#ser brienne of tarth got

[rippersz]

ᴀ ꜰᴏᴏʟ'ꜱ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

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(Brienne of Tarth x Named Reader; Angsty; Hurt/Slight Comfort) (TW: Suic*de attempt; Suic*dal ideations/thoughts; Slight Romanticization of mental illness)

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“An autumn whisper between the maples kept urging: Die with me.” ~ Anna Akhmatova

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A Fool’s Death.

That’s what they call it.

A Fool’s Death. You’re a coward if you do it. You’re a lazy bastard if you live with thoughts of it. You’re a selfish prick of a soul either way.

There’s no winning and there’s no losing. There’s no talk of it. Not even a mention. Not even a whisper. And if there is, you are spoken of. Judged. Scrutinized until The Fool’s Death becomes your death. Until the village and its people and everyone in your family are forced to spit upon your narcissistic bones and claim you disowned even though there is nothing left to claim and nothing left to disown. Just a corpse that is cold and dull and useless.

Cold and dull and useless.

You think that’s how you’ll do it.

Winter has already carried her snow and chill and winds into the region, laying it all upon the land like a warm blanket around a small child’s body. Painting everything white and leaving it to glisten to sludge beneath the eventual heat of the spring sun. A perfect time for rebirth. A perfect time for death.

—

Your hands shake as you slowly pull open the door to your quarters, wincing while it creaks and groans, forcing you to stop every time a noise rings out into the empty hall. Your heart, pounding away in your ears, ruins your sense of hearing while you stand like a statue within your own doorway. Anxiety slips through your bones. Fear pulls at you. The last desire you have is to wake everyone in the castle and call attention to yourself. No, having eyes and ears on you while you lay in the snow and wait for the freeze to set in is less than ideal. A Fool’s Death, after all, is never A Fool’s Death if done with company.

So once you decide that the corridors are empty and you can slip out through the back entrance into the kitchens, you do exactly that. A singular torch is lit, burning away within its stone perch, nearly beckoning you closer with its dancing flame. You trail toward it and stop there, watching it for a moment, reveling in the last bit of warmth that your skin will ever feel. You know that some hours later, when the moon is long gone and the clouds block the sun and the stars keep themselves veiled, you will no longer be able to feel fire. You will no longer be able to feel ice. You will no longer be able to feel the breath in your lungs leave you in short pants. It will all bleed into the same numb feeling. And you will freeze until Mother Nature tells you to thaw. And once your body has been revealed to the changing air of the seasons, once the earth’s creatures start to take advantage of your indirect kindness, you also know that your frozen flesh will not be mourned. Because no one will cry for you. And no one will beg the gods, both old and new, to bring you back. And no one will waste another precious breath worrying about who you were.

You, who were just another soldier out of an army of hundreds. A faceless woman. A person easily replaced. Inconsequential in every sense of the word. Your family was dead, your acquaintances were no more than good mornings and good nights, your position would be filled as soon as you broke rank. And no one would notice your absence. The Lord Commander wouldn’t even blink. The royal family wouldn’t even spare a thought. Though then again, it wasn’t like you deserved their thoughts, their sympathies, their prayers anyway. You weren’t a war hero and you weren’t important and you didn’t do anything beyond follow orders and live your life. Well- that last bit would change, of course. As soon as you pull yourself away from the torch and get going.

The chill of night is a harsh contrast from the few minutes of firelight, but you find that your body, already shivering and slow beneath the thin white nightgown, doesn’t take true notice of the cold. You’re only propelled forward by a distant urge. A previously agreed upon understanding with no one but yourself: This was necessary. This is what it was going to come to anyway, whether you died a fool sooner or later. This was the way of the world and you were just another pawn amongst the masses. Going to war, front of the line, hoping to die in glory.

But there was no glory there. There was no glory in your measured footsteps and there was no glory in your sagging shoulders and tired expression. And there was no glory in your desire. How could there be? How could the good gods ever wish to touch you after your blasphemy? How could you hang your soul out to dry and still expect to find your place in Nirvana? They will call you a coward. They will call you a fool. They will call you a rotten whore and they will say that they wish you’d done it sooner. They will walk past your nonexistent grave without a wandering thought as to what your name was. You could’ve saved everyone the trouble, they will say. Could’ve saved them the breaths. Spared them of your quiet awkward presence. Making everyone uncomfortable. Leaving the men to tease and toss aside the idea of censoring themselves just because you were a woman. Not the only woman, but a woman nonetheless. Of course they held their tongues when The Lord Commander walked past, or sat at the table, or existed and breathed in their general vicinity, but that didn’t matter. Brienne of Tarth was not always around to control them nor comfort you - not that she did the latter anyway. You weren’t important enough for that.

And the universe seemed to agree. The path was laid out before you, lit by the silver moon, traced by the glow of the white ground. You’d decided on your resting place only a few days ago. During a morning patrol with some of the newer trainees, you came across a spot of smooth Earth. Two logs, parallel to each other, framed a large empty patch of snow. From where you stood, it looked like a beautiful painting that had yet to be finished. There was no subject- no goal- no lesson to be learned- no deeper meaning and no unintentional intentional wicked talent. But before that could be rectified, before it could be completed, it would have to be ruined. Once you’re long dead, you’ll find the time to apologize to Mother Nature, but as you trek over the last hill, you’re more focused on becoming one with the frozen ground.

The site of your death is far enough away from civilization, near the edge of a tall cliff, so any wandering strangers won’t bother to come too close. Well that’s what you tell yourself, living in hope as per usual; but in reality nothing is stopping another living creature from stumbling across your frozen corpse. The snow is thick, yes, but not thick enough to hide all of you. And the sun is only some hours away from rising. Oh well. It won’t matter anyway. You’ll be passed out by then, icicles hanging from your eyelashes and blue coating the lining of your lips. Your heart will be quiet, weak, in your frozen chest. Your hands will be limp. And the rest of you will be blanketed by the sweet tasty frost of death, creating a home for its festering teeth. Teeth that will bite and gnash and taste and tear - but their attacks will be in vain. You will be numb. So wonderfully, perfectly, fatefully, numb.

And your fingertips, for what it’s worth, are already tingling with the beginnings of it.

The beginnings of it.

‘It’ being your end, of course.

‘It’ being the thing you want. Desperately.

‘It’ being the Fool’s Death you were born to have.

Oh so poetic it was…

Oh so… lovely.

…

…

You blink suddenly, forcing the chilled tears out of your eyes. Damn wind… so cold… so refreshing… Your knees bend to crouch into the snow, slow and exhausted like the sluggish looking of your eyes. ‘Hello’ the snow grins- beams- smiles so cheerfully up at you, ‘come to see me again, have you? It’s only been a few days. But I have missed you so much. We all have missed you so much.’ And you glance up to take in the ‘we’; the looming trees and the deep blue sky and the twinkling stars and the sweet bright moon, and you nod to yourself. Yes. This is how it is. This is the perfect atmosphere.

This is the glory of a Fool’s Death.

This is the peace of a Fool’s Death.

This is salvation.

No loud men and no flickering fires and no furs and no royals and no company and no messy thoughts and no sleepless nights and no terrifying dreams and no days of forced starvation and no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no sadness, no hope, no love, no happiness, no reason, no reason, no reason no reason no reason to live live live live live live live- live!

The thin white slip on your body shields you from nothing. Your palms sink into the soft fluff of the ground. Instantly, upon laying down, you’re soaked to the bone. Water finds itself languishing along your body, playing games and laughing while it gathers in your scalp and dances on your fingertips. And the snow, whispering near your ear and beckoning you to salvation, stretches its hands and says ‘Come, dear friend. Come rest here. I am soft. I will give you everything you want.’ So you rest. And you give in. And your body relaxes; your muscles unclench and the tension slides from your shoulders as a sigh bubbles past your lips.

Is it one of relief? One of stress? One of defeat? You’re not sure. You don’t know. Your heart is shuddering- pulsing- with excitement, but it’s a mystery as to why. Death is not supposed to feel good. Death is not supposed to feel powerful. Death is not supposed to feel like you’re finally grabbing life by the balls and saying HAH! THIS IS IT! THIS IS MY MOMENT! THIS IS MY DEATH! MY END! AND YOU CAN NEVER TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME.

… So why does it feel that way?

Why does it feel so good?

…

…The night is quiet. It does not have answers for you. The moon looks on with unblinking eyes. You feel yourself grow heavy.

But the deed is not over yet. There is still one thing left to do. Slowly, the snow falls away as your limbs stir. They move on autopilot, not drawn by the thoughts in your head but again pushed by that faint desire.

Heels digging, nails running blue, curling into the snow, pushing it away - only to drag it back five minutes later; hastily working to complete the masterpiece. Desperate to become one with the Earth and fall into oblivion. A deep, bone-cold, quieting oblivion that will leave you shivering before it leaves you dead. Even beneath the blanket of snow that caresses your skin, that lays over your bare legs, that nuzzles the sensitive parts of your body, you begin to shake. And you begin to think.

The thoughts, interestingly enough, don’t freeze like the rest of you does. Instead, they grow. Swirl like a winter’s storm. Obsessive and rough, they pull you under like they always did.

This is great, isn’t it?

No, you think in response to yourself. It hurts, actually.

Oh stop whining. It will be worth it.

Why? How?

For years, it has been worth it.

That doesn’t answer anything. How has it been worth it? Is that why I’ve been hurting so much? For the sake of worthiness? Or something else?

Well you never felt worthy of anything else.

But I feel worthy of this?

Death? Yes. Everyone is worthy of death. Even The Lord Commander.

…What does she have to do with this?

You know what.

Your hands grasp at the snow, mindless and desperate. Pulling and pulling and pulling - clawing at the crisp white so it can cover you until no part of you is left to the air. Shielding you from the hatred of the universe. From the angry eyes of the gods. From the venom of the men. From the disinterest of the women. From the world… and its lack of care for you. And its lack of positivity. And its rude- disgusting- vile- way of treating you. And its overwhelming desire to kill you before you could kill yourself.

Too late now. We’re at least one foot deep in the ground! This is it. Keep digging. Keep digging. Keep digging! No stopping here! No energy left. Nothing left, actually. Not a goddamn thing. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Nothing at all….

Nothing.

At all.

Your eyelids flutter shut.

—

It’s two hours later when Ser Brienne of Tarth starts to wrap up her last duty of the evening.

A quick patrol of the furthest border is something not necessarily reserved for The Lord Commander, but is more of a safety measure she enforces upon herself before retiring for bed. Exhaustion pulls at her before she sets out, yes, but sometimes the nightmares… the white walkers… they leave her paranoid. Expectant of an attack that will never come. Worried about an enemy that no longer exists. Thus, she does it alone - and with only the royals’ knowledge.

It’s always a quiet affair, drawn along quickly by her and her steed Valour. They work with sharp eyes and a torch through the dark, stopping every few paces to listen for threats. There aren’t any, of course, but that doesn’t stop her from clip-clopping along the terrain with tense shoulders and keen senses, looking through the din of the torch’s fire in her hand. She has to be careful not to set her furs alight, but it’s not a hard task. Keeping it level, shunting it toward the ground and out toward the trees, proves to be more difficult. There’s no use in a flame if it can’t illuminate a damn th-

HUFF.

Valour’s hooves press into the snow, leaving them to stop - suddenly, quickly, with a jerk - as hot breath puffs from her nostrils and curls into the air. She’s tense, Brienne realizes. Tense and alert, with white ears twisting to take in sound. They stand in silence. Blue eyes watch as the animal’s head turns - first to the left and then to the right. But aside from the night and the usual rustle of the world, there is nothing. Nothing to hear, nothing to notice, nothing to fight or defend. Nothing to… find?

With one last sweep of the flame, she catches something quick. It’s nearly unnoticeable. Buried beneath the snow, but not one with the ground. It’s foreign. Out of place. A mere lump with no distinct beginning and end. Brienne chances a glance down at the horse, interest and apprehension dancing through her veins once she sees Valour’s eyes have caught the same thing. The same… intruder. The same issue.

When she slides off of the horse, half expecting to see the thing rise from the ground, one hand shoots to her sword. It waits. Curls around the hilt. Stretches beneath her glove. Twitches with adrenaline.

But there’s nothing. Not even a tremble beneath the dirt.

“Stay,” she whispers to Valour, moving the hand from her blade to gesture, palm facing the ground, for the horse to stand in wait.

And as cautiously, as quietly, as she can, Brienne approaches the mystery. She rounds one of the logs, taking notice of the odd placement, and tries not to wince each time her boots make a small crunch in the silence. Footprints will no doubt be left behind, but that doesn’t seem to bother her much as she catches sight of another pair in the distance. They’re small, the knight notices. With no distinct shape if not for a slight curve. The snow is kicked up, forced from its smooth blanket. Hurried in their demeanor. But slow in the amount of distance between each print.

Human, she thinks.

Human indeed, the snow hums; bearing all to see as it glistens beneath the firelight of her torch and brings Brienne to her unsightly treasure.

Frosted skin. A soaked nightgown. Arms and legs bitten by the chill.

Dead, she thinks.

No. Alive. The snow breathes.

—

Someone is taking off your clothes. They’re cold, sticking to you, and little grunts follow as bits of your nightgown rip with the effort. Your body is shocked, shivering so hard that the stranger can’t keep you still and isn’t quite sure what to do. Eventually, a mind is made up and you’re stripped completely - then covered with woolen hose. At least two pairs- both of which are too big for you and hang by the feet and are quite loose around the waist, but the dresser doesn’t seem to care. Trousers are next. How many pairs? You don’t know. Then shirts. And furs. And even a pair of leather gloves that droop at the fingertips and gape at the wrists - but they’re warm and lined with wool and you can’t feel your body but that’s okay. You didn’t want to anyway. More grunting and growling and small whispered curses follow until you’re very much tucked into a bed far bigger than your own. It’s warm. Good. You’re numb and half-dead, but it’s good. Lovely, really. And the outside world doesn’t call your name as you close your eyes.

Waking up was not on your agenda.

It wasn’t even in the cards.

And you don’t really want to - but the universe never cared for your opinion. And it did what it wanted whenever it wanted anyway. So you have no choice.

Thus, your eyes flutter open and your lungs expand with breath and suddenly the world comes flooding back in one confusing twist of fate. Nausea wastes no time in tearing you down; instantly going to churn in the pit of your stomach and curl in the back of your throat and pound against the skin of your temples. A deep groan slips from between your chapped lips. The lining of your skull feels as though it’s been replaced with cotton.

The snow really took its chance, didn’t it? Brutal. Ruthless. At least the Earth doesn’t lie to you. At least the Earth doesn’t save you.

But someone did. Someone has.

They’re actually shuffling over; measured footsteps sounding like big loud stomps in your head. You close your eyes. Everything is too bright. Everything is too much.

“Morning.”

Hm. The voice sounds familiar. A bit wonky, like it’s far away, but familiar. You don’t have the energy to respond so you just let out a grunt and allow it to taper off into a weird rumbly hum.

“Hey,” there’s a sudden clicking noise near your ear, making you jolt and snort when your eyes flick open. There are fingers - long pale fingers snapping beside your head, falling silent when you glare up at the offender, only to find-

“Lah Commandah?!” Your tongue and throat are stiff and achy, keeping your speech limited and your voice strangled. You grimace at the sound and instantly try to growl the discomfort away, but she cuts you off.

“Don’t do that- you’ll just make it worse.” It comes out in a huff and silences you with ease.

She doesn’t look or seem very happy, which in turn makes you frown. It was a shot straight through the heart when the Lord Commander was in a bad mood - which surprisingly wasn’t always. In fact, she’d grown a little softer over the years. The tales talk of her unwilling attitude and stubborn pride, but sometimes she’s full of wit and humor. And on the best of days, she’ll give the most successful troops a small smile and a bow of her head. The only sign of ‘You did well’ that anyone would ever get from her. You’d never gotten a reaction like that before.

I wonder why she didn’t leave us out in the snow.

“Can you sit up?” Glacier blue eyes run over your face.

You’re not sure what you look like but you suppose it doesn’t matter. She’s seen worse.

“Dun-no, Lah Commandah,” you breathe, trying to do exactly that.

After the fifth try of shifting your arms and legs and quickly running out of strength, she seems to get the hint and suddenly large strong hands are sliding under your arms and tugging you up, then pushing you back. It’s done in one swift movement, leaving you dizzy while you rest your head against the wooden headboard of-… of a bed that certainly isn’t yours.

No, you’re definitely not in your own room. The layout is completely different. It’s more… it’s not pretty but it’s better looking than your own. Complete with greys and blacks and silvers and even a hint of red here and there. The fire that’s been crackling steadily in the background is clean and well-kept, where your room doesn’t even have space for one at all. And the curtains are drawn over the windows covering the right wall, leaving the place shrouded in a darkness that would have existed there anyway even if the curtains were open - it’s nighttime, pitch black outside, and suddenly you’re very much aware of the fact that you’ve kept your Lord Commander- The Brienne of Tarth- out of her own bed for more than a day.

By the time you blink yourself out of your dizzy distracted haze and try to find her form again, she’s already busy doing something else. Wringing out cloths over a bowl… and then returning to your side. Your lips, chapped and still tinged blue, open in an effort to say something- anything- but then a soft hot cloth is draped over your forehead, covering your temples, and suddenly you don’t have a damned thought left in your mind. The feeling is so nice. So blissful. You could stay like that forever.

If only the universe showed you mercy.

“It’s been two days since I found you,” the Lord Commander says, placing the bowl down gently on the side table beside the bed. Her eyes glance over your coverings, making sure the furs and gloves and shirts are all still in order. They are. She was very thorough before. She would not have made a mistake. There was no room for error.

But there’s room now for judgment. Judgment and disdain, and you’re terrified of those things and you really don’t want to have to hear her tell you that you’re a stupid wench and that the rest of the troops will forever make fun of you for your idiocy, so you swallow and wince and your hands twist together in your lap. The leather of the gloves is soft, well-worn, and the wool is only the tiniest bit matted - and you can’t help but admire the craftsmanship as you bring them up to your abdomen. They’re obviously not your gloves, just as everything else is not yours either, but you don’t know what to do first: apologize or thank her.

Honestly, you don’t really want to thank her - because she ruined your plan - but at the same time, she saved your life. Whether you wanted to end it or not doesn’t matter… because she would’ve helped you no matter what. And perhaps you’re selfish for being a little bit angry about it, maybe you’re being self-centered and dumb, but you can’t help the feeling of bitterness creep into your heart. You wanted to die… and she took that from you. She wanted you to live.

It was a duty. She doesn’t want anything. Anyone would have done it.

But that’s not true.

The men would have left you. Or hurt you. Or anything else.

But there she is, having gone through the trouble of saving you… and she’s looking down at you with a frown on her handsome face and a furrow to her light brows that seems like it never leaves and you wish so terribly that you could just tell her-

“I-m sorr-ey.” It’s a pathetic rasp of an apology, but it’s out of your mouth before you can catch it.

She blinks. You don’t know why her expression changes, why it softens into something less stern and concerned, but when it does you feel your breath catch in your throat. How anyone could see her as anything less than glorious is something you’ll never understand.

“Why were you out there.”

It’s a demand.

You look away, baring your eyes to the fire.

“…I sl-leep-wa-lk someti-”

“Bullshit.” She spits, one hand reaching down to curl into the bit of blanket that drapes over the side of the bed. Her expression has twisted back into one of anger. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

But what other choice do you have?

How could you be honest?

Why did she, of all people, have to find you? And why like that? Why couldn’t she have walked into the bathhouse during the few times you’ve wept your eyes out in the steamy silence? Why couldn’t she have caught you staring at your horse, dread in your eyes as you fantasized about running away and never looking back? Why couldn’t she have stumbled upon your vulnerability when you were still willing to live?

Why did it take a Fool’s Death to finally grasp her attention?

You want to tell the truth… but you can’t.

You can’t.

So you lie again.

“Was out- on a s-strollll. Got- um- lost.” You try not to cringe at the sound of your own bad grammar. Turns out not having full feeling back in your mouth does indeed prohibit being able to speak properly.

The Lord Commander doesn’t seem to care much. In fact, she doesn’t seem to be focusing on that at all. Instead, her face has grown slack - and she’s looking at you hard. Leaning both of her hands on the side of the bed, broad shoulders going up near her neck, eyes peering through light lashes - like she’s using her stare alone to dig holes into your soul and she doesn’t need to say anything in order for you to understand that she simply doesn’t believe you. And why should she? Your lies are so obviously half-baked; only muddying up the truth; ruining what little of it can be said.

Still. She doesn’t let up. Her gaze starts to burn. Shame tugs at your cotton-lined skull. Guilt claws its way to the surface.

Pink lips, scarred on the top right, part slowly. There’s a soft inhale. You brace yourself, clutching your warm hands into fists.

“You were buried,” the Lord Commander says, barely even blinking as she looks at you. “Covered with snow.” She shakes her head and allows it to fall to her chest, letting out a scoff so quiet you had to strain to hear it. “One of the smartest soldiers I have… and you expect me to believe that you got lost on an evening stroll?” Her head comes up, eyes pinning you in place with such dull ferocity that you can’t look away. “You can’t be serious.”

It’s at that exact moment when you realize that you’re sweating. It is the amount of warm things covering your body? The clothing and the furs and the gloves? Or is it your Lord Commander’s attention? And the fact that it’s never been placed on you like that before? With such… such focus. Such- dare you even think it- care?

You swallow against the nervous lump in your throat.

‘One of the smartest soldiers I have…’

Well if you were as smart as she thinks you are, you’d be fucking honest, wouldn’t you? Yeah. You’d tell her the truth. You’d admit that you’re a coward.

But you can’t.

You can’t.

She spends all of that time training you, keeping an eye on you, making sure you’re fed and well-rested and looked after in her own roundabout Lord Commander type of way… and you repay her with…with what?

With suicide?

So disgraceful.

So horrible.

So shitty of you.

How terrible can a person be?

How-

“Are you crying?” Your Lord Commander gapes, certainly caught off guard by your sudden emotion.

“N-no?!” You stutter, just as shocked to find yourself reaching up and smearing salty tears along your cheeks.

Oh how embarrassing-!

You stupid girl!

This is why you wanted to do it in the first place!

Because all you do is just fucking embarrass yourself-!

“N-no? No- s-sorr-y La-Lor-d C-Com-”

“Enough with the Lord Commander,” she admonishes, cutting off your bumbling apology with a swift tsk. “In private, it’s Brienne.” Then she hesitates before letting out a sigh and taking a seat next to you on the side of her bed. “…I’m not your superior here.”

All you can do is blink.

I’m not your superior here.

So what are you?

That’s all you want to ask.

What are you to me then? What is this now?

But even if you did find the courage, you’re not sure what she’d say.

“Okay,” you sniff, trying your damnedest to stop the tears.

But they’re a direct result of your aching heart. And aching hearts have veins that scream in agony, wishing for nothing but silence. Utterly tranquility. The very absence of tension-filled life. And you can’t get rid of aching hearts and screaming veins without getting rid of yourself…. And your only chance to do that was destroyed. Trampled upon. Interrupted.

I just wanted to die. It rests on the very tip of your tongue but never spills out into the air.

Brienne is so clearly unsure of what to do; she’s sitting rigid in her spot and staring at a mark on the floor. You want to tell her it’s okay. You want to tell her that she doesn’t have to comfort you. You want to tell her to just let you go back into the woods again… let you find yourself back in the snow. And she can go on with her life and forget it ever happened.

But you can’t.

That’s not how it works.

That’ll never be how it works.

Foolish girl.

“…Why were you out there, Anya?” Brienne’s voice is softer than fresh lilies.

You know why.

You know why.

“…I c-can’t- I-”

Her head turns. Midnight blue eyes trace a line from your neck to your face, taking in the exhausted circles beneath your eyes and the blue-ish tinge to your skin and the utterly defeated look that blooms behind your expression. A war happens in you, taking place in the span of a moment, and you can do nothing but blink through lingering tears and stare at her.

“I can’t.” It’s a whisper. A confession all on its own.

I can’t… because you’ll think I’m a coward. And you’ll hate me. And I already hate myself enough for the both of us.

Brienne’s lips form a hard line, but she doesn’t say anything. She just peers back down at the floor and allows silence to creep into the room and lay between you both like a tired direwolf on its last legs.

The fire burns in the background. The sweat on your body cools. The dizziness in your head subsides.

It’s going to be okay, some part of you speaks. It’s going to be okay.

But you’ve told yourself that before, haven’t you?

And look where that got you.

It has to be at least 30 minutes later when Brienne finally speaks.

“There was a girl I knew once, in my early youth,” you watch her mouth move, enchanted and confused. Where was this going to lead? “She was older than me by two years. A pretty girl- like you.” Your heart trips over itself, but you don’t have time to dwell as she continues. “My father saw that, out of the very rare few, she was good to me - and so we were allowed to play often. For her it was ‘horsies’ and ‘hide and seek’, for me it was ‘swords’ and ‘knights’.” There’s a soft smile on her face, half hidden by the natural shadow of her body facing away from the hearth and half lit by the fire that lived there. Her lips twitch and she begins again. “We did everything together. She was a village girl but that didn’t matter… until it did. Time eventually caught up to us and we were forced to live our lives on our own. No more days of play and no more sharing stories.”

A soul-deep sadness settled into her eyes. She had yet to look at you. Maybe because it would make her too vulnerable… maybe because she didn’t want you to cry again. Either way, you felt yourself frown. Why was she telling you this? What happened?

And as if she could read your thoughts, she continues.

“By the time I was old enough to decide that I wanted to leave, she was already married. Kind husband, even though I only met him once. It was when I stopped in to say goodbye. I wanted to tell her that I’d write, whenever I found the time and place to do so.” Her hands, you notice, are fidgeting - running over and pulling each other quietly within her lap. The natural lines in her face grow darker as she falls back into her memories. “…I didn’t know she was struggling. I was so busy with my own life. My father’s wishes, my training, my fights with the men who challenged me… our communication grew slim. So I didn’t- I-… well.” Brienne swallows. “Her husband answered the door and when I asked after her, he burst into hysterics.”

Your heart stops.

She- no… She didn’t….

Brienne’s head goes up, her eyes turning to look at the ceiling - keeping her tears in her eyes, resistant in letting them fall. Resistant in being weak. You want to hold her and let her cry, but you know it’s not the time. She sniffs and her chest heaves with a sigh and it takes everything in you not to start sobbing. Tears build, they fall slowly, but your throat aches with held back sounds of distress.

“…She ended her life two days before I arrived.” A pause. Then- “A butter knife…,” she scoffs out a laugh and shakes her head, still pointing her face skyward - as if the gods have all the answers to her grief. “… I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t know what to do with her husband. So I gave him my condolences and I left. Cried in the woods for as long as I could and kept going. And since then, I haven’t stopped.”

Despite her efforts, tears still creep over her eyelids and race down her cheeks. They mirror the ones on your own face - warm and sad and annoying in the stiff little trails left behind.

And you sit like that for a while, silently crying. Her gaze stuck to the heavens, thinking about the friend she lost; and your gaze stuck on her, thinking about the possible metaphor behind her actions. Behind the full circle-ness of it all. She couldn’t save her friend but she saved you. What did that mean in the grand scheme of your lives? What did any of it mean? How would you continue to train everyday after seeing your Lord Commander cry? After witnessing her care?

She saved us. She saved us. She saved us.

“Thank you,” comes your hoarse whisper- the first in-tact thing you’ve said since waking up.

The sound of your voice tugs Brienne out of her stupor and draws her eyes to your sad face. You don’t have the energy to give her a sympathetic smile, so you settle on a soft look. If it says all you need it to say, she doesn’t show it - but she does look away quickly and reaches up to brush the tears away.

“What for?” It’s rough - hard - a sliver of the tough Commander she’s used to being.

No no no - don’t go back to that. Your heart is safe here. I won’t judge you for your tears.

“…Saving me.” It’s more courtesy than anything as you say that, but it’s fine. You’re not magically going to wish for life again after Brienne shares a sad story with you… though it already has your heart struggling against its achy confines.

Brienne shakes her head, the gold of her hair catching the fire’s light so beautifully that you have to take your eyes off of her in order to catch your breath. If we were her friend in her youth, we would have surely fallen in love with her.

“You shouldn’t have gotten to that point,” her voice is watery- muffled with the lingerings of sadness. “No one should.”

You nod. What else is there to say? What else is there to admit? Clearly she knows. Clearly she understands. And yet… you’re still curious…

“…Why do-n’t you hate me f-or it?” Your words come out in a squeaky whisper, but you don’t care. You just need to know. You just need to make sure that you’re not reading things wrong- that there’s a chance she may actually care- and that perhaps there is a reason to stay…

Brienne doesn’t respond immediately. It’s clear that she takes a few moments to bring herself back to the present. To clear her throat and wipe her eyes again and sniffle a few times and then turn back to you. She’s tried so hard in clearing herself up, but the eyes have never lied. And you see the sadness breeding there. Festering. Sadness is wicked. You don’t know if you’re the cause of it.

“You’re strong, Anya." A pause. "Training wouldn’t be the same without you.”

But you know she means to say Nothing would be the same without you.

---

Something I've been working on for a bit. It's not as good as I hoped it would be, but I'm tired and my back hurts so whatever. I hope you're all doing well.

And if you're not and you need some help, here's the National Suicide Hotline: 988 - And the link https://988lifeline.org/

It's gonna be okay, my friend. One second at a time. - Yours, Rip x

---

#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth got #brienne x reader #ser brienne #ser brienne of tarth got #ser brienne of tarth #angsty #angsty fic #mental health issues #mental health problems #mental health issues tw #be safe #I love you #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne of tarth fanfic

[mojogifs]

Brienne of Tarth

GoT / Season 4 Ep.10

#game of thrones #brienne of tarth #gwendoline christie #GoT #asoiaf #ser brienne #mojogifs

[charliedawn]

GOT characters x Reader

"Please. Dance with me."

Sandor Clegane :

Sandor was standing near the exit—ready to call it a night. He was tired of seeing all those high borns dancing and getting drunk on expensive Dornish wine. But when he was about to leave, he felt an arm wrap around his and looked down to find you—clinging to his arm. He was about to ask what the hell you were doing when he noticed how terrified you seemed.

"Please…Don’t let him take me."

You were on the verge of tears. He looked in the direction you were staring at and found some lord with a sleazy smile on his face. He was walking your way and Sandor instinctively raised his hand to clasp it on your arm.

"The lady’s taken. Piss off."

He felt you tense up next to him, but his hand on top of your arm kept you in place as the man decided to finally leave. Once he was gone, you wanted to thank him…But, Sandor pulled away and walked away.

…He needed a drink.

Daenerys Targaryen:

When a man offered you a dance, you smiled and tried to politely decline the offer. But, the man wasn’t having no for an answer. Finally, he grabbed your arm as you were about to leave. Fortunately, Daenerys arrived just in time and stood between the both of you.

"I believe she has been quite clear. She doesn’t want to dance with you."

The man was about to protest, but quickly reconsidered. He left and you let out a sigh of relief. But, as you were about to thank her, Daenerys turned towards you with a soft smile before offering you her hand.

"Would you like to dance with me instead ?"

Her hand was opened invitingly and her eyes showed nothing but good will. So, you took her hand with a smile.

"I would be honoured, khaleesi."

Ser Jorah :

"Would you dance with me, Ser Jorah?"

Jorah looked up at your hand and was about to politely decline your offer when he noticed your uneasy smile and the other man standing a few feet away behind you. He immediately understood the situation and smiled before taking your hand.

"It would be an honour, my lady."

He kissed the back of your hand and you smiled before being led away. You swayed left and tight slowly together and even though Ser Jorah only wanted to dance to help you—he found himself enjoying it as well. You closed your eyes and didn’t even think about your 'problem'.

You just enjoyed the dance until the very last moment when you had to part.

"Thank you."

Whether it was you or him who said it first—neither of you could tell.

Brienne of Tarth :

Brienne had just won her final battle for the tournament organised by your father. She had put to the ground many of your father’s best knights and when her face was revealed…You were immediately impressed. A woman of such strength on your side would surely end in a successful alliance.

So, you waited.

You waited and when it was time to celebrate, your eyes landed on the fiercest woman who had succeeded in defeating most fighters of the court. Her eyes didn’t settle on you however.

You felt a little disappointed by it, but the night was far from over. You tried again and again to get her to see you, but she always seemed to escape your sight. Finally, you decided to give up and sit down. But, you then felt a hand land on your shoulder and when you looked up, you found one of your father’s choices staring down at you with a malicious smile.

You tried to tell him no. He ignored your request.

But, he finally listened when the woman you had been trying to talk to suddenly appeared behind you in all her armoured glory. She didn’t need to speak a word as the man immediately released you and walked away.

"Are you alright, my lady ?" She asked you and you replied with a smile of your own.

"I am now."

Jon Snow :

Many people had warned you about Jon Snow. Some called him the King of the North—others a demon. You weren’t really interested in rumours though, but by the truth.

Hence, you had accepted to go and meet with him.

A war was brewing and you knew that strong allies were necessary. However, when you found yourself in front of the man who claimed to be Jon Snow, you immediately knew it couldn’t be him. The man before you couldn’t possibly be the King of the North. He wasn’t a giant. He wasn’t heavily armed. Or looked like a living dead. He seemed…normal.

"I am Jon Snow."

"..."

You looked him up and down.

Before he could say another word, you threw a dagger at him and he didn’t even flinch as it landed in a tree behind him. You both stared at each other for a minute until you finally smiled.

That man was Jon Snow.

For you saw no fear of death in his eyes.

"A pleasure to meet you, my King." You introduced yourself and bowed before him. "…The man who danced with Death and survived."

Tyrion Lannister:

"No."

Tyrion was aware of your situation. He knew perfectly well of the unfortunate circumstances of your upcoming betrothal. But…He couldn’t bring you even more dishonour by agreeing to dancing with you.

"Do not look so disappointed, my lady. Even though I am sure you are quite lovely, I wish you to spare yourself the humiliation of dancing with an imp."

Such harsh words which ignited a general hilarity that made you red in the face with fury. But, not against Tyrion. You didn’t blame him for his refusal. You knew how it sounded and the pain behind such a request. But, you didn’t want to give up. So…You did something that no person had ever dared. You knelt before him—your eyes staring at the floor in respect.

"I see no imp. I see a valorous and just prince. And I still wish to dance with you. Please."

It made the crowd around you fall silent. Tyrion’s eyes widened and he seemed speechless for a while. But, he finally smiled before slowly reaching for your chin to lift it up so your eyes may meet.

"…Don’t you lower your gaze. You hold more bravery and wit than anyone else in this room. And if that is truly your wish ? Then I would be more than happy to dance with you."

Jaime Lannister:

You were sitting down when you felt a presence in front of you as you ate. Your eyes looked up to find your ‘fiancé'. He was looking at you with such disgust that all food got stuck in your throat. You knew it was but an arranged marriage, but everyone knew that your betrothed hated your family with passion. Your eyes glanced away and met with another man. He smiled at you. You smiled back.

Unfortunately, your betrothed caught the exchange and suddenly grabbed your arm—ready to strike. But before he could as much as lay a finger on you, the tip of a sword was pressed against his throat.

The room fell silence as none other than Jaime Lannister had come to your rescue.

"I believe this is no way to treat a woman—even less a lady."

He then sat down next to you and smiled before eating next to you—an arm wrapped around you. The message was clear. And the man left.

"…You will get in trouble for this." You warned him, but Jaime replied with a cocky smile.

"I am a Lannister. And lions are not scared of insects."

Oberyn Martell :

You were trying to leave the party. This was too much. A man was persistently trying to get a dance with you, but you didn’t want to dance with a man who surely did not care about you. You were almost there when you collided with another man who grabbed you before you could fall to the floor.

You looked up and your eyes widened as you saw who it was.

"Prince Oberyn of Dorne…" You gasped and the man gave you a small smile before looking behind you at the man following you.

"Is this man bothering you, my lady ?"

You gulped and suddenly took his hand. If you were to say anything, your father would blame you.

"Please. Would you dance with me, Prince of Dorne ?" You asked and the man following you seethed.

"You were promised a dance with m—!"

"I believe the lady asked ME for a dance." Oberyn cut him off with his usual charismatic smile. "Unless your title happens to also be Prince of Dorne."

The man huffed before walking away and you let out a sigh of relief. You were about to leave when Prince Oberyn grabbed your wrist.

"Now now…Where are you going, little sunflower ?"

You frowned in incomprehension until Oberyn smiled again and pulled you flush against him.

"…I believe you owe me a dance."

Peter Baelish (Littlefinger) :

Lord Baelish had had your eyes on you for a while and he knew that being part of your powerful family would be extremely valuable. Hence, he asked your father for your hand. But, there were too many contenders for him to even be considered as a good choice. So…He observed you.

You were young, but promising as you danced with grace and proper etiquette with all your possible choices. But, he could see right through you. You weren’t exactly happy to be here. And when one of your possible betrothed stepped on your foot.

He stepped in.

He took your hand and almost pulled you away from the man. You were about to thank him, but Baelish had other plans.

"What will you give me for my rescue ?" Baelish asked you. You sighed. Of course he’d want a reward for acting like the hero he wasn’t.

"What do you want ?"

Baelish seemed to think about it before offering you his hand with a smirk.

"A dance."

Your eyes stared at his hand suspiciously. But, at this point ? You would have accepted anyone’s help in order to escape. He pulled you flush against him and started dancing with you. Your eyes widened as he led you away to the center or the room.

He knew everyone could see the both of you, but he didn’t stop—not even when you tried to pull away.

"Lord Baelish…That’s enough."

Your father tried to stop him, but Lord Baelish only smirked before surprising everyone by kissing you. Your eyes widened and you were momentarily took off guard. When he pulled away, he smirked before glancing challengingly at your father.

"Now…About my wedding proposal ?"

Sansa Stark :

"My lady…Would you please give me the chance of a dance ?" You asked Sansa who hesitated for a moment before smiling and slipping her hand in yours. You smiled before kissing the back of it and led her to the dance floor. Sansa had always wished for someone to take her hand and make her feel like a princess.

She had first thought Joffrey to be the one, but that felt like eons ago. She had long learned her mistake. But, it didn’t mean she didn’t still wish for someone to make her remember what it felt like when her innocence and virtue were still recognised.

And you were more than happy to make her remember who she used to be.

"You are beautiful." You told her truthfully and she smiled.

She even graced you with a small chuckle as you made her twirl and made sure not to touch her that might trigger her in any way. After her awful treatment under Ramsay, you only wanted her to feel at ease. At peace.

And she knew it.

When she looked at you and a smile graced her lips—your heart seemed to skip a beat.

The pretty wolf was still a stealer of hearts, and you couldn’t wait for her to devour yours.

#sandor clegane x reader #fandoms #got #game of thrones #daenerys targaryen #daenerys x reader #ser jorah x reader #brienne of tarth #brienne x reader #jon snow x reader #jon snow #tyrion lannister #tyrion lannister x reader #jaime lannister x reader #jaime lannister #oberyn martell #prince oberyn #oberyn x reader #peter baelish x reader #littlefinger #sansa stark #sansa x reader

[na-shoba]

happy birthday, gwen!

and big thanks to my partner @bri-sonat for helping me!

#gwendoline christie #brienne of tarth #game of thrones #got #lady brienne #ser brienne #captain phasma #star wars #phaddy #captain phaddy #top of the lake miranda hilmarson #top of the lake #top of the lake china girl #miranda hilmarson #wednesday larissa weems #principal larissa weems #principal weems #larissa weems #wednesday #the sandman lucifer morningstar #the sandman lucifer #the sandman #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #mine #poster #movie poster

[womeninfictionandirl]

Brienne of Tarth by Jerantino

#Jerantino #brienne of tarth #ser brienne #game of thrones #got #gwendoline christie #lady brienne #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf/got #got/asoiaf #art #artwork

[crow-raven-crow]

Hi,

I was wonder if it would possible if you could write a Brienne of Tarth x fem!reader? Where Brienne returns to winterfell after being away after a while and she sees reader once again. Fluff and maybe some soft smut.

Please and thank you.

𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮..

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 - [𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝟏𝟖+]

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐱 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: ~4k 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: FLUFF !!, soft love, established relationship, SMALL angst, slight anxiety/dread, COMFORT, nsfw, vaginal fingering, oral sex, literally like the softest smut i think ive ever written, LOL DONT EXPECT ACCURACY AHAH

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: see above

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

AO3 link in title ✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

You hurried inside the Guards Hall of Winterfell, the heavy wooden door creaking on its hinges before nearly slamming shut with the frigid wind of winter. The ancient stones of the castle caused your steps to echo down the corridor, a sigh of relief leaving you with the warmth that enveloped you, as you made your way down the hall. The blazing torches casted a golden light along the walls, allowing shadows to dance against it, penetrating the white beams of light that bounced off the snow outside.

Your furs clung to you, adorned with the sigil of House Stark, and gave you some solace from the fangs of winter. Your face was flushed and slightly damp from the light spray of falling snow, and the immediate heat was slowly becoming too much as you took your gloves off.

You ventured deeper into the heart of Winterfell, seeking comfort in the quarters you shared with your blonde knight, even if she was gone on her own mission. The torchlight guided your way deeper into the hall, your own shadow kissing each flame as muffled murmurs of others made the fortress feel more alive.

As you approached the main room at the end of the hall, your now uncovered hands reaching into your pockets for your key, you threw nods and smiles at your fellow guards, getting bows of their heads and small smiles in return. What once filled you with fear and insecurity now felt like nods of approval, reminding you of how far you've come as a knight, for it takes a certain amount of trust and skill to work directly with a kingdoms head family.

~~

When you first settled in Winterfell, their curious and sinful stares were never far behind, making you question both your worth as a guard and as a lady, but it didn't take long for them to come face to face with the fire that burned within you. It earned you your respect amongst them, the common goal to protect those of Winterfell, the common goal that you had shown them time and time again. You no longer were just any other woman in their eyes, and the same was true when Brienne came into the picture.

It didn't take long for the two of you to become close, even if it did take a while to push past her walls. If anything, her arrival strengthened your place within the ranks and made your bond stronger with all of those in Winterfell, especially the Starks. They knew you as their head family guard, and you've seen each other in different contexts over the years, but there was a certain softness that Brienne brought to you that they never thought they would see. You both suffered through very similar things, and though those were things you both bonded over, you couldn't help but want to give Brienne the world that she didn't think was possible. You had completely fallen for her, and thinking back to where you both had started always brought a smile to your face.

~~

As you stepped into your quarters, it was as though the heavy mask of your role had come off, your shoulders relaxing as a breath you didn't know you were holding came out as well. In quick, practiced movements, you discarded the layers of furs that were draped over you, revealing a simpler armor set underneath. The sound of your shuffling filled the quiet room, your gloves being placed onto a side table and the small clicks of your armor coming off rang through the room. You turned towards your armor stand, placing each plate into its home and your scabbard with its belt along side it. As your fingers softly traced along the Stark sigil, you made a mental note to polish the pieces later.

You moved deeper into the room to start a fire, grabbing each log and meticulously placing them before a comforting glow lit the chamber's stone walls. It's golden hues reflected in the armor across the room, making you take a moment to really appreciate where you were at. Thoughts of Brienne began to fill your mind, tugging on your heartstrings and making the room feel much lonelier than it was moments before. It's been over a month since you've seen your knight, and you forced yourself to push through each day just as you knew she was.

When you stood, your bones suddenly feeling much heavier, you grabbed the pile of letters she had sent you over the course of her mission. You brought them over to your bed, spreading them out in small piles before sifting through each one. Your fingers traced the weathered edges, imagining what she had seen in each place she stopped, imagining her writing each one at the end of her day after all the others had turned in for the night.

You scanned over her most recent one, your fingers tracing the inked lines as though you had watched those words appear on the paper. She would be home soon, she had said so herself, and the idea sparked hope within you… but you knew how quickly the duties as a knight could change, that caution tempering the hope that begged to rage on in your chest.

With a deep breath, you let your emotions settle, taking in the written words from your lover as though they were prayers you were to memorize, reading each sentence with her voice echoing in your head like a siren beckoning you out to sea - something you would fall for again and again, if it meant that you'd get to go back to her.

As though the gods were listening, the resonant toll of the bell echoed all throughout Winterfell, cutting through the frigid air. Its deep tones rumbled through your chest, bringing you to your feet. All your actions froze as you listened for the bell, your heart threatening to burst when you realized it was from the East Gate. The room transformed into a flurry of movement as you quickly ran to gather your scabbard and rapidly tied the baldrick around your hips, before running out the door. In your haste, you had forgotten all about the snow as the outside world became a blur, your only focus being the possibility that Brienne was finally home.

The echo of your footsteps against the stone floor quickly morphed into the loud crunch of snow beneath your feet as you left the Guard's Hall and rushed toward the East Gate. The air bit at your exposed skin and made every breath you took in sharp, but the hope that your lover was just feet away overshadowed any ounce of discomfort that you could've possibly felt, easily flooding your body with adrenaline.

You waited with some of the other villagers and guards in the courtyard, some of them noticing you buzzing with excitement and clouded over in focus, as your eyes were fixed on the opening gates. You watched with a pounding heart as families were reunited, as guards made their way to the stables, as traveling merchants moved in the direction of the nearest inn. Your eyes darted from face to face, taking in who they were before moving onto the next.

Your hands fiddled with the rings on your fingers, you body feeling all too hot and your hands all too sweaty as though you weren't standing in the snow. You stood with the feeling of your heart growing heavy, with the feeling of your throat slowly starting to close, as the crowd dispersed just as quickly as it had appeared. You waited with the burning hope that you had gotten stuck with, even as other guards shot your their apologetic glances, even as Catelyn Stark squeezed your arm in comfort, as the crowd grew smaller.

A heaviness took over your body, making your shoulders sag and a sadness fill your eyes as the quick realization came over you: she wasn't there. As though it was your post, you waited for the crowd to clear because, after all, you were still a knight of Winterfell.

Just as the gate looked like it was about to close, it stilled, freezing for a moment before opening back up again. It's loud creaks gained the attention of the ones walking away, the ones filled with the same disappointment and aching heart as you were. A rumble of life passed through it just as the one that came before - a smaller group of more returning home, crossing the threshold into Winterfell. Your heart felt as though it had been revived, those around you watching your demeanor change, as your eyes began to light up with hope all over again.

Amidst the glowing faces of excitement, a distant glimmer of gold caught your eyes, drawing your attention to farther down the path. The crowd around you seemed to blur into the background as you held onto the potential promise that coursed through your veins. Every second closer intensified the rapid thud of your heart, drowning out everything else and nearly bursting at the sight of Brienne mounted on her horse.

The snowflakes seemed to dance around her, an ethereal glow radiating from her that would make even the newest gods jealous. Her brows furrowed as she scanned the crowd with an intense focus, the height from atop her horse making it all the more easier to catch sight of you. You watched as she seemed to relax, your shared gaze lifting the weight of separation that had been dragging you both down.

As Brienne dismounted her horse, the onlookers smiled and instinctively cleared a path as your body moved on its own. They had all seen you fall for each other one way or another, and you always knew this would be a piece of your home when they always seemed to cheer you both on.

The distance between you two came to a quick close, your hearts beating against each other just as fiercely as your smiles when she lifted you into her arms. Brienne's hands, strong yet gentle, found their way to your hips as she placed you down. Your arms wrapped around her neck, pulling her as close as possible, as though the action would make all the time spent apart fizzle away. The cold touch of her armor made a shiver run through you, but it was quickly ignored as you relished in the feeling of being back in her arms.

Her hands smoothed their way up your sides, creating a path of electricity along your body, before she softly cupped your face. Your hands found their place on the backs of hers, your thumbs tracing along her knuckles, as your eyes jumped between her own. You could always find a way to get lost in Brienne's eyes, the deep, defined blues always swirling with layers of emotions and unspoken words.

She leaned down slightly, a small laugh leaving your lips, before she closed the distance between you two. Her lips pressed against yours in a way that translated thousands of words - a soft, tender kiss that you had longed for since the day she left. You felt her lips curve into a smile, a sigh leaving her, as she felt you step just a bit closer.

When Brienne pulled away, the closeness lingered as she rested her forehead against your own, your hot breaths turning into steam the moment they met the cold air. It was as though the world around you seemed to hold its breath - the falling snow, the ancient stones, the depths of Winterfell baring witness to the love you held for each other.

"Hello, my love.." The sound of her voice made a choked sob leave you as tears suddenly formed in your eyes. The voice you thought about, the voice you were apart from, the voice you fell in love with was finally back to gracing your ears. She was always gentle with you, even if she knew you could handle your own, but she treated you with the softness, with the love that you never thought anyone in the Seven Kingdoms could give you.

"Hello, my Brienne.. I'm so glad you're back," your voice was nearly a whisper, showing the wear and tear that the time without her has brought to you.

"Always, for you. I'll always come back to you." If it was at all possible, it seemed as though your smiles only widened, the tell-tale blush lingering on both of your faces as you both finally broke away from the crowd.

~~

It was easy for you both to move back to your shared quarters, your movements together still like second nature even after the amount of time that had passed. You had a bath ready for her by the time she had come back from the stables, and you helped her take her armor off as you talked about her travels.

Just as you were about to start polishing your armor, you felt her hands wrap around your waist and pull you against her front. Sweet kisses were placed on one of your shoulders, before you felt her hold tighten. You turned around in her hold, bringing one of your hands up to move her gaze to your own. After a silent question, her eyes only softened, her fingers starting to trace absent minded patters under your shirt before she spoke.

She leaned in, stealing another kiss from you. It was longer than the one in the courtyard, now that you were away from the eyes of all. You chased her for another as she pulled away, earning you a satisfied smile. Her lips rested just centimeters above yours, her words coming out in a whisper, "I love you."

The words echoed in your soul like ones you never planned to forget, her voice filling your body with an electricity that no one else could charge, that no one else could even come close to causing. It made your cheeks flush as though you had heard those words for the first time, but who could blame you when she looked at you like you had painted the sky with your own hands.

"I love you too.." It came out soft, yet eager to fill her ears. You watched as those words alone seemed to settle her, grounding her in her spot and reminding her that she truly was home with you. She placed one last kiss against your lips, before heading towards the bath.

~~

When she came back to the room, seemingly refreshed and in her robe, she stopped in her tracks and watched you in the candle light. You had taken the opportunity to change into something else, or something less, as the golden hues radiated off your skin as if you were a god. The sheer robe you adorned left little to the imagination, the dark colored undergarments seeping through the thin fabric and revealing the perfect hold they had on your body.

She walked closer, her movements unknown to you as you cleaned up the rest of the table, until one of the floorboards creaked and gave her away. You turned towards her quickly, the sound making you jump, before your expression morphed into a smile. The action had made your robe fall off one of your shoulders, something that didn't go unnoticed by the knight, as her eyes lingered over the expanse of your exposed skin.

She was quick to bring you closer, your bodies glowing in the radiating warmth of the flames. She kissed you in that light, in the warmth that welcomed her home. You lived in the way she made you feel, the energy of the gods running through the both of you as all your emotions ran through each kiss.

Everything felt right, at peace, at home, like everything else was able to melt away for what felt like the first time in forever as you stood in each others hold, as your lips connected again and again. There was a glow that you both adorned that wasn't present before, one that had slowly dulled as the days apart grew longer, but one that reawakened and was ever burning for as long as you had each other.

As each kiss ran soft, the next came back more wanting. Your hands circled around her neck, keeping her close and playing with the soft strands of her hair. Her own had slipped under your robe, tracing over the skin that she had longed to touch again, leaving goosebumps in every path she took.

You walked her back towards the bed, undoing the tie of her robe before she sat down. You slowly moved to your knees, resting between her legs, your lips trailing down her neck as your hands freely roamed her body. You took your time worshiping her, leaving light scratches along her hips and thighs or bringing more attention to her chest with your lips.

You listened as her breathing grew heavier the closer you got to her breasts, a heavy sigh and a deep hum leaving her lips after you licked over her right bud, capturing it in your mouth soon after. You felt her squirm under your touch, her robe slipping down her shoulders and exposing more of her to you.

After showering her breasts in attention, your lips made their way down to her thighs, being sure to kiss and bite every curve of muscle your knight gave you. One of her hands ran through your hair as you kissed down one of her thighs, using her other as support to lean back and expose more of herself to you. The smell of her arousal made the coil in you tighten, and the sight of her blown pupils only proving to you how good she was feeling.

As you kissed up her other leg, you brought one to rest on your shoulder, and you felt your own arousal begin to pool between your legs at the sight of her soaked core. You kissed along her slit, your touch featherlight and causing broken whimpers to leave the blonde, before running your tongue through her folds.

She threw her head back, a deep moan leaving her lips as her back arched. Your pace was sickly slow to her, your tongue working in and out of her entrance as the flame within her only grew larger.

Her fingers made their way into your hair, pulling on the strands and making a moan escape your lips. The vibrations only pleased her in more ways than one, her hips bucking at the sound. You took the opportunity to move your tongue to her clit, circling the sensitive bud and sucking, causing a near pornographic moan to leave her lips.

You continued, urged on as her moans grew louder and more frequent, as the hold on your hair grew tighter and as her thighs threatened to close around your head. Her thighs shook as her peak came closer and closer, her eyes screwed shut as she chased the pleasure you gave her. With her jaw slack and her brows furrowed, she came hard against your tongue, her thighs closing around your head.

Your actions didn't stop, didn't slow as you allowed her to ride out her high. You groaned at the taste of her, being sure to lap up everything she gave you, before pulling away breathless. Your breath was hot, your chest heaving as you caught your breath, but your focus was stolen away as her fingers guided your chin up, forcing you to look at her.

She pulled you up with a gentle touch, guiding you onto her lap before capturing your lips once more. Her fingers worked on the tie of your robe, before smoothing the fabric down your arms and off your body.

A whimper left your lips as her thumbs swiped over your nipples, and she took the opportunity to start kissing down your neck. Each of her movements were soft, slow as though anything more would scare you away. Her lips lingered on your pulse point, the feeling sending heat straight to your core, before she shifted your position.

She turned you both, pushing you down and laying your head against the pillows, your body shining in the moonlight that seeped in from the cracks in the blinds and the gentle glow of the flames in the room. Her lips picked up where they left off, slowly trailing down to your breasts. Her lips and fingers worked together, mapping out every curve and dip of your skin and committing it all to memory.

She gave your breasts the attention that they deserved, her tongue swirling around each bud and forming them into hardened peaks, all while whimpers and small moans escaped your lips. One of her hands trailed down, rubbing up and down your thigh in slow movements, before swiping a finger through your folds. The action made you gasp, your bottom lip quickly coming between your teeth, as you felt her lips move lower and lower.

She collected your juices on her fingers, teasing your entrance before thrusting two of them into your core, moaning at how you immediately clenched around them. She moved them in and out at an agonizing pace, the sensation already making you see stars, as she curled them perfectly in the right spot each time.

Her lips trailed lower and lower, a few kisses being planted at the base of your thighs before you felt her tongue flatten against your slit. Your hips bucked at the feeling, a silent beg for more, before you felt her lick through your folds, her tongue circling your clit right after.

You wreathed under her, your breathing growing heavier as moans shot out of you. The familiar tightness in your core started to build, making the pleasure you felt come back in tenfold. Your hands moved to her hair, pulling at it and begging her not to stop. Your thighs shook with each lick, each thrust into your core, your pleasure building itself closer and closer to the delicious edge.

Every touch was absorbed with every ounce of love she held for you, and you showed her you knew that as her name fell from your lips in desperate moans. She curled her fingers just as she sucked on your clit, and the action made a loud moan escape you as it stole all the air from your lungs. You felt your thighs shake, and another curl of her fingers made ecstasy crash into you.

She helped your ride out your high, her ministrations only slowing when she had licked everything clean. You felt her lips travel up your body, her hands smoothing over your sides and giving you a warmth that you welcomed. Her lips met yours in a tender kiss, one full of the love and adoration you both held for each other. She broke away, moving to lay on her side, before pulling you into her arms.

She wrapped the covers over your bodies, but nothing could match the comfort you felt when her hands started tracing patterns along your back, when her body radiated heat and a smell you found intoxicating, when your head rested in the crook of her neck as her voice traveled through the air with sweet nothings for only you to hear.

You took a moment to look at her, your hands coming up to cup her face as your eyes scanned over her features in the growing late night. You couldn't help the smile that always seemed to grace your lips in her presence, one that she never failed to match when she saw it. With another soft kiss, pulling a hum from her chest, you settled back down in the comfort of her arms, tangling your legs together and enjoying the sound of her heartbeat as sleep took over the both of you.

Knights always held their honor high, and you'd both be sure to always honor the promise of coming back home to the one waiting for you.

~~

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐚/𝐧: BRIENNE MY LOVE AHHHHHHHHH

I SAY THIS ABOUT FUCKING EVERYTHING BUT THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE I LOVE BRIENNE

i had somewhat of an idea for this when i had first gotten the request a while ago and im SOOO glad it morphed into THIS!!!! this is my first time writing for Brienne, and im really happy with how it turned out

im on like.. id say the beginning of season three of game of thrones and every time she pops up on the screen i literally kick my feet and scream like im so down bad for her its genuinely so funny to me

here you go anon!! im SO sorry it took this long, but i hope that it was worth the wait !

xx,

~ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: (tagged anyone who asked/wanted to be on the "all works" taglist)

as always, feel free to ask to be added !

@autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @finnja555 @barbarasstar @vendocrap8008 @gwendolinechristieiscute @lilfartbox1 @agathaandgwenslesbian @lvinhs @elvira-dear @kimiinou @ladybathoryy

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

#crowravencrow #brienne of tarth #game of thrones brienne #brienne the beauty #brienne tarth #brienne x reader #brienne of tarth x reader #ser brienne #brienne of tarth smut #brienne of tarth got #ser brienne of tarth #lady brienne #brienne smut #brienne of tarth got smut #brienne of tarth x you #brienne x you #anon answered #anonymous asks #anon ask #anonymous #wlw smut #wlw fanfic #wlw fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfictionwriter #THIS WAS SO CUTE #AND SO FUN TO WRITE #I LOVE BRIENNE SO MUCH

[rainbowpinklove51]

Ser Brienne of Tarth, knight of the seven kingdoms.

#game of thrones #gwendolineuniverse #brienne of tarth #got #game of thrones brienne #ser brienne #gwendoline christie #larissa weems #principal weems #wednesday

[littledollll]

Loving

Brienne of Tarth x reader

A/n: I needed some brienne sweetness in my life and I saw a couple of people talking about the same thing. This came to me in just a few days and I’m very happy with it! I need to remind myself that my fics don’t always have to be over 1,000 words.

Merry Christmas to all those who celebrate and happy holidays🎊

Warnings: not much, playful banter, lots of loving (as title suggests), Brienne adores you, you adore Brienne, mentions (barely) long distance relationship? A bit of a playfully possessive reader.

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Brienne always made sure to be extra quiet when she arrived home late, not wanting to risk waking you and ruining your precious sleep, there’d always be time for all the greeting and talking in the morning.

She was pleasantly surprised to find you were wide awake and seemed to have been waiting for her for quite some time. There was a cup of tea placed on the table and a book you were merely scanning with your eyes before you looked up at her.

“Look at you trying to be sneaky in that clanky armor..” you mused.

“It works when you’re asleep, or at least I’ve been led to believe it does?” She said as she dropped every item she was carrying near the door for later.

“No no.. it does work. I appreciate you not waking me up, but don’t you deserve a little company once you’re finally back?” You said as you stood and made your way towards her.

“I missed you so much, pretty..” you murmured softly as you stood on your tippy toes, your arms wrapped around her neck, and pulling her into a tight hug. “The least I could do is help you get ready for bed.”

“That’s nonsense. There’s no need for such a thing, it’s not too much work and I rather see you sleeping peacefully than disturb you for something I can do myself.” She counter argued.

“Absolutely nothing about being with you could ever disturb me in any way. I appreciate you way more than I do my sleep.”

“Oh my that’s a heavy statement. You do love to sleep.” Brienne said with a smile grazing her face as she hugged around your waist.

“I love you way more.” You said as you pulled back a bit to look at her.

“You look too stunning, seriously. I can’t have you looking like this while you’re far away from me, somebody’s bound to steal you away.” Your smile light up every part of her soul as you spoke, but your teasing was endless every time she visited you.

“Don’t start with that..” Brienne seemed a bit flustered at that, but she was quick to wrap her own arms tighter around you, lifting you into her grasp. You let out a little yelp in surprise as she lifted you up, but quickly regained your composure to shoot her a look.

Brienne sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping you wrapped up in her arms as you sat on her lap.

“Are you saying I’m not allowed to call my woman, pretty?” You mused as you played with her hair. “Mm.. you’re allowed.. but you know no one will steal me away from you.” She mumbled as she nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“They better not.”

“Love-“ Brienne started a sigh, before getting cut off by you.

“I’m serious!”

She moved her head to look at you, a soft, more than beautiful smile on her lips. “I know you are.”

“I love that about you. So unnecessarily possessive when you know I’m yours. I love you.” She could spend a thousand years listing all the things she loves about you. If only it were possible.

You hummed, pulling her into a kiss in response. It carried a world of softness and love she could feel in her soul. She didn’t know how you did it. You made her feel so complete, you made her feel the love of the whole universe.

You rested your forehead against hers once you pulled away. “I love you too.”

#brienne of Tarth #brienne of tarth x reader #game of thrones #gwendoline christie #brienne of tarth got #got brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth fanfiction #ser brienne of tarth #game of thrones brienne #brienne x reader #ser brienne

[theship-thewalrus]

masterlist

request guidelines || fandoms & characters

*smut

game of thrones

brienne of tarth jealously not a joke no one hurts you rest together again

tywin lannister love can bloom sweet little dragon may i have this dance? it was my mothers everyone needs some comfort nightmares

sandor clegane waking up to you flowers you are the one i want

oberyn martell enough of this

house of the dragon

ser harwin strong the third time's the charm || part one || part two || part three waking up to you our final moments together looking after a sick harwin rainy days no longer yours a life together general dating headcanons (w/ rhaenyra) good boy * a gift

princess rhaenyra targaryen looking after a sick harwin general dating headcanons (w/ harwin)

prince aemond targaryen anything for you || i'll figure it out waking up to you engagement headcanons (w/aegon (separate)) protective siblings (w/aegon) hiding jealousy

king aegon ii targaryen Disappointment || series masterlist engagement headcanons (w/aemond (separate)) jealously protective siblings (w/aemond)

jacaeys valaryon our secret

queen alicent hightower dragons new sensations *

lord of the rings

legolas injuries clingy stranger

aragorn injuries

boromir stay with me deserve you return to you

the sandman

lucifer here with me i would never hurt you lonely

bridgerton

Benedict this is my idea

#brienne of tarth x reader #brienne of tarth imagines #brienne imagines #brienne x reader #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagines #got imagines #got x reader #tywin imagines #tywin lannister x reader #tywin lannister imagines #tywin x reader #hotd imagines #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #harwin strong x reader #harwin strong imagines #harwin x reader #ser harwin strong x reader #lord of the rings imagines #lord of the rings x reader #legolas greenleaf x reader #legolas x reader #aragorn x reader #aragon imagines #lotr imagines #lotr x reader #sandor celgane x reader #sandor x reader #boromir x reader

[kellycalliekell]

1 am sketches

My IG

#Brienne of Tarth #mine #my art #gwendoline christie art #Gwendoline Christie #brienne of tarth artwork #GoT #Game Of Thrones #ser brienne of tarth #my lil cinnamon roll

[drrav3nb]

Marriage by Combat

Picking up a single-bladed spear from the array of weapons, the Prince twirled the staff in hands and approached the centre of the coliseum. “I once heard a rumour that you would only accept an offer of marriage if the man asking could defeat you in combat,” he said before tucking the spear under his arm and bowing deeply. “Allow me to put that challenge to the test.” Brienne could not stop herself from grinning, his provocation reminding her of an oath that she once made to herself so many years ago. “You have no armour on, sire.” “Neither do you.” Synopsis: Ever since she was a young girl, Brienne had made it very clear to many of her potential suitors that she would never accept their offer of marriage unless they could defeat her in battle. So what happens when the Prince of Dorne takes her up on that challenge?

Read the fic here

#this is hands down one of the most hardest fics i've ever written #to write something for a crackship that hasn't even interacted before was more difficult then i expected #i hope it's good😖🥺️ #brienne of tarth #oberyn martell #brienne x oberyn #prince oberyn #lady brienne #ser brienne #game of thrones #game of thrones au #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fic #gwendoline christie #pedro pascal #gotedit #got #gameofthronesedit #gameofthronedaily #brienne fic #oberyn martell fic #crackship #rarepair #au

[mouse-of-dimitrescu]

My baby ❤️❤️❤️

#brienne of tarth #gwendoline christie #brienne #ser brienne #got #game of thrones

[rippersz]

Her Scorn

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(A Brienne of Tarth x Fem!Reader one-shot) (No warnings apply)

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Brienne of Tarth hated you.

Everyone in the Kingsguard knew it - every soldier, every Stark left alive; Hell it would be no surprise to you if everyone in the North had been told that Brienne of Tarth hated you. Despised you, really. And that wasn’t because she went around ranting and raving, oh no she’d never stoop so low as to do that, but it was because word traveled fast when drama was absent. People made big things out of small things. People spoke and they spoke far too much.

“Ser Brienne hates her!”

“I heard Brienne despises the girl.”

“Why? Well no one really knows, but that doesn’t change the fact.”

Unfortunately, that was the thing - the one thing about the entire situation that left you at a loss.

Ser Brienne of Tarth hated you and no one had any idea why.

Not even yourself; for as far as you knew, you’d never done anything to get on her metaphorical bad side. You just minded your own business, tending to the horses and cleaning up the mess tables during the summer and making sure the training grounds for the troops were clear and neat. Well… as neat as training grounds could be.

Some part of you wondered if that’s why the soldier disliked you so much - because you didn’t do your job the way she wanted you to do it. One would think that if that were the case then surely she would have said something, but unfortunately you were met with silence. And it wasn’t as though you could solve it on your own with a little conversation. Oh no, the very idea- the very notion- of approaching her yourself and confronting her for her subtle yet noticeable behavior was enough to make you nauseous with anxiety. Because you? Going up to The Ser Brienne of Tarth? Gods, no. Absolutely not. Not because she would bite your head off - everyone knew she wasn’t that volatile - but because you harbored some inexplicable feelings yourself.

In fact, you couldn’t even look her in the eye.

She was just… she was just so tall. So tall and so strong. Strapping, really. And handsome - so fucking handsome. With those blonde waves… naturally pushed back… studded with the beauty of snowflakes…. And eyes like glaciers… Darker than those of the White Walkers… deeper than the largest ocean…. Oh you wanted nothing more to look at her without shame - you wanted to admire. You yearned for it. Longed for it. ‘Please,’ your mind said silently whenever she walked past with that stride of hers and those arms and that armor and those furs… There was a moment when you got too close to her once- it was a complete accident of course, your hands were full and you weren’t focusing- but you remembered her scent ever since. Burning firewood, rain, and steel. She wasn’t very flowery, but you certainly didn’t expect her to be. As a woman warrior, held in such high regard, with such a title… well… she couldn’t really afford to be vulnerable. In fact the only times you had seen her happy and alive were when she laughed with a close friend. Sometimes Podrick made her smirk and sometimes Lady Sansa said something funny that made her release the deepest warmest softest chuckle from the depths of her chest… And you ached to be on the receiving end of that. Really, you ached to be on the receiving end of anything Ser Brienne was willing to give.

But you knew that wouldn’t happen. You knew you wouldn’t get anything. It was a shame, but you had come to terms with it some time ago. The famed Brienne of Tarth didn’t like you - thus, you didn’t really have a chance at getting to know her better. Unfortunately, her opinion also meant that you didn’t really have any friends. Judgment and rumors would always be a defining factor in class and popularity… and when the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard disliked you? Well you were pretty much fucked.

It irritated you to no end; because despite your admiration for her, despite wanting to kiss that scowl off of her lips, despite wanting to tell and prove to her that she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen in your life… you were still upset. Her glares, her avoiding whenever she neared the stables and instantly approached a different stable-hand (even if you were obviously the best option), her unpleasant grimaces, her judging gazes looking you up and down… it really hurt. All of it really hurt. Honestly, when you glanced up to look for something, only to find that Ser Brienne of Tarth was running her intense blue eyes over the length of your body, barely concealing the disgust in her expression? Well it hurt more than being burned alive. Not that you knew what that felt like, but you could assume. And each time you walked past her, you were forced to put a distance between you; because ever so slightly, one could see how she recoiled.

And that? Well… that felt as though she had run through your body with the blade of her sharp Valerian steel sword.

Many many times.

—

“Y/n!”

The sound of Gerik’s voice had you looking up from your saddle polishing.

“Hm?”

He had jogged over, clearing his throat before taking a seat beside you. It was a shame that he always smelled so heavily of sweat as you contained your grimace; stable-hands weren’t the most cleanly people. It wasn’t by choice, of course. Well for some it was, but not for you.

“Hey,” Gerik smiled, pulling your eyes away from the piece of hay on the floor you were staring at and successfully dragging them to him.

“Hi.”

It wasn’t often that he approached you, but whenever he did, the moment was strange. Strange in the sense that he wanted to say something but never could. Like it was balancing on the tip of his tongue. And there was something in his brown eyes too that called out to you, but you weren’t too interested in answering it. In fact, you weren’t too interested in talking to him at all. Why couldn’t he just leave you be? Why couldn’t he just distract himself with the dinner taking place some feet away? Why couldn’t he listen to the stories and smile and let you sit alone in the dark, polishing saddles that already gleamed the moon’s reflection? Why couldn’t he let you wallow and why couldn’t he be too dumb to catch the fleeting admiring looks you shot at the tough Lord Commander?

The very same Lord Commander, in fact, that seemed to have disappeared after you peeked over Gerik’s shoulder. Hm. Maybe she had to use the restroom - or tend to other business. But her plate was still there and the food was still war-

“So I- um- I was- uh- wondering-” Gerik began to stutter and you watched (with growing disgust and panic) as he began fidgeting with his hands.

Oh. Oh dear. Was it finally going to happen? Was he finally going to get over himself and let those words fall out of his mouth and ‘make a move’? You wished you could have applauded such bravery, but since you were on the receiving end of… whatever… he was going to say, you really just wanted to run for the hills. Briefly, the thought of actually running away crossed your mind. The horses were sleeping but if you acted fast enough… and took the saddle you were holding… and grabbed some food with lightning speed… you could be off in a flash. You could find work elsewhere. Work that kept you in the dark. Work that kept you busy and away from others. After all, plain women were not usually very sought after anyway. Only men like Gerik were interested in you. And no women like you were interested in Ser Brienne of Tarth. Actually - that wasn’t true. You had seen one or two servant girls do heart-eyed double takes when the soldier went walking past. You wanted to punch them each in the face at the time; but that was before you realized jealousy was stupid. You had the least chance out of everyone, so why bother?

If Gerik were smarter, he could also have realized that he had the least chance out of everyone, too. Though, then again, there weren’t exactly women lining themselves up at your door. Not that Gerik would care. He seemed like the type of man to insist anyway that you hadn’t met the right cock yet. He’d be wrong - just as he was then in assuming you’d go anywhere with him.

“Um I was wondering if you’d maybe- want to- go on an- an outi-”

“Gerik.”

Both of you looked up in shock.

Of course you’d know that deep tone and refined accent anywhere… and of course you’d suddenly feel like fainting as Ser Brienne of Tarth walked up and stood close to your left. You could nearly feel the heat of her skin through the combined layers of clothing - and you watched with wide eyes and flushing cheeks as Gerik looked up at her. Despite the close proximity, her rich sapphire eyes were stuck on him. It was funny, you noticed, that beneath her gaze he seemed to sink into a young boy again.

“Yes, Lord Commander?” Gerik suddenly stood up as though shocked by lightning.

“Fetch Valour,” she responded succinctly, not even bothering to glance at you, “I am in charge of patrol this evening.”

“Yes, Lord Commander.” And in a flash, he was off. His original mission, it seemed, was entirely forgotten about.

You frowned as you watched him run off. The two other stable-hands were with some of the other horses, either bathing them or feeding them. The rotation was complicated but easy to grasp as time went on - you had been there for about two years, so you knew almost better than anyone. That also meant that you knew Ser Brienne was not there for chit-chat (as if she would ever wish to engage in that with you of all people), so you didn’t bother addressing her as you turned back to the saddle in your lap. She would probably walk away a second later without saying a word to you - ignoring as she usually did.

But then that second passed.

And another passed.

And out of the corner of your eye, you could still see her standing there - tall and imposing. It made you sweat, wondering if something was wrong. Had you offended her? Had you done something to garner such… well you weren’t sure what was going on. Was it attention? Was it a punishment? Your brows furrowed.

“If you polish any more, you’ll rub a hole through the leather.”

Instantly, you jumped. It was slight and strange and it sort of made the moment uncomfortable but you didn’t really care. You did, after all, get a fright.

Was she speaking to you? Was she addressing you?

Unable to even glance at her expression, you looked around quickly - checking if, somehow, you weren’t hallucinating and there was another person nearby who just so happened to be polishing a saddle at the same time. When you saw no one, you had no choice but to give into your curiosity and look up at Ser Brienne of Tarth… who did definitely speak to you first if her expectant (and beautiful) eyes had anything to say about it.

You swallowed and flushed in the face of her attention.

You’d never received it before… never positively. But as you observed her, unable to help yourself, you saw that there was no sneer in her gaze and there was no disgust pulling at her lips and she was still standing so close to you and all of a sudden you became very very confused. And very very anxious. How were you to respond? What were you to say? That was no introduction and it was no hello and Hell, it wasn’t even a proper conversation starter - it was just a statement. A witty quip. And as the silence prevailed and you stared up at her, you realized that you probably seemed like the biggest dunce on Earth.

So you slowed your polishing until your hand came to a stop, and then blinked at her - carefully running over what to say.

“Wouldn’t wanna do that.” It was a very lame, plain, stupid response and you muttered it beneath your breath, but it didn’t really matter anyway. You figured she’d probably leave it at that and walk away, forever thinking that you were someone worth disliking.

For once, you were wrong.

“Is he always so bold?” It was spoken after a moment of silence, leaving you to shiver quietly as the chilled wind ran through your bones.

The question caught you off guard. Why did she care? What was so special about Gerik that she finally felt the urge to talk to you? Was it out of some strange womanly protective trait? Was it because she planned on embarrassing you somehow? Morally and professionally, it wasn’t right for you to get angry with the Lord Commander, but you couldn’t help it. Her question seemed so… insensitive. As though she was trying to act friendly after all that time acting as the exact opposite. You felt a flame rise up within your heart and tried hard to push it down. Unfortunately, you were never terribly skilled at being subtle.

“Does it matter if he is?”

Your eyes were glued to the saddle like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Again, silence fell. You tried not to cringe as you thought back on your tone. You sounded quite rude - so you just prayed to each God above that Ser Brienne wasn’t upset or offended. Though really if she were, you figured there wouldn’t be a change in her usual attitude at all.

“...Yes,” came the eventual response, “Self-important men are universally disliked amongst women.”

The snort that left your body came out so quickly you couldn’t catch it. Goodness, one would think the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was a better conversationalist but it seemed she wasn’t. If you weren’t a bit incensed and confused at the idea that she was being a little friendly, you’d find it endearing. But while Ser Brienne stood there, one hand on her hip and her eyes burning into your neck, you felt yourself getting antsy. Either she should just follow Gerik and get her beautiful horse or tell you what she wanted so you didn’t combust in the following moments.

“Is something funny?”

She sounded genuinely confused. The irony of that made a little sarcastic smile curl onto your lips - and you couldn’t help but shake your head as you pulled your eyes away from the leather in your hands and clapped them on her instead. Goodness… even when you wanted to be mad at her, that striking facade nearly had you holding your heart and confessing your feelings. That charming little line between her eyebrows… and the way the corners of her lips pulled into a natural frown… and how that scar on the right side seemed far more pronounced in the shade of the sunset… You wanted nothing more than to pull her into a kiss, but of course you refrained. After all, you were supposed to be angry. And confused. Which you were - so you threw caution to the wind and shrugged.

Perhaps it was finally your moment to confront her.

“No, no,” you hummed, trying hard to seem nonchalant. “It’s just- well it’s kinda interesting how familiar you are with disliking people… all things considered.”

Once you said that, you figured she’d understand. You thought that, perhaps, she’d remember herself and realize that she crossed her own line and would suddenly give you an icy look before walking off. But she didn’t. No, instead, Ser Brienne of Tarth just continued to stand there, looking down at you with confusion painted over her fair features. You rose an eyebrow, trying to prompt a response.

Finally, she licked her lips and gave you a queer look - as though you had gone mad and your words made absolutely no sense to her.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” She blinked quickly, not bothering to hide the scorn in her tone.

You frowned.

“What do you mean? You’re- ya know-,” you gestured at her, “You’re not exactly the most… personable in regards to me.” Your tone went a little quiet. What did she mean what were you talking about? Had she gotten amnesia overnight and just so happened to forget her dislike of you? Was she turning over a new leaf? Or was she somehow just playing the fool?

By the look on her face, which you quickly deciphered as even more confused, if not a bit… hurt…. You’d say something was definitely going on. A misunderstanding, most likely. And if anyone sitting by the mess tables in the courtyard were watching you, they’d see a knight and a stable-hand staring at each other in equal amounts of puzzlement. And if anyone sitting by the mess tables in the courtyard cared enough about who you were, they’d see, with shock, that the Ser Brienne of Tarth was speaking with the stable-hand she supposedly hated. Hell, you still couldn’t believe you were having a conversation; though you figured that if you didn’t get to the truth soon enough, you were probably going to have a disagreement instead.

“Personable?” The soldier spluttered, looking around as though that were the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. “Explain.”

And then her blue eyes were stuck to you, full of outrage and befuddlement. They were glorious, you noted. And entrancing…. But it wasn’t the time to get distracted. She spoke with finality - telling you that it was an order, not a suggestion.

“Well I- you-,” you sighed, trying to sound respectful. She may have pissed you off but she was still the Lord Commander - and you were still a stable-hand. Best just get it over with so you could forget about the interaction (or think too much about it later when the moon’s high in the clouds). “Look, Lord Commander. I’ll say this as respectfully as I can,” and you met her gaze with hidden anxiousness, “It’s just- no secret that you don’t like me. So I’m a bit confused about… this.” Your hand did a little flipping movement as you gestured between the two of you.

The soldier’s expression didn’t change, but something flitted across her eyes. Something that made her twitch for just a second - and if you really had to put a hopeful finger on it, you’d coin the feeling as guilt. But that would be wishful thinking. Ser Brienne of Tarth rarely felt regret - she did what she had to and that’s how she managed to get to her position. From being rejected to being at the top and doing the rejecting. You had always admired that - but in the moment, as you watched her roll over what to say - you were nervous. She was not one to be trifled with… and you were being bold.

“I don’t know who told you I dislike you, but I’ll have you know I despise rumors,” she looked as though she was getting flustered, looking off into the distance and shifting her body weight. “It would do you well not to spread them any further.”

You scoffed and stood up, dropping the saddle onto the haybale you were sitting on.

“Me spreading them? You’re the one who hates me,” you hissed, putting your hands on your hips.

Clearly, Brienne was not expecting that as she looked down at you with wide fire-filled eyes. Her lips, in shock you guessed, fell open - completing the expression and making you glance down at her mouth. Such soft lips… such icy eyes… she was so close you could smell the familiar scents of burning firewood, rain, and steel. Her nostrils flared in the next second as she took the tiniest step forward. And her hair, you noticed, was damp from the earlier sprinkles of rain that had fallen over the lands just before dinner.

You couldn’t help but melt a little inside; for even incensed, she looked glorious.

“I do not hate you, stop talking such shit!” The Lord Commander growled lowly, looking over your features as though she were committing them to memory.

The rest of the world was forgotten momentarily. All that mattered was you and Ser Brienne - and the way the setting sun lit up the back of her head like a halo of burning light. It wasn’t blinding, but it was enough to make you squint as you thought over her reaction. Shit? She thought you were talking shit? Was she truly lacking in self-awareness so much that she didn’t understand her own actions? That didn’t sound like Ser Brienne of Tarth, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. But then again… you didn’t exactly know her, did you? With a frown, you shook your head. The fire within you was slowly dying down - crackling into a low flame as you crossed your arms and shot Brienne a tired (and admittedly dejected) look.

“What, so you just glare and scoff and avoid everybody?” Your rhetorical question made her eyes widen but you didn’t want to stop there. It was getting late and people would start to notice her prolonged absence and you couldn’t have that. You couldn’t be the reason people spoke about Ser Brienne with suspicion or confusion or anything other than respect. “Just admit you dislike me, Lord Commander,” your voice was tired, “and we can go our separate ways. I don’t want you to hurt yourself by interacting with me.”

And that moment- that exact moment- you struck a nerve.

In a matter of a few blurry seconds, you found yourself being tugged by the wrist and dragged away toward an empty stall. Her hold wasn’t terribly strong but it was enough to keep you still as the doors slammed behind you and your body was pressed to the wall - held there only by her hand and her proximity. She was close. So close. All up in your face kind of close. You could smell the red wine on her breath, and you could see the stormy outrage in her eyes. The stormy outrage and… and something else. Something you couldn’t pinpoint at all. But you supposed that, in the moment, it didn’t really matter - she looked close to killing you anyway. Her lips were parted almost in a snarl as you could see the unevenness of her bottom teeth - like she was going to lunge forward and rip out your throat like a direwolf pack leader. For some reason, you didn’t focus on that. You just focused on how badly you wanted to kiss those lips. How badly you wanted to run your tongue over those teeth. How badly you wanted to throw your arms over her shoulders and pull her into an embrace even though your chests were nearly pressed together. Even though you were both breathing heavily. Even though your heart suddenly began burning with a different emotion - one very far from anger. You prayed Brienne couldn’t see the way your pupils expanded. You prayed she couldn’t peer into your heart and pick out your adoration.

“I don’t-” she started and then stopped, like she hit a wall and didn’t know how to get over it. You watched, waiting with bated breath as the soldier seemed momentarily unsure of what to say. Hesitation ran through her body, you could see it. You could see it and you found that you needed to hear her words. You found yourself itching for her truth.

“Tell me.” She looked at you, all stern and serious. You held your ground. “Say it.”

And she did.

The Lord Commander did.

She stepped back, released you, and then pressed a gloved hand to the front of your tunic and twisted the fabric into her fist. She didn’t pull you forward or push you back or scratch you or hurt you, she just kept you there. And you let her. You figured, after all, that she was rather introverted and that she didn’t know how to be entirely honest. That she didn’t know how to express her emotions healthily. And you empathized, so you kept yourself quiet and watched her beautiful face as she tried figuring herself out. Whatever she said next, you’d roll with it as best you could. After all, as per usual, as always, you’d take anything Ser Brienne of Tarth would give you.

“I don’t… hate you…,” she muttered, unable to meet your eyes, “I am just… I am unfamiliar,” she spat out the word, “with this.”

And that was that.

You blinked.

She looked at you, urging you to understand - but you didn’t.

“With what?”

And then Brienne scoffed and rolled her eyes and for a second it looked like she wanted to stomp her foot into the ground but she kept her head instead and glared at you like you were terribly stupid. Perhaps you were, but that didn’t change the fact that you had absolutely no fucking clue as to what she was talking about. Only some minutes before, you were pretty sure that she hated you - until she said differently. And you were of course just supposed to believe her.

As if you wouldn’t. As if you wouldn’t ever not believe her. As if you wouldn’t hang onto her every word and offer good conversation and play the devil's advocate so she didn’t feel placated. As if you wouldn’t listen to her stories no matter what. As if you wouldn’t believe the tales she lived. Please. Of course you would. Of course you’d stand there, with your shirt twisted in her gloved palm, with your body relaxed and your heart pounding out of your chest. If it were anyone else, you’d be calling for help and scrambling to get away - but it wasn’t anyone else. It was Brienne… and you were in love with her. So running away would be a wasted opportunity. And you wouldn’t get any answers that way, either.

Though as silence prevailed, some part of you wondered if said answers would ever come to light. She didn’t seem too intent on giving them u-

“Lord Commander!”

Gerik.

He had returned with Valour… and you were being pushed up against a stable stall wall by Ser Brienne of Tarth.

A similar expression flitted across both of your faces. It was a good mix of panic, confusion, and something you couldn’t quite place. In fact, the situation you realized, was very strange. You weren’t doing anything scandalous - you weren’t being threatened - and yet? It felt as though you two were going to be ‘caught in the act’. Like you were vulnerable and stumbling around in the shadows, even though you really weren’t. Brienne, it seemed, thought the exact same as she frowned and let go of your tunic. The loss made your heart drop but before you could say anything like “Forget it” or “You have to go” or even (for some reason) “I’m sorry”, Brienne was cracking the silence with words.

“Meet me here tonight once the moon reaches the other side of the courtyard,” her voice was so low you had to strain to hear it, “Hopefully I’ll be able to explain better then.” She sounded frustrated but not with you - just herself.

You frowned at that, willing her silently to look you in the eyes as she went about adjusting her furs.

“Explain what, Lord Commander?” What did she mean? What was she talking about?

The sound of Gerik leading Valour to the stables was getting louder and you found yourself growing antsy; more desperate for a response.

Brienne could see that when she finally looked up. You held eye contact - willing yourself to get over your anxiety in hopes of a real answer. The gods had to be listening as it seemed your wish was finally granted.

Blue eyes, usually bright and stern and a million other different professional serious things, suddenly softened. And in slow motion, the sight of that spread to the rest of the woman’s expression - until she was looking at you with brows unfurrowed and lips devoid of a frown. You’d say she looked neutral but she didn’t. In fact, the slightest hint of vulnerability on that beautiful face had you spotting the strangest bit of sadness in her eyes. Really, in general, she was saying so much with one expression. It left you confused. It left you thinking. It left you willing your heart to please relax because you could hear its heavy beating in your ears. So heavy in fact, that you could barely hear the mutter that fled from those soft scarred lips. Thank goodness you blinked back into reality just in time.

“Explain why I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

It was said so softly. So gently. With so much experience and so much pain and so much… so much understanding….

You just couldn’t help yourself.

It was finally your turn to smile.

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I’m exhausted and sort of hate this but it’s fine - I’ll work on requests soon <3 - Ripley x

(I never finished GOT and it’s been a while since I last saw it so if the characterization of Brienne is off - tell me. Thx :))

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#fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #rippersz #wlw fanfic #got brienne #brienne of tarth #got #game of thrones #brienne #lady brienne #ser brienne of tarth #ser brienne #gwendoline christie

[venusintheblindspots-blog]

Brienne of Tarth is one of GRRM’s best examples of what it is like to exist through the lens of men. She’s too ugly and undesirable to be a maid, but she’s a woman so she can’t be a knight despite her being the epitome of knighthood.

#asoiaf #game of thrones #brienne of tarth #brienne the beauty #lady brienne #ser brienne #a song of ice and fire #asoif/got

[na-shoba]

braddy. brieddy. schmexy.

#gwendoline christie #brienne of tarth #game of thrones #got #game of thrones brienne #ser brienne #lady brienne #icon #icons #mine

[womeninfictionandirl]

Brienne of Tarth by Mona Fuchs

#Mona fuchs #brienne of Tarth #art nouveau #art #artwork #game of thrones #ser brienne #gwendoline christie #got #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #got/asoiaf #game of thrones art #asoiaf/got #got art