Chapter Text
Brienne was ever grateful for Catelyn's job offer. The temp work was easy to fit round Brienne's study schedule and gave Brienne the opportunity to eat something other than bags of ramen brought in bulk. It was not an exaggeration to say that Brienne would crawl on her belly over broken glass for Catelyn's sake. Even take a flaming arrow for her.
But this...this was another challenge entirely.
She could not grudge anyone for the sorry state of affairs she was in. A flu epidemic had swept round the office and took out their best shoppers, knocking Margaery and Sansa and Dany all for six. The coven of perfectly put together fashion goddesses were all wild haired and streaming eyes, buried under piles of tissues. All on the week before one of the largest charity galas in Westeros society.
And so Brienne and Renly were left working overtime, sourcing gowns and finalising orders for pampered ladies and lordlings who had no sense of timekeeping. Fuelled by coffee, takeaway and pure desperation, they just about pulled through and were down to their final order when the blow came.
Or rather, it was a blow for Brienne. (And perhaps even a blow for Catelyn though of a very different kind). On the night of the gala, Ned Stark was home on surprise leave and Brienne; blessed with a large heart and apparently small brain, told Catelyn to go home and leave the work to Brienne.
It was just one order left. She had to select a gown for a 'Miss Lannister'. All their clients had a profile showing all their previous choices, but to her dismay it seemed Miss Lannister was a new client. She desperately tried to contact Cat or one of the other shoppers, but they were all busy celebrating their husband's return or dying. And so it was with dread that she entered the designer house with whom she managed to scramble a last minute appointment.
She was ushered in and swiftly escorted to the ready made pieces available. She passed through the show rooms with a sick feeling in her stomach. On racks and dummies was gown after gown. Brienne trembled slightly, years of averting her gaze from anything so pretty and tempting seeping in. She clenched her fists and shook her head. She was a professional, this was a work matter and would treat it as such.
She examined the few gowns the design house had in the correct size. The measurements they had been sent were distressingly vague, but any irritation that might have caused Brienne melted as she read out the few they had. The height, the width of their shoulder, all of it stirred intense empathy in Brienne for the faceless Miss Lannister. No wonder she put off buying a dress until the last minute.
Fire shot through Brienne as inspected each gown to the last detail. This would be no rush job, Miss Lannister would have the dress of her dreams.
Fuck professionalism. This was personal.
#
“Did you get the Lannister delivery off in time?” Catelyn demanded over the phone the first thing that morning.
Brienne nodded, then grimaced because obviously her boss couldn't see her. Getting the dress delivered kept her up until past four. Now awoken at eight am, with only roughly three hours sleep, she had yet to remember how her mouth worked.
“Yeah,” she slurred, thanking every god, demon and other that Cat had given her the morning off. “Sent the dress by special courier, got the confirmation it arrived and everything,”
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Dress?” Catelyn repeated.
Dread curdled in Brienne's stomach. Hushed whispers and a sharp 'what?' directed at someone other than her hissed through the phone.
“I'm so sorry Brienne,” Catelyn groaned, “There was a mix up with the profile. Sansa was already coming down with the flu when she made the order and it was very vague, just an outfit for the evening and-”
“Let me guess, it wasn't a dress they were looking for?”
“It seems we were ordering for a Mr Lannister,”
Well that explained the measurements.
Chaos broke out amongst the office as all rushed in, prepared to do some serious damage control. They steeled themselves for shrieking phone calls and scathing reports in the gossip mags, should their fuck up slip out.
What they were not prepared for was Jaime Lannister, radiant in a brilliant ruby red gown, splattered proudly across the front page of every fashion and gossip magazine.
What they were really not prepared for was the gift basket of chocolate and flowers that had overtaken Brienne's desk. In the giant card covered with love hearts read the message; 'To whomever sent me the beautiful evening gown the other night, my father nearly had a heart attack and all the débutantes he was trying to foist onto me turned and fled. We have to get together some time and let me make it up to you.
Yours, forever grateful,
Jaime Lannister.'