Chapter Text
Brienne settled the mic pack around her waist one last time, tugged the bottoms of her new skimpy swimsuit out of her butt, and tried to estimate the chances of successfully making a break for the production boat anchored offshore. It would mean having to turn to a life of piracy, thus disappointing her father and the entire Tarth bloodline, but facing angry generations of ancestral ghosts had to be better than what she was about to do.
“Are you all right?” That was the first AD, Podrick, who'd been ushering her through her preparations all morning. He had a sweet, round face, and a spine of steel whenever his schedule was threatened.
Brienne considered saying that she was sick and they'd have to forfeit her spot on the show and bring on a backup, but she could feel the weight of Sansa's disappointment from here.
Not just Sansa's, but her own, too. Past the nerves and the worry, Brienne wanted to be here, to finally treat summer like someone in their twenties should—to prove that she could. Most of the cajoling Sansa had done had not been about coming to the island but about being filmed, and they'd devised a strategy for that.
(“Reality TV shows have a certain drama quota they have to meet,” Sansa had sagely advised. “But if everybody is dramatic, there's no one for the audience to like. It gets tiresome. Your job is to be the foundation. Just stay away from the drama and you'll do fine.”
Brienne wasn't sure when Sansa had developed her Theory of Reality Television, but she probably could have written her thesis on it.)
Brienne was here to have fun and to break the stereotype that a woman like her didn't have desires. She had plenty of desires, she just had trouble fulfilling them. This island was going to be her own personal wish-granting genie.
All it would take was surviving this first step. And then all the ones after.
“I'm fine,” she mumbled to Podrick. “Hot, is all.”
“Very different weather here than Winterfell,” he agreed. “You'll acclimate. In the meantime, you're the first to arrive at the retreat. We want you to head straight to the palapa, check things out, and give us your impressions and feelings out loud. You'll be the first person all the viewers meet, and we want them to fall in love with you just like we did.”
That made her laugh a little around the whirlpool roiling of her stomach. Even now—her pale skin already going pink in the heat, her sandals picking up the gritty sand under her toes, her bathing suit riding uncomfortably between her asscheeks—Brienne couldn't believe she was here.
What in all seven hells had she gotten herself into?
“There's this show,” Sansa had said.
They'd been at the last spring break party Brienne would ever attend; which also happened to have been the first spring break party she'd ever attended. Brienne had been three drinks into her despair over this revelation—and the onrushing tide of adult responsibility right behind it—when Sansa had found her and said she had just the salve for Brienne's angst.
Sansa had sold it like a travel brochure: a private tropical island, nine other singles, fun activities, and all meals provided. The horny adventure of a lifetime.
“How do you know I'm horny?” Brienne had asked.
“I've seen your internet history, honey.”
If Brienne had been less drunk, she might have been more embarrassed. “But there'll be cameras,” she'd pointed out.
“You won't even know they're there.”
“I will when the show comes out.”
“You'll be the quiet, sweet one that gets fifteen minutes of screen-time in exchange for an exciting paid vacation with a bunch of hot twenty-somethings. There's always one background girl—why shouldn't it be you?”
That had felt oddly insulting, even if Sansa hadn't meant it that way.
“I don't have to be the background girl,” Brienne had stubbornly protested.
“How many parties have you been to during your college years again?” Sansa had asked, amused and fond.
“One,” Brienne had muttered. Another thought had pushed its way out of the hazy fog of her thoughts. “You said the show is about hooking up. The last time I hooked up with anyone was... gods, Mark Mullendore. And he cared more about his monkey than about me.” That hadn't, unfortunately, been a euphemism. Hooking up was not Brienne's speciality. It wasn't even her minor.
“There won't be any monkeys on this island.”
“It doesn't matter. They'd never pick me anyway,” she'd said morosely into her drink.
Sansa had shrugged, her perfectly made-up lips pulling into a confident smile. “You won't know until you try.”
They'd spent another hour debating it, but Sansa could be very convincing when she put her mind to it, and Brienne had wanted to be convinced.
So, she'd tried.
Later that night, barely able to type straight, she'd filled out the application form on the show's website, uploaded a video of herself that she'd hoped was visible in the dim light of her apartment, and hit submit before falling asleep at her messy desk.
A week later, consumed with schoolwork and her job and her plans for the future, she'd forgotten she'd even filled it out. A month later, someone had called to tell her they wanted to interview her for the show and Brienne had hung up on them, thinking it was a prank call.
They'd called back twice more, which was when she'd started to think that maybe they were for real.
Now that she was here, it was all too real, no longer simply a fun flight of fancy as it had been in Winterfell.
Brienne could feel Podrick's gentle impatience, and with a deep, steadying breath, she took her first nerve-wracking step into the resort, and then she took another, and another until there was no going back, only forward.
She had to give the producers credit: this private island was studio-perfect. There were graceful tropical trees arcing over the walkways to provide shade from the summer sun; a trendy house that Brienne and her nine fellow castmates would be living in together—serviced, she'd been told, by a twenty-four hour kitchen to order from; two pools, the larger of which was in the middle of the common area and exposed on all sides, the other more romantically secluded; and a three-sided wooden structure called a palapa, with the longest couch and biggest armchair she'd ever seen under its thatched roof. Clearly it was meant as a space for the group to gather and sit close, though the furniture was certainly big enough for other activities, too. The only other notable items under the palapa were a bar against the back wall and a coffee table in front of the couch with a single white cone-shaped speaker on it that didn't seem to do anything.
Beyond all of that was a large grassy area, a white sandy beach, and the ocean sparkling turquoise in the sunlight. On the grass were two standing tables with buckets of ice on top, champagne bottles nestled inside.
“Thank the gods,” she murmured, hurrying towards them. Maybe a drink would help settle her. She grabbed a bottle and opened it with a loud pop that cracked out over the empty grounds.
“Remember what we talked about, Brienne.” Podrick's voice emanated from one of the hidden speakers. “Use your outside voice. No thought is too small.”
She could do that; she had all sorts of thoughts, even if she wasn't always the most eloquent at expressing them. Brienne poured herself half a glass and drank it so quickly that the bubbles tingled up into her nose.
“This place sure is something,” she said aloud and then winced. No thought might be too small, but they might be too dull. “I hope the others get here soon, I feel like I'm going to throw up.”
There was a smothered laugh from one of the hidden crew. She was going to have to work on being less honest.
“You're in luck,” Podrick said over the speakers again. Brienne had no idea where they or any of the many cameras were hidden around the island. There were a couple of camerapeople tucked into camouflaged corners, but even those were difficult to see. It felt like there was no one on this island but her right now.
And that, it appeared, was about to change.
This was the moment of truth, the first chance to see what her nine castmates were like, to finally prove whether the show—or she—were some sort of mockery. The producers and interviewers and crew had all been insistent that they wanted her here for legitimate reasons, but there was always that small, curled up part of her heart that waited for the other shoe—or in her case, the rose—to drop.
Brienne was regretting every last ounce of the champagne: all of her butterflies were drunk now, careening into the walls of her stomach. Brienne gripped her glass tightly and waited, chewing on her bottom lip and tasting the lip gloss she'd forgotten she'd put on. It wasn't her usual habit to wear make-up, but she and the stylist had decided a little couldn't hurt.
After a few seconds, a man stepped into the palapa from the same walkway she'd come from. He was rangy, with stylish, dark copper hair, a handsome, clean-shaven face, and muscles that formed long, defined lines down his torso to a pair of loose forest green swim trunks. He paused to look around, and when he spotted her, gave a wide, white-toothed smile. It appeared sincere, not like he was trying to hide surprise or disappointment. She'd seen that transfiguration in the faces of blind dates before, and this looked nothing like those had. Her fingers loosened around her champagne glass in relief. The man lightly jogged down to meet her at the tables and stepped up with his arms thrown wide.
“Hello!” he said, and before she could decide what to do—they hadn't covered how to greet people at hookup islands in the pre-brief—he stepped into her space and embraced her.
“Oh, okay,” she said, returning it with a light pat on the back. He was shorter than her, of course, but not by more than a handful of inches.
“I'm Addam,” he said, still smiling. His face looked like it was used to cheerfulness, everything about him seemingly unbothered by life's difficulties.
Brienne smiled, closed-mouthed, back at him, uncertain what to do next.
He lifted his brows expectantly. “What's your name?” he asked, voice rich with amusement.
“Um, Brienne. I'm Brienne. Champagne?” On his nod she poured him a glass, was pleased that she wasn't trembling when she handed it to him. Brienne had never been good at first impressions, but she had been on dates before, had come here specifically to make out—or more—with at least one person, and Addam was attractive and easygoing and here for the same reason. It should have been simple to chat with him, but her tongue wasn't working and her mind was empty and so was her glass, so she poured herself more champagne in the hopes it would pry a witty comment loose. Addam clinked his glass against hers.
“To a summer of possibility.” His voice dropped meaningfully, his gaze dropped to her hips, and Brienne's nerves were suddenly less anxiety and more anticipation.
The application interview in King's Landing had been unexpectedly professional. They'd asked about her studies, about her plans for after she graduated from Winterfell U, about her family and friends. No one had asked if she'd ever had a shot slurped off of her body—she hadn't—or if she'd ever slept with someone—she had. They'd been, on the whole, uninterested in her sex life, but very interested in her thoughts about relationships.
“One more question,” the interviewer, Margaery, had said after well over an hour of gentle interrogation. She'd been very effective at drawing answers out of Brienne that she wouldn't have thought she'd be comfortable sharing.
“You mentioned earlier that you've never had a serious boyfriend,” Margaery had begun and Brienne had gripped the edge of the chair, waiting for the blow that was certain to come. “Why is that?”
Brienne had given her a bland look. “Really? You can't figure this out yourself?”
“We want to hear it from you.”
“Why does it matter?”
“This is a show about people who've never settled down, we're simply curious about the reasons. It makes for good television for the audience to know the participants better.”
Brienne had thought about lying, about trying to convince Margaery that she'd always been a player, that she loved dangling boys off of her long-fingered hands. But Brienne had known she'd never be able to sell it.
“I've never had a lot of chance to,” Brienne had slowly said. That was true. “I've always been too busy with my studies and work to put in the effort of looking for a committed relationship.” Also true, if not the whole of it. She had occasionally made herself extra busy because the alternative had seemed so dismal.
On nights when the work was quiet and there was no one to turn to, the yearning for more had felt like a hole in her roof—something she only noticed when it rained and by then it was a downpour; the empty seat beside her on her couch waiting to be filled with someone who would laugh with her after a long day and hold her when she was tired. She wasn't inexperienced, but the few men she'd been with hadn't been—as she'd come to think of them—couch-worthy. And it wasn't like prospects were beating down the door of a too-big, too-serious, unattractive Library Science major with dreams of being a Special Collections Archivist someday.
That had been the appeal of the show: no one had to feel right on her couch. She'd suspected there probably weren't any couches at all.
Now here she was—after interviews and a last supportive nudge from Sansa; after she'd graduated with her Masters in Library Science; after she'd gone shopping for enough swimwear to outfit a sexy water polo league—being flirted with by a handsome man and expanding her stance on the use of couches while they waited for the rest of the cast.
Next to arrive were two beautiful women in tight bikinis, confirming that swimwear was the island dress code. The smaller one, at least a foot shorter than Brienne and sporting a riot of red hair, bounced up and smacked Addam on the ass with a huge grin.
“Another ginger!” she said happily, as Addam laughed in startled amusement. “I'm Ygritte.”
Before he could respond, Ygritte turned and smacked Brienne on the ass, too, with the same friendly enthusiasm.
The other woman, whose thick black hair framed her sultry, dark-eyed face, introduced herself as Taena and opted for more traditional hugs. Brienne poured them both champagne while they chatted. Being the drinks person was a role she felt far more comfortable filling than trying to chat people up; Addam seemed to be handling that just fine himself anyway.
“Where are you from, Ygritte?” he asked.
“North of Winterfell.”
“You're quite a ways from home.”
The show was being filmed on an unnamed island somewhere between the Stepstones and Lys; looking out at the water, the horizon was unbroken blue. Brienne suspected if she walked halfway around, though, she'd be able to see the shores of Sunspear on one side, and those of the Disputed Lands on the other.
“Wanted to get as far away as possible,” Ygritte said with a feral grin. “I've already conquered all the men in the North.”
Taena rolled her eyes and Brienne wondered if that would make the final cut.
The next two men to arrive were a study in contrasts. The first was as tall as Brienne, broadly built and muscled as an aurochs, with thick black hair on his head and his chest; handsome in a demanding way. His companion was slender and moved with elegant grace that was more invitation instead. He wore tight swimming briefs in a bold-colored floral pattern that drew Brienne's eye against her better manners. If the rose bulging at his crotch was any indication, she didn't blame him for attracting attention to it. He had a sharp-nosed face and a predatory gleam in his dark eyes when she yanked her gaze back up.
“Where are the girls?” the bigger man boomed, setting Brienne's teeth on edge.
“Looks like your dreams of an island harem have been denied,” Ygritte shot to Addam as the men walked up.
“Maybe my harem includes men, too,” he shot back and she grinned at him.
“Did I hear mention of a harem?” That was the girl hunter's companion, smiling casually.
“That depends: are you interested in joining?” Addam said.
“I could be.” They exchanged flirty smiles before the new man turned to Brienne, his eyes traveling all over her body. “I hope this marvelous woman would be there, too.” He took Brienne's hand and kissed the knuckles. “I'm Oberyn.”
“Brienne,” she offered.
“A pleasure, my lady.”
It should have been pure cheese, but somehow Oberyn sold it with intense sincerity. He kissed the knuckles of the others as well, including Addam, and they all looked as charmed as she felt.
The man that had come with Oberyn was eagerly examining Taena's ample breasts.
“Pleased to meet you, you naughty little fox,” he told them. “Name's Robert.”
Taena shoved her chest forward and Robert looked like he was one step away from drooling on the round tops already covered with a sheen of sweat.
Brienne poured him and Oberyn drinks to give her something to do rather than watch the display. When she handed Robert his, he gave her a much less welcoming once over.
“Fuck, you're as tall as I am!” he shouted. He seemed to be incapable of speaking in a normal tone of voice, even though the mic packs around their waists were supposed to pick up even the quietest conversations. There would be no secrets on this island.
“Yes,” she said, not sure how else to respond. She'd spent her entire college experience breaking herself of the habit of hunching when confronted with her height and she would not let herself retreat back to it for this man. Still—it was a fight to keep her chin up, her eyes on his, especially knowing there were cameras zooming in even now to catch every moment. Oberyn appeared at her side and took his glass.
“I love a tall woman,” he said in a voice as smooth and rich as cream. “So much leg to enjoy.”
Brienne flushed and did dip her head then to try to conceal it, knowing how mottled her skin turned whenever she blushed.
“I hope you also like short women,” Ygritte said with playful challenge, and the group's attention filtered to her instead.
Brienne wasn't sure if the other woman had done it on purpose or not, but she was grateful either way. She took the opportunity to unobtrusively tug her bathing suit bottoms out of her butt again, and was relieved when another new person called out a greeting from the palapa.
The man that sauntered down the steps to the grass was not what Brienne expected after the first three. He was relatively plain-faced and shorter than the others. His brown hair was slicked back and he was wearing long, plaid beach shorts and a loose white top unbuttoned to show off his shaved chest. His gaze couldn't seem to settle, bouncing between Ygirtte, Taena, and Brienne herself, looking like he'd been dropped in the middle of a money store and told to grab as many dragons as he could hold.
“Beautiful!” he said, scooping Taena into a hug. “Gorgeous,” he offered to Ygritte during theirs. “Wow,” he gave Brienne with her hug.
The men got fist-to-chest bro-hugs. “A pleasure, a pleasure,” the man said. “I'm Hyle.”
“Welcome to paradise,” Oberyn said, waving one arm expansively.
“Paradise feels a lot like one of my dirtiest dreams.”
Brienne cringed as she poured him a drink. They all went through and introduced themselves, and in the following lull she opened another bottle of champagne.
“There'll be ten of us, yeah?” Ygritte asked.
“Five men and five women,” Addam confirmed.
“I hope the last two women are hot.” Robert held his empty glass out to Brienne and she filled it, stifling a grimace.
Oberyn gestured at the group. “I'm very happy with what I've seen so far,” he said with a charming smile.
The group started clumping into smaller pairs as they waited for the final arrivals, and Ygritte appeared at Brienne's elbow. “Who d'ya like so far?” she asked in a soft, curious voice.
“I—I don't know.” Brienne considered a third glass of champagne, but she'd barely had any breakfast hours earlier and nothing since, and she was already feeling light-headed. “Oberyn and Addam seem nice.” They were also more her type; she'd always had a particular attraction to pretty men.
“Oberyn would be a good fuck,” Ygritte announced and Brienne giggled a little before covering her mouth. The other woman grinned at her. “Addam would, too, but I don't like to fuck other gingers. Feels a bit incestuous to me for some reason. He's all yours.”
He seemed far more interested in Taena right now, as did Robert. The two were subtly jockeying for position near her while Oberyn watched, amused, a short distance away, and Hyle looked like he was trying to decide between fighting off the two men for her attention, or joining Brienne and Ygritte.
“We'll see,” Brienne said with no conviction.
“There's still one more. Maybe he'll be even hotter and only have eyes for tall, muscular blondes.” Ygritte patted her arm.
Brienne knew better than to hope for that. The men already here were excellent specimens, mostly—good-looking and in great shape and unashamed of showing it. Hyle was an outlier, but then Brienne herself was an even bigger one. The producers had probably brought him on the show to balance her out. She wondered if they intended for her and Hyle to hook up. She studied him a little more intently, considering it. He was certainly no less handsome than the two men she'd slept with in the past, and he seemed interested in her; it wouldn't do to turn anyone down before they'd even begun. Especially since Hyle would probably attract far less drama—and screentime—than the other three. Brienne could hear Sansa's patiently delivered advice in her head.
She did wonder about the last man, though, and whether he'd skew more towards Hyle or Oberyn. Regardless, it was unlikely he'd be any more remarkable than the others—either in looks or attitude.
The next woman, though, was indeed remarkable. She stepped to the edge of the palapa and the group went quiet as they noticed her. She was a striking figure, wearing a sarong wrapped around her waist and a white bikini top that was stark against her warm brown skin. She had dark hair pulled up into a loose bun and a proud nose. When she floated down the steps to them, Brienne wondered how she'd learned to walk like that.
Robert nearly ran forward to greet her, and the other men were not far behind. Brienne noticed Taena was up there with them, while Ygritte waited with Brienne at the tables. There were introductions and hugs and the new woman extricated herself from Taena and came to greet them.
“I'm Ellaria,” the woman said in a musical voice. “Might I get a glass of that champagne, darling?”
“Of course,” Brienne said, feeling her cheeks heat at Ellaria's pleased smile. “I'm Brienne and this is Ygritte.”
“Wonderful to meet both of you. I have to admit that I was a bit nervous to come on the show.”
“Fuck off,” Ygritte said with a laugh. “You were nervous? Look at you!”
Ellaria chuckled, but she drank down her champagne with the same anxious enthusiasm Brienne had had for her own first glass. “I was worried that perhaps I would not be so kindly welcomed. They were so quiet about how the show had been cast.” She shrugged with the same graceful economy of movement as she'd walked. “But it seems I shouldn't have worried. And we have two more, right?”
“Aye. And then we can get to the good parts.” Ygritte made an obscene gesture with her index finger and other hand and all three of them laughed.
Brienne looked around at the small group, and realized that she hadn't been nervous for a while. Robert was a bit of an ass, but the rest of them had been welcoming, and no one had looked at Brienne like she didn't belong here with them. It had been her biggest fear—that she'd have to spend the entire time proving that she wasn't taking up space that wasn't hers. But it seemed that because she was here, they didn't expect anything else. Maybe they had only picked people who would be low drama. Brienne couldn't imagine how that would make good TV, but the producers had been so confident that she belonged on the island, and the other participants so friendly, that she was feeling more relaxed than she could have imagined only a few hours ago.
“Oh ho ho,” Addam said, chortling. “Our last two roommates have arrived.”
The group twisted around as one to stare at the palapa and Brienne waited with eagerness instead of nerves this time as a man and woman walked into view, their arms around each other's waists.
“Holy shit,” Ygritte whispered, and Brienne couldn't blame her. If her brain had been working, she would have cursed, too.
The pair must have been related just based on the way they walked in step with the same lanky grace, as though they believed the world was lucky to have them trodding upon it. Their hair was the same shining gold, long and curling—the man's to his shoulders and the woman's down her back—and their skin was burnished gold, too. It ran smooth over the woman's curves and rippled over the man's muscles. They were the most stunning people Brienne had ever seen, like magazine covers come to life. But here they were with matching sardonic smiles and blazing green eyes that reminded her of the shadowcats in the zoo, who knew they could eat any human they wanted if only they'd be released from their cages.
The pair let each other go and Addam stepped forward.
“Jaime?” he said, shocked. “What in the hells are you doing here?”
“Addam!” The man, Jaime, grabbed Addam in a tight hug and Brienne was struck with how exponentially hotter he looked with his smugness tempered by the flare of pure happiness.
“Wait, you know each other? I thought we were all supposed to be strangers,” Robert said accusingly.
“Jaime and I were friends as kids, and then we fell out of touch. Fuck, man, I never thought we'd be reunited on a reality show.” He glanced past Jaime to the woman, who had her arms folded over her perfect chest and a picture-perfect pout on her lips. “Cersei,” Addam said, his voice less enthused. “You're looking good.”
“I know I am,” she said, tossing her golden mane.
“How do you two know each other?” Robert asked, looming over her, indicating Addam.
She looked up at him through her eyelashes and smiled, and Brienne could see Robert already being twined around Cersei's elegant fingers, dragged in by her crimson-painted nails.
“I met him through Jaime. Jaime and I are twins.”
That explains a lot, Brienne thought. She ignored the relief that Cersei and Jaime were related and not just very similar-looking friends.
“Oh my gods,” Taena gasped. “I know you! You're Cersei Lannister!”
Cersei smiled, pressing one manicured hand to her chest. “I'm flattered you recognize me,” she said, though there was something in her tone that suggested it wasn't simple flattery she was feeling. “You follow me online?”
“I follow you everywhere! Instaphoto, Chipper, Quickchat. You're the best influencer on the internet. That one chirp you had where you went to that boutique that didn't know who you were? I went the week after and bitched them out, and they bent over backwards to prove they knew you then.”
Cersei smirked triumphantly. “Of course they did. I have nearly two hundred thousand followers on Instaphoto alone.”
“Fascinating as this is,” Hyle said, “we should finish introductions. Some of us don't know the lovely Ms. Lannister and would very much like to know her better.”
While Cersei greeted Hyle and Oberyn, Brienne watched Jaime meet the other women. He hugged Taena first, who kept him trapped until he wiggled out of her grip, then Ellaria next, their beautiful bodies melting together for a long moment. He gave Ygritte a brief hug as well before turning to Brienne, her mouth going dry as he gave her his full attention.
Up close he was even more gorgeous, his eyes flecked with more gold, his jaw sharp as coral as he lifted it to meet Brienne's wide-eyed stare.
They were quiet as they sized each other up, and he stared so long into her eyes that she fleetingly wondered if he was feeling the same fizzy spark as she was. His face was absurdly attractive; she could barely look straight at it without wanting to burst into nervous laughter.
“Where'd you get those contacts?” he finally said and she gaped at him.
“What?”
“If they weren't quite so blue, I'd almost believe they were real.”
Brienne glared at him. “Of course they're real,” she snapped. “Why would I change the color of my eyes?”
His smug smirk slipped for an instant before he recovered to an uncaring shrug. “I don't know. To stand out.”
Brienne pulled herself to her full height, was gratified by the way Jaime swallowed. “I stand out just fine without changing my eye color.”
“I can see that,” he said, with no sarcasm at all, and just the faintest hint of pink along the arc of his elegant cheekbones. “Congratulations on those eyes, then.”
Jaime held out his arms in the universal signal that he was open to hugging her and for a moment she almost declined it, still annoyed at the insinuation that she had nothing going for her except the color of her eyes, even if that had always been what people brought up when they were trying to make her feel better about her size and her face. But she was trying not to stand out, no matter what Jaime thought, so she stepped into his embrace to keep the peace—and immediately regretted it. He was strong, his chest broad in her arms, his skin warm to the touch of her cautious fingertips. He smelled like the ocean and the sun. Brienne had to force herself not to bury her nose in the slightly sweaty cradle of his neck, though she couldn't seem to make herself stop hugging him, either.
Not that Jaime seemed overly eager to go, himself, running his nose along the curve of her ear before he slowly pulled away.
“What's your name, Blue Eyes?” he asked when they broke apart. There was a rasp to his voice that she didn't think had been there before.
“Brienne,” she managed.
“She's pouring the champagne,” Ygritte supplied helpfully. “You want some?”
The smirk was back, but it looked thinner now, a little more wild. “I don't know, can she be trusted? She looks a little out of it.”
That snapped her back into focus and she narrowed her eyes. “I could do it blindfolded.”
“I may have to take you up on that,” he said, his eyes never once leaving hers.
“A drink for both of us,” Cersei interrupted, walking between them and leaving a wafting cloud of floral scent in her wake. She gave Ygritte a quick air kiss and then attempted the same with Brienne, though her mouth ended up more around Brienne's neck than her cheeks.
Brienne filled the last two glasses on autopilot, handed them to the golden twins and watched them filter out to the group, Cersei to Robert with Taena at her side, Jaime moving next to Addam. With the distance, the last of whatever strange fog had settled in her brain had finally fully dissipated.
Have fun and keep a low profile was a simple, foolproof plan, but it was not a Jaime Lannister-proof one. Brienne couldn't remember the last time she'd had such an intense physical reaction to someone, as though his heady pheromones were emitting a frequency that she was specifically tuned into. But he was troublesome, too—quick with his quips and far too handsome to not also be an arrogant jerk.
On top of all that, Jaime was destined to be a main character. The camera would love him and and his snark and his Instaphoto-famous sister, and so would the audience. If Brienne were going to avoid being the subject of endless close-ups and internet gossip, she'd have to stay as far away from him as possible—no matter how much her body yearned to jump his deliciously tall one.
No, she would have to ignore this one desire, and focus on one of the other just-as-eligible men instead. Like Addam, or Hyle. Hyle would be a safe choice. And Jaime would surely go for one of the other women first anyway. Ellaria, Brienne guessed, based on the way they'd greeted each other. It was for the best all around.
Addam raised his mostly empty drink. “I think this calls for a toast now that we're all here.”
“They saved the best for last,” Cersei said. She didn't sound like she was kidding, and looking at Jaime, Brienne didn't think she was entirely wrong.
“To getting to know each other intimately,” Oberyn said. They all clanked their glasses together and downed what was left, while Brienne ignored the way Jaime's throat moved as he drank.
But she couldn't ignore the way he smiled knowingly at her after.