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storypaint) wrote2014-08-17 05:02 pm
storypaint) wrote2014-08-17 05:02 pm
[Game of Thrones] a lesser tyranny (Jaimie/Brienne)
Title: a lesser tyranny
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Length: 897 words
Prompt: Let's Make Out Ficathon II: Game of Thrones, Jaime/Brienne, spy AU
Pairing: Jaime/Brienne
Other: AU as per title. It's still set in a Game of Thrones-type universe, it's just the character paths that have changed. Probably spoilers for S4, nominally based in book canon.
Excerpt: He was on the ground before he knew it, hearing the squeak and thud of stools falling from the table and the shouts and muffled curses of his co-conspirators. It felt like there was a gigantic boot on his back, pressing him into the wet sawdust of the bar floor. He twisted his face enough to see that the owner of the boot was the barkeep's wife.
"Oh, come on," the woman wheedled. Gormund looked back to his beer, uncomfortable. When his co-conspirators had told him that this bar was a great meeting place because no one ever came here, they hadn't mentioned the reason, that the barkeep and his wife were in a constant dispute. He'd been here ten minutes and the woman had already claimed twice that her husband didn't love her. Not that Gormund blamed the man. The wife was tall and homely, with a face only a mother could love. The barkeep might have been an attractive man years ago in his youth, before he became hen-pecked and one-handed. She must have had quite a dowry, Gormund thought. He could have gotten a prettier wife even with the missing arm. Probably a quieter one too.
"Very well," the barkeep said, harried, leaning up to give her a peck on the cheek. He pursed his lips afterward as if tasting something bad. Quickly he slipped around her to pay attention to his only paying customer.
"Can I get you a refill? Anything else? My wife can do you something simple if you're hungry," the barkeep said, flashing a smile that was surprisingly bright.
Gormund waved him off. His friends would be here soon and he wanted a clear head for their conversation. He'd completely forgotten about the barkeep and his unfortunate wife after a few hours had passed. They were in the stages of final planning; it was a miracle they'd agreed to bring Gormund in at this late stage at all. But then again, they needed someone willing to get his hands dirty, and for all their fancy talk of revolution, none of them were interested in the actual deed. Gormund wasn't really looking forward to assassinating a boy really, king or not, but he'd been a farmer, long ago before his fields were burned and his family were killed. Perhaps not that long ago, but far enough away. He knew that sometimes you had to get your hands dirty.
The bar service wasn't too bad now that the place was filling up a little. The wife filled his beer again, leaning forward and letting him see where her cleavage would be if she had any. Gormund looked away, missing the way her eyes met with the barkeep's across the room, missing her nod.
He was on the ground before he knew it, hearing the squeak and thud of stools falling from the table and the shouts and muffled curses of his co-conspirators. It felt like there was a gigantic boot on his back, pressing him into the wet sawdust of the bar floor. He twisted his face enough to see that the owner of the boot was the barkeep's wife. A wild knife slice had revealed the armor under her clothes, and she was grinning. It didn't make her any more beautiful, but it definitely made her more terrifying. Of course he knew who she was now -- Brienne of Tarth, which made the barkeep Jaime Lannister. They'd been captured by the king's new spymasters. Gormund was surprised he wasn't dead yet. He'd heard the stories: Brienne and Jaime meeting by chance during the North's rebellion, Jaime offering Brienne forgiveness and a job when Lord Renly died. No longer would the king's spymaster hide in the castle, it had been proclaimed, the day they hung Lord Varys from the walls. He would walk out among the people and know them.
Gormund hadn't thought much of it; Jaime's position had to be a political appointment, something for Tommen's brother to do now that he couldn't be a proper member of the Kingsguard. It seemed that Jaime had taken to the position with some relish.
"I could use your help here, Beauty, it's hard to tie people up with one hand," Jaime said cheerfully as Brienne pressed down on Gormund's ribcage and pulled his hands behind his back to fasten chains on his wrists.
"I told you to stop calling me that," Brienne said, with no heat to her tone. They were still bickering, but without the bitterness. Brienne picked Gormund up by his chained arms, ignoring his roar of pain, and pushed him up against the wall next to Boric and the others. The defiance lingering in their eyes died when the Kingsguard pushed their way into the bar. Brienne let him go and jumped over the bar to help Jaime with the man he'd pulled out of his seat, the man whose knife had stuck sharply into the smooth wood of the bar. His name was Erdar and he had been Gormund's friend. His fingers were definitely broken. Gormund knew that was just the start.
One of the Kingsguard grabbed his arm in an iron grip. As they led Gormund out, he glanced back into the dim room and saw Jaime and Brienne kissing again. Her head was tilted down to press their faces closer, and he was holding her gently with his hand on the back of her arm. Her expression reminded Gormund of the wife he had lost and the way she would dance around the kitchen with him late at night when the babies slept.
This had been worth it, to him. He was hardly still living anyway, just getting by on his anger. But for a moment he was still screaming for everything he'd lost.
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Length: 897 words
Prompt: Let's Make Out Ficathon II: Game of Thrones, Jaime/Brienne, spy AU
Pairing: Jaime/Brienne
Other: AU as per title. It's still set in a Game of Thrones-type universe, it's just the character paths that have changed. Probably spoilers for S4, nominally based in book canon.
Excerpt: He was on the ground before he knew it, hearing the squeak and thud of stools falling from the table and the shouts and muffled curses of his co-conspirators. It felt like there was a gigantic boot on his back, pressing him into the wet sawdust of the bar floor. He twisted his face enough to see that the owner of the boot was the barkeep's wife.
"Oh, come on," the woman wheedled. Gormund looked back to his beer, uncomfortable. When his co-conspirators had told him that this bar was a great meeting place because no one ever came here, they hadn't mentioned the reason, that the barkeep and his wife were in a constant dispute. He'd been here ten minutes and the woman had already claimed twice that her husband didn't love her. Not that Gormund blamed the man. The wife was tall and homely, with a face only a mother could love. The barkeep might have been an attractive man years ago in his youth, before he became hen-pecked and one-handed. She must have had quite a dowry, Gormund thought. He could have gotten a prettier wife even with the missing arm. Probably a quieter one too.
"Very well," the barkeep said, harried, leaning up to give her a peck on the cheek. He pursed his lips afterward as if tasting something bad. Quickly he slipped around her to pay attention to his only paying customer.
"Can I get you a refill? Anything else? My wife can do you something simple if you're hungry," the barkeep said, flashing a smile that was surprisingly bright.
Gormund waved him off. His friends would be here soon and he wanted a clear head for their conversation. He'd completely forgotten about the barkeep and his unfortunate wife after a few hours had passed. They were in the stages of final planning; it was a miracle they'd agreed to bring Gormund in at this late stage at all. But then again, they needed someone willing to get his hands dirty, and for all their fancy talk of revolution, none of them were interested in the actual deed. Gormund wasn't really looking forward to assassinating a boy really, king or not, but he'd been a farmer, long ago before his fields were burned and his family were killed. Perhaps not that long ago, but far enough away. He knew that sometimes you had to get your hands dirty.
The bar service wasn't too bad now that the place was filling up a little. The wife filled his beer again, leaning forward and letting him see where her cleavage would be if she had any. Gormund looked away, missing the way her eyes met with the barkeep's across the room, missing her nod.
He was on the ground before he knew it, hearing the squeak and thud of stools falling from the table and the shouts and muffled curses of his co-conspirators. It felt like there was a gigantic boot on his back, pressing him into the wet sawdust of the bar floor. He twisted his face enough to see that the owner of the boot was the barkeep's wife. A wild knife slice had revealed the armor under her clothes, and she was grinning. It didn't make her any more beautiful, but it definitely made her more terrifying. Of course he knew who she was now -- Brienne of Tarth, which made the barkeep Jaime Lannister. They'd been captured by the king's new spymasters. Gormund was surprised he wasn't dead yet. He'd heard the stories: Brienne and Jaime meeting by chance during the North's rebellion, Jaime offering Brienne forgiveness and a job when Lord Renly died. No longer would the king's spymaster hide in the castle, it had been proclaimed, the day they hung Lord Varys from the walls. He would walk out among the people and know them.
Gormund hadn't thought much of it; Jaime's position had to be a political appointment, something for Tommen's brother to do now that he couldn't be a proper member of the Kingsguard. It seemed that Jaime had taken to the position with some relish.
"I could use your help here, Beauty, it's hard to tie people up with one hand," Jaime said cheerfully as Brienne pressed down on Gormund's ribcage and pulled his hands behind his back to fasten chains on his wrists.
"I told you to stop calling me that," Brienne said, with no heat to her tone. They were still bickering, but without the bitterness. Brienne picked Gormund up by his chained arms, ignoring his roar of pain, and pushed him up against the wall next to Boric and the others. The defiance lingering in their eyes died when the Kingsguard pushed their way into the bar. Brienne let him go and jumped over the bar to help Jaime with the man he'd pulled out of his seat, the man whose knife had stuck sharply into the smooth wood of the bar. His name was Erdar and he had been Gormund's friend. His fingers were definitely broken. Gormund knew that was just the start.
One of the Kingsguard grabbed his arm in an iron grip. As they led Gormund out, he glanced back into the dim room and saw Jaime and Brienne kissing again. Her head was tilted down to press their faces closer, and he was holding her gently with his hand on the back of her arm. Her expression reminded Gormund of the wife he had lost and the way she would dance around the kitchen with him late at night when the babies slept.
This had been worth it, to him. He was hardly still living anyway, just getting by on his anger. But for a moment he was still screaming for everything he'd lost.