#and i mayhaps made him hold certain things to imply there's something more going on with the golden boy....? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

firesign23 · 4 years

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32 + 50 please thank you! ❤️

Okay, I thought about setting this in the sort-of-yonder-sequel universe because I’ve gotten weirdly attached to that AU, but decided to go for a more traditional arranged marriage setup. And then proceeded to write a 2200 word fic because I forgot I was supposed to be writing summaries. I don’t even know what this is, other than a weird mish-mash of tense (deliberate), long (not deliberate), and the most twincest I’ve bothered to imply in a story. I apologise in advance.

Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP

Pregnancy Fic & Arranged Marriage

In the years to come, Jaime would say that the marriage was entirely the fault of his wife. He’d been doing perfectly well avoiding all marital entanglements, despite his father’s plotting, until some stubborn sword-wench arrived in King’s Landing and upended everything. Brienne, for her part, would bluntly point out that she sparred at night specifically to avoid attention from half the knights in the city, and if he’d left when she’d asked him to, his father never would have found them and arranged their marriage before either of them had time to object.

“I’m grateful for my stubbornness, then,” he would reply, usually accompanied by a kiss to her cheek that inevitably made her blush.

But that was several years into the future. The day of their wedding, it was a toss-up over who was less impressed with the experience. She’d stared stonily at him the entire time they were in the sept, and spoke no words to him or anyone else during the feast. Jaime leaned towards her when Tyrion began a particularly long-winded speech.

“Follow me,” he whispered, snagging her hand beneath the table; she pulled free immediately, the hand above the table closing over her knife. Stubborn beast. “If we leave now, we can avoid the bedding. Unless you’re looking forward to it?” His eyes flicked over her appraisingly. “Mayhaps you’d enjoy it, being stripped of your clothes and manhandled. But if that’s the case–” he licked his lips here, deliberately lewd and goading, “I’m strong enough to do it myself.”

“I would kill you where you stood if you tried,” she replied levelly, glancing around the hall and weighing her options. “But very well.”

And so they had slipped from the hall and towards their chambers, where Jaime poured himself a goblet of wine and asked his new wife if she’d like one as well. She stood stiffly by the door, looking rather like a startled creature but refusing to run away.

“No, thank you, Ser Jaime.”

“Relax, wench,” he said, taking a drink and sprawling into a chair. “I won’t bed an unwilling woman. Your virtue is safe with me. I’ll prick my finger so people will presume your duty done.”

“I have no maidenhead,” she said boldly.

That was a surprise.

“Man? Woman?” he paused. “Horse?”

The woman blushed. “I meant that fighting and riding had taken care of it years ago, and if it hadn’t my fingers would have.”

It was a thing of false bravado, her chin tilted high and her face a bright red, but Jaime found himself imagining it–those long, broad fingers of hers between her legs, pumping relentlessly as she gasped and writhed, her other hand cupping her near-nonexistent breasts. He imagined she’d grunt as she did while fighting, feral and without regard for politeness.

His heart belonged to another, but his cock seemed to have no trouble with the idea of bedding the Maid of Tarth.

“Still,” he said, draining his goblet of wine, “it is best to be thorough.”

***

Cersei hated his new wife, her green eyes narrowing whenever the two crossed paths. And while he loved his dear sister and had no more than a begrudging respect for the poor woman so unfortunately wed to him, Jaime found he had little patience for her cruelty.

“Leave the poor beast be,” Jaime would softly reprimand when they were alone. “I am yours as I have always been. I do not goad Robert so.”

“Robert is the King, foolish brother,” Cersei would softly reply, nibbling at his ear. “Your wife is nothing.”

***

“Your father says I am not to spar until I have produced an heir,” she told him three moons into their marriage, clearly furious. “So I shall never wield a sword again.”

“I didn’t take you to be the type to listen to such proclamations.”

“I am not,” she said. “But every halfway decent swordsman in the keep is, it seems. No-one will fight with me.”

“I will,” he said. “If he quarrels, we’ll tell him it gets our juices flowing. He’s desperate enough for an heir he won’t forbid it.”

He saw her weighing her distrust of him against her need to fight, and come to the same conclusion any warrior would.

In the silver moonlight, her brow damp with sweat as she raises her sword once more, he thinks she is almost beautiful.

***

They had been married nearly a year when she came to him, wearing a nightgown he knew was not her usual sleepwear.

“An heir is required of us,” she said. Still blushing furiously, still brave despite it, as she had been the night they wed. “It can be yours or I can seek… You said you will not bed an unwilling woman and have stayed true to this, and I will offer you the same courtesy.“

“Come here, Brienne,” he said. Kissed her. Touched her.

“I know…I know this is duty,” she said, near-trembling in his arms. “There’s no need to play at enjoyment.”

He growled. Stubborn wife. “I have every intention that we will both enjoy this.”

Jaime, she cried when he finally found his place between her legs. Jaime, Jaime, Jaime.

***

“I hear congratulations are in order, dear brother,” Cersei said, trailing her hand across his shoulders. “You finally braved the beast and got her with child.”

He thought of Brienne, of the tiniest swell of her stomach that he’d mapped with fingers and lips only that morning. Thought of the way she’d laughed, scolding him for his nonsense. Thought of the way she still sought his bed more nights than not, for affection or simply to sleep, though she had already done her duty. His heart belonged to Cersei, of course it did; it had for so long there was no longer a choice, even as she grew crueler by the day. But more and more of his life was with his stubborn sword-wench. His wife.

“So the maester says,” Jaime said. Neutrally, lest his sister read more into it than there is. “But I’ve gotten you that way three times.”

“With any luck she’ll bear you a healthy boy and die in the process,” Cersei shrugged, lowering herself onto Jaime’s lap and moving to kiss him.

He pushed her away.

“That is my wife,” he said, standing. Strode towards the door. “I’ll thank you not to speak of such things again.”

“Jaime, I only meant–”

Whatever she said after that was said to an empty room.

***

“He’s kicking,” Brienne said in wonder, a hand pressed to her stomach. “Come, Jaime, feel him.”

Jaime crossed the room and bent before her chair, placing his hand where directed. There was a soft thump against his palm and he smiled. That was his child, the one he could hold and teach and love openly, the one that would bear his name. A son who loved swords as his parents did, or a daughter with her mother’s eyes. Almost certain to be stubborn, and tall. And whoever they were, they were right there, beneath his hand, a gift he’d never imagined.

“Thank you,” he whispered in a choked voice, rising to press a kiss to her forehead.

***

He should have known Cersei would retaliate, but he hadn’t. And time had gone and he’d allowed himself to become complacent, taken Cersei’s cold silence as unimportant. But the moment a harried messenger had sought him out, telling him Lady Lannister had been attacked by three men and been taken to their chambers, he knew. He knew Cersei had arranged it, and knew she expected him to go to her so they could quarrel and fuck and he would forgive her once again. He knew and he did not care; his only thought was to head to their chambers to see Brienne.

The maester was leaving as Jaime arrived.

“My wife?” he asked.

“The babe is well, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime had to suppress the urge to grab the man by his robes and shove him against the wall.

“I did not ask after the babe,” he growled, “I asked after my wife.”

“A broken nose–not her first–and some bruises. I have given her something to keep her calm, but she will heal,” said the maester. “She informed me that she would have fought better if she had her own sword, instead of needing to take it from one of the men.”

That did sound like Brienne; Jaime swore to himself that she would not go unarmed again. Thanking the maester distractedly, Jaime pushed past him to enter the chambers. The curtains were drawn to make it dark, but there was enough light to see Brienne in the bed. She looked paler than usual, and whoever had cleaned her injuries had missed a smear of blood near her hairline. Jaime moved to sit on the edge of the bed, taking her hands in one of his, and brushing her hair from her forehead with the other.

“I will kill her,” he said, quietly but not quietly enough.

Whatever the maester had given her had made Brienne sleepy, because she looked at him with confusion. “Kill who?”

“The one who ordered this,” he said, not willing to burden her with the details.

“Your sister.”

She said it with such certainty that Jaime wondered what cruelties Cersei had inflicted when he was not around to witness them.

“My sister,” he confirmed. She had clearly forgotten that even tame lions had teeth and claws, and for the first time in years he was feeling far from tame. He would rend her limb from limb for this, would not rest until he’d tasted blood.

“Can you stay?” Brienne asked quietly, sleep inching up on her. “The maester says I will sleep for hours, and I don’t want to be alone. Without defense. I know…”

Jaime removed his boots and sword, then slipped beneath the sheets and drew his wife close as he dare. His sister would face his wrath, but it could wait.

***

Within a sennight, Jaime had taken his wife from King’s Landing. He offered to take her to Tarth, to see the island she spoke of so fondly and the waters said to rival even the blue of her eyes, but she declined.

“Not with these bruises still apparent,” she said. “My husband might have been deterred from killing a queen in retaliation, but I’m not certain my father would be. Take me to Casterly Rock; we can visit Tarth once the babe has arrived.”

The maester insisted she ride in a wheelhouse, given her condition and recent injuries, and so Jaime rode with her. The motion of the vehicle lulled her to sleep, her head resting on Jaime’s lap. Her stomach had swelled in the past days, as if the child was determined to make their survival apparent in the face of adversity. He watched her in slumber, her once-ugly features so fondly familiar to him now, and wondered when, precisely, his heart had been entrusted into her gentle care.

He kissed the crown of her head and rested his hand on the sword he’d gifted her days before, the golden lion on its pommel declaring her a Lannister.

***

The servants of Casterly Rock love her more quickly than Jaime had, but with the same fierce devotion. Brienne seemed overwhelmed by it all, especially when Maryn, who had run the whole of the castle since Jaime had been a boy, looked between the two of them and smiled.

“I never knew it was a love match,” she said happily. “Anybody who wins over our Jaime…”

“That’s very kind,” Brienne said, blushing furiously, and Jaime thought bitterly of the love he’d once wasted on his sister. “But no, not a love match.”

“Ahh,” Maryn said, nodding wisely. “When it grows in the aftermath, it is all the stronger.”

“Thank you, Maryn,” Jaime said, placing a hand on the small of his wife’s back and escorting her away.

That night in their chambers, he helps her undress.

“I do, you know,” he says, trailing his knuckles against her neck and watching the way she sips in breath when he does. “Love you, I mean.”

She does not reply, but her kisses tell him all he needs to know.

***

The babe arrived shortly after sunrise, a squalling, healthy girl that Jaime immediately declared had her mother’s eyes.

“All babes have eyes like that, Ser Jaime,” said the midwife patiently. “They’ll likely change before she’s a year.”

“I hope not,” Jaime replied, stroking the babe’s soft cheek and then looking to Brienne. She looked remarkably well for a woman who’d endured hours of pain; her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, a huge smile on her face as she looked between him and the babe. “And to think, wench, if you hadn’t been so determined to show off your skill with a sword, we would hardly be here.”

She rolled her eyes, her smile turning fond. “I trained at night so as to avoid showing off my skills, Jaime. If you had not been so determined to gawk at the freakish woman, or left one of the first seven times I asked you to, your father never would have found us that night. You have nothing to blame but your own stubbornness.”

“I’m grateful for my stubbornness, then,” he said, leaning over to kiss his wife softly once, twice. “Truly, truly grateful.”

#ask meme #my fanfic

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