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a merry little sevenmas

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Jaime Lannister had rotten luck. Everyone always told him, “oh, you have the luck of the lion”, partly for his good looks, but mostly for his unparalleled talent. He had a natural grace that got honed into perfect balance and musculature through years of training, and that was not luck. What he had was the worst karma in the world. Maybe it was for the Targaryen thing, but he didn’t think so. Perhaps it was because of how close he’d been to Cersei before.

Whatever it was, Jaime Lannister had rotten luck, because he was trapped in the studio with Brienne Tarth.

She who he had once insulted, told his biggest secret to, and then never spoken to again. Usually Brienne was easy to avoid; the orchestra and the dancers didn’t exactly hang out together except for dress rehearsals and actual functions. But, because Jaime fucking Lannister had the worst fucking luck; there he and Brienne were, trapped inside the studio’s reception area, watching the snow fall.

“Well, wench. It’s just you and me,” he said as he glanced at her. Brienne didn’t look all that bothered by the snow, but as soon as she heard his voice her expression scrunched up in distaste. Her broad, muscled back clenched even tighter.

Jaime hated his attraction to Brienne almost as much as he hated her blue eyes, her freckles and her dedication to music.

“Do not call me that, Lannister”, Brienne muttered, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “My name. Is. Brienne.”

“And mine is Jaime”, he retorted with a smirk, throwing his hair back so it didn’t interfere with his teasing wink. “But you insist on calling me Lannister in that strained tone I like so much.” He ended his performance by batting his eyelashes at Brienne.

“It looks like we’re going to be here a while,” Brienne stated, ignoring him completely.

“Well, we could go inside,” Jaime turned the receptionist chair where he was lounging and pointed to the practice room.

“You want to be with me in a room covered in mirrors?” Brienne asked, sarcastically, shuffling her big feet without looking at him.

The mirror idea went straight to the part of Jaime’s brain that frequently remembered the time when Brienne had pulled his head back by the hair and growled at him. That same zone was dedicated to how her fingers moved on the cello’s string.

“Not if it makes you uncomfortable, wench. But it is warmer there.” Brienne threw a glare at him from her perch on the windowsill. “It is! They crank the heat up, so we don’t cramp.”

“Fine”, Brienne gave him that barely there smile she had. “But only because you’re a southern weakling”.

Jaime was so delighted by her teasing that he forgot to dim his grin. “Oh, this is rich coming from an island girl”. He retorted.

“How do you know I’m from an island?” She asked, the tentative smile dimming. Oh, no, come back.

“You told Ellaria that, a while back, she has this massive crush on you, you know?” He lied, a little, Tyrion had given him tons of information on Brienne. But Ell did have a crush on her, so did Oberyn. Luckily for Jaime, they were so forward they had scared her off.

Brienne was blushing that ugly hideous blush that he found unexplainably fetching. “She does not have a crush on me”, she argued, “She is just very flirty and friendly”.

“If you say so”. He was not going to follow that. “Anyway, I expect an apology for calling me a weakling, wench.”

“I’m not apologizing, you keep shivering”. She teased. 

Not because of the cold, wench.

“Okay, I am cold, let’s go to the practice room.” He said, maybe if she could watch him stretch and practice, she would start seeing him as something other than the asshole dancer. Maybe hot dancer. Hot friend. Hot boyfriend.

“Fine.” She came down from her window and grabbed the cello case.

While Jaime did yoga to stretch Brienne tuned her instrument.

“You know, wench, it is Sevenmas Eve”.  

“Really?! I did not know that! I didn’t just call Cat to let her know I won’t be able to make dinner because I’m stuck here.”  The smile was back, and it was accompanied by the blush.

“Seeing as we are trapped here, maybe we should exchange presents.” He smirked.

“What do you want? I have cord wax and some protein bars.” She deadpanned.

“How about a game?” She walked right into his trap.

Something like fear flashed through Brienne’s eyes while she opened the door to the other room. The warm coming from withing inviting. “What kind of game?”

“A skill game, wench. I’ll pas de bourrée to whatever tune you set”.

In the end, he roped her into really playing while he danced.

It was the best Sevenmas Eve Jaime had ever had. Maybe he had good luck, after all. And if halfway through the night, while watching their second, terrible, predictable Sevenmas movie he realised that he loved her, well, that was probably good luck, too.

Sevemas morning was a gift on itself, when Jaime kissed Brienne and she kissed back, her long calloused fingers threading through his hair. Turns out he was the luckiest man alive, after all.