Fic: Oathkeeper (Or, Five Times Brienne Kept Her Oath)
I committed fanfiction, guys. This is crossposted from valyrian_forged. It's a drabble-set, so the limited context is likely to not make much sense unless you've read the books.
Title: Oathkeeper (Or, Five Times Brienne Kept Her Oath)
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Rating: T for violence, adult themes
Spoilers: Through A Feast For Crows, post-Feast speculation
Length: 500 words, 5 100-word drabbles on a theme
Characters/Pairing: Brienne/Jaime. Kind of. Consider my icon ironically used.
I
He was striking in black, even here, even now. She found him with his new brothers, ragged remnants, keeping their place on what remained of the Wall, between dragon’s fire and winter’s fall. She could not speak, she could not trust herself to make the words, even as he went to his knees, acceptance in his eyes.
“A Lannister pays his debts.” As the others looked on, she placed Oathkeeper in his hands, and picked up the sword he had placed at her feet in surrender.
“Pick it up. You are no Lannister, not anymore.” Her voice did not break.
II
In what was left of her that could, she wondered what they would say of her beauty now. Her blade hung at her side, red steel soaked in gore. The broken man at her feet died slowly, his horrified eyes fixed on her face, tears wet on his cheeks. For reasons she could not understand, she searched in vain for words to comfort him. No sound came; the rope had done its work well. She mouthed the syllables of his name as he died, wondering why it hurt, when she could not remember the last time she had felt pain.
III
She returned the lovely young girl with hints of red in her dark hair to Lady Stoneheart only to learn the Brotherhood had found him first. They had buried him, perhaps only for the amusement of putting his golden hand on a stake, so that the fingers reached hopelessly toward the ruddy setting sun. While the Brothers jeered and mocked, she fell to her knees beside the fresh grave, and bowed her head in silent prayer. Eventually they left her alone with him, and she let the tears fall. He may have deserved this end, but he deserved mourning, too.
IV
“I love you.”
Once the words might have been as beautiful music, but they cut her more deeply than the sword, even as she bled from more places than she could count. They came together with a crash of steel, muscles trembling as they exchanged blows, breaths coming raggedly. He had grown stronger since the last time they had done this, but she was stronger still. With a shriek of tortured metal, Oathkeeper's red steel broke his blade, the force of the follow-through burying the edge deeply between his ribs.
“I love you, too.” The blade jerked, seeking his heart.
V
The Maid of Tarth was beautiful. Her fine-crafted armor glowed from care, and when she removed her helm, her hair, braided and coiled, outshone any crown. She was a lioness, vicious and deadly. It was said that her blue eyes could be as cold as the winter of her birth, and brave men had found themselves afraid when meeting the woman with the scarlet blade on the tourney-field. Many desired her still; none would have her. The Lady of Tarth gave gifts of counsel with her armor and sword. Jeyne Storm, Lady Brienne’s bastard-born daughter, knew better than to love.
Title: Oathkeeper (Or, Five Times Brienne Kept Her Oath)
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Rating: T for violence, adult themes
Spoilers: Through A Feast For Crows, post-Feast speculation
Length: 500 words, 5 100-word drabbles on a theme
Characters/Pairing: Brienne/Jaime. Kind of. Consider my icon ironically used.
I
He was striking in black, even here, even now. She found him with his new brothers, ragged remnants, keeping their place on what remained of the Wall, between dragon’s fire and winter’s fall. She could not speak, she could not trust herself to make the words, even as he went to his knees, acceptance in his eyes.
“A Lannister pays his debts.” As the others looked on, she placed Oathkeeper in his hands, and picked up the sword he had placed at her feet in surrender.
“Pick it up. You are no Lannister, not anymore.” Her voice did not break.
II
In what was left of her that could, she wondered what they would say of her beauty now. Her blade hung at her side, red steel soaked in gore. The broken man at her feet died slowly, his horrified eyes fixed on her face, tears wet on his cheeks. For reasons she could not understand, she searched in vain for words to comfort him. No sound came; the rope had done its work well. She mouthed the syllables of his name as he died, wondering why it hurt, when she could not remember the last time she had felt pain.
III
She returned the lovely young girl with hints of red in her dark hair to Lady Stoneheart only to learn the Brotherhood had found him first. They had buried him, perhaps only for the amusement of putting his golden hand on a stake, so that the fingers reached hopelessly toward the ruddy setting sun. While the Brothers jeered and mocked, she fell to her knees beside the fresh grave, and bowed her head in silent prayer. Eventually they left her alone with him, and she let the tears fall. He may have deserved this end, but he deserved mourning, too.
IV
“I love you.”
Once the words might have been as beautiful music, but they cut her more deeply than the sword, even as she bled from more places than she could count. They came together with a crash of steel, muscles trembling as they exchanged blows, breaths coming raggedly. He had grown stronger since the last time they had done this, but she was stronger still. With a shriek of tortured metal, Oathkeeper's red steel broke his blade, the force of the follow-through burying the edge deeply between his ribs.
“I love you, too.” The blade jerked, seeking his heart.
V
The Maid of Tarth was beautiful. Her fine-crafted armor glowed from care, and when she removed her helm, her hair, braided and coiled, outshone any crown. She was a lioness, vicious and deadly. It was said that her blue eyes could be as cold as the winter of her birth, and brave men had found themselves afraid when meeting the woman with the scarlet blade on the tourney-field. Many desired her still; none would have her. The Lady of Tarth gave gifts of counsel with her armor and sword. Jeyne Storm, Lady Brienne’s bastard-born daughter, knew better than to love.