Her people loved her, was part of the problem.

At first, Jaime thought it was only his own affection coloring his understanding of others. It wouldn’t be the first time; he’d thought Cersei universally beloved too. But Dolan helped his suspicions along, and being back in Evenfall confirmed it. Brienne was ugly, awkward, and shy; she was no lady of the house, and if he hadn’t known her as well as he did, he’d think she was shirking her duty as the Head of House as well. Yes despite all that, everyone he met was powerfully devoted to her. It made him jealous, in an odd way. He thought he’d found her, his own secret; he’d fancied himself the only person who really saw how valuable she was. It turned out that a whole island shared his sentiments, and rendered them significantly less precious in the process.

Her people loved her; he was jealous. And their love meant it would be nearly impossible to escape.

The delegation left without having directly broached the matter of their Lannister hostages. When Jaime asked, Brienne said she’d brought it up but hadn’t gotten anywhere. For someone so unskilled in statecraft, that could only mean abject failure. Still, it was nice not to have to peer around corners before he spoke frankly; he was relieved not to have to worry about Cersei doing something cruel. He hadn’t realized how free Brienne had allowed them to pretend to be until there had been Tyrells and Starks around to observe their movements. Everyone from Brienne down to the serving girls had changed their treatment of the Lannisters for those three weeks.

But now they were gone, and Jaime could breathe again, in theory.

In reality, Cersei had found some wine and was drunk and raving in Brienne’s room.

Jaime had chosen to stay in the lady of the house’s suite, for now. He told himself it wasn’t cowardice; Brienne could handle herself.

“Coward! I name you coward and traitor -”

“Traitor to whom?” Brienne said coldly. “My lady, insomuch as anyone is the rightful heir to the throne, it isn’t a Lannister bastard.”

“Tommen is not -”

“He is. Would you deny Jaime the ability to claim him? Would you deny your own love?”

“Tommen is the rightful king and I will deny anyone who seeks to take that from him.”

“Then you deny forty thousand Dothraki and three angry dragons.” Brienne’s voice shaded into impatience, and Jaime loved her for it, for not being as scared of Cersei as he himself often was. “Honestly, Cersei, you already lost. If only you’d admit it, they’d be here already.”

“Coward,” Cersei hissed, “coward, coward!”

Jaime was up and running for the door when he heard the crack of flesh; he’d known where this was going as soon as he heard Cersei’s tone. So he made it into Brienne’s room in time to see Cersei grab her, haul her down and kiss her, fingers biting into Brienne’s jaw exactly as they so often had Jaime’s.

But unlike Jaime, Brienne didn’t melt into it. She didn’t beg Cersei to stop and she didn’t beg her for more, either. Jaime had been right the first time; Brienne didn’t need his help. She grasped both of Cersei’s arms and pushed her away, held her at arm’s length. It was a deeply silly tableau, but Brienne only looked the same as she always did.

“Your son will never sit on the throne,” Brienne said. “You, too, will never sit on the throne. I do not love the Dragon Queen, but she sits on the throne, with the Iron Islands’ navy and the Tyrells’ wealth and the Starks’ wolves. She holds it all, my lady, and I cannot force her to give you your children. I can only write to Lady Sansa and beg her favor. Do you understand?”

“Damn you,” Cersei said, “damn you to hell - and damn you, too!” For she’d caught sight of Jaime, and her eyes narrowed, her expression somehow growing even more poisonous. “I’ll leave you to your whore,” she spat, and stomped back into their room, slamming and locking the door behind her.

Brienne sat down at her desk. “I am trying,” she said, her voice dull, her movements heavy.

Jaime nodded. “I know.”

“Why on earth does she think you’re - with me? You’re not. I hear you two practically every night, she should know you’re not!”

But I am, Jaime nearly said, but Brienne wouldn’t want to hear it - and he didn’t really want to say it. “She hasn’t been faithful, and she’d prefer if I hadn’t been, either, so that we could blame each other into our graves. It doesn’t concern you.”

She didn’t seem to believe him, but nor was she willing to pursue the line of inquiry for now. She said, “I’d like to be friends with her.”

Jaime laughed in spite of himself.

She frowned. “I’m serious!”

“Oh, I know you are. But it won’t happen.”

“Why not?”

“She doesn’t have friends. She barely has allies. Surely you’d noticed.”

“She’s been desperate, pressed from all sides -”

“She’s selfish. Cruel. And she can’t stand the idea of others competing with her.” Jaime shrugged. “I love her; I wouldn’t lie to you about her character. She’s the other half of me, and she’s nearly a monster.”

He could tell Brienne already knew, but she had that stubborn look on her face that meant she wouldn’t admit it, or that she was about to behave foolishly. And then, right on cue, she said, “I just think that she could - she’s funny, sometimes. She’s pleasant to be around. She could have friends!”

“But she doesn’t want them, and therein lies the problem.”

“Not even for her children?”

Jaime blinked.

“If she were kind to me.” Brienne licked her lips, set her jaw with noble determination. “Suppose I weren’t doing all I could to recover them.”

“But you are.”

“But suppose I weren’t! Then perhaps her friendship would convince me to work harder. I’m - you know what I am, I’m ugly and have no influence, I’m a maid and likely always will be. Someone like her could flatter me, seduce me. But -”

“Hasn’t she done just that?” Jaime would remember the image of that kiss until he died, after all.

“Not like that,” Brienne said hotly, two spots of red appearing on her cheeks. “I mean as a true friend, like Lady Sansa has been to me. You truly don’t see the difference?”

“Of course I do. One of them, Cersei’s willing to do. The other, she isn’t.” He shrugged, trying not to reveal how much it hurt him, how badly he wished his sister had ever learned to be kind. “It doesn’t matter either way. I know you’re not holding back. I know you’ll get us our children back if you can.”

“But you don’t think I can,” she said softly, searching his gaze.

He didn’t, and he was helpless in the face of her honesty, her goodness. “I’m sorry.”

“Goodnight, Jaime.”

The Maid of Tarth went back to her papers, and Jaime found himself useless. He wanted to reassure her, to kiss her, to draw her down onto that enormous, comfortable bed. He could do none of it without Cersei knowing, so he left her alone, and went to comfort his sister instead.

===

She couldn’t stop thinking about it, and she hated it.

It had been an awful kiss. She’d really thought, before she’d done it, that Jaime’d had Brienne at least once, maybe several times - maybe for months as they’d traveled together, a beautiful disgusting romance. Now she knew she’d misjudged them. If Jaime had fucked her at all, which she doubted, then he’d done it without kissing her, without holding her. She knew her brother. He hadn’t fucked her at all.

And she couldn’t stop thinking about it, this nothing, this hadn’t-happened with a maid who was barely a woman. She hadn’t known how to kiss, but she had understood how their bodies worked. She’d pulled Cersei away from her as you might pull a kitten away from your finest woolens. It disgusted Cersei to think of; she hadn’t even hesitated.

But Cersei had seen her looking. She had felt, just for an instant, the gasping and yielding that meant Brienne wanted it, wanted her. And she knew she wanted Jaime; everyone on this thrice-damned island knew she wanted Jaime. Yet still she had pulled Cersei off of her.

As Jaime slept next to her, she considered alternatives. What if Brienne hadn’t pulled away? What if she’d let Cersei take her, what then? Would Cersei have done it?

For her children, yes. For them she’d do anything. To spite Jaime - perhaps. For the sheer enjoyment of it? Hardly. But Brienne might think otherwise.

As Jaime continued to sleep, innocent as a babe, she reached down to touch herself. She was slick and hot and wanting just from thinking about bending Brienne to her will, making her enjoy Cersei’s touch. When she slid fingers inside herself, all she could think about was doing the same to Brienne. She’d weep from it, Cersei was certain, after so many years without anyone’s touch at all. She’d beg. Cersei was so sure that she could make her beg.

She came silently, shaking from head to toe, her ankle pressed against Jaime’s. It was a kind of treachery, she thought, wanting Jaime’s new love as she did. She hoped it hurt him.

The next day, she tried to make peace. Brienne had taken to spending at least an hour locked up in her father’s office, attending to the business that even the scion of a minor house had to pay attention to. She was writing a letter when Cersei walked in, and stowed it beneath a folio so smoothly Cersei almost believed it wasn’t of consequence.

“Correspondence with Lady Sansa?”

“Something like that.” Red crept up Brienne’s neck. Cersei thought she understood Jaime’s fascination with it now; she wanted to trace that blush further down, to draw blood and see if that made it worse. Or perhaps it would retreat; perhaps Brienne, in pain and rage, would forget to be shy.

“Can I help you, my lady?”

Cersei decided to let Brienne see the moment she realized she’d been staring. She flicked her eyes up to Brienne’s face and smiled. “Ah, no. I just missed you, I suppose. Jaime’s sparring with one of your men - Dylan? Doran? Something like that.”

“Dolan. He likes him.”

“How delightful for them both. But I’m bored, and I imagine you are, too. You didn’t get all those big muscles by sitting behind a desk.”

She saw the pain in Brienne’s eyes, just a little, shadowed by anger and frustration. “No, my lady. But I woke at dawn for swordplay, and I’ll be examining the fence in the south field after I’m done here. I’m not in any danger of wasting away, I assure you.”

“Good. You’re the only thing standing between us and the dragon bitch.” She smiled, leaning forward just a little. Brienne’s eyes never left her face. Cersei left the room with a simmering frustration, a lust she couldn’t slake. She’d have to work harder. Brienne had a weakness, she knew it. She’d just have to find it.

It took her nearly a week to realize her mistake.

The household had relaxed, the sting of a visit from the Queen finally dissipated. Jaime had received a letter from Tyrion that left him in high spirits, and Brienne had enjoyed a long ride with some of her men - old friends, she’d called them. Cersei had no reason to be happy, but she was content to pretend it if suited her purposes, and tonight it did. They sent the servants away and drank wine around the fire, and Cersei laughed when Jaime told one of his ridiculous stories about his days in the Kingsguard, before everything had gone to shit.

And that was when she noticed it. They were all laughing, but Brienne most of all; she gazed at Jaime as though he’d single-handedly delivered her poor dead Renly, reanimated and suddenly mad for giant thighs and a sow’s face. It was Jaime, it had always been Jaime; Brienne only looked at her in the context of her beautiful, powerful, male other half.

The wine suddenly tasted like vinegar on her tongue.

“Brienne,” she said, seized by horrible impulse.

Brienne froze. “Yes? My lady?”

“Call me Cersei.”

Brienne smiled uncertainly. It made her lips look twice as broad as normal, and four times as broad as might be considered attractive. She was so ugly, Cersei thought. It gave her a sick thrill to think of it. “I thought we might play a game,” she said, licking her lips and glancing at Jaime.

Her brother immediately divined her meaning, of course. “We don’t need to play games. Were you not enjoying the story? I have many more, if you’d like.”

“I’ve heard all of them, Jaime. I have a different activity in mind. Lady Brienne.” She said it imperiously, in the tone of a Queen who had never been denied. “What do you love, my lady? What pleases you in this world?”

Brienne glanced between them. She was too smart, damn her, stupid in every way except divining what Cersei intended with regards to her twin. “A happy home, my lady. Food on my table. Honor for myself and my family, if they will it.”

No doubt she thought it a safe answer. But Cersei had learned to seize on any sign of weakness. “Your family? But you don’t have one, do you? The Queen killed your father, and the men of Tarth assure me you’re a maid.”

She watched, mesmerized, as Brienne swallowed.

“Don’t do this,” Jaime said in a low voice. But surely he knew she must.

“Of course, you can make a family without ever experiencing an ounce of your own pleasure,” Cersei said. “One could even say it’s traditional. Is that what you want?”

Brienne didn’t answer. She looked like a deer, Cersei thought, or a great ugly boar, right before hunters ran it down.

“You look at Jaime like you think he could give you both of them. Pleasure in bed, and children from that pleasure.” She reached out, expecting Brienne to flinch. But evidently she didn’t have any sense of self-preservation; she sat still and let Cersei trail two fingers down her cheek and throat. “I had to teach him how to do everything, you know. He was just a clumsy boy.”

“But he gave you children.”

“Yes. And two of them are still alive, even. Presumably.”

“They’re alive,” Brienne said. Her low, firm voice sent a shiver down Cersei’s spine. What business did she think she had, promising such a thing?

“You can’t say you know for sure.”

“I don’t,” Brienne said. “But I have a promise from Lady Sansa, and -”

“Lady Sansa, Lady Sansa, once again you remind us all of your duty. It’s dull, you know.”

“Yes. I’m told I’m dull as well. I should probably -” She put her wine down and made to stand.

But Cersei was drunk and felt half mad. She grabbed Brienne’s wrist, her grip tight enough to be cruel, but nowhere near so tight that Brienne couldn’t have broken free. Gods, she probably couldn’t be overpowered by Jaime, either. What was that like? What was it like to be such a monstrous abomination that you expected to die a maid?

“My lady,” Brienne said, tone patient. Cersei realized she was staring at Brienne, clinging to her wrist like a girl catching hold of a queen.

“You’ll learn,” Cersei said.

Another of those dull frowns, ridiculous in how stupid they made her look. “Learn what?”

“This,” Cersei said, and slid out of her own chair, dropping to her knees in front of Brienne.

“Cersei,” Jaime said. She knew he could see them both; she’d considered it a moment ago, while she’d looked at Brienne. Big, dumb Brienne, who had agreed to sit in the chair positioned so that both Lannisters could watch her. Ridiculous Brienne, who was now looking down at Cersei with something like terror in her eyes.

“Cersei, damn you,” Jaime said again.

Cersei didn’t answer. She couldn’t, just then; all her focus was on Brienne. She hadn’t moved when Jaime spoke, nor had she looked over at him.

She’d been wrong earlier. Brienne might only want Jaime, in truth; she might not want Cersei at all. But she wanted pleasure. She wanted to know what it was Cersei hinted at with her sarcasm and innuendo, and Cersei was more than happy to show her.

“Push me away if you’d rather, my lady,” Cersei said, and put her hands on Brienne’s trouser laces.

She went slowly. She wasn’t worried about Brienne stopping her, but she thought Jaime might interfere if he wasn’t made to see just how much his Maid of Tarth wanted this. So she carefully, slowly eased the trousers down Brienne’s legs, watched her nipples pebble under her tunic as Cersei stroked her thighs. She took a deep breath, smelling how wet Brienne already was before she pushed Brienne’s legs apart and let Jaime see it.

“Have you done this?” she asked, trailing a finger over the seam of Brienne’s thigh, where her hair became curly and wiry. “Touched yourself? Brought yourself pleasure? Don’t lie; I’ll know if you do.”

Gullible Brienne shook her head, then nodded. She flushed all the way down here, bright mottled red, same as her face. Paler than her face, though. Untouched, unseen. “Only - only a little. Never…”

“Never?”

Red as maiden’s blood, her blush. “Never to completion. My lady.”

“Ah. But you know what completion is.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time in war camps. The men talk about it.”

“The men.” Cersei snorted. “Fooled by whores into thinking they know what a woman’s pleasure looks like.”

“Does Jaime know?”

It was an astonishing question. Cersei laughed in shocked delight even as Brienne closed her eyes and seemed to wish herself elsewhere. “Brother, I think your maid has been thinking of you more than you realize.”

“Cersei.” An agonized plea, for Jaime understood what Brienne couldn’t. He understood that this was Cersei torturing them both.

“Never mind all that. Here.” Cersei caught Brienne’s naive, too-trusting gaze, and held it as she pressed a single finger into her ugly cunt. She pushed until she felt the wetness she’d smelled, until her finger could slide down Brienne’s slit and rest against her hole. And then she held it there, warmth surrounding her, feeling the flutter of Brienne’s muscles as her breath caught.

“How does it feel?”

“I -” Brienne bit her lip. Cersei could feel it shimmering in the air between them, how badly Brienne wanted to look away, how uncomfortable she was. But she was wet, filthily so. She might be disgusted, she might be humiliated - but she liked it. She couldn’t lie to Cersei, not about this.

“Tell me,” Cersei said, and pressed her finger forward just a little, breaching what Brienne had admitted remained untouched. Virginal. Innocent, until right now.

“It’s not enough for me to say, my lady.”

Cersei froze as Jaime laughed behind her. But still Brienne looked at her, and now Cersei understood what was passing between them: a challenge.

Brienne really had no idea how to do this, what happened between women and men. She really was stupid.

“I see,” Cersei said, and used her spare hand to spread Brienne open. She was so wet that she glistened around Cersei’s finger. “What about this?”

Three fingers, with no preparation at all. She watched Brienne take them with obscene fascination; her cunt made Cersei’s hand look tiny, her fingers inconsequential. How much could she take? A question for another time; right now, she was tossing her head back and making pathetic little moaning noises, and Cersei knew she needed to keep going to prevent her from running away.

“Hush now. Try not to remind my brother what a great, ugly beast you are.” She said in quiet, almost affectionate tones. When Brienne flushed again with humiliation, she smiled and leaned forward, licking her from the stretch of her hole all the way up to her clit.

She sucked her - and then, when Brienne moaned, repeated the motion more brutally, fucking her hard with her fingers at the same time. Rough movements seemed to make her wetter, for she practically dripped down Cersei’s wrist when Cersei bit her thigh.

But it wouldn’t do for her to reach completion too soon. Cersei had no hope that she’d be able to convince her to stay when the edge had been taken off and a bit of the madness had fled. So she slowed down, curling her fingers inside Brienne and then sitting back and forcing her to rock her own hips, to fuck herself on Cersei’s hand. When she tried to reach down to rub herself, Cersei knocked her hand away.

“Brother dear, I’m a bit lost,” she said. She turned to look at him, knowing the firelight would show how wet her lips and chin were. He sat with his hand curled into a fist, staring at her like he wanted to strangle her. Good. “What should I do to her next?”

“Let her go,” Jaime said in a low voice.

Brienne moaned. “Please, I just -”

“I can’t do that. I think she might hurt herself if I did. See?” Cersei thrust against the spot that made Brienne moan, then did it again and again, until Brienne was close to wailing. “What should I do with her?”

“Cersei -”

“Ah, you’re right. There’s really only one way to end this, isn’t there?” She waited, buried deep inside the ugliest woman she’d ever met, waited as Brienne’s breathing almost evened out again, waited until Jaime’s face collapsed from confusion, to understanding, to resignation.

“Kiss her,” Cersei said, nearly a whisper.

“Wait,” Brienne said, and for a second Cersei thought she might get kicked in the head. But Jaime moved quickly, capturing her lips before she could humiliate herself further - and Cersei latched her mouth back on Brienne so that she couldn’t touch herself, so that this would be Cersei’s moment, her triumph. And Brienne came like that, screaming into Jaime’s mouth, her fingertips digging into Cersei’s shoulder.

As Cersei had predicted, she left right after, stuttering apologies to them both. Cersei collected herself and stood, watching her leave. “Anyone who sees her will know what’s happened.”

“How could you?” Jaime said. “You - taking advantage, forcing -”

“Does this look like force to you?” Cersei held out her hand. Her fingers were pruned, sticky and drying. The smell was everywhere. What more proof did he need?

“Damn you,” he said for the hundredth time that night, and grabbed her.

They didn’t kiss. Perhaps he didn’t wish to profane himself so soon after kissing his innocent sow-love. He shoved down onto the floor, close enough to the fireplace that she felt her skin tighten. He drove into her without hesitation, and oh, she was ready, she wanted all of it and more; she’d been wet for what felt like hours, since the moment she’d decided to torture them. She smeared the remains of Brienne’s release on his hair as she held him, and he bit down on the tiny, deep bruises Brienne had left on her shoulder. She came like that, gasping, as her twin cursed her name, their progeny, and himself.

===

He had to apologize, but what could he say? ‘Brienne, I’m sorry I stood by like an idiot and let my sister profane you’? ‘Brienne, did you actually want to fuck my sister, because if so, we have more in common than I’d realized’? ‘Brienne, does this mean you didn’t want me after all’?

“Stop whining.”

“I haven’t said anything!”

Cersei looked over at him and rolled her eyes. She was wearing one of the dresses their allowance had paid for. The bruises he and Brienne had both left were perfectly visible, dark blue spots arrayed from her shoulder all the way up her neck. “You don’t need to talk to whine, Jaime. It’s all over your face.”

“We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t pitch us into the sea.”

“Why? She wanted it. We simply indulged her.”

“She’s a maid. She had no idea what you planned to do to her.”

“She’s still a maid, or close enough.” Cersei smiled. She was so beautiful, even now, clearly basking in her fresh cruelty. “We showed her how to enjoy herself. If anything, she should be thanking us.”

“We didn’t do anything! You -”

“You were there. You kissed her. You fucked me.” She moved a finger between them, then curled it in a perfect imitation of what she’d done last night. “We.”

Damn her, his blood heated just to think of it. He should have put a stop to it at the time. Brienne might think she understood, but she had no idea how cruel Cersei could be when she set her mind to it. It should have been Jaime who told Cersei to stop, who walked Brienne to her room and apologized profusely for his sister’s boldness. But he hadn’t been able to make himself move. The second Cersei had dropped to her knees - or earlier, even, watching Cersei watch Brienne with that awful, ugly, obsessive glint in her eye. They had looked perfect, a collision of everything he’d ever wanted. He’d been weak and foolish, and as ever, Brienne had paid the price.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m going to apologize. She had no idea what you were going to do, and it’s cruel to pull people who don’t want it into your games.”

“She did -”

“She wanted to be touched, because she had never been. How would you have felt in her place?”

It was the wrong question to ask, he realized. Cersei’s expression went flat, her eyes becoming flint. “Grateful.”

“I very much doubt that.”

Cersei shrugged. “I’m going for a walk. Apologize to the cow if you like, but don’t you dare imply I feel the same.”

He sat alone for a long time before he walked over to the adjoining door. His knees trembled like a squire’s as he knocked, and his heart flipped over in his chest when she said, “Come in.”

“Brienne,” he said, fumbling with the door and accidentally slamming it behind him. “I - sorry! I’m, ah -”

Cersei was bruised and Jaime knew he looked as tired as he felt, but Brienne looked well-rested and perfectly ordinary. It filled him with wretched, inappropriate hope that perhaps they hadn’t ruined everything, that Cersei hadn’t hurt her as much as he suspected she had.

“Ser Jaime,” she said. “Please, sit.”

Her voice was dull and wooden, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. No, he thought, throat tightening. Cersei had hurt her exactly as much as she’d intended to.

He sat, and they didn’t look at each other. It was unbearable, tense silence broken only by gulls outside, until Jaime blurted out, “Brienne, I’m so sorry, I should have stopped her,” at the same time Brienne said, “I owe you an apology for my conduct, Ser Jaime, which was unbecoming as your host.”

They blinked at each other. Jaime suppressed the horrid urge to laugh. “You owe me no apologies, Brienne. Cersei behaved abominably.”

“I -” Brienne blinked, took a deep breath. “I let her. I encouraged her.”

“It’s not encouragement to not be able to stop my sister, I assure you.”

“Then you didn’t encourage her either!”

But he had, damn it, he’d been so hard he’d worried he couldn’t stand up. He’d been so furiously jealous of Cersei getting to lick Brienne’s cunt that he’d been halfway to madness. “I did. I let it happen. I wanted -” And his throat closed up again. He couldn’t make himself say it: I wanted you. I wanted both of you, I want both of you, and she knows it and wants to hurt me for it.

“No one’s wanted to touch me,” Brienne said. The words were as bald and bleak as the cliff outside her window. “I’m not stupid, I know your sister was only trying to hurt you. But she showed me what it could be like. Parts of it, anyway. I failed; I didn’t make her stop. I - encouraged her - because in the moment, it seemed like something I could have.” She shrugged. “Please convey my apologies to Lady Cersei. I’m afraid I must continue my correspondence now.”

Here, then, was Cersei’s revenge. Brienne’s eyes stubbornly on her desk, the distrust in her posture, the way she jerked back just a little when he stood, as though she needed to track his every movement. Cersei’s revenge and he’d done his part as always.

“Brienne. Please. I’m sorry.”

“Jaime.” She looked up meeting his gaze at last. He stumbled back a step in spite of himself. Devastation didn’t come close to describing what he saw in her eyes. “Please leave.”

He could do nothing but obey. He spent the day in his and Cersei’s rooms, trying and failing to think of ways to make amends. He’d half talked himself into simply turning himself in to the Dragon Queen when Cersei came back, carrying a tray of what must have been supper.

“Brienne was so worried about you,” she said, her voice a mockery of tenderness. “I assured her I’d care for you; what else is a sister for, after all?”

“Stop it.”

“So here we have bread, and three different cheeses, and ham just for you, to keep your strength up, Brienne told me. What a devoted oaf she is.”

“She didn’t say that. Stop it.”

“No, that’s true. She didn’t say much of anything, actually. Her heart is quite broken, it would seem. Did you know, she sent four ravens today? I wonder if she’s inquiring about her maidenhead.” Cersei laughed.

Jaime was on his feet before he knew what he was doing, his golden hand raised as though to strike his sister. But Cersei didn’t flinch, didn’t move at all. She looked up at Jaime with empty eyes and said, “Careful. If you hit me, no one in this whole castle will fuck you.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I’m bored. I thought I’d be doing her a favor, showing her what it’s like to be a woman. And of course, I do love to get my brother what he wants.”

“None of that is true. You were angry, angrier than you’ve been. Why?”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business, do you?”

“Yes it is! You’re my - sister, the mother of my children -”

“Your lover, and you can’t even say it here, on an island in the middle of nowhere -”

“And I care about Brienne, I don’t want her to be upset because you’ve decided to play with her -” And he realized it then, when her eyes widened and her jaw set. That was what it was. “You’re jealous.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Of her? How could you be?” He’d thought they were past this, after so long since he’d returned.

“Jealousy implies a good deal more insecurity than I’ve ever experienced,” she said coldly. “But yes, I see how she looks at you - and how you look at her, too. It disgusts me. I decided to fix it.”

“To fix it.”

“Yes.” She smiled at him, blithe and fucking evil. “Is that all, brother? Your food’s getting cold.”

“It’s ham and cheese! It’s already cold!”

But she didn’t care. She left him anyway, sitting in the window like a fool.

===

Brienne found her in the garden the next day, sitting among the sunflowers. “You should stop tormenting him.”

“Tormenting who?”

“You know who.”

“Perhaps I just like to hear you say it. Your voice is lovely, you know. It’s not like your face at all.”

“Insult me all you like, I don’t care. I know I’m ugly, and I know you don’t like me. But Jaime didn’t do anything to you. It’s cruel to treat him like this, when he loves you how he does.”

“And how is that, Lady Brienne?”

“He’d marry you.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “I doubt the Dragon Queen would appreciate our encroaching upon her Targaryen rituals that way.”

“He loves you. I don’t understand why you push him away, when you love him too. I know I - I know I’m foolish, I know you’ve noticed. But that’s not him. It’s not his fault, and it’s not his responsibility to make me stop feeling that way.”

“What would make you stop, then? I’d have thought a lurid encounter with your lordly love’s sister might, and yet, here you stand.” Cersei looked up at her. She was so broad that her shadow put Cersei entirely in the shade. “Did you enjoy it? Perhaps we should do it again.”

Another blush. Cersei was starting to find them beautiful; they meant Brienne was embarrassed, even miserable, and sent a thrill of triumph through her every time. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why not? Didn’t you enjoy yourself? I’d thought by your screams that you did.”

“I know you meant to humiliate me,” she said quietly. “It worked, do you see? Everyone on Tarth knows I’m - undesirable. I’m not sure what you thought you’d teach me - that your brother loves you better? I knew that, too. But I don’t really care. I just want you to leave Jaime alone.”

Her breath felt stuck in her lungs. “How chivalrous,” she said finally, bitterness lodged in the back of her throat.

“Not really. I love Jaime. I want to preserve - what I can. For him.”

“Why? How could it possibly benefit you?”

For a moment she saw pity in Brienne’s expression. “That’s not the point.”

“Fuck you,” Cersei spat. “He’ll never love you. He’ll never have you. You’ll die an ugly maid, mocked by all, hated by all.”

Brienne nodded. “Yes. It seems likely, doesn’t it?”

Cersei hissed with rage, leaping up to slap the pity off her face. Brienne leaned back at the last moment, and Cersei kissed her.

It only lasted for a second. Brienne ripped herself away, taking two stumbling steps backwards. “Don’t try that again. No! Don’t come any closer. I - don’t.” She held out a hand. “Don’t.”

Cersei didn’t look at her, nor did she speak. She waited until she heard Brienne’s lumbering steps, and then she ripped every single petal off all the sunflowers she could get her hands on.

That night, she locked Jaime into their room. He knew as soon as he saw her what she intended to do, and he didn’t stop her. He was hard by the time she climbed onto his lap, but he was angry, too. He pushed her down into the bed, lifted her hips with ease, and fucked her without mercy, pressing down on the bruises Brienne had left, making her cry out.

“Do you want her to come in?” she said breathlessly, clinging to the sheets as he grabbed her hair and pulled her head up. “Is that what this is? Would you like her to fuck you, as you - ah!”

“Yes,” he hissed in her ear, and bit down again, on her other shoulder this time, hard enough to send real pain shooting down her arm. “Yes, I want her. Yes, I want her to see us.” He grabbed her tits and pinched them cruelly, reached down and rubbed her clit until she screamed in pain and need, so close to coming that she couldn’t hold herself upright. “Yes, I’d fuck her, I’d lay her down right next to you and fuck you both. Yes. Yes.”

She came just like that, with him rutting into her. The moment he felt it he pulled out, and even as she cried out in deprivation, came on her back, streaks that dripped down her as she fought to hold herself up with trembling arms.

And the thought bullied its way into her mind as she reached down to finish herself: what if Brienne were here, what if Brienne were beneath her, what if Brienne’s beastly arms held her up as she helped Jaime finish her?

She screamed again when she came. She knew Brienne must have heard it, and her heart sang to think of her discomfort. She hoped this whole fucking accursed island heard them.

===

“We’re going to King’s Landing. Do you need moon tea for your sister?”

“Excuse me?”

Brienne stood in the doorway. Cersei was long gone; Tarth, or the misery of being on Tarth, had turned her into an early riser. She didn’t evince any impatience when Jaime blinked at her, nor did she seem distracted by his nakedness, despite the fact that their blankets barely covered his hips. “We’re going to King’s Landing. Does your sister need moon tea?”

“Well, at least now you’re not asking if I think I’m in charge of dosing her with it.” He tried to force his brain to work. “She always took care of it in the past.”

“Did she.”

Three children. Two, now. It was the reminder of Joffrey’s death that sparked anger in him. “I assure you, Lady Brienne: if she hadn’t, Tarth would be absolutely packed with Lannister bastards.”

There was something so gruesomely satisfying about seeing a muscle in her jaw tense with anger. Gods, he wished she’d just let loose and hit him already. He couldn’t beat her in a fair fight, not anymore, but his blood thrilled at the prospect of trying. “Go on, say it.”

“Say what?”

“There’s already one in front of you right now. One too many.” He smiled at her.

And then - oh. Oh. It was only a moment, barely that. But she looked at him, and then she looked down - and hastily back up. She wanted him still.

I’d lay her down right next to you and fuck you both, he’d said last night. Suddenly his mouth was dry, his cock stirring. “I’ll let her know you offered.”

“Sorry?”

“The tea.” He did his best to look gentle when she blinked at him. “I’m sure she’ll be grateful.”

“No, she won’t.”

His heart twisted with awful affection. She understood them both, and of course that was why it had all happened, but it still felt like a declaration of some kind. It felt right. “She won’t.”

Brienne twisted her hands in front of her. “I’ll - leave you, then.”

Maybe it was because he was tired, but he let himself look for a moment. She wore blue traveling clothes; the fabric was finer than what she’d had in service of the Starks, and gave her the odd appearance of glowing a bit. Her trousers weren’t tight, but they were well fitted across her thighs. He’d never really forgotten what they looked like after seeing her in the baths, but his memories were fresh now: smooth skin, a few scars, absolutely beastly strength. And her hands, of course, were strong enough to hold Cersei down. What would they feel like on him? On his cock, his ass - would she try to put her fingers in him? Tyrion had sworn it felt good, but Cersei had never been willing to try. Brienne was brave and had no idea what to expect in bed; she’d try, just to please him. Bend him over and -

Cersei’s voice jolted him out of his reverie. “Why exactly are there preparations being made for a long trip? And who didn’t see fit to inform me of them? Oh, good morning, Jaime; stop drooling over your ugly maiden and answer my question.”

“We’re to travel to King’s Landing, my lady,” Brienne said. “At the behest of the Queen.”

“Why?”

Brienne looked at Jaime, then back at Cersei. Her expression didn’t change, but somehow Jaime sensed bad news coming: his stomach dropped, and he climbed out of bed as though the Queen’s summons were something he could fight.

“I’m to be married to Gendry Baratheon, newly legitimized lord of Storm’s End, my lady.”

Silence. Jaime looked at Brienne in disbelief; Brienne looked at Cersei with placid calm; Cersei looked at them both and barely stifled a laugh. “Put some clothes on and stop embarrassing yourself, darling brother,” she said, and swept past Brienne into their sitting room.

Jaime looked down at his rapidly softening cock. Brienne, thank the gods old and new, didn’t. “I’ll leave you to prepare,” she said, and practically ran out of the room.

As soon as she shut the door, Cersei burst into peals of laughter. “Oh, this is too good. Gendry Baratheon. My husband’s bastard; we’ll be practically sisters.”

“Well, I know how much you like that in a bed partner,” Jaime spat. Where were his trousers? Why had he let Cersei ban the servants from their room? Everyone knew they were fucking, and no one cared - and soon no one would be around to care; they couldn’t stay on Tarth under Lord Gendry’s rule, he was sure. Damn it, it was all falling apart. “You shouldn’t be so jubilant about this. She doesn’t want to marry him.”

“What do I care what she wants or doesn’t want? King’s Landing is where Tommen is. Myrcella is either in transit, or has already returned. I’ll have our children again, and then you’ll figure out a way to get us out of there.”

Jaime thought it significantly more likely he’d learn to change into a dragon, but he knew Cersei wouldn’t hear sense in this kind of mood. He sighed and went to pack his things.

They rode out the next morning. Cersei had taken the moon tea and then sucked Jaime’s cock right there in the corridor leading to the kitchen, as though to emphasize what they both already knew: that she was on the knife’s edge of sanity, practically daring someone to call their actions wrong. Jaime should have pushed her away and he knew it, but as always, he couldn’t manage to make himself do it. It seemed they’d be going back to King’s Landing nearly exactly how they’d left it.

But only nearly. Brienne rode between them, wearing both Oathkeeper and the armor Jaime had given her. She looked noble and serious, beautiful, and Jaime’s throat felt tight with anger at the idea of this glorious, odd woman forced into a marriage with a man who’d deck her out in ill-fitting silks and likely forbid her swordplay altogether.

Gendry Baratheon. What a farce. A blacksmith, Cersei had told him, and a criminal, in the way that unlucky smallfolk often were during times of social turmoil. He’d won the Queen’s favor by offering to make more Dothraki weapons, which meant as far as Brienne was concerned, he was a traitor as well. Simply lovely.

At least he could be reasonably confident that she wouldn’t be bullied. Her time on her home island had been good for her; she’d gotten more sun and had spent half her days helping with manual labor or drilling in the practice yard. Her muscles were leaner than they’d ever been, the stroke of her sword stronger. No, neither Gendry nor anyone else would overpower her. Perhaps she’d even come to love him with time, and then -

But he had to stop thinking about it then. He was coming back to King’s Landing more selfish than he’d been, for now he understood the truth of his heart. Brienne loved him, and Jaime loved her love of him, craved it. The love of one woman, apparently, wasn’t enough. He knew so much more about himself now.

Perhaps when they were back in King’s Landing, he’d ask Cersei about it. Likely she’d known for a long time. She might lie to him, mock him, or try to manipulate him - but she might help him, too. Or he could beg an audience with the head of his House and ask Tyrion about it. The thought of bending the knee just to ask his brother for help with his romantic life made him chuckle into the mist.

Brienne glanced at him, but didn’t ask him to elaborate, thank the gods. He’d have been honest with her, and only gotten them all into even more trouble.

===

Cersei couldn’t stop staring at Brienne. She’d been distracted with panic when they’d left King’s Landing the first time; she hadn’t noticed anything about Brienne’s clothes or manner of carrying herself, and then she’d been on Tarth, where she hardly ever wore her sword and dressed the part of some kind of hideous hybrid of the Lord and Lady of her House. Now, she looked every bit a Lannister knight. Jaime’s armor and sword were most of it, but the hair didn’t help, nor did the way she watched Cersei and Jaime - not deferent, never that, but careful. If the horses were to startle, if everyone were to scatter, Brienne would follow them.

It was almost enough to make Cersei want to test her. To force her to show her loyalty. It would be delicious, she thought, to crush her like that. Maybe then, when she saw Jaime allowing his sister to toy with her, the bitch would finally understand to whom he belonged.

But every time she got close to doing it, she remembered the cheery future they had waiting for them. Brienne was to marry. Jaime’s heart would break, and Cersei didn’t care - no, that wasn’t true: she was excited. She’d be there to pick up the pieces, and he’d be hers again in the aftermath. Where they’d go, how they’d secure themselves, would have been problems anyway. At least right now, their biggest problem was removed.

Or, almost. Cersei still had to sleep next to her at night.

“This tent is too small for someone as large as you,” she said. “You ought to sleep outside. Or we could get an inn.”

“Cersei,” Jaime said.

“What? I think she knows I’m right.”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but you are technically still prisoners of the Queen. I can’t afford to lose you right now, nor can I afford the kind of rumors inns get you. You’ll be sleeping between me and Jaime.”

“Oh, I see. Him, you trust not to run off?”

“He knows the Queen would be displeased if I lost one of you. I trust him not to kill me.”

“Fool,” Cersei muttered, but of course she was right. Jaime was so weak for Brienne that he wouldn’t even let Cersei suck him off after she fell asleep. He cast wide-eyed, heartfelt glances over at her enormous form and shook his head, pushing Cersei’s head away. She was left to lie between them, burning from the abnormal warmth of Brienne’s body and trying to remember what a soft bed felt like.

They were a day’s ride out from King’s Landing, stopped for the night, when the bandits came. Cersei saw Brienne draw her sword first, and then they appeared as if from the mist. Four men and one woman, all of them wearing rich clothing that hadn’t been made for them. They were good at their jobs, Cersei supposed.

“Let us pass,” Brienne said.

“Can’t we just bribe them?” Cersei said. “You there, in the blue.” The man at the front of the group looked at Cersei. “I’ve three gold chains and a promise for more if you let us pass safely. Plus the mounts.” The horses were too far away to escape on, damn it all.

“I’ll take nothing from a Lannister whore.” He grinned, looking her up and down. “Not while she’s alive, anyway.”

Jaime had only a short sword, and his useless hand made Cersei fear for him every time he tried to fight, but he drew the sword anyway and moved in front of Cersei. “You shan’t touch her.”

“For you, Kingslayer, I’ll touch her while you’re both still alive to enjoy it.”

“Damn you!” Brienne shouted. She’d cut down one of the men before their leader could speak again. Cersei flinched, watching the woman in the group attack her with a dirty, mean-looking dagger. Brienne took a thwack to the back, but spun around and killed her. Jaime dispatched the man who rushed for Cersei, and Brienne threw off a bandit’s arm around her waist and cut him down, leaving only their leader.

To Cersei’s shock, it was Brienne who advanced on him, murderous rage in her expression. “You should have just taken the gold,” she said.

She was implacable in that moment, her eyes brilliant, her movements deadly. The man had no chance; Brienne slit his throat in one brutal stroke, and stood gasping for breath over his body.

It had only been a minute or two. Cersei had seen plenty of death; she wasn’t sure she’d ever been this close to it, nor had she ever seen a woman deal death so efficiently. She hadn’t really believed Jaime when he’d tried to tell her what Brienne was capable of.

“Are we going to bury them?” she said when no one said anything.

Jaime shrugged. “This is the Kingsroad. They’ll be found and identified.”

“We’ll tell someone at the next town,” Brienne told Jaime sternly. “No one wants to come across such savagery.”

“And yet, they do every day.” But Jaime bowed his head in spite of the comment, saying, “Of course, my lady.”

For a moment, furious jealousy burned through Cersei. He was taking her orders now, even as she could see the length of him in his breeches, hard and ready as he always was after a fight. Was this what he wanted, truly? An ugly killer? But she thought of the way Brienne had killed them, firm and furious, and the thrill between her own legs confirmed it for her. Yes, this was what they both wanted - at least right here, so far from civilization, held captive by a mad half-giant’s idiotic ideals of honor.

They were all in agreement that they didn’t want to sleep next to five bodies, so they continued down the road. Before twilight had truly become deep night, they found a town. Brienne flatly refused to identify them to get better rooms - “Everyone hates you, my lady, not just bandits.” - but she did make them stop to report the presence of the bandits, and then she dragged them up to the tiny room they were to share.

“It’s better than sleeping in a field, at least,” Jaime murmured to Cersei as Brienne left to find them food.

“It’s disgusting.” Oh, fine, the bed was clean enough, and there was a maid bringing bath water. But the bed was hardly big enough for Brienne, enormous as she was, and Jaime expected all three of them to fit?

“She saved our lives.”

“You would have -”

“Died,” Jaime said. “Heroically, I grant you, protecting my lady love.” He touched her jaw. “But I’d have died all the same. She saved us.”

As she had repeatedly this past year. Cersei hated it. The hatred burned within her like wildfire. She hated it, she hated Brienne, she hated -

“My lady,” Brienne said, letting herself in. Jaime yanked his hand away from her face, a cold breeze moving between them as he leaned away. “Here’s the bath, and food.”

Cersei looked up at her. Her face was streaked with mood and blood, and she positively reeked of horse. “You take the first bath. They’ll need to empty it out after you. Jaime and I will eat.”

She was so familiar with that dullard’s frown now. It meant Brienne didn’t understand, or was doing the tedious math she loved to work out the most honorable option. Apparently she saw nothing devilish in Cersei’s directions, for she nodded and said, “Very well,” and then began to take her clothes off.

Gods, she was thick with muscle and had scars almost everywhere Cersei looked. And a few fresh marks from today, too, great welts of red across her back. Claw marks on her shoulder, little nicks everywhere - she hadn’t noticed when she’d fucked her, she’d been busy with other things. But now she wondered if this was just the inevitable consequence of the unnatural life she’d led. Though Jaime hadn’t lied; she still had tits. They were tiny but unmarked, and they disappeared beneath the water as soon as Brienne climbed into the tub.

Jaime’s lips quirked. “Give the lady her privacy, sister.”

Cersei looked away, ruthlessly willing a blush down. “Why should I? We’re all to share this room. I haven’t done that since Tommen was a babe.”

“I’m not your son, my lady,” Brienne said. “Nor do I think you shared a room long, even with a newborn.”

She was right, but the correction still irritated Cersei. “You think I haven’t noticed that you’ve vices, my lady? You love to be right, don’t you? You’ll needle a Lannister and then act shocked when you get the lion. Gods, you’re dull.”

Dripping water, a single thick wrist above the water. For a moment Cersei pressed her thighs together and forbade herself to think about how it would feel, what it would be like. But she made the mistake of glancing over at Jaime; he knew, it was all over his face. He was thinking about it too.

Brienne had responded, but Cersei hadn’t heard her. To save herself from the burden of polite conversation, she took an enormous gulp of ale and set about tearing up the bread for herself and Jaime.

This trip was nightmarish. It almost made her long for the engagement parties; at least there, the ripostes would be civil, the danger clear.

She couldn’t look away from Brienne, even when she made a conscious effort. Her eyes kept straying back, watching the water fall over her beastly muscles, the movement of her strong hands against her skin. It had been overwhelming when Cersei had knelt for her; her presence had been so strong that Cersei had been viscerally disgusted, yet compelled to stay. Now, she remembered it all, the smell of her, the feel, and she wanted it again. She wanted more.

In the flickering candlelight, Jaime watched her. He ate like a dog now, with only the one hand, but she didn’t notice when he kept his gaze on her. She felt warm down to her toes - not happy, not content, but furious and hungry. She felt as though she were starving, and she knew to her bones that Jaime understood.

They didn’t speak of it. Much later, after they’d all bathed and Brienne had fallen asleep on the floor next to the too-small bed, Jaime reached for her.

It was disgusting, perverse. It should have been Brienne up here and Jaime on the floor, but Brienne had given them the bed because she knew what they intended to do. Cersei ought to have proven her wrong. Instead, she let Jaime grab her, let him slide his hand into her smallclothes, let him bite and rub and pinch until she was coming in his arms, shaking, not quite silent.

She hoped Brienne heard. She did. She hoped she heard it and feared her own future, her clumsy-fingered common husband, who surely would be just as repulsed by her body as Cersei was.