A Rest of Swords

Part thirteen

Okaaaaaaay, FINALLY.

We're there, everyone, and I didn't want you waiting any longer, so we're jumping right to the day of the wedding!!! Ohmygod I'm so nervous. If this chapter is bad then I'm probably gonna cry or something. Because THIS IS IT, right? One of those chapters everyone is waiting for. No pressure at all, of course. Oh wow, I hope it's better than I think...
I just wanted to give you (and me as well) a bit of fluff-time, you know? I pray that it worked how I intended it to turn out. If not, I'm deeply sorry in case I disappoint anyone. But that's okay, you can never please everyone, right? Anywayyyy I'm just babbling.
If you did miraculously like it though, I would honestly be SO grateful if you told me. I'm such a review-junkie it can't be healthy.
And in any case, thank you very much for reading!

He saw Brienne when he turned around the corner. She was waiting just where she had said she would before they parted to get ready for the ceremony. Despite it all being a small and familiar assembly, Lord Selwyn had insisted on proper clothing at least.
Would you meet me again, before it starts?, Brienne had asked when they were supposed to go their separate ways. I would rather we arrived there together. I know that's not how it's usually done, but we've never taken the common path, have we?

"You came", she said now as he walked towards her and he could see how at least some of her strain fell off of her shoulders at his sight. Jaime smiled.

"I dreamed of you." He couldn't even begin to understand in how many ways these few words were screaming out the truth to her. He had been dreaming of her at night, last night, the night before a battle, in all those cold and lonely nights on his way to Winterfell. He had been daydreaming about her too, wondering where she was when they were apart, imagining what she did, asking himself what she was thinking. If she ever thought about him the way he was constantly occupied with her. If she thought about him at all. He had imagined their next meeting, hat planned whole conversations in his head, had dismissed them all as ridiculous and yet he found himself doing it again and again. He had asked himself if they were going to see each other again at all every time they had to say goodbye. He had recalled some moments he had shared with her, the night at the campfire, surrounded by Locke's men. The bath at Harrenhal, although that whole memory was a bit blurred. The day he had given Oathkeeper to her, the awe on her face as she held the sword in her hand for the first time. He had instantly known it was meant for her. It will always be yours, he had said at Riverrun - again, a truth in more ways than one. He had already been hers then too, had been for a long time, and now he was going to confess it in front of Gods and men. That he had been dreaming of her since he could remember, longing to find her, yearning for something without knowing what it was until it was literally pushing him around and swiping him off his feet. Sometimes, in the beginning, it felt like a punch right into his face, but he'd probably have thanked her for it. This impossible, unbelievable, incredible woman that stood in front of him now, ready to wed him. A figure, familiar, yet different. They had made her a dress, but it was nothing like the horrible pink thing they had forced her in at Harrenhal. This looked as if it had been meant to be worn by her (-and it was-), a skirt, open at the front, that flooded over a pair of trousers underneath. She squirmed a little as he looked her up and down as if she were able to feel the touch of his eyes on her.

"Don't get too used to me in a gown." He grinned. It was just too much like her to say that.

"I never fell in love with you for your appearance", he replied, slightly leaning forward. "I fell in love with your words, your thoughts, your heart. Do you really think I care what you're wearing? As long as it's your soul..." He breathed a kiss to her cheek. "Your spirit..." She felt his breath at her ear and closed her eyes.