In the Name of the Mother

VIII.

Brienne thinks she knew love.

How many years had she looked at Jaime with famished eyes, his body a puzzle that left her stomach tighter and tighter than the look before? Every gaze was a bruise of need by the end, his flickering green eyes and golden hair hitting her full on no matter how much she knew this wasn't the time for this. She didn't think Jaime would ever want her. How naive she'd been.

It hadn't begun slow, like she'd believed maidens were deflowered. He had kissed her full on, the energy of their lips leaving her breathless and wanting, their clothes torn away like a traitor burning on the stake. She hadn't the slightest idea of what to do, only that she needed to be on Jaime, closer, closer until—

She hadn't known what was coming. How many nights had she spent with men moaning to themselves, their hands and breaths dizzy from their fucking? It was a curiosity of men, she had decided, something she couldn't afford to understand. But when Jaime had brought himself from the depths of her, taken an odd hold beneath her knee only the sun knew, bringing himself between her thighs—how can she describe it? She had never thought maidens were kissed like that.

She'd never been much of a maiden though.