An Honest Woman | Female Jaime Lannister | GOT/ASOIAF

Confession

Harrenhal's bathhouse was a dim, steamy, low-ceilinged room filled with great stone tubs. When they led Jaime in, they found Brien seated in one of them, scrubbing his arm almost angrily.

"Not so hard, boy," She called. "You'll scrub the skin off," He dropped his brush and covered himself with hands as big as Gregor Clegane's, flushing.

"What are you doing here?" 

"Lord Bolton insists I sup with him, but he neglected to invite my fleas," Jaime tugged at her guard's sleeve. "Leave us. I've had enough of the likes of you gaping at my teats," No one mentioned her mistake. She pointed at the hatchet-faced woman who had been sent to attend her. "You too. Wait without. There's only the one door, the boy is too big to try and shinny up a chimney, and how far do you think I'll get like this?"

The habit of obedience went deep. The woman followed her guard out, leaving the two of them alone. Jaime finally rid herself of the stinking rags that had once been clothes and climbed in with the boy, awkward and slow. She felt a hundred years old, which was a lot better than she had been feeling when she arrived here.

"There are other tubs," Brien actually shrunk away from her, averting his eyes from her nakedness, which amused her. Perhaps he expected her to be shy and shamed after what had befallen her. Jaime had no intention of that; there was a large difference between taking a bath with a man she knew would rather die than touch her, and being forced onto her back by three of the Bloody Mummers. 

"This one suits me well enough," She longed to submerge herself in the water, but Qyburn had warned her to keep her bandages dry. "Have no fear, boy. I'm not whore enough to jump you," Ignoring the way he stuttered at that, she could feel the tension drain from her legs, the accumulated dirt soaking away, along with lingering traces of the men who had violated her. Jaime's head spun. "If I faint, pull me out. No Lannister has ever drowned in the bath and I don't mean to be the first,"

"Why should I care how you die?"

"You swore a solemn vow," She smiled as a red flush crept up his neck. He still didn't make any move to uncover his lap. "Still the shy maiden then, boy? What is it that you think I haven't seen?"

She groped for the brush he had dropped and began to scrub herself. Even that was difficult, as her chest still burned with every stretch, but it was worth it, for the satisfaction of removing the filthy touch of the Bloody Mummers from her skin. The boy kept his eyes averted, the muscles in his great shoulders hunched and hard.

"Does the sight of my mutilation distress you so?" Jaime asked. If even this one can't stand the sight of me, what will Cersen think? "Or is it the one that's left?" She gave a sharp smile. "You ought to be pleased. My whoring days are surely behind me. Although I can't say you were particularly successful with regard to seeing me to King's Landing in one piece," She drew closer, so looking at her was unavoidable, irritated by his lack of reaction. "No wonder Renly died, with you guarding him,"

He jerked to his feet as if she'd struck him, sending a wash of hot water across the tub. Jaime caught a glimpse of him as he climbed out. He was much hairier than her brother. Larger, too. Absurdly, she felt a twinge lower down. Now I know I have been too long away from Cersen. She averted her eyes, troubled by her body's response. 

"That was unworthy," She mumbled. "I'm a maimed woman, and bitter. Forgive me, Brien. You protected me better than most men could have. Would have,"

"Do you mock me?" He wrapped his nakedness in a towel.

"Are you as thick as a castle wall?" Jaime snapped angrily. "That was an apology. I am tired of fighting with you. What say we make a truce?"

"Truces are built on trust. Would you have me trust - "