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Chapter Text

Jaime Lannister marched out of the solicitors offices, Pycelle and Qyburn, legal advisors to the wealthiest incumbents of Kings Landing, a wad of bank statements in one hand and an all too short list held in the other.

Seething with anger.

Running a hand through his slightly overlong hair, he scowled at the picture of an obsequious Pycelle above the startled receptionist’s head, before slamming the door hard behind him as he left. Tywin Lannister had already disowned him, twice, but to then all too conveniently bump into his smugly amused parent on the way out of the most horrendous meeting of his life, had been enough to make a furious Jaime see red.

A vengeful, debt driven Lannister red.

"I always told you Hollard was a fool, and you for trusting him." His father had reminded him.

And if anything that made me more determined to employ him than ever, thought Jaime.

It was the senior partner of the firm, Mr Pycelle, who had just broken the unhappy news to Jaime that his trusted independent business advisor had taken every one of his bank accounts, and emptied them. Jaime Lannister was down to his last silver stag, despite having just completed a prestigious contract that had delivered over two million dragons into at least one of them.

One of a portfolio of accounts now so empty that his last silver stag would probably have to be found down the side of a sofa somewhere, Jaime thought to himself grimly.

“Ruined,” he said aloud, trying out the feel of the word in his mouth as he said it. He’d worked damned hard for every last penny of that contract, his employers keen to squeeze all they could from him as they were fully aware that he had no intention of renewing his agreement with them for another term. Wildfire Men’s fragrance and body products had to look elsewhere for a high profile front man Jaime had told them. Jaime was done with them, or so he had thought. In one of his less sane moments he might be tempted to think that they had a hand in reducing him to penury, although having seen his father’s triumphant face as he beat a hasty retreat from the Pycelle & Qyburn offices, it would seem that Tywin Lannister seemed a far more likely candidate. Jaime was well aware that his father seemed to have a keen interest in reducing him to financial rubble, if just to secure Jaime’s return to the family firm.

Well if that was the plan, it won’t work .

Jaime kept walking, at a brisk pace, not wanting to be seen to even glance at the list gripped in one white knuckled fist before he was well out of sight of the of the Pycelle and Qyburn offices.

I've given every one of those grey sunken cunts enough of a show for one day, he fumed.

Jaime eventually slowed to a halt and only then looked down at the paper clutched in his hand.

Dontos bloody Hollard had stolen everything, everything that was not quite literally nailed down. All cash, bank accounts and easy to trade bonds had been taken. All that remained were his two doer upper projects in Kings Landing, and an odd array of businesses that Hollard had seen fit to invest in.  Pycelle had fought to keep a straight face as he had listed the businesses Jaime now owned, as well as the huge losses they were incurring. A list of companies that included a finger nail boutique, a family portrait studio, a dirty book store and a detective agency.

Ye gods, a shady detective agency, Jaime was taken aback, as if the dirty book store wasn't enough! The thought of Tywin's distaste at him being involved in such lowly pursuits made him smile.

Then he started laughing, a rumbling laugh of real amusement as he stared down at his list, grinning at the name of the firm.

The Blue Isle Detective Agency, he snorted loudly, what impression was B Tarth, the person running that outfit, trying to give people?

The vision of a stern faced septon, complete with a blue rinse and a magnifying glass came instantly to mind.

Ha! Maybe I should employ my own detective agency to find Hollard and my missing funds, he joked to himself and sobered immediately.

“Hey… hey, aren’t you… you know, the Wildfire guy?”

Jaime glanced up to look straight at a woman pointing at him. The woman was about the same age as himself and his twin, Cersei, but even as he opened his mouth to reply, the woman’s companion hauled her onwards, away from Jaime.

“Of course he isn’t, he isn’t half as prett... as good looking as the Wildfire guy,” the man told her.

The woman looked as if she was about to argue, but Jaime pre-empted any disagreement by simply shaking his head and pulling a face, “No sorry, not me… I’m not the Wildfire guy.”

Not any more, anyway.

“I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before,” she insisted, “are you well known for something else?”

For being the twice disinherited heir to the Lannister fortune, scion of one of the oldest families of Westeros, a high ranking member of the diplomatic service dismissed in unusual circumstances for the mysterious death of a superior. If the woman had read any one of several newspapers in the past decade she would know exactly who I am.

That was what he always been known for and that was the reason that he had been recruited for the Wildfire campaign.

The promotion managers had wanted to take a risk, to recruit someone edgy and unusual to build the brand.

“No, sorry,” Jaime smiled at them, aware of the other man’s combined look of anger, embarrassment and even jealousy as he led his girlfriend away.

He was all too familiar with that look as well, it came with the Lannister territory of wealth and beauty.

Jaime sighed slightly and looked around, before ruffling his hair over his forehead slightly, all the better for obscuring his well-known features.

Well, this mess won’t fix itself, he thought, reading the address of the detective agency once again, moving the thumb of his left hand so he could see it more clearly.

The Blue Isle Private Detective Agency, proprietor B Tarth.

Chapter Text

"Good afternoon, Blue Isle Detective Agency. Please don't worry, don't be sad, we will find your Mum and Dad..." Pod, her receptionist, warbled as he answered a ringing phone.

Brienne Tarth winced as she rubbed her temples and looked at the pile of bills on the desk in front of her.

I  really must talk to Pod about his inappropriate rhymes, she thought.

But she didn't, instead Brienne picked up the stack of bills once more and reset the oversized calculator on her desk to zero, before starting to total them once more.

“I need to get more work in,” she muttered to herself as the calculator added unforgiving figure onto unforgiving figure, until the same uncomfortable total was presented to her once more. Rubbing her tired, gritty eyes, Brienne debated whether or not to add up the bills yet again.

No, no point, she finally decided. It didn't matter if you added them up ten times, or twenty, the final result was just as painful.

The income from last month was low enough, but when she factored in Mr Hollard’s forty percent of her takings, things looked far far worse. Brienne carefully put the bills back into date order and replaced them into the large black box file where she kept all things that made uncomfortable reading.

"Good afternoon, Blue Isle Detective Agency. Lost your dog? Lost your cat? At Blue Isle, we get them back."

Pod's sing-song voice reminded her of just how important it was that she keep the agency solvent. With a heartfelt sigh, Brienne dropped her head into her hands and groaned.

Why did I ever agree to sign over so much of the business to that damn man? Brienne asked herself, and not for the first time. Mr Dontos Hollard had come to her with a few minor cases, a search for a missing person, and an investigation into a case of suspected incest. But more to the point he had been in the office when she had received the bad news about her father, and her home in Tarth. Don’t worry, he had said in that earnest, overly sympathetic way of his, I can arrange a lump sum to pay whatever part of the debt the sale of the house on Tarth will not cover. You won’t have to sell your business.

I might have well have done, Brienne thought bitterly, this was no living, existing on sixty per cent of what came in investigating unfaithful wives and missing pets.

Hollard had also promised to put more regular work her way, but the only regular thing about Mr Hollard was his visit to her office every month to collect his forty per cent of her receipts.

Pod's face appeared around her office door, his boyish face screwed up into an expression of concern.

“Ms Tarth?” he whispered, looking back rather nervously over his shoulder, “There is er... someone here to see you.”

“A new client?” Brienne was unable to suppress the hopeful note that found its way into her voice as she stood up, wiping her suddenly damp palms on the fabric of her sensible trouser suit as she did so. This was the bit she found most difficult about new clients, the bit where you had to make small talk and give a good impression. Brienne was much happier when she could start on the investigation, when she could actually use her considerable skills to make a difference. Hurriedly glancing at the mirror above the filing cabinet, she had barely finished grimacing at her freckled complexion and straw like hair, when she was confronted with a truly breath-taking vision.

A green-eyed, blond-haired lion of a man who seemed to suck all of the air out of the room even as he stepped into it, erupted into her tiny office.

“No,” he snapped, managing to invade her small office before either herself or Pod had realised what he was about, “I am not a new client. You and I, Mr...,” there was a brief and not too pleasant pause as he studied her closely from the sensible shoes on her feet, to the top of her considerable tow headed height, before asking in an unconvinced tone," ye gods, are you a woman?"

Brienne was so startled at his blatant air of disbelief, that she said nothing in reply.

"Well," he snorted, "it makes no difference. You owe me money."

A debt collector? Brienne gave a start of shock, but I paid the bills before I paid Pod and myself last month.

And even then, there was only really enough for Pod.

Her stomach lurched unpleasantly at the prospect of having to find even more money from somewhere that didn't exist.

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Brienne responded nervously, somewhat taken aback at the invasion of her inner sanctum by such a self-possessed individual who was clearly lacking in any manners whatsoever. “Er… good morning Mr…”

“Ser… Ser Jaime Lannister.” He replied, his gaze running first over her once more, and then over the contents of her shabby office like a magpie eyeing a basket of trinkets.

“Ser…,” Brienne gulped, swallowing his name as she tried to keep her face straight, expressionless, “Jaime Lannister. You’re the… the Wildfire…”

“Yes, yes, the Wildfire guy,” Ser Jaime Lannister waved his hand at her dismissively as both Pod and Brienne continued to stare at him as if he had three heads.

Brienne blinked once, twice, and then instantly collected herself. Straightening her back, she leant forward to shake him by the hand, Brienne's greeting dying in her throat as she realised he was almost as tall as she was, with a pair of emerald green eyes that should really carry a health warning.

“I… um, I…” she stuttered.

“Right,” The creature replied, turning to sit without being asked in the chair, her chair, behind the desk, “so down to business. It would appear I own half of your Blue Isle Detective Agency, Ms Tarth.”

Chapter Text

Brienne watched the sun haired god sat in front of her, having to use all of her self-control and hard won patience to remain silent as he spoke. To resist the very real urge to cut across his monologue about how much money she owed him, and to tell him just how much she had already struggled to pay Dontos Hollard a decent amount back.

But it meant nothing.

It would seem Dontos Hollard had taken Ser Wildfire to the cleaners just as much as he had her, but for a lot more money.

Ser Jaime Lannister really was quite ridiculously beautiful, Brienne thought as she watched him flip a lock of hair out of his eyes with long elegant fingers, even if he was quite possibly the rudest man she had ever met.

Good genetics, she thought to herself, her chin on her hand, he has inherited a really good set of cheekbones and a rather nice jaw.

Although he must be a little older than I first thought, Brienne surmised noticing a few strands of silver amongst the rest of his striking head of hair.

“Are you listening to even one word I am saying Ms Tarth?” His exasperation was obvious.

Brienne struggled to sit upright in the rather low chair frequented by her clients. She made a mental note to replace it with one less likely to eat you alive as soon as she had the funds to do so.

“I’m sorry,” duly chastised, Brienne felt a betraying flush rise from her thick neck over the freckled skin of her cheeks. She watched his glorious green eyes follow the prickling tide of pink across her cheeks until their eyes met once more. “I… I'm… I do apologise. What was it you were saying?” Brienne noticed his eyes were now flashing with the glints of green wildfire that made him such a perfect candidate for the Wildfire fragrance Marketing Campaign.

Ser Jaime Lannister really did not like it when people didn’t pay attention to him.

“Hollard paid a lump sum on your behalf from my business account on this date,” he told her, brandishing one page of a bank statement at her, “and in return I received a fifty…”

“Forty,” Brienne corrected him firmly.

"It says fifty..."

"Forty."

“Okay… forty,” Jaime shot her an irritated glance and checked his printed list again, “a forty per cent stake in the Blue Isle Detective Agency.”

Brienne curled the hand hidden under the desk into a fist, her nails biting into her palm as she willed herself to stay still and not react by boxing his smug ears.

“You owe me money,” he told her, “and I need it now.”

He really is beyond enough, she thought.

“It’s not due now. As soon as the month is finished, you shall have it.” Brienne replied as calmly as she could, whilst doing frantic sums in her head.

“I can’t wait until the end of the month,” he told her dismissively, a man determined to get his own way. A handsome, beautiful, articulate creature who was clearly used to being very successful with his powers of persuasion, and who was obviously finding it difficult to accept the word no.

“My arrangement with Mr Hollard…”

“What arrangement with Hollard?” he snapped at her, “ Your arrangement with Dontos Hollard is void, because your arrangement is now with me. I own forty per cent of your business Ms Tarth and I need the money now!”

Does he mean all the money that Hollard paid me?

“I… I…,”Brienne could only stare at him, hiding her shock as best she could, “what, all of it?”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t have it,” she said, finally realising exactly what this visit was about. He was here to either get every last bit of his money back, or close the Blue Isle Detective Agency down

“That's not my problem,” he replied, “that Dontos Hollard has taken me for every last penny, is. If you can’t give me my money back, then you are going to have to close your business and sell up.”

How dare he!

“That's ridiculous,” Brienne protested angrily, “and just how long will that take?”

“Have you got any other assets?” he asked her, obviously keen to realize his money one way or another as quickly as he could.

“No,” she told him firmly, out of all patience with his juvenile approach to business, “I have not.”

Jaime Lannister fixed her with an assessing stare, and Brienne stared right back.

“I want my money back, Ms Tarth, every last penny of it.”

“Well you’ve come knocking on the wrong door,” Brienne told him, “Because I really haven’t got it, certainly not all of it, right now.”

Sighing loudly, Jaime rested his elbows on the desk and stared at her long and hard over his steepled fingers.

"Tarth... Tarth... Lord Selwyn Tarth," Jaime raised his eyebrows slightly, "the Evenstar?"

"My father," Brienne acknowledged.

There was a tense pause, before Jaime spoke.

"Could you ask...?"

"No." Brienne responded firmly.  

Jaime leant back in her chair and stared at the ceiling before looking across the table at her once more.

"Do you have any brothers and sisters that you..."

"No."

"Has anyone told you you are as boring as you are ugly?" He asked her, his frustration at refusal to conjure up his money out of thin air making him spiteful.

"Frequently," she told him bluntly, adding on a delightful scowl so he knew just how unaffected she was by his words.

Jaime studied at her closely, one finger of his right hand tapping out an annoyed tattoo on the table as he did so.

"How much can you give me at the end of the month?" he asked her.

Brienne named a sum which meant she would be adopting cream crackers as her staple for the foreseeable future.

But it would be worth it, just to be rid of him.

He considered her offer thoughtfully, watching her shift uncomfortably in the client chair as the silence stretched on between them.

"Alright," Jaime finally agreed, "let's do it your way. You pay me at the end of the month. The full amount you would normally pay Hollard, mind you."

Brienne gave an abrupt nod before quickly struggling to her feet and extending her hand to shake on it before he changed his mind.

The hand that Jaime extended was warm, his fingers wrapping around her hand and then her wrist in a manner that made the red curse of a blush sweep over her face yet again.

"I will see you in two weeks," he looked into her eyes as he spoke, and to her chagrin Brienne felt the blush climb even higher, "I have other businesses to visit in the meantime that, hopefully, will be rather more cooperative than you have been Ms Tarth."

"Good luck," she responded drily, feeling rather sorry for the other businesses about to get a visit from the golden devil in her office.

"I'll make sure I pass the message on to 'Mugs and Jugs', " Jaime replied as he went to walk past her, ducking his head to murmur by her ear as an aside, " it's a dirty book store."

Brienne frowned disapprovingly at him as his warm breath tickled her skin, "You came to see me before the dirty book store?"

"For some strange reason, you seemed a better prospect Ms Tarth," he replied.

Chapter Text

Ring… ring… ring… ring… 

Brienne turned over in her bed and put her pillow over her head. 

No!

Ring… ring… ring… ring… 

“Mmpff,” she muttered into the sheets still surfacing from an almost nightmare involving bills, blonde-haired, green-eyed demons and having to eat cardboard for every meal.

"Who gives a damn,

Its only money,

Good job ‘cos it’s all going to that gold haired honey…"

Ring… ring… ring… ring… 

Still drunk on sleep, Brienne finally realised it was the office phone still ringing, and she hadn't answered it with an attempted Pod rhyme as she had first thought.

Bleary eyed, she prised her eyelids open, and finally managed to focus on her clock.

Two am!

What the -?

Brienne put out her hand and grabbed wildly for the phone receiver on her desk, knocking it flying before finally managing to get a firm hold on it.

“Blue Isle,” she mumbled into the mouthpiece.

What felt like a hundred years passed before a strangely distorted male voice said, “I need you…”

A nuisance call.

Really? A nuisance call? At two am?

There was another long pause and Brienne could hear her caller breathing heavily on the other end of the line, voices in the background suggesting wherever he was calling from it was not exactly private.

More heavy breathing, and then a cough as if someone was trying to clear their throat.

“I need you…”

Brienne gave a heartfelt sigh, her glance chancing upon her fold up bed enveloped in her rapidly cooling duvet. That it had come to this, having to temporarily sleep in the office albeit not quite under the desk, while perverts called her at two am so they could breathe heavily down the phone at her, was a thoroughly depressing thought.

The laboured breathing continued.

“Look,” Brienne kept her voice reasonable as she spoke down the phone. After all, this was an individual who was obviously close to the edge even if he was choosing to express it in an inexcusable manner,” you are obviously in need of help. Its two am, if you keep making these kind of nuisance calls you will get in to all sorts of trouble. Someone will call the police and you will get a criminal record. You need to get help for this, so I suggest you think about what you’ve done and reach out to someone in the morning…probably not by phone.” With that Brienne replaced the receiver gently back onto the phone’s cradle, and then immediately fell back onto her bed with a heartfelt groan, the bed’s metal joints flexing with a series of alarming creaks as she attempted to make herself comfortable again.

No sooner was she horizontal, and someway to being able to rest, the phone rang again.

Ring… ring… ring… ring… 

Brienne turned over in her bed and put the pillow over her head, clasping her hands around it in an effort to wedge the pillow against her ears to better block out the noise.

No, no, no, not again!

But the phone did not stop.

Ring… ring… ring… ring… 

Brienne lay there, huddled under the covers, debating whether to answer it, or not.

It’s the office phone, she told herself firmly, it could be an emergency, it could be from Tarth, it might even be...

With a groan and curse, she hauled herself up once more and snatched the phone up.

“Blue Isle Detective Agency,” she said.

“Don’t hang up!” It was the same voice, still breathless but this time, desperate, "please, don't hang up!"

“What now?”

“It's Jaime... Jaime Lannister. I need you to come and get me! Now!”

Once he had pointed out to her who it was, it seemed all too obvious. In her own defence, thought Brienne, the normally very cultured tone was slightly higher than usual and the phone line was atrocious, “Please don't hang up Ms Tarth. I need you... rather urgently. I’ve been arrested….”

"How do I know this is really Jaime Lannister?" She asked cautiously.

"What proof can I give you down a phone?" He huffed, exasperated yet apparently convinced she might end the call at any moment, "So, what about last time I saw you, I was about to go to a bookstore called Mugs and..."

"Okay, it's you. But arrested? Nice try Lannister."

"Not trying." He ground out.

"Sure," she responded wearily, too often the butt of practical jokes in the past to take something quite so outlandish at face value.

"Quite sure."There was a pause, and then the unmistakable sound of a police siren at Jaime's end of the line before a voice clearly said, "Hey, look, its the Wildfire guy!" Some cursing ensued that seemed to consist mainly of Jaime Lannister accusing people of being 'inappropriate' and 'unprofessional'.

Ye gods, he wasn't actually telling the truth, was he?

"Please, Ms Tarth... B... Brienne... I need your help to get out of here," he whispered urgently down the phone.

“You've really been arrested?” Still disbelieving, Brienne slowly climbed to her feet, before asking him, “What have you been arrested for?”

And why have you called me? 

"I'll tell you later."

"I'd rather you tell me now. Did the dirty book store turn nasty when you attempted to menace them into giving you your money back?"

There was a slight choking sound that could almost be mistaken for a wretched attempt at a chuckle. It had to be her imagination. 

"No, they did not. In fact the owner of that establishment is quite happy to buy me out of his business as soon as he possibly can."

"That must be very gratifying for you... except that instead of celebrating, you've managed to get yourself locked up."

Brienne moved about the office with the phone receiver tucked firmly under her chin, pulling out items from the suitcase kept under her desk as she went.

Socks, shoes, coat.

What happened Jaime... why did you end up having to phone me of all people?

"I've been arrested for finding Dontos Hollard dead in my house."

Brienne's stomach dropped to somewhere close to her knees.

Dontos Hollard dead?

"Hollard?... Dead in your house?"

Brienne was momentarily lost for a response to the news delivered by Jaime, now in a voice totally devoid of emotion.

Is it possible, that Jaime would...?

"I said I found him dead, not that I left him dead, wench." 

"Thanks for the clarification, and my name is not wench," she murmured, as much shocked by Jaime's icy calm, as Hollard's death. And by his ability to read her reaction even down a bad phone line.

“Brienne, I need you to do something for me on the way here. They are refusing me bail unless I give them my passport.”

She felt a  curious relief that they were at least prepared to bail him. If they really thought he had anything to do with it, he would not be allowed to leave.

They would be taking him to prison instead.

“Ah, and you rang me rather than ‘Mugs and Jugs’, why?”

There was a long and rather telling pause, before Jaime replied, “You were the only one that answered the phone.”

Has he really got no one else to call? Or is it that he has no one else that will get out of bed for him?

Brienne gave a long, long sigh.

“Okay Lannister, where do I need to go to get your passport for you?”

Chapter Text

Brienne threw open the car door so that Jaime could climb into her small compact. As he ducked in, she could see his thin T shirt was offering him scant protection against the cold night air. The cotton fabric was stretching over and against his lean torso as he twisted round to find the passenger seatbelt and Brienne hastily averted her eyes from his golden skin as he looked across at her, choosing to focus instead on his hands as he straightened the belt across his chest.

“Uh, thanks,” Jaime looked at his hands, and then at Brienne, “thanks for coming to get me. Thanks for getting my passport from the house and getting me out of there.”

“Don’t mention it.” Brienne looked at him hunched in on himself, trying not to shiver, and leant forward to turn on the car's heater."Always happy to help a business partner." She didn't think she'd forget the faces of the police officers when she had turned up at Ser Jaime Lannister's home to collect his passport so that he could post bail. They had looked at her as if they thought Jaime Lannister was guilty.

“Thanks,” he nodded, the almost smile on his lips reminding her of just how shockingly handsome he was.

“You can stop saying thank you now,” she told him briskly, feeling a blush gathering on her neck, Brienne was suddenly eager to get Jaime Lannister delivered to wherever he wanted to be, “ Right, where do you want to go Ser?” she said in the most business-like manner she could muster in the small hours of the morning.

"My name is Jaime," he spent a few moments looking out of the window before shrugging slightly, "and I owe you a debt."

"Rubbish, I'd do the same for anyone. So where would you like to go?” She tried again, “Your father’s?”

“Gods no,” Jaime exclaimed.

"Then where?"

"Where do you live?"

"Oh, no..." Brienne gave him a panicked look thinking surely she had misunderstood his meaning, "no, no, that's not possible."

Jaime stretched back into the passenger seat of her car, flexing the muscles clearly visible under the thin cotton of his T - shirt as he settled back. He looked rather like a large cat making itself comfortable, until he turned round and trapped her with his wildfire green gaze.

"I've been thinking," he said softly.

The silence in the confined space of Brienne's tiny car was almost suffocating her by the time she crumbled and asked," What about?"

"I rang the Blue Isle office number in the hope that you might have left a out of hours contact number on the answerphone."

"Did you?" Brienne replied calmly, however her heart fluttered alarmingly.

"But I didn't have to worry because it just so happened that you were there to pick up the phone in person."

She said nothing.

"Twice."

Brienne concentrated on finding the ignition key rather than look at him directly.

"Now why would that be?" Jaime mused to himself, tapping one long finger against his bottom lip. "Were you maybe working late? No, I've seen copies of your books and the whole reason I own fifty per cent of your firm is because it runs at a loss. Were you maybe moonlighting as a cleaner for your offices, to save us both money on cleaning costs. How very corporate minded of you, but the size of the office wouldn't justify you being there until two in the morning," his devastating smile was briefly in evidence, before he went on to say, "or are you sleeping at the office Ms Tarth?"

"Its forty percent, not fifty, that you own." Brienne replied primly," And no one can take up residence at the office, that would be in breach of our office leasehold. Obviously, there are times when I have to work late-"

"All night late?" 

"Very late,"she insisted, staring straight ahead, her hand hovering over the ignition.

"So no potential for charging you rent then?"

I should have guessed money would be at the root of it somewhere.

"No." Brienne replied repressively.

Jaime raised one eyebrow and nibbled the edge of his lip with his teeth as he studied her.

He seemed to do that a lot, Brienne acknowledged as she busied herself fiddling with the car heating and adjusting her belt.

"Fasten your seatbelt," she snapped, twisting the key in the ignition, before turning to Jaime to add," and I'll take you home."

He pulled a face, grimaced slightly, and said, "I'd really rather you did not." 

Brienne looked at Jaime, and Jaime looked back at Brienne.

"I found Hollard dead in my kitchen," he told her, "doesn't that strike you as rather unhygenic?"

Brienne continued to look at him.

"You say you found him dead," She replied..

"He was dead. It doesn't matter how many times you keep implying he might not have been, I still didn't kill him". Jaime didn't seem at all put out by her response.

"Did the police say if they are looking for anyone else?"

"It wasn't mentioned."

"Have you any idea who did kill Hollard, if you did not?"

"Don't say you are actually starting to believe me wench."

"My name is Brienne," she replied firmly." and I'm just saying that if the police think you are their best prospect as the killer... who is hunting Hollard's real..."

"Don't finish that sentence if you don't want me to start screaming," Jaime told her, but the shit eating grin he flashed her suggested otherwise.

He doesn't care, she thought enviously to herself, he's not scared of anything other than being poor.

He's an idiot.

Brienne's senses prickled at the prospect of danger.

"What was Dontos Hollard doing at your house?" Brienne puzzled aloud, before daring to add, "Was he dumped there? Did he go there hoping to find you... or had you arranged to meet him?"

Jaime sighed long and hard, crossing his arms over his chest as she spoke.

"Wench, your shocking memory really is as poor as your looks. If you try really hard, you might recall the small matter of him stealing a few million dragons from me?"

The skin on her face and neck was suddenly swamped with heat and the dark interior of the car became a blessing.

"Yes I remember," Brienne muttered, angry at how his insults seemed to circumvent her normal defenses so easily, "and for your information I have a very good memory."

"If I knew how to get hold of Hollard, wouldn't it seem really stupid to arrange to meet him at an address linked to me, and then kill him? Do I strike you as being an idiot, wench?"

Maybe.

"My name is..."

"Brienne, I know."

Brienne couldn't resist glancing at the man folded up into the car seat beside her. The experience of being hauled down to the police station in the dead of night seemed to have rendered him more silver than gold in the street lights. But his eyes still burned a bright feral green, and as she watched him watch her, Brienne knew that if Dontos Hollard's mysterious assailant hadn't killed him, Jaime may well have.

After he had found out where his money was.

If Jaime was telling the truth.

If Jaime wasn't, she was about to return to the scene of a crime with a murderer.

He stared through the front windowscreen of the car for a few moments, before pulling a face that suggested he had come to a decision.

"Okay, Brienne, tell you what, I'm convinced. You're can come home with me."

"Come...," she shook her head," go home with you... where?"

"To stay." He raised his eyebrows, "With me."

No!

"No."

"Yes," he replied.

"But..." Brienne huffed, "I can't just... You can't go home anyway. The police have wrapped your house up in crime scene tape."

"I'll bet you one breach of lease that if we return to your office now, I'll find a cosy little fold up bed, maybe a nice extra long duvet..."

"Shut up," she snapped desperately, reeling from just how quickly he could switch from appealing to appalling.

"Why? It's the truth isn't it? You'll have been bedding down in that office with some misguided notion that what you save in rent will go towards getting rid of me as quickly as possible."

Brienne shot him a furious look and gunned the accelerator.

"And I don't like the idea of you being on your own either." Jaime bit out, not taking his narrowed eyes from the road for a second, "What if Hollard died because of my money? What if he was murdered because of his association with me?"

"I'm sure that's not..."

"Suddenly so confident?" Then Jaime did give a sly smile and looked at her out of the corner of his eye, "But how could you know?"

She could not suppress a visible shudder.

"Quite," responded Jaime. "And a Lannister always pays his debts."

Brienne gripped the steering wheel so hard as she pulled away from the police station, she could feel it digging deep into her palms.

"I'll give you directions to my other place as we go," he told her. "and if it makes you feel any better... think of me as your latest client."

Chapter Text

Jaime watched Brienne Tarth patrol the second of his houses with a pocket torch in one hand and an old broom handle in the other. Brienne’s sensible shoes made next to no noise on the wooden floor as she went, but the old floorboards were squeaking loudly under her weight, clearly mapping her progress about the property as she continued to search for intruders and ne’er-do-wells before she would allow Jaime to retire for the night.

Brienne scowled as she caught sight of him watching her, and then carried on her way, checking cupboards and external doors as she went.

Quite singular. A chance remark he had overheard made by Olenna Tyrell about Selwyn Tarth came back to him as he watched the Evenstar’s daughter prowling round his second best house prepared to do someone a mischief with a serious length of dowelling.

Like father, like daughter, maybe.

He felt so much safer with Brienne. There was something quite reassuring about her no nonsense manner and her constant eye-rolling and scowling demeanour. And of course her large frame.

Admittedly she keeps looking at me as if she wants to kill me, he grinned at her encouragingly as she turned to eye him yet again, her expression suspicious, before returning to the shadows to continue her hunt, but it’s strangely reassuring.

The memory of Dontos Hollard sprawled out on the kitchen floor of his other property, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, resulted in a cold chill chasing down the length of Jaime’s spine. He'd had dealt with plenty of death during his years in the diplomatic service, but for it to follow him home and end up in the middle of his kitchen floor, was a rather more unusual event.

It was starting to make Jaime wonder if his years abroad had left him more of a legacy than simply the title of Ser, awarded to him for services to the Foreign Office and the pursuit of Westerosi foreign policy interests, and a modest pension.

Jaime trailed after Brienne at a distance as she checked the whole of the ground floor in a methodical pattern, every room subjected to its own silent interrogation. He wondered what she had thought when he had brought her back to a house of bare brick walls and stripped back floors. At least the central heating had fired obligingly into life when he had started the burner in the kitchen. 

He was fed up of feeling so bloody cold.

“Hey, Brienne,” Jaime whispered.

“What?”

“Had you better check the cellar?” He couched his words in the tone of someone bestowing a high treat.

The resulting curl of her lips, the deepening scowl and the roll of her sapphire blue eyes in response, was a sight that made Jaime’s grin even wider. With a heartfelt sigh, Brienne wrenched open the door he had indicated and thumped down the stairs to check the ancient cellar.

A series of loud crashes and bangs echoed from the floor below as the Brienne made short work of the boxes and pallets left by his builders.

"Don't forget to check the external door," Jaime called down to her.

Her silent response told him in no uncertain terms what he could do with his external door, but he was confident she would check it anyway.

A bit dim, but very thorough.

Finally Brienne made her way back upstairs. 

 “Have the police told you when they are likely to finish with the other house?” She asked him, as she puffed and pulled her way to the top of the steep flight of shallow steps up from the cellar, finally hauling herself back through the door and into the kitchen.

“No,” Jaime leant against the edge of the kitchen sink and watched her brush a couple of dusty cobwebs from her pale straw like hair, “why, do you not like this one?”

“It seems awfully big for just one person,” Brienne muttered as she made her way round a painting table, moving the corner of a dust sheet gingerly with one hand to peek briefly at the furniture underneath.

“Well lucky there are two of us in here now then,” he replied, taking another sip of his cocoa and putting his hand out to stop her attempting another thorough check of the ground floor, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to drink before you go to bed?” he asked her.

“No,” she scowled; adding as she returned the broom handle to the cupboard she had found it in , “Thank you,” as if she had suddenly remembered her manners.

Jaime could not help but raise his eyebrows at her surly response.

“It will help you get to sleep... you know that you really do need all the beauty sleep you can get, don't you?”

Brienne did not even dignify that with an answer, settling for a blue ice glare that could freeze the seven hells instead.

"You don't need me to stay with you.” She told him dismissively.

"I think I do."

"Well, I'm not sure I should."

"If this is how you treat new and valuable clients, it's hardly surprising that I now own fifty percent of Blue Isle, is it?"

The expression on her face would have curdled fresh milk. "Forty percent and we really need to find out what we can about Hollard before the trail gets too cold."

"But you have to sleep Brienne," Jaime told her, "so you might as well do it here."

"But-"

“I thought we had agreed that you would stay.” Jaime felt the grin on his face fade slightly as Brienne’s mulish glare suggested she was quite determined not to remain, “just for the rest of the night... it's barely worth you leaving now.”

“Mmmpf,” she grunted, giving him yet another of one of those half furious glances she did so well.

Why do I bother?

“I suppose it is very late,” Brienne finally conceded with some exasperation, looking at her cheap wrist watch, “or rather... early.”

“Good,” he replied, it was a small triumph, but for some odd reason it felt great. “Your room is at the top of the stairs, and by the way, the alarm system is new. So once you hear me set it, don’t come back downstairs. One of the downsides of a location closer to some of the less salubrious areas of Fleabottom, I’m afraid, is the need for better security.”

She nodded once, twice as if she understood what he was saying and then her gaze slid away to the bedding he had piled up onto the kitchen table. With obvious reluctance, she put the torch down and started to gather it into her arms.

“If you need anything else just say,” Jaime told her, wondering if he should offer to help but convinced if he did she would simply tip the armful of linen over his head and opt to sleep in her car.

Bloody woman.

The look she gave him suggested she didn’t want anything at all, certainly not from him.

The only woman in Westeros not gagging to spend a night with the Wildfire Guy.

“Good night.” Jaime told her.  

“Mmmpf.”

                                                                                   *                         *                       *              

 "Make us happy, give us a clue, and we'll find that blackmailer bugging you!" sang a female voice down the phone in the outside office.

"Who did you say she was?" Jaime asked Brienne as he promptly sat in the office chair behind her desk at Blue Isle. He did it to her annoy her, and sure enough he received a satisfyingly toxic glare from her before she caught sight of the papers in Pod's hand.

"Sansa... Sansa Stark," Brienne told him, now not even glancing up from the printed report Pod had just handed her.

"I'm surprised you can afford another member of staff... oh, wait a moment, you can't, which I why I have possession of half your firm."

Brienne sighed long and hard before she answered him. "Sansa is an intern, so she costs us nothing. In fact it was her mother, Catelyn Stark, who asked me to offer her the opportunity to get some office experience, and to earn her not inconsiderable amount of pocket money." Still she didn't look at him, " Sansa doesn't cost us a penny and, indeed, it never does any harm to do someone as influential as Catelyn Stark a favour.  I would have thought you would approve... as you own forty per cent of the firm."

Touché, wench.

He knew Catelyn Stark, and he couldn't see her being at all happy about her daughter sharing office space with a Lannister.

Interesting.

"Does she have to do the rhyming thing too?" 

"Sansa has been told to do Pod's job when she's here so that Pod can focus on investigation work. She spent some time analysing what Pod does, and she has obviously come to the conclusion that the rhyming thing is part of the job description. So yes, she does."

"Is your husband playing away? Thinking divorce? Call us today?" Warbled Sansa, on answering yet another call.

Jaime noticed that even Brienne winced slightly at that one, so rather than saying anything more, he opened his fresh copy of the Westerosi Times instead, and spread it out on the desk.

"Pod, has the post arrived yet?" Brienne called out. She had finally sat down in the client's chair, and was balancing the report on her knees as she continued to read it.

Jaime glanced over at Brienne and then swiftly around the office. There was absolutely no evidence, anywhere, that Brienne had been sleeping there. Jaime knew that with the speed Brienne had managed to get to the police station the night before, she would have had no time to pack everything away so thoroughly, and so someone must have done it for her. His gaze fell on Pod as he walked back into the office carrying the morning post.

As efficient as he is loyal, thought Jaime as he studied Podrick Payne. He was under no illusions as to who it was who must have tidied up.

“Morning,” Jaime said to him, flattening a corner of the paper down as he looked at what Pod had in his hands, “thanks for getting the paper for me, Pod.”

Pod nodded briefly to him as he sorted through the early post, Jaime watching with interest as the young assistant carefully read the front of every envelope in his hand before placing them down on the desk by Brienne, for her to open.

Pod paused, staring at a padded envelope with a slight frown on his face.

“What’s the problem?” Brienne asked him, as she opened yet another bill, “wrong address?”

Pod glanced up from the front of the envelope once more and shook his head before offering the plain brown padded envelope to Jaime.

Jaime accepted the light package with no small jolt of surprise.

“It’s addressed to you, Ser,” Pod said in a puzzled voice.

Jaime studied the seal on the padded envelope and then took an inordinately long time to read the front label, before flipping it over, “I must say, word travels fast about my new business interests,” he grinned as he started to read the name of the sender on the reverse.

Then he felt his jaw slacken and his eyes widen as he slowly read the name there. Twice, just to make sure.

Sender: Dontas Hollard.

The shock made his fingers numb.

“Jaime... what's wrong?” Brienne asked him quickly, her voice low, “Who is it from?”

“Dontas Hollard,” Jaime replied, making sure his tone was carefully neutral before he spoke. “It would seem that Hollard has sent me a little something from beyond the grave.”

Chapter Text

It turned out to be a gold watch.

In one swift savage movement, Jaime had ripped the package open and given it a hard shake as if he was hoping a million dragons would tumble out. There was no million gold dragons in the envelope. All that fell out of the bag was what looked like an old gold watch, rather clumsily cocooned in bubble-wrap and tape.

Brienne picked up the ripped envelope and studied the post mark closely.

“Well you’ll be relieved to know it probably wasn’t the ghost of Hollard that posted this. It was in fact posted a few days ago, presumably before he… er, died.” Brienne informed him, “but why would Hollard send you a watch?”

“He felt bad?” Jaime was unwrapping the watch from the protective wrapping, “Maybe he had an odd sense of humour?”

Brienne frowned as she watched Jaime pick the watch up and study it closely, turning it in his fingers so he could study it from every angle.

“You should tell the police,” she told him. "They arrested you on suspicion of murdering the man who sent you this. You should really call them now... it's evidence."

Sighing, Jaime pulled a face, “What will the police do? Arrest me again? Ask me more idiotic questions about the man I found dead on my kitchen floor?"

Shrugging, he dangled the watch from one finger and then looked up at Brienne, his green eyes alive with a determination she hadn't really credited him with before, "I think I at least deserve a few minutes to have a good look at a watch sent to me by the man who stole millions from me and then had me arrested for murder, don't you?"

Brienne held his gaze for a few moments before feeling uncomfortable and looking away, "You need to tell the police," she insisted.

"I will," he growled at her," don't worry. Just not right now."

He held the watch to his ear, “It’s not working,” he said shaking the watch before listening again, “probably broken. Are the police really going to be that interested in Hollard sending me a broken watch?” Jaime placed the watch down on the desk and checked the wrapping for a note, or clue as to what the relevance of the watch might be.

“Why would Hollard send you a broken watch through the mail?” Brienne asked him.

“Is it a valuable watch?” Pod asked them, peering closely at the battered looking timepiece.

“No,” replied Jaime promptly.

“How do you know?” Brienne protested.

“Trust me, I know. I’m a Lannister and I’m male. From the age of fifteen onwards, expensive watches are the gift of choice for all occasions, both high days and holidays. This is not an expensive watch.”

He spoke with such confidence, that all Brienne could do was say, “Oh,” thinking that she felt both foolish and ridiculously poor in the face of such knowledgeable assurance, "but you'll still need to check with an expert... or at least the police will."

Jaime simply ignored her and continued to inspect the timepiece in great detail.

Feeling dismissed, Brienne gathered the opened bills up from the desk and went to put the envelopes in the bin in the outer office. When she returned with a mug of tea for him, Jaime was still studying the watch, but was now in the process of easing off the back of the watch with a pen knife he had sourced from goodness knew where.

“What are you doing now?” She asked him, exasperated.

For the love of the seven, just leave the damn thing alone and call the police Jaime!

But she remained silent.

“Trying to see why it doesn’t work,” he muttered. “There is no reason why it shouldn’t work… it seems to wind up…” Jaime returned to the task in hand, a glimpse of tongue appearing between his lips as he gently finessed the back from the watch.

Brienne watched his blond head bowed over the desk as he worked, totally unprepared for just how restless he made her feel when she was not the focus of his more caustic attention. She hastily dumped the mug down next to him just as he popped the back successfully off the watch.

“Got it,” The back flicked off, to reveal a curl of paper that unfurled like a coiled spring from the interior of the watch.

Ten numbers had been carefully written, in black, onto the strip of paper.

“Aaahh!” giving a three syllable exclamation, Jaime looked up at her with a triumphant grin on his handsome face, and Brienne suddenly felt quite dizzy. It would seem it was not only his emerald green gaze that should carry a health warning.

Oh. My. Goodness.

“What do you think they mean?” Brienne asked him, quickly busying herself with filing the bills in the cabinet opposite him so she did not have to look at him for too long.

He’s only a man, she told herself briskly as she turned her back on him, two arms, two legs, two ears...

Jaime was out of his seat and on his feet before she could blink.

“What do you think?” He was suddenly beside her, his head next to hers looking over her shoulder, his arm coming round her to hold the strip of paper in front of their faces, “what do you think they could mean?”

Suddenly she was finding it hard to breathe, the air was instantly too full of the smell of expensive bath products and Jaime Lannister.

“I don’t know,” she croaked desperately, “a coded message... or could they be the numbers of some type of bank account maybe?”

“A bank account… of course.” Jaime left her side as quickly as he arrived, sitting back in the chair and reaching for the phone as he spoke, “a Bravos bank account…. The perfect place to hide a few million dragons, no questions asked. We could try calling them, there are four other banks in addition to the Iron bank...”

Just how much does a business hours call to Bravos cost?

“You can’t phone Bravos on my office phone,” Brienne put her hand firmly down on top of the receiver, preventing him from lifting it and making the call, “I can’t afford international phone calls in the middle of the day, Jaime.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“You haven’t got any money either,” she told him, exasperated. “Why don’t you phone from your home?”

“The police are monitoring my calls,” he shrugged, “They seem to think I’ve got a partner in crime who will contact me about Hollard’s death, and they intend to be listening when it happens. I've got nothing to hide, but this... this means I'll have to use our phone to contact Bravos.”

"It might be our phone, but I am the one who will end up having to pay the bill," she told him.

"Please Brienne-"

Brienne kept a firm hold of the landline phone and shook her head.

“Sorry Jaime, no money, no phone,” Brienne told him firmly, "send a letter of enquiry instead."

"You know some things are better done when interacting with a real person, right?"

Jaime leant back in the chair and regarded her for a few moments with his head tilted to one side, obviously debating whether or not he could change her mind by using a little more charm. His emerald green eyes flicked over her face, lingering a moment on her lips before darting back up to her freckled nose and then her eyes again.

Pretty sure he would be successful if he did make more of an effort, Brienne closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to block him out.

“No Jaime,” she repeated firmly.

There was a long pause, and when she felt brave enough to open them again he was already out of his seat and on his way to the door. 

“Fine, then I’ll get the money in advance for you.” He held her coat out to her, “ come on wench, you can take me to Mr Coleman of ‘Mugs and Jugs’ to see about the bank draft that he promised me. You can drive.”

                          *                         *                       *      

It took them some time to find a road in Fleabottom where Brienne was prepared to leave the car unattended. 

"What about parking the car next to the wall over there?"

"There are no houses nearby to raise the alarm if someone tries to steal my car."

"No one is going to steal your car Brienne."

"Tell that to the last person who parked their car there."

"There is no car there."

"Exactly."

Finally Brienne found a space on the road right outside a house that looked like the owners might have the means to phone the police should the worst happen, and they seemed to take pride in their small garden. Jaime complained loudly about the time it had taken them to park the car for most of the walk back to 'Mugs and Jugs', stopping only to nod a cordial good morning to a scantily clad woman in high leather boots, walking the other way.

It was Brienne who paused to look over her shoulder as the woman walked past them, only to then see the woman turn to continue to watch Jaime as he went on his way, grumbling as he went.

Oh to be Jaime Lannister, the Wildfire Guy! Brienne thought to herself. The Wildfire Guy himself seemed blissfully unaware of the effect he was having on the women of Fleabottom, being far more interested in getting to his dirty book store in good time.

When they arrived, ‘Mugs and Jugs’ was pretty much exactly as she imagined it, except that for a dirty book store it seemed to have a very elevated idea of what it was selling.

“The best in Kings Landing for classic and collectible risqué magazines,” Brienne read from a sign in the window.

“Indeed, I think you’ll find my fellow shareholder in ‘Mugs and Jugs’ is something of a connoisseur in the field of classic and collectible risqué items,” replied Jaime with the faintest lift of his eyebrows as he nodded towards the window display.

The window had a surprisingly tasteful arrangement of vintage and contemporary burlesque photographs, all with hourglass shaped women in some serious heavy duty corsetry, adopting a range of poses. Brienne shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her shapeless mac and hunched her shoulders, much too aware of the contrast she presented with the images on the other side of the glass for her own comfort.

"Shall we go in?" Jaime asked her

"Do I have to?"

"Don't be such a body fascist Brienne."

"Me...me, a body fascist?" Brienne looked at him speechless.

"Come on," He winked at her, then pushed at the door, only to find that despite the open sign being up, the shop door was locked. 

Brienne gave a quick snort of disbelief before saying, “The best in Kings Landing for classic and collectible risqué seems to be shut.”

“Nonsense, Mr Coleman told me he would be waiting for me,” Jaime told her briskly, “I was supposed to be here by eleven am this morning, and here I am.”

Jaime seemed most put out at Coleman failing to receive them.

“Did Mr Mugs actually know that or was it possibly an appointment you only made in your head?” Brienne asked him.

Jaime gave her an annoyed look, and then to Brienne's surprise grabbed her wrist, pulling her after him as he made his way round the building.

They found their way round to the back of the store, only to find the door wide open.

“I don’t like this,” Brienne told him shaking her wrist free of his unsettling grip, “we should call the police.”

Jaime ignored her completely, stepping inside, “Mr Coleman?” he called out into the stifling silence, “Mr Coleman? It’s Jaime Lannister… we had arranged to meet.” He went in to the shop and Brienne followed, cursing him as she did so.

“Mr Coleman.” Jaime called out again.

The silence was stifling, the smell of the shop curiously off, like a mixture of cigar smoke and raw meat.

Jaime frowned, and then looked round at Brienne.

"Get behind me," he grabbed the side of her coat and pulled her back.

"I will not," she snapped back, grabbing him in turn by his coat and pulling him back, " You get behind me. You are my client after all."

Jaime Lannister simply stepped in front of her, evaded her attempt to pull him back again, and kept walking.

Brienne’s finely developed sense of danger was sounding clanging alarm bells in her head. Feeling ill equipped and at a disadvantage, she grabbed a random magazine from a display close by, rolled it up tight into a solid stick, and then followed Jaime further into the shop.

""Mr Coleman, are you here?" 

"Jaime, we really do need to go and call the police." Brienne insisted, her pulse racing, her heart feeling as if it was firmly lodged in her mouth.

"Mr Coleman?"

Jaime walked towards the back of the building and then there was silence.

"Brienne, in here."

Jaime had found Mr Coleman dead in the back office, lying slumped over what must have been a particularly fine example of a classic copy of 'Pentoshouse' before it joined him in the middle of a pool of his blood. 

He had been stabbed in the back.

The pair of them stood in silence as they looked at the body.

“Now Jaime, now we call the police,” Brienne insisted.

                                   *                         *                       *      

The two detectives that turned up amongst a sea of constables were both known to Brienne, as she had come across them when investigating a previous missing persons case. Detective Inspector Loras Tyrell and Detective Sergeant Jon Snow were both experienced members of the Kings Landing Police, but they had little time for people they regarded as being involved in a bit of amateur sleuthing and even less for someone who had just been found at the scene of a second murder victim.

"I'm surprised to see you here Brienne," Loras Tyrell looked her up and down as she stood next to Jaime, clutching the still rolled up magazine to her chest as they waited for the forensics team to complete their allotted tasks. "I would have thought you'd have known how important it was to call us straight away."

"I wanted to make sure," Brienne mumbled, before shooting a look at Jaime that she hoped said, I told you so.

It could have come across as I really hate you for embarrassing me so much, Lannister.

Tyrell shot her a pitying glance.

Brienne felt a humiliating tide of shame wash over her neck and face.

You don't fancy his boyfriend Renly any more, she told herself furiously, it was a silly crush. It doesn't matter if he knows.

"What, you wanted to make sure that he was dead?" Overhearing Brienne's reply, Jon Snow walked up to them, stripping a pair of latex gloves from his hands as he stopped next to them, "For your information he most certainly was, time of death seems to have been at about four am this morning I've been told."

"I believe that is about an hour and a half after you left us, Mr Lannister?" Tyrell said, his tone deliberately goading as he pulled a notebook out of his pocket.

"Ser," Jaime turned to look properly at Loras Tyrell, his lazy gaze flitting up and down the detective's stylish plain clothes, "Ser Jaime Lannister is my correct name, Detective Inspector Tyrell. I would have thought that after all these years, you should know it as well as you know your own by now."

The two men stared at each other until Tyrell looked back at Brienne, who couldn't help but allow her gaze to skitter away to the floor.

“So, we’ve been given a time of death of about four am this morning. Have you got an alibi?” Detective Inspector Tyrell asked Jaime, "because if you have not, you'll be obliged to come back to the station with us."

“I was with her,” Jaime flicked his head in Brienne’s direction and then grinned at her as she felt herself flush bright red in response.

Jon Snow was looking at the magazine Brienne still had clutched in her hand as they talked.

“Why were you both calling here today?” he asked.

“I had a meeting with Mr Coleman,” Jaime told them, completely unfazed by his suspicious tone. “He and I were due to have a discussion about the business. Mr Coleman was looking to buy me out, I was happy to be bought out. Ms Tarth is investigating something for me, so I asked her along.”

"Not quite your style, Ser Jaime?" Tyrell asked him, his tone unpleasant, "a dirty magazine shop."

"Its a business," Jaime replied, "and that's what I came here to discuss with Mr Coleman. Business, plain and simple."

“Is that what you thought you were here for, Ms Tarth?” Brienne was asked.

Brienne straightened her back, determined to be a little more like Jaime who seemed to be being treated with rather more respect than she was. 

“Of course,” she replied. “We were here to see Mr Coleman about an offer he had made Ser Jaime Lannister, to buy him out of the business.” 

“Where were you at four am this morning, Ms Tarth?” Snow asked her.

“Me?”

Do they think I murdered Coleman? Brienne thought, momentarily panicked.

“You,” Jon Snow replied.

Feeling ridiculously guilty for something she did not do, Brienne's tongue suddenly stuck to the top of her mouth. Needing time to think, she reluctantly placed the magazine she had been clutching in her fist since she had arrived at Mugs and Jugs down on the small table beside her. It felt as if she was relinquishing her only weapon, whilst still being required to fight.

As it was, Jaime quickly stepped in.

“She was at my house,” Jaime informed them bluntly, “with me, as I have just told you.”

"Did it sound like we were asking you?" Tyrell responded.

The glossy magazine Brienne had abandoned to the table, unfurled slowly to reveal a classic copy of ‘Strap-it-on’.

All four of them present looked down at the cover of the magazine, where a very happy lady and gentleman were smiling for the camera, whilst leaving nothing to the imagination as to exactly whom was doing what to whom.

“As I said,” Jaime told the police officers coolly, “Ms Tarth and I were both at my house.”

Chapter Text

“How... how dare you!” Brienne was furious, “I’ll still have to work with these people when you’ve gone, you know. I’ll still have to face them every day when you go back to Casterly Rock and your old life of luxury and privilege. ”

She was having to work hard to concentrate on driving, her anger at the whole incident in ‘Mugs and Jugs’ not putting her in the best frame of mind for negotiating the busy evening traffic in Kings Landing. It was bad enough that Loras had caught her at the shop at all, but to then have Jaime implying that they had spent the night doing things that Loras patently did not believe anyone could bring themselves to do with Brienne Tarth, was downright humiliating.

Worse than humiliating had been the expression in Loras' eyes, as he looked at her, and then studied 'the Wildfire guy' in salicious detail from head to toe. His face had said it all without him actually having to say a word.

You have to be joking.

Still cringing from the memory, she stole a glance at Jaime, only to encounter him in all his beautiful fair tousled hair and green eyed glory, his expression a little too intrigued for comfort.

“Why are you bothered? By the gods, do you fancy one of them?” Jaime’s face was alive with interest as he studied her face closely. “Jon Snow…  no, for the love of the seven, not Loras! You know he’s-”

“No!”

“You fancy someone they know then?”

Her angry silence seemed to confirm his assertion and the widest, wickedest grin she had ever seen appeared, “Who could it be? A friend of Loras?  Please don’t tell me it’s Renly?”

How could such a thing be such common knowledge when she had had no idea. 

“I’ve known the pair of them for years,” Jaime told her, “and I wouldn’t recommend either of them to you. You’re far too much of a man for them.”

Brienne had the strangest sensation of being trapped, the interior of the car suddenly feeling far too small to accommodate herself and Jaime. Particularly when Jaime was in this most peculiar mood.

“I don’t anymore… I mean,” Brienne flushed bright red, “I believe he’s…”

“Then surely  I’ve just improved your chances with him tenfold, wench!” At which point he burst into laughter.

Brienne glared at him, so mortified she was almost in tears. Jaime simply laughed even harder still.

“You’re overreacting,” he said.

“By the time word has spread about… that, it’s going to be so much more difficult for me to get people to talk to me and help me. All they will be able to think about when they look at me is-“

“What beautiful blue eyes you have?”

“What we did... allegedly did. They’ll be wondering how much of a good seeing to I gave you,” She finished indignantly, aware that her face was as red as a glass of Dornish wine, the heat making her skin burn.

How dare he do this to me! Brienne fumed, reliving the wave of humiliation that had swept over her standing in that thrice damned shop in front of Loras and Snow.

Jaime Lannister was oblivious to her embarrassment.

To Jaime, it’s all one great big joke.

Indeed, Jaime was doubled over with mirth, his forehead almost touching the dashboard of her tiny car. When he turned to look at her, his green eyes were brimming over with tears of laughter. He choked out the words, “Seeing to,” and was reduced to another hugely annoying paroxysm of laughter.

All Brienne could do was drive the car and seethe in silence.

Eventually he sobered enough to at least sit upright, and take a couple of deep breaths in order to compose himself before he turned his luminous green gaze on her as she drove, his hand resting on the back of her car seat.

“I take it you are a virgin then?”

Brienne was suddenly in a vacuum, all air gone.

“What? How can you ask me that? You can’t ask me that!” She gasped.

“Why ever not, I’m interested. Are you? Your maidenly modesty says you probably are. But then I suppose it must have been hard for you growing up…”

Does he never stop?  Brienne would have covered her ears but for the inconvenience of having to keep her hands on the steering wheel of the car.

“I’m not engaging in this conversation, Lannister.” She replied.

“You mean to tell me that none of the boys tried to get inside big Brienne. No one tried to-“

“I am not answering that!” Brienne could feel her skin burning even hotter than before.

Ye gods, I must be almost purple by now, she fumed to herself.

“Ah, so a few tried but they failed... Were they not determined enough Brienne?” His earlier mirth had softened to a terrifying murmur, warm, inquisitive and very uncomfortable.

Brienne swallowed at least twice before daring to glance at him out of the corner of her eye, her hands gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline, her only link to the real world.

“I’m determined enough,” he said softly.

Brienne managed a suitably dismissive snort as she swung the car round a corner to the right so forcefully, that Jaime banged his head on the car window.

“Owww!” Jaime rubbed his head before breaking once more into one of his wide devilish grins that meant nothing but trouble. “So tell me Brienne, no special man in your life?”

She took time to glare at him properly between checking the traffic both ways at the next junction.

“Ah, then maybe a special woman?” he was like a dog with a bone, his persistence as annoying as it was baffling to her.

Brienne refused to answer, preferring to stare straight ahead once she had pulled out into the stream of traffic, eyes on the road.

Jaime gave a brief huff of laughter, “or maybe a horse?”  

She turned the next corner just as tightly as the previous one, but this time Jaime had braced himself and managed to avoid cracking his head on the glass yet again.

“You will not make me lose my temper,” Brienne muttered from between stiff lips.

“You already have! Look at you,” Jaime stretched back in his seat, a smug look on his handsome face, “You’re ready to punch my lights out, minimum, that is if the car doesn’t do it for you first.”

Brienne took several deep breaths, calming herself, and reduced her speed, slowing the car down slightly so she could think more clearly. She normally made a point of being a very responsible driver, with little patience for those who took their frustrations out on other road users.

She defied even the most responsible driver to stay that way if they had Jaime Lannister in the car with them.

Still, it did not have to be for long.

“Shall I drop you off at your house on the way to the office?” Brienne asked him, really quite proud of just how calm her voice sounded.

“No,” he studied her with a quizzical air, as if trying to analyse her sudden composure, “I thought I would come with you.”

“You don’t have to.” She told him, her attempt at a dismissive tone simply sounding like she was sulking.

“Oh, I think I do.” It was his turn to keep his eyes on the road ahead as he spoke, “if only to prevent you from bedding down for the night in our office.”

Brienne briefly shut her eyes, damning him for being able to see the few precious moves ahead that she needed to have over him. She took the turning that would take them to the Blue Isle Office, sighing long and hard as she looked for a space to park the car.

What a bizarre twenty four hours and I really need some time on my own to process it, thought Brienne

“It’s been a very difficult… day,” she told him. “Maybe it would be better if you went home.”

“What are you trying to say?” Jaime climbed out of the car, and stared at her as she hauled herself out of the driving seat, and slammed the door shut, following slightly behind her as she walked into the Blue Isle office block.

“I’ve been with you for only a few days and in that very short time I’ve been involved in a mystery concerning lost millions, a missing person who turns out to be a dead person, a dead person who is a dead person, a night of unusual intimacy which never actually happened and an accusation of being romantically entangled with a horse.” Brienne turned to put the key into the office door and opened it to step inside, “I don’t know what normally happens in your day to day existence Ser Jaime, but since you arrived in the Blue Isle office, my life seems to have more in common with a cartoon than real life.” She sighed, “So do me a favour, go home Ser Jaime Lannister, and come back tomorrow.”

Jaime looked at her, his green eyes narrowed, his expression alert, slightly calculating.

“Want to hear something really weird,” Jaime said, his voice soft, “There’s someone behind me pressing a gun to my back.”

Immediately the words were out of his mouth, Brienne felt the sting of a sharp knife at her throat and the scrape of a blade on her skin.

“I wouldn’t move too much if I were you Ms Tarth,” whispered a soft voice in her ear.

Chapter Text

“What you need to understand is that I’m a business man, I’m interested solely in my bottom line. What you two need to appreciate is that I will do anything to protect that bottom line. Tonight my bottom line hinges on getting the truth from the two of you.”

“About what?”

Brienne could only marvel at just how cool Jaime sounded in such a terrifying situation. He almost sounded as if he was used to being interrogated with a gun pointed at his head. The man pointing the gun was called Mord. She knew this because the man with the knife, the man who had just threatened her, seemed to be the one in charge and had already issued Mord with several instructions about searching Jaime's pockets.

Brienne had no idea who the knifeman was, but she knew she would remember his face for a long time.

Her neck still stung from where his knife had nicked the skin at her throat. 

“It's all about a wristwatch,” their unwelcome visitor told them as he sat on the edge of Brienne’s desk, swinging his leg. “Yes, indeed. I was told that a certain wristwatch had accidentally found its way into your hands. Now you should understand that there are a number of people who want this wristwatch.” He paused dramatically, his voice dropping slightly as he went on to say, “very badly. People who are willing to kill to get it. So, you can see that it’s actually very much your good fortune that we met first. So you can give me the watch, and be spared any additional discomfort.”

“What makes you think we have it?” Brienne said, not liking the man’s manner at all,” What makes you think I didn’t put it in an envelope and give it to my assistant to drop off at the police station this afternoon while I was out with Ser Jaime?”

“And did you?” The stranger’s oily voice had suddenly acquired an unpleasant edge to its tone.

Brienne looked at him and folded her lips into a mutinous line, furious at being in such a helpless position.

“Oh, come now Ms Tarth. Don’t be shy about answering,” the tone became even more threatening as he went on to say, “or I may have to become rather unpleasant and may even have to apply some coercive duress.”

“Coercive duress?” Brienne licked her lips and glanced at Jaime who was watching Knifeman closely.

She then glared back at Knifeman, wondering how quickly she could overcome him if she caught him unawares.

“And you’ll probably keep applying it until you get what you want to hear,” Jaime observed dryly, his whole posture so casual Brienne half thought he was simply going to slide off the chair he was sat on, given time.

Jaime caught her eye, and then gave her a slow deliberate frown.

Don't try anything, he seemed to be telling her.

Knifeman studied the slouched figure of Jaime in the chair, then at Brienne.

“Indeed,” Knifeman moved to stand to one side of her, laying his arm across her shoulders, his knife hand hovering next to Brienne’s cheek. Brienne stared mutiniously back at him, refusing to be intimidated. In response, he shifted his grip on the knife to angle it more towards her face as , “I will.”

You presumptious bully, Brienne thought, do you think I can't grind your sorry face into the office carpet? How dare you threaten us.

“Brienne,” Jaime growled in warning but Brienne had already spun round and hit the man flying with her arm, pushing him back and seizing the hand with the knife in it with a crushing grip as she caught him unawares.

Come on Jaime, make the most of this!

But Mord was not as easy to distract as Brienne had thought.

“Mord!”

The thickset Mord floored Jaime with one mighty swipe of his arm, and Brienne slid to a shocked halt as Mord deliberately lowered the gun to point at Jaime’s temple as he struggled to regain his feet.

"No!" Brienne gasped.

“Do you want me to kill him Mr Baelish?”

Horrified, Brienne stared at Jaime, bowed, as Mord held him down. Her heart racing, she found herself helpless, unable to act even as she was convinced that Mord was going to put a bullet through Jaime Lannister's beautiful, annoying head.

“Not yet Mord. I suppose he can live as long as Ms Tarth cooperates.” Baelish replied, seizing Brienne by the arm and pushing her down into a sitting position on the very low client chair. “Tie them up, and bring me the office kettle… I believe I saw one next door.”

She continued to study Jaime's downcast head, willing him to glance up so she could look him in the eye and assess his reaction to her almost getting him killed.

Finally, Jaime shot Brienne a exasperated look when he was allowed to raise his head by Mord, a look which Brienne returned with interest. Instantly forgetting her previous concern in the face of his all too knowing expression.

Mord pushed Jaime back into the office chair and grinning, proceeded to bind his wrists to the arms with office tape before then taping Brienne’s wrists together and dropping them into her lap.

“Kettle, Mord.” Baelish reminded him.

“There really is no point to this,” Brienne told him angrily, “the watch isn’t here. Pod took the watch to the police, just as I told you.”

“People will tell you many things, Ms Tarth.” He smiled at her, “Sometimes it’s the truth, but more often it is not. Dontas Hollard lied to me you know. His father was a pilot, he had a plane he would fly to and from Essos for me, transporting… merchandise.” Baelish gave another one of his insincere grins, “when he died, being a bit of a gambler he owed me money, so of course I seized what little he had, including this watch. Hollard comes to me, and tells me he wants his father’s watch back. Sentimental value, blah, blah, blah… and quite honestly I could not be bothered. ‘You want the watch back?’ I told him, ‘it will cost you a million dragons.’” Baelish took the kettle from Mord and plugged it in, checking first that it had some water in it. “I was rather… surprised when he actually produced the million dragons. It was at that point that I realised he wasn't maybe telling me the whole truth.”

“That was my million dragons,” Jaime spat out.

“Quite true, Ser Jaime. It was indeed your million dragons.” Baelish smiled at Jaime almost indulgently, “But now it is mine, because I was as good as my word and exchanged his dear departed father’s watch, for the money that you so kindly provided him with.”

“You bastard,” Jaime snarled, fighting the bindings holding each arm to one of the chair arms.

“Oh, come on...you’re the ‘Wildfire Guy’. You could fondle a fridge or pose in some expensive clothes for a few hours and soon fill up your bank accounts again.” Baelish told him dismissively. "But did you know that Dontos never meant to steal your money, he saw it as a loan or maybe an investment on your part. Dontas Hollard had a plan to pay it all back. Your money was just part of a bigger better scheme to make that foolish idiot rich."

“Well, that makes it all so much better from where I am sitting,” Jaime told him sarcastically, spitting a tiny bit of blood from his mouth where Mord had hit him.

“The watch is in the hands of the police.” Brienne insisted, her expression earnest, “You have my word that I handed over the watch to the police.”

Baelish sighed.

“Your word? Words are wind, Ms Tarth. I thought that even as Coleman told me how Hollard was going to reimburse Ser Jaime... before he found out quite how much I knew and had a fit of conscience that resulted in the watch being mailed shortly before his... er, demise. Of course, then I had to kill Coleman too, because now he knew about the connection between Hollard, the watch and my good self. And now, so do you... So, where is my watch Ms Tarth?"

He intends to kill us both, Brienne suddenly realised.

Mr Baelish switched on the kettle and it boiled merrily into life, steam billowing out of the spout as the water inside reached boiling point.

"Look at it as it rises, the disorder, the chaos..." he observed softly. "But of course you can't see it from over there. Mord, bring Ms Tarth over here so she can better enjoy the phenomenon."

"The watch isn't here," Brienne snapped, struggling furiously as Mord manhandled her awkwardly towards the kettle and its stream of scalding steam, "for the last time, the police have the watch. This is pointless."

"I'm afraid I don't believe you and I do so really want that wristwatch," he smiled, " and I am hoping a little coercive duress will help you remember where you have really put it. Mord, bring her here."

"Baelish," Jaime's voice was soft steel, "stop this now."

Baelish looked from Jaime, to Brienne  and then to Mord.

"I'm asking again... where is the watch?"

Neither one of them answered.

Baelish gave a long sigh, and lifted the lid on the kettle as it kept boiling.

"Think carefully."

"About the condensation?" asked Jaime, "Or about how much you and your very attractive assistant over there will regret it if you hurt either of us."

"Bring Ms Tarth closer, Mord." 

Mord hauled Brienne forward, his clenched fingers buried in Brienne's hair as he dragged her nearer to the churning column of vapour that was now spiralling upwards from the open top. The hot steam made her hair hang in irregular straggly tendrils over her forehead, the prospect of having her face thrust into a pot of scalding hot water making Brienne break out in a cold sweat so profuse she could feel the rivulets of moisture trickling to pool in the narrow of her spine.

Brienne heard Jaime pull at the tape binding him securely at the chair.

"Stop it, Baelish. The police have the wristwatch," Jaime said quickly, "I swear it."

"Swear on what, Kingslayer?"

Jaime gave a start of surprise that even Brienne noticed as she blinked rapidly to try and see past the steam that was billowing out of the kettle. She attempted to blow the tendrils of hair from out of her eyes but they simply stuck onto her cheeks like the legs of an octopus on the side of a fish tank.

"Oh yes, I know who you are... Kingslayer, man without honour... assassin." Baelish smiled, "did you know that Ms Tarth? Did you know that your pretty new friend here is a retired hit man. A goverment assassin... quaintly nicknamed Kingslayer. Its awful when you think you know someone, and then it turns out you didn't really know them at all... Not really, not properly. If the police have got the watch, I have contacts, I'll soon be able to check. And then I'll be back - to kill you."

"Not if I find you first," Jaime growled.

"Oh my, and I thought you had been rehabilitated... but then killers like you are never really rehabilitated, are you? I thought you'd get the blame for Hollard's murder because you are a proven killer, but no, you managed to wriggle out of it still. Had an alibi did you? What on earth could be a secure enough alibi to trump a murder charge? Were you with another Lannister at the time? Maybe busy fucking your sister?"

Jaime looked at Brienne, his expression guarded.

Brienne felt herself pale, Baelish noticing her discomfort almost immediately.

"Oh don't worry, she knows," he told Jaime pleasantly," Hollard had her investigate you right at the start of his dealings with the Blue Isle Detective Agency. Oh dear... Didn't she mention that? That she knows your dirty little secret? As I said, you can think you know someone and then actually... You don't. " 

"I know you though, Baelish... And that's all I need to find you again," Jaime's tone was chilling.

"Mord," Baelish motioned to his ugly muscular henchman, "that sounds like a threat does it not? Maybe we should show Ser Jaime what we do to people who threaten us."

"Right or left," grunted Mord.

"Right," Baelish smiled coldly, "It might be better to make sure we neutralize someone of the Kingslayer's reputation properly."

"No!" Brienne gave a hoarse shout as she realized what they meant to do, "no, you can't!"

Undeterred, Mord raised his gun and promptly shot Jaime through the right hand not just once, but twice.

Bang, Bang.

At point blank range, Jaime's hand was instantly reduced to a bloody mess. 

Chapter Text

Brienne only remembered the blood, and the feeling of utter helplessness as Baelish and Mord ransacked the office one last time before the sound of sirens in the distance signified that Mord's gunshot had not gone unnoticed. They had switched out the lights, plunging Jaime and Brienne into darkness so that it was not obvious that the office was occupied, pulling the phone connection from the wall as they went. For a brief a moment Brienne froze as the pair of them made for the door, convinced that Mord would simply turn and shoot them both as he left, but it was not to be.  Within a few moments they were gone, leaving a stunned Brienne struggling to navigate the cluttered rooms in the darkness so that she could find scissors, a food knife, anything that would enable her to cut the tape binding both of their hands.

She found a pair of scissors in Pod's desk, and by balancing them in her lap and using her thighs to hold them still she managed to saw through her own bonds. Once done she threw the light switch back on and quickly freed an unconscious Jaime, who had mercifully passed out from being shot twice at point blank range.

Ye gods, so much blood! Brienne stared at the mess of his hand and then immediately stripped off her shirt, convinced it would be better used to stem the flow of precious fluid. 

Now is not the time to wish I had made time to go on a First Aid course, she told herself desperately binding his hand up in the still warm cotton fabric, ignoring the fact she was sat on the floor of the office with little more on than her black sports bra and a pair of tailored trousers.

“Jaime?” Brienne tapped him on the cheek, her anxiety making her voice hoarse, “Jaime, can you hear me?”

She dropped her hand to his wrist to check his pulse, grimacing as she attempted to feel the pulse in his right wrist, but disconcerted by the amount of blood there she swapped swiftly to his left. As Brienne moved his sleeve so she could touch the skin there, she found a watch in the way.

And not any watch, Dontas Hollard’s father's watch, hidden in plain sight.

“You bloody idiot,” she growled at him not caring that Jaime couldn’t hear a word she was saying, “You stupid bloody idiot Jaime. It’s a worthless watch… Baelish would have killed you for this stupid bloody broken thing.” She wiped her eyes with her arm, aware of tears trickling down her cheek as she rewrapped his hand in her shirt and elevated the limb in an effort to reduce the flow of blood, her voice breaking as she mumbled, “idiot.”

Baelish’s words of earlier chased round in her mind as she sat there holding Jaime’s arm gingerly in the air, nervously watching the ever darkening stain soaking through the material she had wrapped round his hand.

If the police have got the watch, I have contacts, I'll soon be able to check.

Brienne reached up and flicked the watch off of his wrist, slipping the blood-stained timepiece into her already blood soaked trouser pocket.

Just in case, she thought to herself.

At last Brienne heard shouts outside and saw the bright blue flickering lights of the emergency services pull up outside the office.

“In here,” Brienne shouted at the top of her voice, “in here… in the Blue Isle Office.” She waited a few moments, until she could hear doors slam and the sound of people opening the downstairs doors,“ Here,” she shouted again into the darkness, just as she heard footsteps thunder up the stairs, “we’re in here… hurry, please, my…my  friend is hurt!”

                          *                         *                       *      

Once at the hospital, they would not let Brienne accompany Jaime any further than the swing doors to the triage suite, convinced that she had been badly injured herself.

“It’s not my blood,” she kept telling them over and over again, accepting gratefully the offer of an ill-fitting hospital gown, and then a sweatshirt from the donations box. Eventually they seemed convinced, and she was left to wait in a draughty ward to be discharged. “Is there any news about my friend?” she kept asking the busy nursing staff as they went about their business.

“Not yet,” Brienne was told again and again, until she finally was told, “they are operating on him.” And that was it.

He had to be okay, he had to.

Jaime had surfaced briefly whilst they were in the ambulance, managing a dirty, if weak, grin and a lift of his eyebrows when he had seen her sitting beside him in only her sensible black bra. She had whispered in his ear that she had taken the watch, but he had slipped back into unconsciousness again before she was sure whether he had heard her or not.

It would take more than Morde’s two shots to finish Ser Jaime Lannister, Brienne reassured herself.

They finally discharged her in the early hours of the morning, a very pleasant police officer having taken a statement of her version of events, and once free to go she found she didn’t want to go back to the office. So Brienne chose to stay at a budget hotel, close to the hospital, where she could have a proper shower and sleep away from the blood and gore Jaime and herself had left behind, courtesy of the company credit card.

Somehow she didn’t think Jaime would object.

Next morning, Brienne returned to the hospital feeling much better and armed with a glossy magazine (the latest edition of True Crime Westeros) and a small bunch of red flowers. She didn’t know what the flowers were, but the woman in the shop had described them as Lannister reds, and in her current mood that was enough for Brienne.

She was busy studying the walls, following the signs for the private wing of the hospital when she found her way suddenly blocked as she was about to walk into the reception area.

“Ms Tarth?” Tywin Lannister had risen from a seat before her, like a worst nightmare come to life, his expression unmistakeably one of disgust. “Well there is certainly no denying your sheer front in coming to see Jaime I suppose. Am I to understand from your appearance here this morning that you have the presumption to come visiting my son when you almost had him killed last night?”

Brienne could only blink in the face of Lord Tywin’s fury, her brain running at a mile a minute for a way to explain the previous night without giving too much away. Somehow she was convinced Jaime would not want his father to know everything about his business.

“Yes,” she finally mumbled.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough Ms Tarth?” Tywin asked her, “don’t you think my son has probably learnt his lesson by now? Shot twice in his hand so badly that even the top trauma surgeon who came in last night to operate on him, is unlikely to be able to save it?”

I should never have provoked Baelish, she thought. If I hadn’t attempted to overpower him, those shots might never have been fired.

Horrified and with an awful feeling of guilt, Brienne could only stare into Tywin Lannister’s patrician face, his icy disapproval and anger clear for her to see. ”I’m sorry… I didn’t know. No one would tell me.” She looked down at the red flowers in her hand; even they seemed to be wilting on exposure to Lord Tywin’s icy fury.

“He is not well enough to be receiving visitors today, Ms Tarth,” Tywin eyed the flowers and magazine with clear distaste, “And probably not for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh.”

“And if I had my way he would never have the inclination to see you ever again. You are trouble, Brienne Tarth, pure and simple. I feel sorry for your father, if I had had a daughter like you I think I would have probably taken refuge in gambling and drink just like the once great Evenstar has.”

Brienne shot Tywin Lannister an angry look.

Don’t you dare even speak my poor father’s name, she thought angrily, you have no idea what he has been through.

I haven't got a brother any more, but if I had, I wouldn't be f-.

Brienne’s mouth opened to say something in return but no words came out. She could feel herself redden with humiliation as Tywin Lannister stared at her for what seemed like an age before returning to his seat. Brienne found herself wishing that the ground would simply open up and swallow her whole.

“I do not think it wise for Ms Tarth to visit my son.” He informed the receptionist in a dismissive tone, “I am rather concerned as to how he might react to her presence.”

Brienne looked down at her gifts and then back up at the receptionist who now seemed to have acquired the same expression on her face as Tywin.

What is the point of fighting to see a man who is probably doing his best to forget ever having met me, she told herself dismally.

“Is there anything else or are you about to leave?” the receptionist asked her.

Debating whether she should at least leave him the magazine, a massive bouquet of flowers arrived for Jaime from Wildfire Men’s fragrance and body products. It was a spectacular array of exotic white and green blooms, and Brienne felt her sorry bunch of Lannister reds droop even further.

Who am I kidding? Thought Brienne wistfully, we belong in such different worlds.

“Is there anything else?” the receptionist asked her again. The subtext of her words was most definitely ‘move along or I shall call security’.

“No,” Brienne shook her head, giving a half smile as she spun on her heel and ignoring Tywin’s watchful gaze she replied, “no, thank you, there most definitely is not.”

And with that, Brienne left.

                          *                         *                       *      

“Good morning. Please don’t worry, don't be sad, we will find your Mum and Dad..." sang Sansa from the outside office as the phone rang for the second time that morning.

Brienne and Pod were in her office studying Hollard’s watch. It was the first time Brienne had looked at it properly since she removed it from Jaime’s wrist, other than wiping the blood from its surface.

 Jaime’s blood.

“It truly is a worthless piece of junk. I had it checked and Jaime was absolutely right,” Brienne fumed, staring at the battered gold timepiece as it sat on her office desk.  She had pulled the clients chair right up to the desk, the office chair having been destroyed by the bullets from Mord’s gun. If the now ruined office chair was anything to go by, Mord’s bullets had gone through Jaime’s hand and then the arms of the chair until they had been finally stopped by the wooden floor. A floor that had been scrubbed by Pod until all she could smell was bleach, but still, seven days later, she still imagined she could see Jaime’s blood spread across the floorboards.

Pod had pulled in his chair from the outside office, and was gently easing the back off the watch again as Brienne watched him. “He was almost killed, all for the sake of this useless bloody watch.”

Brienne resisted the urge to throw the thing down on the floor and stamp hard on it.

“Do you think Ser Jaime swopped the watches before I took the package to the police?” Pod asked her.

“Without a doubt,” Brienne told him, “I have visions of Loras Tyrell looking at the inside of Jaime Lannister’s watch with a magnifying glass wondering why Hollard sent Jaime a watch engraved with the message ‘A gift from your Auntie’.”

Brienne smiled weakly at her attempt at a joke, but the depressing atmosphere that seemed to have settled in the office since Jaime’s maiming made laughing impossible.

How can you actually miss the presence of the most annoying man alive?

Pod simply grinned, shook his head, and then returned his attention to prising off the back of the watch on the desk with the blade of his scissors.

“If Baelish, Hollard and Coleman were all so desperate to get their hands on it, there must be something about this watch that is worth something.” Pod muttered as he moved the watch slightly to the right to try a different angle.

“Baelish said that Hollard’s father flew a plane for him to Essos on a regular basis carrying what sounded like illegal cargo,” Brienne told him, nursing her mug of tea in her hand as she watched him.

“Drugs?” Pod asked her.

“Possibly, but it could be anything couldn’t it?”

"Keep us busy, give us a clue, we'll find that crazy bugging you!" warbled Sansa happily from the other side of the door. 

Pod had opened the back of the watch again and was studying the ten numbers written on the strip of paper that had fallen out once more, “what if the numbers aren’t code or a bank account… what if Hollard senior left a clue as to the location of what he had hidden…what if they are coordinates on a map?”

“On what kind of map… a flight map?”

“I think that might be it.”

“How many digits would that account for Pod? Surely not all ten?” Brienne asked him.

“I’m not sure. I’d have to make some discreet enquiries of course.

Brienne nodded promptly, “I’d like to solve this for Ser Jaime even if he never comes back to the Blue Isle Detective Agency again. If we could recover whatever Hollard was looking for, and if it’s of value, I’m sure we could come to some agreement about the future of the agency.”

“Don’t be stupid, don’t be daft, we’ll take your case and find your…..oh,” Sansa’s happy treble had come to a sudden halt as obviously the latest caller had cut her short.

That would be the best outcome for everyone, Brienne thought to herself, taking another sip of her tea, with a civilised reinstatement of myself as sole owner. Perfect.

I’ll never have to deal with that handsome idiot ever again.

Sansa’s head appeared around the door, her face a picture of uncertainty as she bit her lip and waved to catch Brienne’s attention.

“Um… Ms Tarth, Ser Jaime Lannister is on the phone. He wants to know why you haven’t been to see him in hospital yet.” Sansa swallowed before going on to add in almost a whisper, “He seems to think you’ve run off with something that belongs to him and he wants to talk to you right now!”

                          *                         *                       *      

“Yes, yes of course I’ll see her.” His voice was as impatient and dry as ever.

Brienne had to take a few seconds to recover her senses as she walked into the room occupied by Jaime at the hospital. The receptionist had insisted on checking with Jaime before she would let Brienne in to see him, and as Brienne trailed after her into the bright sunny room, she took a moment to accustom herself to the vision that was Jaime Lannister in his hospital bed. It had been less than a week, but somehow both his blond hair and his beard were longer than ever, and he looked for the world like a golden statue of the warrior made flesh, reclining on a pile of pillows, his arm and hand in a sling. “So it is you, and about time too.”

He studied her for a few moments before breaking into a totally false smile,

“Did you bring the sponge bath?” he asked the receptionist a little too pleasantly, “I’m dressed, but it won’t take five seconds for me to drop my…”

“Good luck,” With a huff of panicked annoyance and those few snapped words, the receptionist left slamming the door behind her.

“Stop!” Brienne put her hands over her ears, imploring him to just allow her a few moments to get used to him appearing quite so well, “ Jaime, please, stop.”

“Has she gone?” Jaime craned his neck to make sure the door was properly shut and then motioned Brienne closer, "she is without doubt the most annoying-"

“Yes she’s gone.” Brienne told him, moving cautiously closer to the bed, “Ye gods Jaime, you look so much better than when I saw you last.”

“You look so much more – dressed,” Jaime tilted his head to one side, “I don’t know if it was lack of blood but I could swear I saw you sat next to me in next to nothing in that ambulance.”

“I was wearing a bra, Jaime… a sports bra,” she hissed at him. It had to be a record, it was easily less than five minutes in his company and her face was starting to burn with extreme embarrassment. “How is your hand?”

“Shot and very broken. I’ll never play classical piano again,” he told her.

“Oh, Jaime, I’m so sorry.” Brienne felt awful for him.

“Why? I could never play classical piano before,” he told her, “of course it could be a bit of a showstopper if I still killed people for a living but as I don’t…” he shrugged easily. “There might be problems with mobility in two of my fingers, but the thumbs okay, not as many bones were broken as could have been thanks to your cheap office furniture and the fact that the bullet went straight through both my hand and the chair before it came to a halt.” He smiled at her, “It’s all about kinetic energy dispersal you see.”

Brienne simply stared at him, wondering why she ever bothered wasting even one tiny bit of sympathy on such an arrogant, egocentric –

“Are you okay?” he asked her, his green eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her, “they didn’t hurt you or do anything…”

“They ran off almost as soon as they had shot you. I think Mord might have to use a silencer in future, I think they woke most of the neighbourhood shooting you, and then most of the neighbourhood rang the police.” Brienne found it hard to meet his sharp, green gaze which seemed to twinkle with emerald depths one minute, and then harden to a malachite stone the next.

“Good,” he continued to study her, “as long as you are sure. If I need to call in a favour, I will.”

I bet you would as well, she suddenly realised. Jaime Lannister you are a curious creature.

She shook her head, dropping her gaze to the bedcover in an effort to cover her confusion.

“Good, then back to business,” Jaime swung his legs over the edge of the bed, “you’ve got to break me out of here. I think my father has promised them a new wing or something if they can keep me in here as long as possible. You got me shot and then stole my watch off of me in the ambulance. Common decency suggests you should at least take me home and then stay with me until I am recovered.”

“I have to work,” she told him, “we have a case to solve or had you forgotten that.”

“I can recover just as well at the Blue Isle office,” he replied, “but we will have to buy me a new chair.”

Chapter Text

“I was most relieved to hear you were out of hospital.”

Jaime watched Brienne from by the bathroom door, the phone receiver tucked underneath his chin as he spoke to his younger brother.

“Yes, yes, probably not as much as me though.” Jaime responded absently, pulling the long cable that stretched from the wall so that he could reach the wardrobe.

He was watching her attempt to replace a lid on a plastic container of antiseptic cream, which for some reason was not connecting properly. The expression on her face, a frown of extreme concentration as she studied the lid, was classic Brienne.

“”Jaime?” Tyrion’s voice crackled slightly on the line, suggesting the weather in Essos was stormy for the time of year.

“Uh huh,” Jaime replied.

“Did I call at a bad time, dear brother?”

“No of course not, I’m just watching… something.”

“Or someone?”

“No one,” Jaime replied firmly.

“The Lannister grapevine has been echoing with talk of a giant blonde named Breen.”

“Brienne”

“Pardon me?”

“Brienne… her name is Brienne, Tyrion.”

“Of course it is.”

“There’s no of course about it.” Jaime gave the phone lead another small tug as he retreated a little further into the bathroom, Brienne turning at the mention of her name and scowling at him.

“What’s she like?”

“Big… blonde,” Jaime replied, his voice low.

“I had heard as much,” Tyrion responded dryly, “anything else I need to know about the woman my brother is obsessed with?”

“I’m not-“

“The Lannister grapevine begs to differ. So, tell me?”

“She’s a private detective,” Jaime told him.

“Interesting but I already know that.” Tyrion hesitated and then said, “Is that all you’ve got Jaime?”

“She fancies… fancied Renly Baratheon.”

“You are kidding! Did you tell her?”

“She knows.”

“And?”

“She wears black sports bras.”

“Pardon me?”

“And she’s a virgin,” Jaime ducked back into the bathroom as Brienne walked past, having successfully replaced the lid on the plastic jar that had been so uncooperative.

“Whoa, slow down...  so Jaime, just how long have you known her?”

Jaime winced slightly and moved the phone away from his ear as Tyrion’s voice became noticeably louder.

“How long have you known this woman for?” Tyrion asked him again.

“Maybe a week or so. Possibly two weeks.”

“Fast work Jaime,” Tyrion’s voice sounded like he had the grin he wore when contemplating the finer points of women and wine. “I’m so proud of you my dear brother. At last you’ve put Cersei in her place… the past.”

“What?” Jaime looked at the receiver, partly shocked, partly surprised, “No… no, no it’s not like that Tyrion!”

“Then what is it like?”

“She’s…” Jaime paused and continued to stare at Brienne, self-consciously re-tucking the end of the towel round his waist in order to stop the damn thing sliding over his hips and hitting the floor.

“Jaime?” Brienne had given up with trying to find a fresh sling and held the one from the day before in her hand, “Jaime, did you still want me to sort you out?”

“Yes, yes, Brienne! Something tells me he definitely wants you to sort him out,” Tyrion responded loudly as her voice carried down the line to Essos.

“Shut up,” Jaime responded irritably as he walked into the bedroom trailing the phone wire behind him.

Brienne shot him a hurt and confused look until she caught sight of the phone tucked under his chin, at which point she rolled her eyes and shot him an exasperated look.

“Not you,” he mouthed at her, pointing at the receiver, “Tyrion.”

Chapter Text

Brienne started to read the report she had been patiently trying to study for a third time, desperate to absorb at least some of the facts regarding her latest case, but it was an impossible task.

She was in the process of being woefully distracted by Jaime.

He had brought himself a new office chair, a top of the range executive contraption with every ergonomic adjustment control known to man, and as a result it now took him twenty minutes to sit down as he had to change every setting and turn every control so he was sitting in exactly the right position to read his morning newspaper.

Click, click, click, tap, tap, click, went Jaime, fumbling the controls slightly with his left hand.

Ye gods, another distraction I do not need, Brienne thought irritably whilst feeling awful about him struggling one-handed.

“Jaime, please stop fiddling with your chair.” She asked him, trying to keep her voice reasonable.

He glanced up and across at her, inquisitive green eyes shining through several locks of fair hair, challenging, “Why?”

Jaime knew it was annoying her she realised. The instant his eyes met hers with a wicked gleam in them, gave it away.

He was the most aggravating-

“It’s distracting me,” she replied steadily, although the act of banging her mug of tea down on the desk so hard it sloshed slightly over the edge might have given him a clue as to how she really felt.

Grinning, Jaime held her gaze as with a final snip of adjustment, he settled and moved the chair to the desk. Then his entire attention was focused on its surface as he proceeded to flatten out the daily paper with his left hand, in another ritual designed to drive her up the wall.

I feel frazzled, she thought to herself. Mainly due to the fact she now appeared to be spending every minute of every day with the man. She was either at the office with Jaime, or in the process of sharing his second best house with him, although if she was asked quite how it happened, Brienne didn’t even know herself.

It’s purely business, Jaime told her when she thought to ask why, I am obliged to protect my stake in Blue Isle, and you are a key asset, he said.

And while it was wonderful to be sleeping in a proper bed, it was proving to be a particularly subtle form of torture. Brienne nibbled at the edge of her lip as she glanced up again to see Jaime absently smoothing the corners of the morning paper down with the fingers of his left hand as he read, his right hand still in the sling.

The sling, the very thought of it had Brienne shutting her eyes at the memories that flooded back from the previous morning.

Tyrion had phoned early, and Jaime had been called out of the shower to answer it as his brother was calling long distance from Essos. Jaime had spoken to Tyrion for some time, which explained his oddly distracted air when he was on the phone. But when he was finished, instead of getting dressed as he usually did before asking for her help, he wandered in to get his hand redressed and the sling retied with only a towel round his waist.

His lithe, slim hipped, very male waist, Brienne recalled, taking a deep breath only to then remember she had a mouthful of tea in her mouth which she promptly inhaled.

She gave a hacking cough and spluttered, and coughed again.

And then coughed so hard Brienne thought she was about to throw up.

“Brienne?” Jaime was out of her seat and behind her before she could react.

“Oof!”  Jaime smacked her awkwardly on the back with his left hand three times, before she was forced to gasp out, “Ooof, ouch! Jaime stop!”

Brienne gave a few experimental pulls of air before nodding weakly at Jaime in an effort to get him to return to his chair. Rather surprisingly he didn’t, choosing instead to crouch next to where she sat, his hand on the back of her chair as he looked at her, “Brie-“

“Got it!” Pod exploded into the office with a shout, a map in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. “I’ve got it, we were right, the first six numbers put whatever it is right here in Kings Landing!” he reported with glee, throwing the map down without ceremony onto the desk, completely obscuring Jaime’s unread paper in the process, before smoothing the map’s folds out towards all four corners of the table. “The watch numbers… the map reference, would put whatever it was that Hollard was after, right here…”

Pod triumphantly stuck his finger in the middle of the Kings Landing map.

“In the Great Sept of Baelor?” Jaime’s frown of disbelief seemed to leech some of the euphoria from Pod, but not all.

“No, no Ser Jaime… look,” Pod showed him in probably more detail than Jaime wanted how the first six numbers mapped the location as being directly on the Great Sept. Furthermore, not right in the middle but on what looked like the main entrance situated on the eastern side.

“But that leaves us with four digits still left over that could mean anything,” Jaime observed dryly, looking at the numbers and then at the map, “One… Four… Four… Three… Any ideas?”

Pod shrugged slightly as Brienne patted him on the shoulder, keen to give him the praise he deserved for his effort. "Good work."

Pod had been as good as his word, doing well to work out that they were in fact coordinates. But it would put whatever Hollard had attempted to locate, slap bang in the middle of Kings Landing, at the entrance of one of the area's biggest tourist attractions to be precise.

We don't know what we are looking for, and we don't even know if it's still there!

“You’ve done really well Pod, but the Sept of Baelor is a big building with a lot of places to hide something,” she advised him cautiously, finally closing the report she had tried so hard to read. Leaving it on the edge of the desk, she leant forward to study the map for herself, quietly thinking they had little hope of finding anything undisturbed in a place as public and as busy as the Great Sept.

“Well, there is only one way to find out,” said Jaime, “Pod, get the jackets – we’re taking Brienne out on a lunch date.”

Brienne froze, hearing only the word date coming from Jaime’s lips.

“Oh, no… I can’t.” She started to protest, confused, alarmed, embarrassed and flustered all at once. “I’ve got a million and one things to do…”

“Nonsense,” dismissed Jaime grinning at her in his intensely annoying knowing way, “it’s all work. Go and get your wallet Tarth. We need that company credit card.”

                                   *                         *                       *      

The three of them stood on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor looking up at a huge clock set in what used to be the location of a massive stained glass window.

“Progress is a funny thing,” observed Jaime as he stared up at the clock face, his left hand shielding his eyes from the bright light of the early afternoon sun, “and not always as good as you think it might be.”

Brienne could remember the giant stained glass window, and the clock did look rather austere in comparison to the vision she remembered.

“They kept the window,” She reassured him, “it’s the focal point of the new museum.” Brienne wondered if he knew that his father had financed both the building and the stained glass window acquisition.

“All the same,” he murmured, his green gaze flicking over the fascia of the building below the clock.

The clock itself was a giant white stone and glass creation, ticking away the seconds of the residents of Kings Landing with huge black stylised hands.

“It’s certainly a statement,” Jaime chewed his lip; studying the clock with the kind of intense concentration that made Brienne think he must have been extremely bored as a model. His mind was surely too lively to be satisfied with staring at a camera lens all day. Even standing on the steps of the Great Sept, his eyes seemed to be constantly darting about from thing to thing, inquisitive and alert to any possibilities.

Could Jaime really have been a government agent? It seemed a far better fit for the man she knew now, although Baelish and Mord had ensured he could never return to some of the more specialised aspects of the job if it were true.

“Show me the numbers again Pod?" Jaime asked him, slipping his right arm from the sling to flex his elbow as he moved to Pod's side.

Pod and Jaime pondered the numbers for a few minutes, Brienne stepping down a step and turning on her heel to look at the crowds milling about the steps and around the statue of Baelor Targaryan. The sun was incredibly bright, and lifting her hand to shade her eyes much as Jaime had done earlier, her attention was caught by a child running past with a head of bright golden curls.

Brienne found herself wondering what Jaime looked like as a child.

Ye gods, why does every little thing have to make me think of him, Brienne thought to herself desperately, it’s bloody Renly all over again.

“Fourteen Forty three,” Jaime said behind her.

“No, fourteen twenty,” Brienne looked down at her cheap digital watch, “your watch must be fast.”

The silence behind her made her think the pair of them had simply walked off and left her. She turned to find them both looking at her as if she had suddenly turned into a three headed dragon.

“What?” She asked them.

“Fourteen twenty five,” Jaime repeated slowly, “fourteen forty three, the clock… Brienne!”

And then he seized her by the ears and pulled her forward for a huge smacking kiss on the lips.

“Jaime wha... ?” Her words were stopped on her mouth by the kiss. A quick brush of dry firm lips and the smell of Jaime and that particular brand of expensive shampoo he favoured, stole her breath clean away.

Speechless, Brienne felt her jaw drop as he drew back, her stomach plummeting as she looked into his eyes.

Jaime’s gaze softened, his hand slid into her hair and he pulled her back for a kiss that shook her to her toes.

Seven hells!

Then he was gone, racing after Pod as her assistant disappeared through the massive wooden doors into the Great Sept.

“Mummy,” she heard a small child's voice say, “That very ugly lady just kissed the Wildfire Guy.”

Chapter Text

Brienne had to move really fast to catch up with Pod and Jaime, who had zeroed in on a ‘Sept of Baelor’ tour about to depart from the main entrance. The tour guide’s eyes flicked briefly over them as if thinking about insisting that they purchase their tickets before she allowed them on the tour, but then her eyes narrowed as she looked on Jaime for a moment. Brienne could almost see the exact point at which the female guide obviously decided not to bother about their lack of tickets. Instead she raised her hands above her head and she called for all those present to “follow me please” and then strode off, leaving everyone scurrying in her wake as they hurried to catch up.

“Exactly why are we doing this?” Brienne hissed at Jaime as they all slid to a halt by the dedication stone set high in the wall.

“If we are not part of an official party, we don’t get to climb the stairs behind the clock,” Jaime whispered loudly back as the guide went on at length about Baelor the first, his piety, the trip to Dorne and his rescue of the Dragonknight, “just trust me.”

Other members of the tour standing around them were glancing back at them and glaring.

“Sssh!” said one particularly daring individual to Jaime.

“Sssh yourself,” Jaime countered, glaring back at the man before making a point of turning to listen to the guide go on at length about the thousand whores and their children expelled from Kings Landing just as the Sept was constructed on Visenya’s Hill.

Poor things, Brienne thought as she looked around the huge shadowed Sept, unable to deny that it’s monumental glory was more than a little tarnished by the memory of those wretched women and children who had not chosen their lot in life and then had had their circumstances made considerably worse by a so called pious man evicting them from the only home they knew of.

“And of course Baelor also confined his sisters to the Maidenvault in an effort to protect their virtue,” the guide went on to say.

Typical, snorted Brienne unable to resist rolling her eyes, it’s always the bloody woman’s fault, only to encounter Jaime’s green gaze watching her reaction to the history lesson with undisguised amusement.

Brienne simply scowled at him, crossing her arms and turning her back on him.

Eventually their patience, and Brienne’s forbearance, was rewarded as the guide stopped them in front of the stone stairs to the clock tower.

“I have to inform you,” the guide told them as they as they stopped in front of the entrance to the clock's inner workings, “that if any one of you suffers from any kind of heart problem or health issue, please be advised the stairs to the clock are incredibly steep and can be shallow and worn in places. Not for the infirm or faint hearted.” She added, staring at Jaime as he restlessly hopped from one foot to the other.

“Yes, yes,” muttered Jaime, keen to be on his way up the stairs, “let’s get going.”

Podrick went first from their little group, Brienne following him immediately only because Jaime made a polite little bow and indicated she should precede him with a wave of his hand. Something she wouldn’t have done if she had realised quite how close they were going to be as they were herded up the stairs. Brienne was well aware of being almost on eye level with the back of Pod’s knees as they climbed, although she had to keep her eyes on her feet and a hand on the curving stone wall to their right in order to prevent herself stumbling and sliding back into Jaime.

Once or twice they came to a stop, and had to wait for the people in front to start their ascent once more. Brienne tried not to dwell on quite what Jaime was facing behind her, but on at least one occasion she felt the lightest touch just behind her knee. Turning to look at him, she was faced with a pair of twinkling green eyes and a look on his face that made her mutter, “stop it,” before she stomped on up the stairs once more, the intimate sound of Jaime's soft laughter still in her ears.

“So this, Ladies and Gentlemen, is the New Clock. A magnificent structure donated by Lord Tywin Lannister to mark the betrothal and then marriage of his daughter Cersei Lannister to the eldest son of the Baratheon family.”

Brienne glanced at Jaime, a reflex action on hearing such a casual reference to his sister’s name. Jaime seemed untroubled, far more interested in edging ever closer to the actual structure of the massive clock, and in particular the area of the clock face between the half past and quarter to sections of the chapter ring, looking for any clue that might aid their current quest regarding Hollard’s watch.

“The structure of the glass clock also features detailed artwork relating to the Lannister family sigil of a lion…” the guide continued. Brienne watched Pod and Jaime lean over the barriers to study the metal work used to denote the eight and the nine.

“So Ladies and Gentlemen, if you would like to now return to the main Sept for a tour of the crypts we need to descend the stairs very carefully as you can probably now well appreciate…”

As the rest of the party filed out in front of Brienne, she hung towards the back, still watching Pod and Jaime execute a thorough examination of the clock.

“Gentlemen,” called the guide in their direction, “we need to leave the clock now and turn our attention to the depths of the Sept of Baelor so if you would join the group...” Brienne turning to leave found Jaime’s hand heavy on her shoulder, so heavy it resulted in her sitting with a bump on an upturned box near the mechanism.

“Sir, we really do need to leave,” the guide insisted, giving Jaime her brightest and most engaging smile.

“My wife needs a few moments,” Jaime told her in his best Westerland accent, “Pregnant, you know ‘ow it is… she wants to see the clock she tells me. We’re only ‘ere for the day. Now she needs a minute… the stairs did for ‘er.”

The woman stared at Jaime, and then stared at Brienne, who was convinced if she hadn’t flushed purple by this point it had to be a miracle. She could feel the skin of her face and neck burning as if coated with pitch and wildfire, so she took some comfort in hunching in on herself and dropping her head towards her knees as if she really did feel faint.

Maybe it is entirely possible to pass out from sheer embarrassment, Brienne thought to herself.

The guide glanced down at Brienne’s large slumped body and hidden stomach, then looked back towards Jaime, her smile now a little tight at the tardiness of the handsome charming Westerlander and his ugly indisposed wife. The woman paused, studying Jaime’s face for longer than certainly Brienne was comfortable with.

“Don’t I know you?”

Jaime twisted his face into a picture of contemplation that made him look a little less like the Wildfire Guy and maybe a little more like a wily ne’er do well.

“You ever been to the market at Ashemark?”

“No,” the guide continued to study him, “What about Salt Rock? Have you ever been to the river market there?”

“Is it near Ashemark?” Jaime asked her.

“No,” she replied.

“Never been there,” he countered. The woman frowned, and seemed about to say something else until  the sound of an angry shout in the stairwell distracted her, calling the guide’s attention back to her charges currently descending the stairs. “Yes, well, as soon as you are feeling better you had better make your way down to the main Sept entrance,” she told them, “ there is a first aid post there.”

The guide then gave them both a last curious look before hurrying after her departing tour.

“Pod over there,” Jaime flicked his head at the clock, “Brienne, watch the door.”

With a huff of annoyance, Brienne went to stand by the entrance, left to watch as the two of them scrambled as close as they could to the clock face as she alternated between watching them and the small wooden door.

What if we get caught? She thought to herself, visions of them being hauled in front of the King’s Landing courts accused of attempting to vandalise the clock of the Great Sept of Baelor. I’ll never live it down. I’ll be a laughing stock and it’ll ruin whatever reputation I’ve got left after the ‘Mug and Jugs’ incident, she thought wretchedly.

Suddenly Jaime and Pod froze, the pair of them staring at the clock mechanism as if transfixed.

“Hurry up,” she urged them, “there’s no one coming up the stairs yet, but it’s only a matter of time!”

Neither of them moved.

“For goodness sakes Ja-“ Brienne snapped, only to be brought up short at the sight of Petyr Baelish stepping off a ladder to the left of the clock face.

“Tut tut… such impatience,” Baelish admonished her, waving the ever attendant Mord towards Jaime and Pod, as he picked his way towards her over the various wooden struts and supports that held the mechanism in place, “has no one told you that patience is a virtue, Ms Tarth?”

“Can you two not find your own mystery to solve?” Jaime asked them irritably, “Do you have to keep gatecrashing mine?”

“Still the same smart mouth Lannister,” Baelish sneered, “and who says it’s yours?”

“Oh, a few million dragons,” replied Jaime, “and then some.”

“Ha, you are a funny man Lannister,” Baelish didn’t smile, instead he focused on Brienne hovering by the door, “If you run, I’ll shoot them both, starting with the boy. Mord, would you bring them both closer?”

Mord produced a mean looking gun, complete with silencer, and motioned Jaime and Pod away from the window.

“Come here Ms Tarth,” Baelish told her.

Brienne stared back, back rigid, non-compliant.

“Brienne,” Jaime warned her, “just do as he says.”

Scowling, she glanced at Jaime as she made her way over, now desperately hoping for someone, anyone, to burst through the door and find them being held at gunpoint. She carefully paid attention as to exactly where she was putting her feet, resulting in a quite deliberate trip over a beam in her way. She stumbled clumsily over it, falling into Baelish and knocking him over as she attempted to recover her balance.

If there was a chance, Pod and Jaime would take it, she hoped.

“Brienne, no!” It was Jaime’s voice that she heard as she fell, a loud thud coming from Mord firing a shot into the floor, the bullet hitting the wood and resulting in a shower of splinters, some of which fell on her head even where she lay some distance away.

“Don’t move or they’re both dead men,” Baelish told her in a dispassionate voice as he got up from the floor. “Mord deliberately missed them this time. It won’t happen again.”

Brienne elected to stay on her hands and knees as Baelish climbed back onto his feet, dusting himself off, retrieving his knife from the floor where it fell.

“Good move, Ms Tarth,” he told her as he lunged for her, seizing a handful of hair and then shifting his grip to her neck, forcing her to her knees, “a wise move, and probably the best move you’ve made to date.”

Baelish lifted his head to look at Jaime and Pod, held at gunpoint by Mord.

“Gentlemen, please do carry on with your search,” he told them.

“What if I say no?” Jaime challenged him, glaring first at Mord as if he stood a real chance of overcoming him even with a hand in a sling, and then Baelish. Pod clenched his hands into fists and stood to one side as if ready to assist in any rash move Jaime might choose to make.

“No? We are not deciding this by council gentlemen,” he admonished them caustically, “I am telling you to search the damn clock. Or else there will be quite definite consequences.”

Baelish tightened his grip round Brienne’s throat until she was gasping for air, then deftly he drew his knife across her cheek in a neat and even cut before placing the point against one of the arteries in her neck. “If I nick an artery, she’ll bleed out in a few hours maybe. But if I cut it, you’ll be lucky if Ms Tarth survives for more than thirty seconds. Neither is a particularly nice way to end a life,” Baelish smiled, “it being so needlessly messy.”

Brienne felt a warm trickle of blood make it's way down her face, her ruined cheek smarting from the wound there.

Don't be distracted by me Jaime, she urged him silently, painfully twisting her features into the angriest expression she could manage.

“Okay… okay, we’re searching,” Jaime pulled Pod back towards the clock, the line of his mouth grim, his green eyes scanning Brienne’s face before he turned to help Pod search the clock chapter once more.

Brienne put a hand to the arm about her throat, digging her fingers into the flesh of Baelish’s forearm. Curling her fingers into claws, she pulled hard so that she might get a proper breath, but Baelish didn’t allow her even that. “Stay quite still Ms Tarth, I really am quite out of patience with your tendency to fight every point.”

“Pod, over here!” Jaime leant over the barrier, looking in real danger of toppling over into the clock face itself, but Pod grabbed his legs and steadied him as he slipped his right hand from the sling and used it to steady himself whilst his left searched around the third marker from the giant number eight. It didn’t take long for Jaime to get a hand onto what he had spotted. “Pull me up Pod.”

Pod hauled Jaime back over the barrier, a black bag clenched in his left fist as Pod gave a final heave resulting in them both falling backwards with an almighty crash onto the wooden floor.

Surely someone must have heard something by now! Brienne thought desperately.

“Give me the bag,” Baelish told him.

“Don’t you want to know what’s in it?” Jaime asked him, undoing the bag and looking inside, “Shall I tell you? I can tell you what’s in the bag just by… fuck me!”

He sounded genuinely shocked.

Baelish was distracted by Jaime’s antics; she could feel the hold on her neck loosening.

“What?” Baelish snapped, “What’s in the bag?"

“Look for yourself,” Jaime threw the bag across the floor, and the moment Brienne sensed Baelish loosening his hold she dropped heavily to the floor and elbow punched Petyr Baelish hard in the stomach, before turning and then smacking him in the ribs. Scrambling to grab the knife, she pushed Baelish face first to the floor, and held him there.

"Got him Jaime!" she yelled.

Distracted, Mord fired the gun but Pod had barrelled into him before he could get the first shot off accurately, and instead of it going anywhere near Jaime, the bullet hit the mighty glass clock face at close range.

A quarter of the glass clock face shattered instantly, large portions falling noisily to the wooden floor inside the tower with an almighty crash, some falling outside of the tower, smashing down onto the massive stone portico that sheltered the eastern door.

“Well, that’ll have got someone’s attention,” said Jaime, staring at the massive hole in the centre of Kings Landing’s largest and finest timepiece, the words written there still evident on a shard of glass yet to fall. “Watch that last bit of glass Pod, I don’t want you cut in half, literally, by the Lannister family words.”

Hear Me Roar.

Chapter Text

Brienne was heartily sick and tired of telling people she was fine.

“I am fine,” she kept telling them, “I really am.”

She had to repeat it to the doctor that stitched her face, to the nurse that dressed the wound with a pad so large it partially obscured the sight from one eye, even to her father who called her at the hospital after seeing Baelish and Mord’s subsequent arrest on ‘Stormlands Today’.

“I didn’t realise you were working on such an important case,” he told her, “you should make an effort to come home more often Brienne so we can talk properly.”

“Yes Dad,” she told him, privately thinking that the only reason they still had somewhere to live on Tarth was precisely because she didn’t have time to make it home that often.

I am fine, she told herself, or as fine as you could ever expect to be under the circumstances.

Needless to say Jaime was at the centre of the media circus’ attention and so, by default, was she.

“Model turned detective foils historic heist!” was the headline screaming from every Westerosi tabloid for at least three days after the Kings Landing Police had arrived at the Great Sept of Baelor to arrest whoever it was that had managed to completely destroy a famous local landmark.

Brienne had been unable to avoid the media storm even as she had battled her way out of the hospital later the next day, her arm over her patched face as she fought her way through cameras and microphones.

“Brienne Tarth… Brienne, over here!” Any number of people called her name, trying to get her to look to the left, to the right, even straight ahead as they blocked her way, Brienne simply ploughing on through the ridiculous number of people there, all trying to get a story from her. Never had being tall enough to tower over others been so much to her advantage. “How did you know where to look for the Valyrian hoard? How long had you been tracking the famous sapphire collection?”

What Valyrian hoard? What preposterous nonsense had Jaime told them now? 

"Did you always know where the sapphires were hidden Ms Tarth?"

"Do you know how the sapphires were brought over from Essos?"

The same questions the police would no doubt ask them in due course if it were true.

"Are you and the Wildfire Guy dating, Brienne?" One particularly obnoxious reporter pushed his camera in her face and took several pictures before she could shoulder her way past.

"Don't be stupid," she snapped automatically, only to feel awful when she saw the man's gleeful expression at her response. Brienne took a deep steadying breath and did her best not to feel overwhelmed by the situation. "No, we are not."

"“Come on gentlemen, ladies, let Ms Tarth through,” came an unexpected voice, followed by the sight of a familiar head of tousled golden hair, an arm moved round her large shoulders in a strangely protective gesture as the familiar smell of expensive shampoo and a custom blended fragrance swirled around her to banish the antiseptic smell of the hospital.

Jaime… Her heart did an odd skip that she tried not to dwell on. She’d confidently assured him earlier that she could make her own way back to the office. He had waved her off in the ambulance while he remained deep in conversation with Detective Snow outside the Great Sept, the aftermath of their afternoon's adventures still in the process of being resolved. At the time all she had wanted to do was escape being the focus of attention thanks to the wound inflicted by Baelish, only later did her feelings smart slightly with regard to the relative ease with which he apparently let her go.

But he was here now, why? 

“Come on, no homes to go to?” joked Jaime as he steered her without hesitation through the throng, “I would have thought you would have had better things to do than hang round outside hospitals at this time of night, Jeyne? And you too Lem…”

He handled the assembled mob with great charm and authority, apparently knowing more than half of them by name as he pushed Brienne ahead of him towards a nondescript car parked by the kerb.

It was so easy to forget exactly who Ser Jaime Lannister was, and the kind of life he had led.

"Get in the car as quick as you can Brienne," he told her in a low serious voice before turning his face back to the assembled throng, all smiles and charm once more.

"You can't drive," she told him, looking pointedly at his bandaged hand.

"I'm not intending to," he said nodding at the man waiting patiently in the drivers seat, "that's what Peck's here for."

Brienne raised her eyes to the skies and pulled the car door open.

I don't even want to know where Peck's wages are coming from, she thought, remembering the last time she had seen the Blue Isle company credit card, Jaime had been slipping it into his pocket for safe-keeping.

“So?” She asked him, as he slid into the back of the car beside her and told Peck to drive.

“So what?”

"So why did you come and get me? I told you-"

"That was before I knew that the Blue Isle Detective Agency had discovered the Valyrian Hoard," Jaime told her, a huge grin on his face.

Brienne crossed her arms and pushed herself as far away from him inside the rear of the car as she could.

"I don't think I want to know about this," she told him.

"Oh yes you do," Jaime corrected her. "Detective Snow has been most helpful. One of the largest, richest collections of jewels in Westeros was purchased from the Targaryen heirs by the Westerosi government some time ago. It cost them roughly seventy million dragons..."

"There was not seventy million dragons worth of anything in that tiny bag Jaime," Brienne told him firmly.

"Of course there wasn't,"  Jaime replied scornfully, "The current collection is worth over two billion dragons now, and is made up of thirty thousand diamonds, thousands of emeralds... what we have found is a collection of the finest sapphires withheld from the original collection, lost when part of the family was exiled to Essos."

Brienne stared at him, arms still crossed, still unconvinced.

"So the stones go to the government." she told him, frankly puzzled as to why he was so excited.

"There was a reward," Jaime told her, "a big reward for finding them, Brienne."

She looked at Jaime, Jaime looked at her.

"The Blue Isle Detective Agency did it," he told her, a slight frown creasing his brow at her singular lack of excitement, "and we'll get the money... you'll get the money."

 "Oh," Brienne said finally.

“You, me , the business, and Pod of course,” Jaime replied.

I can buy him out with my share, she suddenly realised, I'll never have to be driven up the wall by Jaime Lannister and his ridiculous office chair ever again.

I should be happy... ecstatic.

So then why did the prospect actually leave her feeling quite so desolate?

"I see," Brienne managed weakly.

"Well I thought you'd be a bit happier than this," Jaime told her in a disgusted tone, obviously very put out at her lack of reaction to his news.

"I am, really happy," she told him, "it's really fantastic news. Amazing news, it'll mean you'll have some kind of income at long last Jaime."

"So what will you do with the agency Brienne," he asked her, "now it's actually worth something because of all the publicity? This is your big chance to not be sleeping on the floor of your office anymore."

But I'm not, I'm sleeping in your house, she thought, bewildered in his sudden interest in her business plans.

"I couldn't sell Blue Isle," she told him.

"You sold half to Dontas Hollard," he reminded her.

“That was quite different, I sold that forty per cent because it was an emergency.” Brienne told him, “And it's made me realise I can’t afford to have almost half of the business in the hands of someone who sees it as a hobby.”

Jaime paused and turned to look at her, as if he hadn't expected quite that answer, his turn to roll his eyes.

“Come on, I’m a different man to the one who walked into your office that first day,” Jaime argued, “Cut me and it will say ‘Blue Isle’ right the way through my middle now.”

Brienne winced, her hand going to her cheek in an unconscious move.

“Okay, bad choice of words,” he grinned, unrepentant, “but at least think about getting rid of me for longer than a minute.”

“Mmmmm,” Brienne gave a small shrug and a nod as Jaime threw open the door on the passenger side so she could get out.

“So?” This time he raised his eyebrows, “What about you, me and…. the other business?”

“What other business?”

“Come on Brienne, the other business.” This time the grin was wickedly tempting, “you know, stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“We’ve been living together...you know, proximity… stuff.”

Brienne was suddenly subjected to total instantaneous recall of Jaime in his towel that morning a few days previously. Such was the recollection; she felt her traitorous skin flush instantly as she scrambled to get out of the car.

“Because of your arm,” Brienne ducked her head down yet again to check the dressing on her cheek was still in place once she was on her feet again. “We’ve been living together because you need help with your arm Jaime.” The dressing prickled where it was attached to the skin of her cheek as she walked quickly to the front door, having to then wait patiently for Jaime to catch up.

Jaime leant close to her as he put the key in the lock to open the door, “Or maybe because you simply can’t bear to be separated from me.”

“In your wildest fantasies, Lannister,” she muttered unable to stop her slight check as she stepped over the threshold. Too many surprises had happened on stepping into various establishments recently, she thought to herself. Brienne found herself glancing again at the shadows in the corners to double check for intruders.

“Don’t worry,” Jaime growled from behind her as he noticed what she was doing, “nobody is interested in us anymore. What you need is a proper drink.”

Brienne scowled at him.

“I don’t drink properly.” 

And it certainly never did my father any good, she thought.

“It’s medicinal, wench,” he slammed the front door shut with his foot, “You’re so wound up you can’t even sit still. You were twitching all the way back in the car.”

“I’m not a good passenger,” Brienne admitted to him in a reluctant mumble, "and it's Brienne... not wench."

“Tell that to poor Peck. He was mortally offended at your foot banging on the floor when he failed to apply the brake at those lights.”

“He should have stopped.”

“It was amber.”

“It was a traffic light.”

Jaime walked with her into the kitchen and threw the door keys on the counter. Brienne immediately noticed the collection of bottles on the central isle, one half full of whiskey, an unopened bottle of red and a glass that had obviously been used.

“I see you started without me,” she observed with some irony.

“I thought you said you didn’t drink,” Jaime replied, picking up the bottle of scotch and anchoring it under his right arm so he could remove the cap with his left.

“I. Don’t.” She replied firmly, rolling her eyes.

“Forgive me if I do after the couple of days we have just had.”

Jaime poured himself a small measure of liquid into his glass and took a sip as he watched her fill a large glass of water from the tap and pull out a blister pack of tablets from a pocket.

“Painkillers?” he asked her.

Brienne gave a brief nod, her hand creeping up to her cheek once more, fingers ghosting across the dressing there.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not really. Throbs a bit… and itches,” she scowled and then winced as her expression meant the stitches were pulled as her features shifted.

"Tell me about it," sympathised Jaime, nodding at his right hand, still incapacitated by the sling.

Brienne shrugged, and put her hand up to touch the bandage for umpteenth time.

“Come here and let me have a look,” he requested, his expression intrigued, “it looks smaller than I thought it would be.”

“Thanks,” Brienne snorted, “but forgive me if I don’t apologise for that.”

“Just come here Brienne,” Jaime responded softly.

Brienne shuffled forward and turned the damaged cheek towards him, watching Jaime from the corner of one eye as he slipped his right hand out of his sling to hold her head steady, using his left to gently probe the skin around the wound.

“He’s a bastard for doing this, “Jaime told her as he studied the dressing, “you do know that.”

Brienne looked at Jaime’s golden skin so close to her own, the bright green eyes studying her cheek through a stray lock of his blond hair and she thought of all the far worse things Baelish might have done.

She gave a small shrug, “it’s not going to make much difference is it? The way I look has never…” Brienne allowed her voice to tail off, thinking of the way Loras had regarded her the day they had gone to ‘Mugs and Jugs’.

A sow in silk.

Brienne the beauty.

The  big, ugly, shambling 'maid' of Tarth, she’d heard it all, and it was a good part of the reason she cut herself off from wanting the normal things from life. What was the hurtful point of trying to engage with anyone of the opposite sex if it was always going to go so badly wrong. Like it did with her father’s useless attempts at matchmaking, her own pathetic attempts to attract a totally uninterested Renly or the ridiculously embarrassing bet regarding dating her between some of Renly's colleagues.

And Jaime... Jaime Lannister presented a whole new set of problems for her to address.

"I'm not... my looks never were very, you know."

Jaime withdrew slightly from her, his face bemused. “I beg your pardon? Exactly what do you mean by that?”

Brienne gave an annoyed sigh. Jaime was so close to her skin, her breath lifted a few tendrils of hair that were lying against his nose, the sensation of the air escaping his own mouth, a gentle puff on her cheek. It was as if he was all encompassing, waiting, compelling her to say… what?

What was she supposed to divulge to this beautiful, baffling man who had started out as the subject of an unusual investigation regarding incest and had ended up being the closest thing she had ever had to a 'sort of' friend. A ridiculously contrary, demanding, intimate acquaintance - he didn't let her hide from herself or from him.

What is there to tell him?

That she had fallen in love with him somewhere between picking him up from the police station and watching him stand in the middle of a thousand shards of sunlit glass where there had once been a clock? Or when he had stood boldly next to her in ‘Mugs and Jugs’ describing in great detail, to Loras, all manner of sexual acts so hot that even now it made her break out into a cold sweat. Not because they had actually done anything, ye gods half she hadn't even heard of before, but because he had intercepted Loras' disbelieving look directed towards her at the start of the conversation, and had taken exception to it.

His rather graphic description had made even Loras flush, and blink, more than once, she thought with a slight smile.

“Your looks were never very what?” Jaime insisted on asking her, studying her face once more.

"Picturesque," Brienne finally mumbled.

"Picturesque?" Jaime took one look at her and burst out laughing. He sobered momentarily only to then start laughing again, at which point Brienne caught a large handful of his glorious fair hair in her right fist and pulled his head right back so he had to look her in the eye.

"Don't Jaime," was all she said, her voice angry and raw, "just... don't. Not today."

His green gaze flicked over her face, finally coming to rest on her damaged cheek.

"Then stop me," he replied instantly, his emerald eyes blown as he stared back at her, "make me stop."

I don't know how, she thought to herself in disgust, releasing him instead with a small annoyed shove that propelled him two steps back.

"Ye gods woman," Jaime bounced nimbly back from the push, instantly encompassing her in a massive bear hug, "you don't get rid of me that easily."

"You think?" she gasped, momentarily reluctant to free herself, "Don't you think that all my life men like you have sneered at me... and that all my life I've been knocking men like you onto their backs?"

"What makes you think I'm sneering at you?" he asked her, "but as for knocking me onto my back - you don't stand a chance, Tarth!"

How hard could it be? He had one arm in a sling and she was marginally taller than him. She had trained for years in self-defence. It would be easy.

Brienne caught his right arm, leaving the splinted end well alone, in her hand and forced it back far enough to allow her to twist out of his grip.

"A gambler at heart," he observed with a devilish grin, "I never would have guessed."

Using her own firm hold against her, he pushed Brienne round and had her almost off her feet with just the one hand, " I'm a fair man - don't you think you can beat me in a fair fight?" 

Although Jaime was slightly shorter than her, he had the kind of lean male muscular strength that meant they were fairly evenly matched, even with him restricted in the use of one arm. 

So what started as her making a point, soon degenerated into an all out wrestling match and Jaime Lannister was surprisingly stong for his size and build. He deliberately compromised her tendency to wait for her opponent to make the first move by moving quickly to twist her off balance or manhandle her to the ground, on one occasion actually lifting her clear of the floor which resulted in her experiencing a panicked moment of disorientation before she was able to wriggle her way free. 

"I've got stitches in my cheek," she protested, as he managed to wrangle her back onto the couch after she had almost got him down onto the floor.

"And I've got stitches in my hand," he argued back, " which is a far greater handicap... oof!"

Brienne had managed to knock him off balance, twisting them both so that she landed squarely on top of him with a triumphant shout of," so do you give up now Lannister?" as he hit the cushions instead of her.

Jaime landed hard and then didn't respond, his eyes stayed closed, his right arm had come out of its sling a long time ago and was flung out to one side.

"Jaime?" leaning forward, concerned, Brienne peered into his face, "Jaime?"  He had landed with a shock of blond hair falling over his face making him appear every inch the lion, tousled and glorious, but it seemed an age until finally one bright eye opened as she bent over him.

To her utter shock, he lifted his head and kissed her.

“Ooops,” he grinned wickedly as he looked up her, both emerald green eyes twinkling as he went on to say softly, “ I surrender.”

Ye gods, all the words she might have to answer him were stuck in her throat and stayed there as Jaime went ahead and kissed her again, running his tongue along the edge of one chapped lip until she whimpered.

 Bang! Bang! Bang!

 A loud knocking on the front door made them both jump, but as Brienne went to move away, Jaime tightened his arms around her, cursed for a moment, and then gave an exasperated sigh.

"Don't move," he whispered in her ear.

 All went quiet, and Brienne shut her eyes as Jaime started kissing her again. He kissed around the bandage, and nibbled down the line of her jaw to her neck, his right hand resting against her nape, his left moving down her body, skimming across her ribs and on towards the curve of her buttocks.

"Ah, excuse me, but I'm looking for my brother," came a low cultivated voice from almost next to them, "Jaime? Is that you?"

She felt Jaime's entire body go rigid at the sound of the intruder speaking.

"Tyrion?" Jaime's delighted shout made Brienne wince even as she crumpled under the weight of her own mortification, Jaime rolling her from him with suspicious ease as he climbed eagerly to his feet to greet his younger brother, "Tyrion!"

                                                          *                         *                       *      

The senior partner of Stark & Stark, Catelyn Stark, had been sitting in Brienne's office since Pod himself had arrived, Pod quickly informed Brienne as she walked in the door to the Blue Isle Detective Agency that morning.

Absolutely the last thing I need right now is Catelyn waiting to ambush me with her latest pro bono project.

Brienne had not been sleeping well since the arrival of Tyrion Lannister from his travels abroad. The wit and charm of Jaime’s handsome, very short and rather unusual brother had caught her completely unawares, the manner of their meeting, one of the most humiliating incidents of her life. The strain of sharing the house with Jaime and Tyrion after being caught in flagrante delicto was too much for Brienne to bear. The poor man had not meant to intrude, and had quite innocently, when there had been no answer to his knock, used the spare key to his brother’s house to walk in on…

I can’t even think about it without dying slightly inside, she thought miserably to herself.

Not entirely the innocent, it was Tyrion’s wicked sense of humour that had prompted him to disturb the moment, and it had to be that same wicked streak that kept him reminding Jaime of the incident at every opportunity.

Ye gods, how am I going to be able to look either of them in the eye again, Brienne winced, the sensible idea would be to simply not go back to Jamie Lannister’s current residence… ever.

“Brienne Tarth? Is that you?”

The door had obviously alerted Catelyn to Brienne’s arrival, as almost immediately her distinctive voice could be heard coming from Brienne’s office.

“Yes Catelyn, it’s me.” Brienne shouted back, dumping her bags in the reception area by Pod’s desk.

“Brienne, I hear from Sansa that you’ve taken up with Jaime Lannister.”

That was so typical of Catelyn Stark, straight to the point. No polite small talk or enquiries after your health to soften the blow of the question.

“Not quite taken up,” protested Brienne, glancing back at the office door, knowing that Jaime would enter at any moment having left her on the way in to find his morning copy of the Westerosi Post, “he’s been kind enough to help me out with the running of the agency just while…”

Brienne walked into her office to find Sansa’s mother sat in the well-worn client’s chair.

“Lannister’s do not simply help people out, Brienne.” Catelyn Stark told her, her face grim, “There has to be something in it for them – for him…”

“If it wasn’t for Jaime, Catelyn, Blue Isle would never have been involved in discovering the Valyrian hoard,” Brienne pointed out in her most patient voice feeling obliged to at least try and defend her business partner, “he has done wonders for the agency’s public profile.”

“I’m sure he has, Jaime Lannister has always been very good at raising his profile,” said Catelyn, “and while doing so has secured a reward which he is in line to get a good share of.”

Brienne sighed and then jumped slightly at the sound of an all too familiar voice.

“Good Morning Catelyn.”

Jaime stood at the door, the morning paper tucked beneath one arm looking for the world as if he had just wandered off of the pages of an exclusive fashion magazine.

“Good Morning,” Catelyn greeted him abruptly, getting to her feet, “I was just talking to Brienne about a personal matter.”

“Yes, I heard,” Jaime’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Well, I must be going.” Catelyn smiled warmly at Brienne and gave her a quick hug as she went to leave, her look towards Jaime as she went to leave cool, “remember what I said Brienne.”

“Yes, yes, of course I will,” stuttered Brienne, keeping one eye on Jaime who had dropped into his office chair and for once sat there without adjusting a single one of his ergonomic controls.

“Nice to see you again Catelyn,” Jaime called out, leaning back in his chair slightly as he watched her go.

Catelyn paused briefly to look at Jaime over her shoulder, “As ever, Jaime. Brienne, remember what I said dear,” and with that she left, slamming the office door behind her as she went.

“You would think for someone who spends so much time in court she would have developed at least some ability to hide her opinion of people,” Jaime sat in his chair, giving it a few swings from left to right before he asked, “what did she say to you?”

“Nothing,” Brienne sighed.

“Brienne, I don’t believe that it was nothing.”

“No, really, it’s the same old stuff that I know Jaime. I know you’re only here until the police and your accountant have managed to sort out the financial details of Hollard and Baelish and your funds.” She smiled briefly, wincing slightly as the skin of her cheek creased, “But that’s okay, I know you can’t stay here forever. I know that eventually you will move on, but it has really surprised me how people do so like to remind me all the time.”

“People need to learn to mind their own business,” Jaime stared at her, his green eyes intent on her as she flopped down onto the recently vacated chair, one lock of Lannister gold hair straying across his right eye as he thoughtfully spread his paper out on the desk, his expression one of mild annoyance.

“She’s trying to be nice,” Brienne told him.

“Not to me she is not,” pointed out Jaime with undeniable logic, “and she’s not the only one. Brienne, have you been avoiding being alone with me since Tyrion arrived?”

Brienne could only stare at him, dumbfounded.

Yes, yes I have because I don’t know where I stand with you now because I know we’ve crossed some invisible line in our friendship and I haven’t got the experience to know what I should do next.

“No, no of course not!” she told him, lying as best she knew how.

“Is it Tyrion being in the house?” he asked her, picking at a particularly unruly corner of one printed sheet and smoothing it flat with his fingers.

“No, of course it isn’t Tyrion,” Brienne snapped at him annoyed, “It takes me some time to get used to people that’s all. Tyrion’s fine… he’s a lovely brother to have.”

“Tyrion thought you might be embarrassed about him finding us… together,” Jaime told her, pretending not to look at her as he continued to fiddle with his paper.

“Oh,” Brienne ducked her head down and put her hand to the cheek she had redressed herself that morning. “Well, it was a bit embarrassing being caught. Being caught… you know, I mean, but it wasn’t like it was… meant anything, did it?”

“Didn’t it?” Jaime folded his arms on the desk and looked straight at her, his face very serious, “You didn’t want me to kiss you?”

Brienne didn’t know what to say, she could only sit there, dumb.

Yes, yes I did, shouted the voice in her head.

“I…,” Brienne looked up at him terrified of saying the wrong thing.

“Because I wanted to kiss you, Brienne… I’ve wanted to do that and any number of other things with you... to you for some time now.” Jaime sat back in his chair and watched her face with a slight frown on his own, “But I couldn’t tell if you were interested in anything more or not.”

“M… Me?” she replied, unable to think of anything more to say.

“Tyrion seems to think you are interested.” Jaime tilted his head to one side, his expression one of polite enquiry, “But is he wrong about that? Because I’m not going to force myself on you… you need to be sure absolutely sure about what you want. It’s taken a long time for me to learn that no woman is worth putting yourself out there for unless you get something substantial back.”

He actually had the gall to compare her to Cersei? How dare he!

“I’m…?” Brienne could only hear the words am I worth it? chasing around in her head.

“And you don’t really trust anyone do you? You only allow yourself to fall for safe men… you couldn’t get much safer than Renly could you? Ye gods, I never saw myself coming second to Renly Baratheon.”

“S…s…safe?” She couldn’t even get the words out. It was awful, it was like time had turned back on itself and she was faced with Ron Connington again. The memory suddenly flooded back, of Connington and the rose corsage, and him telling her that despite all the promises he had made her father, he simply couldn’t take her to the school dance and be seen with her, because she was just too ugly.

Instead of flushing red as she usually did, this time Brienne felt the blood drain from her face.

“Look at you,” Jaime was out of his seat, pacing the floor, “you’re not a person… you are the job. You are sixty percent of the Blue Isle Detective agency, that’s one hundred per cent what you are.”

“Well at least I believe in something,” Brienne finally burst out, "at least I’m trying to do something with my life… what do you believe in Jaime Lannister? Is there something that you are prepared to fight for, is there anything… anything at all, other than your bloody money, that moves you?” She jumped to her feet incensed, “Maybe you should go. Take my share of the stupid reward and just go. Go, and find something to believe in, and that might be worth working for, even fighting for, you narcissistic pretty boy loser! Go!”

“Bitch!” Jaime was starting to laugh, “You are one big ugly bitch, Brienne.”

“Bastard!” Brienne was deep into seeing only red, “You make me like you, you make me fall in love with you, and you are nothing but a despicable, nasty, horrible bastard, Jaime Lannister!”

Jaime was laughing for real now, and he carried on laughing as he attempted to catch her in his arms, “you asked me what I believe in, if there is something that I believe in. Well, there is…I actually believe in you Brienne Tarth.”

“Fuck off,” she growled foully.

“No,” he sobered instantly as he looked at her, “not today.” He pulled her in for a kiss with his right arm whilst using his left to sweep a space clear on the desk for her sit. Brienne stared at him for a split second of disbelief and then grabbed Jaime by the ears, just as he had her outside the Great Sept, and kissed him hard. She dug her fingers into his beautiful golden hair and inhaled the magical scent of him as she kissed Jaime again, and again, and as he made some needy noise in the back of his throat, again.   "Don't laugh at me," scowled Brienne, clearing the rest of the desk furniture one handed. His meticulously unfolded morning paper and a desk lamp fell onto the floor with an almighty crash as she hauled Jaime round and back against the desk with the other hand, holding him by his shirt as his shoulders started to shake yet again.

"I'm not," Jaime told her, "I'm laughing at us."

“I love you,” she told him angrily, using her hold on him to give him a shake at every other word, “I was fine until you came along with your stupid green eyes and forty per cent of my company. I would have been fine for the rest of my life, but you spoilt it.”

Jaime grinned at her, stupid green eyes twinkling, his blond hair mussed from their angry tussle.

“I love you too you know,” he told her, “And I wasn’t at all fine until you came along with your beautiful blue eyes, sixty per cent of your company and I decided it was you I wanted, not your bloody company at all.” Brienne was still holding him by his shirt front and staring into his eyes unable to believe that it wasn’t some trick or ruse on his part. “Now kiss me, or curse me, but do something Brienne because the suspense is killing me.”

So she kissed him, as thoroughly and deeply as she was able, and Jaime kissed her back. Jaime hopped onto the desk dragging Brienne with him as he went, Brienne following him matching him kiss for kiss.

“What about the door?” she mumbled.

“I think Pod’s got it,” Jaime replied.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, apologies for the delay, but Brienne Tarth and Jaime Lannister are leaving work early today…”

                                                                                                            The End