(no subject)
I actually wrote fic. And it's A Song of Ice and Fire fic. And I actually like it! So please, if you've read the books, please read it and let me know what you think. :)
Summary: Jaime Lannister dreams of Brienne, and the vision is disturbing.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 898
This night, for the first time, his sleep did not return him his hand.
He found himself in a dark wood, the trunks of giant white trees thick around him and a faint red light glowing through the leaves overhead. Not knowing this place, he walked straight ahead. It was not long before he emerged on the edge of a small clearing. Here, freed from the hands of the eerie trees, the moon shone bright. In the center of the perfect circle of flat ground was a woman.
She stood impossibly still, bathed in a wash of moonlight that turned her hair silver. Her face was calm and upturned to the sky, her eyes shining. She really did have beautiful eyes. They were almost violet in this strange light.
She wore metal plate on her chest and gauntlets on her bulky arms, but her sex was unmistakable to the man who now beheld her. Her hands were held in front of her near where her breasts would have been, had they been discernable. On one palm sat a miniature figure of a knight, wrought from steel in remarkable, surpassing detail. Its tiny hand held a shield, but the sigil was uncertain. Its other hand was held behind its back.
In her other hand, Brienne grasped an exquisite sword, glittering silver and blood.
She did not look at Jaime. Her expression was unreadable; she stared at the moon.
Part of him did not want to approach her, though for some reason he felt he must. She seemed almost a silver blade, standing there immovable and cold. But his pride in courage soon overcame his doubts. She was only Brienne, only the same wench who had once been afraid of his strength in chains, who had once smiled at him as though she had only just remembered how it was done.
He stepped forward slowly, only now aware that he wore no armor, only a tunic of soft silk. The air was unnaturally quiet. He crossed the few yards of clearing to stand in front of her, unable to look at anything but her face, her unblinking eyes that glinted with starlight. Just as he found the fortitude within himself to speak, her own lips parted, and the sound that emerged from her was sudden and sad.
“I can’t do it, Jaime.”
Startled, Jaime drew in a sharp breath. When he tried to speak, his voice was forced. “What? Can’t do what?”
“I can’t do it.” Her eyes suddenly broke from their stare and turned on him. “I tried, but I cannot.” Her voice was soft, wistful.
Her eyes looked deep into his. He forced himself not to flinch.
She had an ethereal quality about her that could almost be called beautiful, but when she at last lowered her head to look at the figure in her left hand, Jaime noticed that one half of her face was hideously scarred. He watched in fascination and confusion as she tipped her hand ever so slightly, letting the tiny, shining knight slip from her palm. As it hit the soft ground, it shattered into a million blinding pieces.
Brienne, or whatever phantom of her this vision was, slowly raised her now empty hand and placed it on the soft, white silk over Jaime’s heart. He made no move to brush away her touch. Her hand was a warm breath on his skin.
“You are the lion.” She removed her hand and he looked down to see that the image of that creature was embroidered in gold on his tunic. He followed her hand as it rose to lay a finger gently on his bottom lip. Again, he did not move.
“You are the lion, my lion.” Her lips curved slightly into what could have been a smile. “But you are not the rock, not the flame.” And with that a light left her eyes, and her touch went cold.
Jaime never had time to move. Her finger withdrew and she grasped the hilt of the glittering sword, with both hands. With a shuddering cry that was both sob and scream, she lifted the blade and plunged it into his heart. As the blood welled up around it, thick and black in the moonlight, the dark steel burst into shimmering red flame.
Jaime woke already standing, clutching his chest where the blade had sprouted just moments ago. He could still feel its sting.
He stood panting for a long moment. Then he made a decision. Still naked, he strode across the room and threw open the door of Hoster Tully’s bed chamber with such force that the guard sitting sentry outside was startled from sleep. The man at least had the grace to immediately look ashamed.
“Saddle my horse and wake Ser Ilyn,” Jaime commanded. “Tell no one your orders.”
“My lord?” the man slurred blearily. “It is but the second hour of the morning.”
“Question me again and we will think of a new use for that catapult that still remains in the yard.”
The man’s eyes widened and he bowed his head. “M’lord.” He turned and started down the hall.
“And pack sufficient supplies for two weeks’ ride. Be quick.” Jaime turned back to the chamber to dress. “I have a journey to make.”
He could still see her face, lit by the angry red fire and streaming with tears.
Summary: Jaime Lannister dreams of Brienne, and the vision is disturbing.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 898
This night, for the first time, his sleep did not return him his hand.
He found himself in a dark wood, the trunks of giant white trees thick around him and a faint red light glowing through the leaves overhead. Not knowing this place, he walked straight ahead. It was not long before he emerged on the edge of a small clearing. Here, freed from the hands of the eerie trees, the moon shone bright. In the center of the perfect circle of flat ground was a woman.
She stood impossibly still, bathed in a wash of moonlight that turned her hair silver. Her face was calm and upturned to the sky, her eyes shining. She really did have beautiful eyes. They were almost violet in this strange light.
She wore metal plate on her chest and gauntlets on her bulky arms, but her sex was unmistakable to the man who now beheld her. Her hands were held in front of her near where her breasts would have been, had they been discernable. On one palm sat a miniature figure of a knight, wrought from steel in remarkable, surpassing detail. Its tiny hand held a shield, but the sigil was uncertain. Its other hand was held behind its back.
In her other hand, Brienne grasped an exquisite sword, glittering silver and blood.
She did not look at Jaime. Her expression was unreadable; she stared at the moon.
Part of him did not want to approach her, though for some reason he felt he must. She seemed almost a silver blade, standing there immovable and cold. But his pride in courage soon overcame his doubts. She was only Brienne, only the same wench who had once been afraid of his strength in chains, who had once smiled at him as though she had only just remembered how it was done.
He stepped forward slowly, only now aware that he wore no armor, only a tunic of soft silk. The air was unnaturally quiet. He crossed the few yards of clearing to stand in front of her, unable to look at anything but her face, her unblinking eyes that glinted with starlight. Just as he found the fortitude within himself to speak, her own lips parted, and the sound that emerged from her was sudden and sad.
“I can’t do it, Jaime.”
Startled, Jaime drew in a sharp breath. When he tried to speak, his voice was forced. “What? Can’t do what?”
“I can’t do it.” Her eyes suddenly broke from their stare and turned on him. “I tried, but I cannot.” Her voice was soft, wistful.
Her eyes looked deep into his. He forced himself not to flinch.
She had an ethereal quality about her that could almost be called beautiful, but when she at last lowered her head to look at the figure in her left hand, Jaime noticed that one half of her face was hideously scarred. He watched in fascination and confusion as she tipped her hand ever so slightly, letting the tiny, shining knight slip from her palm. As it hit the soft ground, it shattered into a million blinding pieces.
Brienne, or whatever phantom of her this vision was, slowly raised her now empty hand and placed it on the soft, white silk over Jaime’s heart. He made no move to brush away her touch. Her hand was a warm breath on his skin.
“You are the lion.” She removed her hand and he looked down to see that the image of that creature was embroidered in gold on his tunic. He followed her hand as it rose to lay a finger gently on his bottom lip. Again, he did not move.
“You are the lion, my lion.” Her lips curved slightly into what could have been a smile. “But you are not the rock, not the flame.” And with that a light left her eyes, and her touch went cold.
Jaime never had time to move. Her finger withdrew and she grasped the hilt of the glittering sword, with both hands. With a shuddering cry that was both sob and scream, she lifted the blade and plunged it into his heart. As the blood welled up around it, thick and black in the moonlight, the dark steel burst into shimmering red flame.
Jaime woke already standing, clutching his chest where the blade had sprouted just moments ago. He could still feel its sting.
He stood panting for a long moment. Then he made a decision. Still naked, he strode across the room and threw open the door of Hoster Tully’s bed chamber with such force that the guard sitting sentry outside was startled from sleep. The man at least had the grace to immediately look ashamed.
“Saddle my horse and wake Ser Ilyn,” Jaime commanded. “Tell no one your orders.”
“My lord?” the man slurred blearily. “It is but the second hour of the morning.”
“Question me again and we will think of a new use for that catapult that still remains in the yard.”
The man’s eyes widened and he bowed his head. “M’lord.” He turned and started down the hall.
“And pack sufficient supplies for two weeks’ ride. Be quick.” Jaime turned back to the chamber to dress. “I have a journey to make.”
He could still see her face, lit by the angry red fire and streaming with tears.