legs to get rid of some of the punch sticking to his boots – though he is glad he bothered to change into more casual wear for the occasion, he would have been disappointed to have his black leather Oxfords that cost way too much money to drown in red love potion.

But it makes no difference now, Jaime has much more urgent business than to think about his shoes getting love potion on them.

Hightower Hotel it is, then.

Jaime walks over to the main street and hauls down a cab, which gladly arrives soon enough.

“Where to, Sir?” the black-haired taxi driver asks as Jaime quickly swings himself into the seat. The name tag reads Gendry, and a picture of a boat is clipped against the rearview mirror, but Jaime doesn’t really bother to care about it right at this moment, because his thoughts circulate around finding Brienne. He already wasted enough time with that slap-stick move of the Wildling fellow with the beard.

“Hightower Hotel,” he replies. “As fast as you can.”

“Alright, then,” Gendry says, nodding his head, gladly driving at high speed, and seemingly knowing the city well enough as he takes the fastest route possible.

Jaime taps his fingers nervously on his jeans as the taxi takes him to where he needs to be.

What has gotten into her? That was most definitely not what Jaime thought he would be doing half an hour ago. If anything, he thought about how they may be kissing in the taxi, in a hurry to finally get to her room.

… Likely more than kissing at this point.

“We’re there,” the driver announces, pulling Jaime out of his more and more vivid becoming visions of “what could have been.”

“Thank you,” Jaime says, thrusting the next best big bill he has in his pocket into the man’s hand.

“Wait, let me get the change,” Gendry says, already motioning to his wallet, but Jaime gestures at him to stop.

“You can keep the rest,” Jaime says, already climbing out of the cab.

“Thanks, man.”

Jaime shuts the door before he makes his way over and inside Hightower Hotel’s lobby, glad to see a familiar face by the counter – that should make things easier.

“Pia!” Jaime calls out as he approaches.

“Oh, Mr. Lannister! It’s so good to see you!” the brunette replies once she catches sight of him.

“I didn’t know you changed hotels?” He frowns. The last that he knew, she worked for Penrose Inn.

“It’s closer to Peck’s working place, so we thought it might be fore the better, now that we moved in together,” she explains, that familiar spark in her eyes. “I am still indebted to you and your family to get me out of Harrenhal. I hated it there. King’s Landing is so much better.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Jaime nods, offering a gentle smile.

And he is ever the gladder that he got her out of there. Pia had a boss who actually abused her. Once Jaime heard of it, he just took her along to King’s Landing to get her job and a place to live there, making sure to cut all ties to Harrenhal thereafter – and up to date, Lannister Corp. has not suffered from having cut those ties.

The infrastructure there is shit anyway.

Once he introduced her to Peck, Pia’s troubles seemed far, far away, and Harrenhal is now an ugly, distant memory befitting of that… ugly place.

“So? Do you want to book a room or…?” Pia asks, looking at him in confusion. After all, he is a local, so Jaime doesn't really need to stay at a hotel around the area. 

“No, I am actually looking for a guest of yours,” Jaime says, tapping his fingers on the marble counter nervously. “Brienne of Tarth?”

“Oh, normally, we don't give out personal information,” Pia says with a grimace.

“But I bet you can make an exception for me. You know that I won’t cause any trouble,” Jaime argues, puckering his lips into a small smile. Pia looks at him for a longer moment, wrinkling her nose.

“Hm, well, since it’s Valentine’s Day…,” Pia sighs, leaning a bit further over the counter to whisper, “The room number is 280, but Ms. Tarth has not returned since she left this morning.”

“But… she took off before me.” Jaime frowns.

“She hasn’t returned yet, that much I can tell. I would suggest that you wait in the lobby, then?” Pia suggests, leaning back to flash him another bright smile that didn’t lose its spark even with the damaged front teeth.

“Might be for the best, thank you, Pia.”

“Always at your service,” she says, doing a mock salute.

Jaime shakes his head with a smile as he makes his way to the lobby, slouching down on the couch there, his knee bobbing up and down nervously when even after ten minutes, there is no sight of Brienne.

This is most definitely not what he envisioned for a Valentine’s Day date.

And all started so well!

Though he still wonders how comes that Brienne didn’t make it to the hotel just yet. She left more than ten minutes before Jaime could get himself out of the Valentine’s Madness. She should have arrived a long time ago, even if, by some faint chance, her taxi driver took the wrong direction all the time.

At some point Jaime starts to ask himself why he spends his free evening in a hotel lobby, waiting for a woman obviously mad at him for reasons still beyond him. One should think that Jaime Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister, has better and more important business to do than chase after a liaison he will most definitely see on Monday.

Unless Brienne is so very desperate that she catches the next flight to the North… hopefully not.

However, then Jaime bites his lip and he can still taste the strawberry vodka that suddenly no longer tasted that unpleasant once it came from her mouth, mingled with the other senses that came into play. The feel of the fabric of her blouse, the smell of her shampoo, the beads of sweat on her forehead, her goosebumps, that sharp intake of air whenever he brushed his skin across hers, those big blue eyes glancing back at him.

And that is when Jaime knows just why he waits in a lobby despite the heat outside, and that it’s still damn daytime – just when do people start partying these days? Back when he was still younger, parties didn’t even begin before it was dark outside.

The youth…

It seems like he is much more conventional than Brienne gives him credit for it, chasing after the runaway princess here.

She better gives me some reward for that!

As if on cue, that is when the automatic doors open, and the blonde giantess strides inside, though she stops almost instantly, as though she felt his presence. Once Brienne catches sight of him on the couch, she instantly turns around and exits, or rather, runs for dear life.

She really better gives me some reward for that!

“Brienne!” Jaime yells, scrambling to his feet.

That woman is surely giving him trouble.

Jaime jogs out of the building again, looking around for any sign of the woman driving him to the point of frenzy now.

How can that woman disappear twice in a row?

This is ridiculous. Brienne has to get into her room at some point, so there is actually no way that she can flee the scene, unless she goes as far as to leave her belongings in the hotel room only just to keep her distance from him.

However, Jaime doesn’t have to contemplate those options for long, because he hears the familiar sound of steps, on metal this time.

Fire exit stairs, really?

Jaime picks up speed to round the corner, not surprised to see his blonde Valentine staggering up the staircase.

“Brienne! Will you stop now!? This is getting ridiculous!” Jaime calls out. The tall woman stops at once, which surprises him, though Jaime doesn’t let it get the better of him, or else she may use that moment yet again to sneak away. Instead, Jaime wastes no time and climbs the stairs to where she is standing, a white plastic bag dangling in her left hand as she absently looks at him coming closer.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, staring at him disbelievingly.

“Demanding some answers. Because I am really at a loss here, as can be seen, bearing in mind that I just chased you halfway across town.”

“… I thought I made myself clear,” Brienne argues with a grimace, her voice growing fainter.

“I understood that you wanted to take off, but I still fail to see the reasons,” Jaime snaps, but then calms himself. “Alright, can we now put an end to this and talk like rational adults?”

To his surprise, Brienne flips down on the stairs, running her left hand through his hair, letting out a sigh, looking much younger right at this moment, just like she appears much smaller.

And a lot more fragile than she lets on.

“Why did you have to come here? How did you even…,” Brienne asks, but then it dawns on her. “Sansa.”

“She likes playing cupid.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Why are you here?” Brienne asks again, this time with less energy, almost exhausted this time as she massages her temple with her free hand.

“Why did you take off in that overly dramatic fashion?” Jaime asks instead.

Because his chasing after her is obviously a logical consequence of her running away without another word.

Obviously. Don’t you see that causal chain, Brienne?

“I tried to make it… not as dramatic,” Brienne argues, biting her lower lip. Jaime has to try hard not to laugh – she actually seems to believe that this move was subtle.

Because it was anything but that.

“Really? You dropped the mic and made me chase you across town. I call that pretty dramatic,” Jaime huffs, if slightly amused.

“No one asked you to do that. I just wanted to get out of there,” Brienne returns, puckering her lips in such a way that Jaime can’t even find it in himself to be mad at her for the trouble.

Damn her.

That woman is driving him crazy already – and the worst part is that she seems perfectly oblivious to the fact that she does this to him without even being conscious of the fact.

“But why?” Jaime asks.

Because really, just what went wrong so that they didn’t go on with the most pleasant teasing and kissing foremost? As far as Jaime is concerned, she took that exit route for no good reason whatsoever. After all, he can’t even fathom why she wouldn’t want to continue that most pleasant experience that began over lukewarm red love potion.

“I said it, didn’t I? I don’t want to get involved in those games and being kind to people out of convenience. I am a grown woman, I had all that shit in High School, and I’d appreciate it if people finally left it there. I don’t want that kind of drama in my life,” Brienne tells him defiantly. “Then I rather leave.”

“What are you talking about?” Jaime asks, blinking.

“I heard you and Daven, alright?” she says, not looking at him.

“Daven… he just said that my Father instructed him to introduce you…,” Jaime argues, but then slaps against his forehead once it dawns on him. “He said that he was supposed to be kind around you and get you the drinks… and how I took over the job… Oh fuck.”

If Brienne only caught those bits while she was in conversation with Sam, that would most definitely explain that this sounded entirely different to her - thus resulting in her drastic actions and even more dramatic exit routes.

“Look, I get that. You had alcohol, I had alcohol, you were supposed to play kind and then… well, alcohol spoke. Whatever. That’s fine. It really is, I do mean that. Even if I… did a bit of a dramatic exit… I get that. I do, I really do. I am not some stupid teenage girl, alright?” Brienne tells him, looking up at Jaime with those big blue eyes full of hurt when really, they shouldn’t be.

“Then why that whole escape over the fire exit stair?” Jaime questions. “Such action doesn’t translate to me as: I am being rational about this and not at all feeling hurt about it.”

“Comes with the job?” Brienne replies simply.

“You just regularly take those stairs to your room?” Jaime asks, because he can’t really imagine that with the likes of Brienne of Tarth to be the case.

“No, it’s just unfamiliar to me. That is what I normally check first in a building. As I said, comes with the job,” Brienne explains truthfully. "So... I just took the chance and those stairs instead of encountering you. Even if that was not successful at all, I will admit."

Jaime can’t help the smile right there.

That innocent, blunt look in her eyes makes him want to kiss her right there already, but he needs to set the record straight here.

“To be clear on the matter: That was not the reason why I talked to you. Or kissed you. Daven must have gotten some wrong information. Father never asked me to play welcoming committee for you. When I approached you, I did so because I wanted to talk to you. This is all one huge misunderstanding,” Jaime explains.

Brienne bites her lower lip, mulling that information over, though she seemingly finds it hard to let that sink in. Not that Jaime can really begrudge her for it. If she only caught those bits and pieces of his conversation with Daven, it must have sounded pretty awful to her, as though he was just the drunken welcoming committee who overstepped the boundary after two many shots of red love potion.

But still!

“Brienne, c’mon. Piece it together. You really think my Father instructed me to kiss you just to make you feel comfortable?” Jaime argues, to which she rolls her eyes at him in annoyance.

“I am not that ridiculously stupid, alright? Obviously your Father didn’t ask you for that. From the bits I heard of your conversation with Daven, I thought that you were ordered to interact with me, and I thus assumed that the alcohol then got the better of you, and that this was the reason why. That is not as unreasonable, wouldn’t you agree?” Brienne replies with vehemence.

“I was not nearly drunk enough for that,” Jaime argues.

“How am I supposed to tell?” Brienne insists, to which Jaime can’t help a frown.

Because, truth be told, how is she supposed to tell, really? It’s not like Brienne knows how Jaime acts when he is drunk, very drunk, of perfectly sober. That is nothing you learn from heart-shaped cards or even from a kiss or two.

“You’ll have to trust me when I tell you so,” Jaime tells her anyway, making sure to keep his voice strong and levelled, in the hope that this will gravitas to his words.

What else is he supposed to say? Yes, he had something to drink, more than a bit to wash down his annoyance over having to attend this get-together, but Lannisters are born with strong livers, his brother and sister being apt examples of that circumstance, so Jaime can hold his liquor well enough to kiss a woman when he wants to kiss her, and not just plant his lips on hers because it’s the alcohol speaking within him.

Brienne says nothing at that, just looks down again.

“Will you answer me two questions?” Jaime then asks, his voice softer this time.

“That actually makes three?” she argues, briefly looking at him before averting her gaze again. Though Jaime is glad to see that attitude spark up again.

He likes that part of her a whole lot.

Though then again, Jaime finds himself intrigued with almost all of her facets, resting behind those brilliant blue eyes, shy smiles, and occasional scowls and teases.

“Will you? And don’t say four now.”

“Sure, go ahead.” Brienne shrugs in a way that says “it’s not like I have anything to lose.”

“What was the fuss with the card about now? As far as I gathered, it’s actually yours? And you little minx didn’t even bother to tell me?” Jaime asks, because that is one of those things that really caught him off-guard.

“You didn’t give it to me until that whole thing… took a different turn,” Brienne argues. “It’s not like I memorized all the stickers to be sure that this is my card.”

“But you said you didn’t participate.”

“I said I didn’t play. There’s a difference. I filled out the card, but never bothered interacting with the others to figure out who had my card,” Brienne explains. “That’s the difference.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I? And really, how high were the chances that you had my card in the first place?”

“True again,” Jaime huffs, thinking about it. “But still – why write such a card? Judging by how this all went down now, you are not the type to try to hook up on a Valentine’s Party with making suggestive riding jokes.”

Brienne bites her lower lip, contemplating for a short moment before she speaks up again, “Look, here is the thing: I came to that party, and Sansa was pressuring me into all those actions I did not want to take part in by any means. That whole icebreaker game included. I told her that I didn’t want to participate, but she didn’t listen. So I said to myself: Put down something that any woman could have written so that the probability would have been high that even if people bothered to find the person in question, the lady may well have given similar answers.”

“Cerulean?” Jaime huffs, amused, to which she only rolls her shoulders once more.

“I also wanted to have a bit of fun with it, admittedly. Whatever. I prepared to spend the party observing everyone, so I thought this may be… funny, for me anyway. Either someone would have taken up the spot, which would have been pretty hilarious to me, or someone would have gone around, asking for that cerulean-loving woman and never finding her. It was never meant to amount to much of anything. And the fact that everyone left the cards by the punch bowls made me pretty sure that it really didn’t amount to… anything at all. But yeah, in the end, the joke is yet again on myself. Great.”

She shakes her head with a snort, dissatisfied and frustrated with herself foremost, as it appears.

“Well, that is actually pretty funny, to me at least. Considering that I wanted you to be my Valentine, it is perhaps a wink of fate that you are also my mystery woman,” Jaime laughs, to which she tears her gaze back to him, her eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and shock, even.

She likely didn’t expect him to understand her – or her humor for that matter.

Perhaps he is not as conventional after all.

“… You had a second question?” she asks after a beat.

“What’s in that plastic bag?”

“Ice cream,” is the simple reply. Brienne looks down at the white plastic bag with a blank expression.

“Is that why you arrived after me?”

“Well, I didn’t know where to, so it took a while to find a store,” Brienne says, rolling her shoulders. That seems to be one of her favorite gestures, actually.

“And why ice cream?”

“It’s summer, I don’t think they fixed the air conditioning in my room just yet, my head is still reeling from the red punch from hell, so I also needed some water… and ice cream helps the mood and...," she recounts, only to narrow her eyes at him. "Don’t you dare laugh.”

“Well, you did mention that you like things to be conventional… eating ice cream to forget your heartache is surely conventional,” Jaime chuckles anyway.

“It is no heartache. I was disappointed,” Brienne argues.

“Unjustly so. And you are totally trying to cope with your heartache by soothing it with… I don’t know what ice cream flavor you prefer.”

“I am not. And it’s Blue Moon.”

“Blue Moon is disgusting.”

“It’s not. I've eaten since I was a kid. I also have chocolate chip,” Brienne says, glancing back at the bag in her hand.

“You are definitely coping, though I can bring myself to agree to that flavor, at least. Anything is better than Blue Moon.”

“So much to being awfully conventional.”

“Yeah, I am pretty conventional when it comes to my ice eating habits,” he snorts. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“But unconventional enough to wait in the lobby for the crazy woman to return from her ice cream shopping spree?” Brienne huffs, and the amusement, if still reserved, is back in her voice – and Jaime is more than eager to coax it out further again.

“That is totally movie-like!”

“Sure,” she snorts. “Just like it is to have such conversation on the fire exit stairs.”

“Hey, I can’t affect that,” Jaime argues. “You took that exit route.”

“No one asked you to come by,” she grounds out. "Or follow that exit route."

“I was obliged to, obviously. If the damsel in distress runs off, the shining knight has to come to the rescue,” Jaime points out to her, waving his index finger at her in a dramatic manner.

“I am no damsel in distress, you are no shining knight, and where exactly did you save me now exactly?” Brienne argues bluntly, tilting her head to the side slowly.

“I had to clear up that grave misunderstanding that broke your little heart.”

“Even if I took off in more of a rush, I did want to leave.”

“But you forgot me there! And I will mention that chaos broke out the moment on you left,” he laments.

“Right,” she huffs, not buying it.

“Someone crashed into the table with the drinks and send the bowls flying,” Jaime explains with a smirk.

“Yeah, sure.”

“It’s the truth I am telling!” he insists.

“You saw that in a comedy on King’s Landing Network,” Brienne snorts, not believing only just a word he says.

“I swear by the Seven above. That red-haired Wildling fellow crashed right into the table!”

“Sure,” she laughs. “Also, he is no Wildling, he has Wildling ancestry, there’s a difference.”

“He's damn well acting like his ancestors... In any case, you don't believe me?! I am shocked, Brienne, truly shocked!” Jaime gasps, clutching at the hem of his shirt for emphasis.

“Why would I believe you?”

“Why would you not?”

“We still barely know each other,” she points out to him, readjusting her grip on the white plastic bag rustling in the soft breeze.

“We already kissed, more than once, had our first fight, had a movie-like chase through King’s Landing… oh, and of course you are my mystery woman! And about my mystery woman I know five more things: Her favorite color is cerulean, which is a shade of blue, as I learned by now. She loves long walks along the beach, has a guilty pleasure for fairytales. She loves riding horses and horses are not the only thing she enjoys riding, the little tease she is. And as for the rest… we can still catch up on.”

“You are sincere.” She just looks at him incredulously.

“Why else would I chase across town only to just to clarify that with you?” Jaime huffs. “Look, you can try to run away, you can keep searching your exit routes, or we can just admit that this unconventionally conventional meeting is something we are eager to investigate further.”

“How do you know that I’d want that?”

“Is that a challenge, Brienne of Tarth?” Jaime chuckles, his grin growing darker and dirtier with every second passing.

“What if it was?” Brienne asks, her voice not betraying her once as she raises an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, you should know that one thing about me: I always love a challenge,” Jaime says, before bending down to kiss her.

The new angle is very much appreciated by him. While he also enjoys standing smaller than her, towering above her grants him that bit of extra control that it seems to take to transmit the message she seemingly didn’t get until now – that he really, really wants this, wants her, right now.

And for longer.

“So? Do you want me to now carry you up the stairs,” Jaime whispers against the corner of her mouth, pulling away only slightly, relishing the sensation of her heated skin and quivering breath stroking against the side of his face like the gentlest of touches.

To his surprise, if not small delight, she speaks up rather boldly in turn, “First of all, you won’t manage. Secondly, no way in the Seven Hells – unless you want to get hit.”

“That would be very movie-like!” Jaime argues, amused, pulling away a bit more to look at her big blue eyes again, which are filled with the most pleasant mixture of defiance mingled with desire.

“You dare, you fall down the stairs.”

“I am strong enough,” he insists.

“Just stop it. Also, I would like to get off the stairs now,” Brienne says with a groan, getting up, brushing against her legs to get rid of some of the dust. “My ice is melting.”

She starts to walk further up the stairs without another word.

“You know you could also now take the front door like normal people?” Jaime calls after her.

That woman is perhaps the greatest challenge he encountered until now, and Jaime is more than intent on winning that game – because he is more than eager for the price.

“Perhaps I am just enjoying that bit of unconventionality.”

“So you tell me, do you break into your own apartment?” Jaime asks, climbing the stairs after her.

“I am testing security measurements.”

“Is that what you tell people when they catch you?” he laughs.

“I never ran any trouble thanks to that excuse.”

“Well, that’s not exactly how I thought I’d spend my Valentine’s Day, but I could live with that,” Jaime says, once they reach the platform to the second floor, glancing at the sun setting in the West in shades of orange, painting the sky a very Valentine befitting shade of pink.

“Who said that you are staying?” Brienne huffs, pulling his attention back around to her as she hops over to her balcony with unexpected elegance and grace.

“Your lips, the blush on your cheeks…,” he recounts, motioning after her, relieved to have the ease blending back into the mood. It comes with a growing familiarity Jaime can’t help but find more than worth some chasing across King’s Landing and breaking into hotels.

That is the kind of exit strategy he can very well live with.

“You think you sound smart, don’t you?”

“Most of the time, yeah,” Jaime chuckles, surprised when the lock opens under her ministrations after mere seconds. “That was fast! Brienne of Tarth, I didn’t take you for a thieve.”

Yeah, most definitely unconventional, that woman, full of surprises and mysteries.

And not just those written down on a card.

“It’s no thievery. I pay for that room and I leave no traces,” Brienne argues, opening the door casually, which still tends to surprise Jaime. That woman seems way too honest and honorable to even attempt such, but then again… Brienne seems to constantly balance between conventionality and unconventionality. And as it appears, that sort of exit route is actually conventional to her.

Which Jaime can very well get used to.  

“You are really one of a kind,” he chimes.

“If you think it’s a good compliment, it’s not.”

"It's meant as a compliment nevertheless."

"That doens't make it a good compliment."

"You could also just take it for a compliment instead of lamenting about it."

"I could, yeah," she replies with a shrug.

“Well, I don’t really care, I must admit. I achieved most of my goals already,” Jaime says, following her inside without bothering to ask for it. “Just like that, I am already in your room. That means we decreased your exit routes once more - and probabilities increased exponentially that my favored scenario for this weekend will come to fruition shortly.”

“Which would be?” she questions, walking over to the bench set before the massive bed to leave the bag of ice cream there.

“You and I, room service, and not leaving the bed until Monday,” he replies with a sly smile, settling down on the bench right next to the ice cream.

“Ha, you go on dreaming,” Brienne snorts, walking over to the TV to grab the remote, very much to Jaime’s confusion. Because he was most definitely convinced that after such revelations and unconventional chases across town, TV would be the least of Brienne’s concerns now.

“What? I am already at the right location,” Jaime insists.

Though the perfect location is right behind him, of course, ready with fluffed-up pillows and white cotton sheets.

“But that is not my plan for the weekend,” Brienne tells him, having none of it as she settles down on the other side of the white plastic bag set between them. “Speaking of, I am eating ice cream now.”

She starts to dig out the buckets that are already squishy from the melting ice.

That is most definitely the most surprising Valentine’s Day Jaime ever had.

That day seems to be a colorful bouquet of first times, novelties, surprises, records, and goals, distant and close, about a future that only just begun.

“So, if left with the choice between ice cream and me… you…,” Jaime means to say, but she interrupts him, “I'd choose ice cream, any time.”

“My sweet Valentine, you are breaking my heart!” Jaime gasps, clutching at his chest. “The least you can do is give me some of that chocolate chip now.”

“If you behave yourself,” Brienne says, cocking an eyebrow at him before holding out the brown bucket to him. Jaime takes it from her with a crooked grin, while she busies herself tearing open the plastic wrapping of the spoons. Once one is freed, Brienne dips her own plastic spoon into the melting blue mass in the cerulean bucket to let it sit there as she tries to open the other one as well.

She is sincere about wanting that ice cream, really.

“I can’t make any guarantees,” Jaime warns her, allowing his hand to quickly snake across the plastic bag to stroke up her muscled thigh, using the moment to slide a little closer. While Brienne can’t help the sharp intake of air, her posture does not betray her for only just a second as she bites down on the plastic wrapping to tear it open, too.

“What did I say about hands to where I can see them?” she scoffs, pushing his hand away with her elbow, if not as strongly as she likely could if she was honestly against that touch.

Yes, Brienne of Tarth is most definitely a tease as well. That much is for sure.

“For one, I choose to ignore that, and the other thing is that you can’t expect me to keep my hands off of you with you teasing me here,” Jaime argues, allowing his index finger to continue the exploration over her toned thigh that he can feel even through the fabric of her trousers. Brienne manages to open the package, then, and hands the spoon over to him in the vain hope that this will distract Jaime rom his little explorations, though no such luck.

Brienne grumbles some incoherent curses to herself as she sticks the spoon into his bucket of ice cream as well, only to resume eating her own share. She guides the spoon to her mouth to swallow some of the Blue Moon she seems to be so very fond of, relishing the taste for all Jaime can tell.

“How exactly am I teasing?” she asks, pulling the corners of her mouth into a frown, the spoon stuck between her lips.

For her, it doesn't compute at all that she is driving him crazy with all of those moves and gestures, with all of her, but she does. 

“Everything you do is a single tease directed against me,” Jaime says, or rather, roars, allowing his finger to travel up her side, feeling her ribcage rise and fall again.

“Whatever,” she snorts, taking another spoonful. Jaime chuckles. “Case in point? Cerulean, guilty pleasures, love, and riding not just horses. To quote. You, Brienne of Tarth, are a tease.”

“I am not,” she insists.

"Yes, you are, and I very much appreciate it," he replies, giving her a playful smirk. “And you enjoy my teases as well, I can tell.”

He holds out the heart-shaped card to her again. Brienne blinks at it for a long moment, as though the object before her was something completely alien now.

“Also, you forgot that, and my Valentine should have her Valentine’s present back,” he goes on to say. Brienne snaps it from his fingers, quickly putting it aside. Jaime watches with amusement as she turns on the TV as fast as she can, seemingly anticipating that he will continue his little adventure, preventing her from pushing the buttons properly.

She is really responsive to his touches.

And Jaime can't wait to coax even stronger reactions out of her.

But as it seems, it will be some more time until then.

Sadly.

“Seriously? Ice cream and movies?” he huffs. “You know, since we made peace and sealed it with a kiss, you no longer have to cope for your little broken heart with these. We might just as well move on to the much more pressing issues here.”

Because Jaime reckons that some convention would be appreciated at this point.

Very appreciated.

The kind of convention that gets them away from the TV and closer to those cotton sheets.

“That is how I spend my Valentine’s Days ever since I can remember: I watch cheap romance movies and eat ice cream,” Brienne tells him.

“And you dare laugh at me for watching romcoms on KLN?” he laughs.

“I never said that I judge you for it," Brienne argues. "I was just surprised that you actually do."

“Neither did you admit that you share that guilty pleasure with me, Brienne of Tarth,” Jaime argues, allowing his hand to resume roaming a bit, though that woman is persistent not to yield.

That woman is the impersonation of a challenge.

“In any case, I don’t see why I should break that habit just now. That is a tradition I held dear for many years now.”

“But think of the possibilities!” he insists.

Most of which are still beneath the sheets, ready to be let out.

Or maybe the bathroom.

… Or the floor…

… Or pressed against a wall…

... That sideboard may also work...

Whichever she prefers.

“I am thinking about the ice cream right now. Because it’s melting, and I didn’t waste my money to eat ice cream soup,” Brienne tells him, having absolutely none of it all.

Jaime has to give her that much, despite her responsiveness, she is stubborn to the point that he only wants her ever the more now.

“We could do some other things with that ice cream, though,” he mutters, his grin about as dark as his voice before he takes a spoonful of the chocolate chip ice cream.

Which is really good, admittedly.

“Or we could eat ice cream now.”

“And leave the rest to later?” he asks, batting his eyelashes at her.

“You said that, not me.”

“You didn’t say no,” Jaime hums, taking another scoop of the ice cream once he can see Brienne’s lips curling.

“I didn't say yes,” she replies, more in a sing-song than anything else.

“You still didn’t say no. And the rest is just convincing,” he says, moving closer. “And I can be very convincing.”

“You go on believing that.”

“You go on believing that I am not speaking the truth. Little time from now, you will want nothing but what I have to offer,” he tells her.

“Right now, I want ice cream and movies,” Brienne tells him, taking way too much pleasure in that tease already – at least to Jaime’s liking. “Speaking of, I love that one. It’s so wonderfully stupid.”

“Why would you want to watch stupid movies – bearing in mind what you could have instead?” Jaime argues, gesturing at himself.

“Do I have to give you the same speech all over about how that doesn’t sound at all arrogant?” she snorts.

“It’s only arrogant so long you can’t keep up with the expectations. I am pretty sure I can surpass them, though,” Jaime argues, his voice growing darker. “If only you let me.”

“Eat the chocolate chip ice cream and shut your mouth,” she says, though this time, the blush creeping up her cheeks undeniably gives away her game.

“That is not how I envisioned my magical Valentine’s Day date,” he exhales, twirling his plastic spoon around the bucket in his hand.

“This is no date. This is ice cream and movies,” Brienne points out to him.

“With kissing,” he insists.

“That is not out yet.”

“We already have!”

“That doesn’t mean we will continue to.”

“How unromantic of you.”

“Even if…,” she says, which only brings forth the dirtiest of smiles on Jaime’s face, so Brienne goes quickly on to add. “That doesn’t make it a date.”

“Well, you might have the rights of it, thinking about it,” Jaime agrees, much to her surprise this time as she looks at him with her big blue eyes full of confusion. “I’d suggest that we date as soon as possible, therefore. As in… actual date. With dinner. Or long walks along the beach if you preferred.”

“Ha, not going to happen,” she snorts.

“What?”

“We start working together starting Monday. And I am not dating colleagues, I told you so already,” she explains to him.

“Then I will have you fired instantly!” Jaime concludes. Brienne stares at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I totally would,” Jaime replies with vehemence. “The things you do for love, my dear, the things you do for love.”

“You’d fire someone to show them that you love them?” Brienne argues, wrinkling her nose in confusion and irritation.

“See? That’s what I call devotion.”

“That’s what I call madness.”

“And as I said, love is madness,” Jaime chimes.

“Oh by the Seven,” she grunts.

“That’s one of those things you’d have much more fun saying if we took this to where I’d like to take it,” Jaime says, nodding behind them. “We could keep the movies running – and eat ice cream in-between.”

“Or you could stop complaining and just eat your chocolate chip ice cream,” she suggests.

“I don’t know. I thought I'd get a little more for this, to be honest,” he exhales. “I mean, the ice cream is fine, but… all that chase, all that trying to find my mystery woman… and I get is a bucket of halfway melted ice cream?”

To his surprise, it is Brienne this time who leans over to him, her side rubbing against the white plastic bag with a rustling sound. Her lips meet his, cold from ice, but burning hot, right to his core, nevertheless. The kiss tastes of Blue Moon and chocolate chip, which is by far better than red love potion, Jaime has to realize. The kiss is hesitant, if a bit bolder than their second one they shared, but that doesn’t mean it is any less thrilling. He can feel electricity spark over his lips, spreading through his body like a wave, cementing what he can't help but think ever since he first kissed her - that he wants to keep doing just that, and more.

If a mystery woman like that reveals herself to you, you should hold on tight before she slips away and escapes via the next best fire exit stairs.

Jaime doesn’t even care when some of the ice cream soup dribbles on his jeans, so long he can feel her lips pressed against his, allowing no distance between them, getting to know, exploring, making more solid the images inside his mind of what hopefully will be in the future soon enough.  

“What happened to you not dating colleagues?” Jaime whispers once she pulls away, eyes still half closed.

“You said it, we are no colleagues yet, and we are not dating,” Brienne tells him, trying to sound bold despite the fact that uncertainty is still clinging on to her words. She sticks out her tongue with the sweetest of laughs that Jaime ever heard. Far more girlish than you may anticipate it from a woman standing that tall, but about as sweet as Blue Moon ice cream.

“Your tongue is already cerulean, you know?” he chuckles.

“That's what I love about that ice cream,” Brienne explains, her lips curling into a smile the same way.

“As I said, love is madness, without an exit route.”

Because their exit routes no longer run separate ways, but meet halfway.

No matter how conventionally unconventional or unconventionally conventional it may be.

He presses his lips to hers another time, getting a taste of cerulean, of her, no one but her.

And it may just be that Jaime found a new kind of favorite color worth putting down on a heart-shaped card.

Just like he finds himself easily getting used to that newly found exit strategy.

Away from Valentine’s Madness, right into the personal madness that only exists between them.

Madness indeed, the sweetest kind of madness, colored in and tasting of blue.

And Jaime can't say he needs an exit route from there any time soon.