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ddagent · 5 years ago

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TELEPATHIC BRIENNE!.!

Here it is, Part III! I hope you enjoy.

Tarth. Coffee tomorrow. 7.30am. Good Knight Grind. We can discuss the ‘case’ I have you working on.

The text from Jaime Lannister had come through later that day after she had begged off with a migraine (from the blow to her head, and the constant stream of thoughts plaguing her). If Brienne didn’t know any better, she would think Lannister was an arsehole determined to torture her over the lie she had constructed to escape working with Renly. She may not know the man, but she did know his thoughts, and his crush on her was overwhelming.

So much so that, at seven-fifteen, Brienne was standing in the queue and tugging at her shirt collar in the hope of appearing more agreeable to a man she had once considered all that was wrong with the legal profession.

The door to the Good Knight Grind opened. There she is. Fuck, she’s wearing that blue shirt again. What in the Seven Hells are you trying to do to me, Brienne? Jaime Lannister suddenly came into view, but offered her nothing more than a polite nod. “Morning, Tarth.”

“Good morning, Mister Lannister.”

More than a few eyes in the coffee shop drifted to him. He looked like he’d stepped off a photo shoot: dark-blonde hair, designer stubble, gold lion cufflinks. Cool, calm, collected. Should I have shaved? Does Brienne like men with stubble? Get yourself together, Jaime, this is a business meeting, not a date. He glanced towards her, briefly, before touching his tie clip: a sword with a lion as its pommel.

“Oathkeeper,” Brienne said, the corners of her mouth picking up as she recognised the blade, albeit in miniature.

Jaime lifted the bottom of his tie. “Oh, um, I guess. My assistant picked it out.” She noticed my tie clip; she noticed my tie clip. Should I tell her I’ve got a matching clip of Widow’s Wail?

“You do?” Brienne asked, only for a line to form across her boss’ forehead as she answered a question he had not asked. “Sorry, I misheard.”

It’s far too loud in here. Should have gone somewhere quieter, but I love the name. Brienne found herself smiling (she, too, loved the name) before quickly adopting a neutral expression. Just because she and Jaime Lannister seemed to share a mutual love of history did not mean she liked him. He was, after all, an arrogant arse who had torpedoed the defence of a senior partner to advance his own career.

One Northern breakfast tea and one iced chocolate chip mocha with extra whipped cream, Jaime thought beside her, repeating their order multiple times in his head as they approached the front of the line. One Northern breakfast tea and one iced chocolate chip mocha with extra whipped cream. Should I suggest we get breakfast? Those pastries look good. Should I ask if she’s already eaten? I should probably ask what she wants to drink; I don’t want to look like a creep who knows her order off by heart.

“Next please!”

They stepped forward. Jaime paused, mentally considering the merits of a bacon sandwich. Brienne addressed the barista in his stead: “One Northern breakfast tea with whole milk; one iced chocolate chip mocha with extra whipped cream; two bacon sandwiches.” She turned to her boss. “Anything else?”

“No–no, that’s spot on.” Brienne moved to her jacket pocket to retrieve her purse. Oh, fuck no. You’re not paying for this. With practised ease, Jaime flashed his credit card at the barista. “It’s a business meeting, Tarth. It’s on expenses.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Brienne gave the barista their names, and together they stood off to the side. Jaime leant against the counter, looking like a model amidst the stirrers, napkins, and sachets of sugar. Brienne fiddled with the strap of her satchel and tried not to hum along to the song Jaime was singing in his head. It was catchier than the music playing low in the coffee shop, and better sounding, too.

“You knew my order,” he said, as the song abruptly cut off.

“I—” Can read your mind. “—I’ve seen you drink it before. It’s not exactly black coffee.”

Fuck. I bet Renly drinks black coffee. His mocking tone was clear, even in his head. “And the bacon sandwich?”

“It’s a breakfast meeting.”

A breakfast meeting. It’s not like she wanted to sit with you for longer. It’s not like she wanted to share a meal with you or anything. “Fine. But check with me first, Tarth; my schedule is built down to the minute; next time, I may not be able to attend a breakfast meeting.”

“I did check,” Brienne fired back; the disparity in Jaime’s thoughts and speech rendering her off-kilter. “I believe your exact words were ‘No, no, that’s spot on’.”

She’s so hot when she’s angry. “Impeccable memory, Tarth. Is that why Renly has been using you as a dictaphone ever since you started at the firm?”

“Not any more.”

“Yes, of course. Not any more. That’s why we’re here, after all. To discuss our case.”

Just then, their names were called by another barista, and they took their drinks and sandwiches to a corner table surrounded by students typing furiously at laptops and high powered executives reading the broadsheets. Brienne poured her tea into the cup provided and stirred in the milk. Jaime angrily sucked his iced mocha through a paper straw. Both took several mouthfuls of their bacon sandwich (plenty of bacon; not enough ketchup) before Brienne broke the tense silence.

“You didn’t have to cover for me.”

I know. “I know.” But you deserve better than to be Renly’s gofer. “To be frank, Tarth, I should have done it a long time ago. I believe everyone should carry their weight within the firm, and Renly has allowed you to carry his as well as your own for far too long.” He leant back in his chair. “And he’s a dick.”

Brienne sighed. “I won’t argue with you.”

Shame. You could argue a Lannister out of paying a debt. “Can I ask what led to this little change of heart? Last week you were practically licking his boots—”

“—and this week, I want to throw them at his head.” Her teeth toyed with her bottom lip as Brienne thought how best to phrase her epiphany other than I can suddenly read minds and everyone’s a wanker apart from Podrick Payne and you, apparently. “I...overheard some comments he made about me. I won’t be used. I’m better than that.”

Yes, you are. “Yes, you are. Well, I’m glad you’ve finally seen the light. If you overhear anything else—”

“—like colleagues padding expenses, sleeping together on company time and property, and searching for depositions that don’t exist to give themselves breathing room on cases that they’re losing?”

Jaime spluttered around his straw. “I’m sorry, what?”

Brienne hadn’t intended to spill the secrets of her coworkers, but every thought she mentioned to Jaime had been costing the firm and their clients time and money. By the end of her recitation, her tea had grown cold and Jaime’s green eyes ever wider. It had been a very informative staff meeting. There was only a handful, actually, who weren’t trying to con the firm in one way or another.

“Fuck,” Jaime exclaimed as she finished. Dad’s going to have a field day with this. “Well, thank you for telling me, Brienne. It’s not always easy to inform on a coworker.” Not that these people have ever been friends of yours. Not that I’ve been, either. Well, if Willem gets the sack, you can have the office nearer to mine. We could get closer, then. Not that you would ever–one thing at a time, Jaime. “Dare I ask how you found all this out?”

“No one really...sees me. People treat me as if I wasn’t there. I hear things.”

“Well, for the sake of the firm, I’m glad they do. But I’m sorry that they do.” Jaime sighed. His thumb brushed some whipped cream clinging to the straw. “For the record, Brienne, I know I may not have always shown it, but I...I see you.”

“I know.”

His gaze rose to meet hers; a half-smile upon his features. And I think you see me, too, now.

Brienne wasn’t so sure about that. Jaime Lannister was a mess of contradictions; the knowledge of his past and the image of his present collided as often as the softness of his thoughts and the abrasive nature of his words. But maybe – just maybe – she’d like to.

#shrilaraune #braime #jaime x brienne #ship: braime #mine: paragraph prompts #fic: telepathic brienne

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