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A Woman's Touch

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        The bells of the sept were ringing to signal midnight when Loras Tyrell knocked on her door. Brienne rose from her bed as he eased it open. She hadn’t been sleeping, just sitting there looking out at the moonlight bathed city. Loras didn’t speak, but raised a finger to his lips and motioned for her to follow him. She did so without question. As she stepped out of the tower cell she spotted her two guardsmen, apparently asleep on either side of the door. Loras held a torch over his head as he led her down one hall, then another, down a set of stairs and through a passage. Along this passage he stopped at a tapestry and pulled it aside, revealing a hidden passage, with an arched opening tall enough even for Brienne to go through easily. She stepped inside and allowed Loras to pass her to continue leading her to… where ever he was taking her…

        At the end of this passage was a door. Loras pushed it open to reveal another set of stairs that spiraled upwards. She followed him up them to another door. When he opened this one she was faced with another tapestry which he pushed aside to reveal a comfortable looking sitting room.

        “We can speak freely here.” They were the first words he spoke to her tonight. She nodded and shuffled over to a chair. He dropped into the one opposite it and lifted a flagon of wine that had been placed on a table next to them. Pouring two glasses, he pushed one towards Brienne and downed his own. She accepted hers with little hesitation and took a sip. It was sweeter than she’d expected, like honey. “So,” Loras leaned forward and poured himself another glass. “Margaery tells me I should listen to your account of the King’s death.” Brienne didn’t need to ask which king he was referring to. She knew there was only one true king to both of them.

        Loras clenched his jaw as she recounted all that had happened. When she’d finished he only watched the slowly dying embers of the fire. Brienne awkwardly placed a hand on his forearm.

        “Ser Loras,” he did not look at her, but neither did he pull away from her touch. “I’m truly sorry. I know he meant more to you than-”

        “He was my whole world, and you know nothing of my loss.” She bit her lip.

        “I loved him too, Loras.”

        “He thought you a fool,” he spat and wrenched his arm away. “But I also see that you did not kill him.” Brienne only nodded stiffly. Loras rose from his seat and downed his third glass of wine. She stood as well.

        “Will you be returning me to my cell now?” His eyes flicked up to meet hers briefly.

        “No, not yet.” Brienne furrowed her brow.

        “Then wh-” she stopped short as the tapestry was moved aside once again. This time Margaery came through the door.

        “Loras,” she greeted her brother with a stunning smile. He turned to Brienne one last time and held her gaze.

        “Lady Brienne… I… am sorry for… for accusing you I suppose. I see now that it could not have been you… Ser Jaime was right.” She blinked.

        “I- Ser Jaime defended me?” Loras smirked.

        “Something like that.” With that he turned to go. “I’ll be back at first light to return her to her cell,” Brienne heard him murmur to his sister as he passed her, and disappeared behind the tapestry. Margaery turned to Brienne, her soft brown eyes glistening in the firelight.

        “Darling Brienne,” she whispered, before scurrying over to her and enveloping the tall girl in a fierce hug. Brienne emitted a small laugh and awkwardly returned the hug, patting her back lightly. When Margaery finally released her, she guided Brienne back to the set of chairs and poured more wine. Brienne sipped at the sweet wine politely, but was careful not to drink too much. Margaery on the other hand downed her first glass, as Loras had, and poured a second. Rather than sitting in Loras’s vacated chair, Margaery leaned against the arm of Brienne’s seat and lightly stroked her hair. Her heart fluttered at the delicate touch.

        “I’ve missed you, Brienne.” She smiled sleepily.

        “I missed you as well, Margaery.” It was a lie, but a white lie. She’d scarcely thought about the girl. Perhaps a few times immediately after fleeing Renly’s camp… but after… Margaery’s lips brushed her forehead. Brienne’s eyes fluttered closed. Between the wine, and her lack of sleep tonight she was feeling rather tired. Her eyes flew open, however, when Margaery settled herself onto her lap.

        “Do you like your dress? I thought the fabric would look well with your eyes… and the cut… perhaps not a perfect fit… but what can be done…” Margaery tucked a hair behind Brienne’s ear and caressed her cheek.

 

        “I… Yes, it’s quite…” In truth she hadn’t thought much about the clothes she’d been provided with. She’d only assumed they were some spares that had been hidden away somewhere in the castle… but then what woman was shaped as she was?

        “I know you prefer men’s clothes,” Margaery slid from her lap and knelt beside the chair. “But I thought a dress would be more suited for King’s Landing. I’m afraid the gentry is not familiar with women who fights in men’s armor.” Brienne only nodded absentmindedly. Margaery took her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. Brienne smiled fondly down at the girl and wound her fingers through Margaery’s soft brown hair. She didn’t notice the determined gaze Margaery had locked on her, like a beast stalking its prey. “Dresses are suited for things other than impressing the gentry though,” she whispered, toying with the hem of the silk gown in her free hand.

        “Oh?” Brienne was sleepily watching the dying embers, feeling at peace for the first time in a long while, when she felt Margaery’s hand gliding up the inner part of her leg. She sat up a little straighter, “Oh- oooh ” she whimpered as the girl’s hand ghosted over her inner thigh.

        “Tell me,” whispered Margaery, as she pushed the gown up around Brienne’s knees, “Do you still want this, Brienne?” She dropped a light kiss to Brienne’s knee. “Do you still want intimacy?” She pushed the fabric slightly higher. Brienne clutched onto the arms of the chair, her jaw set. She could feel the heat expanding from her core, as it had that evening in the tent, all those months ago.

        “I-” her eyes locked onto Margaery’s. Dark, dangerous, lustful, “Yes,” she managed to whisper.