Chapter Text
The first thing Brienne noticed about King’s University was the way the ivy curled along the sandstone columns like it had secrets to keep.
The second was how her heels echoed down the polished hallway with the self-consciousness of someone who didn't yet belong.
She had taught before—guest lectures, grad seminars—but this was different. This was tenure-track. This was her own classroom. This was a nameplate on the door that read:
Professor B. Tarth – Department of Moral Philosophy
She adjusted the blazer she had worn precisely to look older—only to realize she still looked more like a rugby coach than a professor. Her reflection in the glass said what she already knew: tall, serious, and far too imposing to invite comfort. Or compliments.
She unlocked the door, arranged her notes, and reminded herself: You earned this. You deserve this.
And then—twenty minutes into her first lecture—a door opened.
Late.
Loudly.
“Sorry,” a smooth, male voice drawled. “Wrong building.”
The class laughed softly, but Brienne didn’t. She glanced up—and that’s when she saw him.
Golden hair, shoulder-length and disheveled in a way that looked effortlessly intentional. An unbuttoned collar, rolled-up sleeves, a leather bracelet on one wrist. He leaned against the doorframe like he was born to break rules and dare anyone to scold him for it.
Her heart stuttered—just a little. And she hated that it did.
“You are?” she asked coolly.
“Jaime. Jaime Lannister.”
The name meant something. His family was tied to the Board. He had a reputation—she remembered now. He was the brilliant underachiever. The one who aced essays he barely submitted and had been caught making out with a grad student two years ago, but somehow escaped any consequence.
“Well, Mr. Lannister,” she said, voice flat as chalk, “this class began twenty minutes ago.”
Jaime’s lips curled. “Then I’ll just have to catch up.”
He slid into a seat at the back, long legs stretched, and didn’t look away when she met his eyes again.
That was the start.
After class, he stayed behind.
She was erasing the board when he strolled up, backpack slung over one shoulder.
“So you’re the new professor everyone’s whispering about,” he said. “They didn’t mention you were...”
He didn’t finish, but his eyes traveled—her height, her broad shoulders, her stern mouth.
“Tall?” she offered sharply. “Scary?”
“I was going to say... interesting.”
She turned, marker still in hand. “You’re not here to flirt with me, Mr. Lannister.”
He smiled—slow and knowing. “Not yet.”
She dropped the marker, hard. “I take this course seriously. If you don’t, I suggest you find another.”
There was a pause. His smile didn’t falter, but something in his eyes changed—sharpened.
“I’m not playing,” he said softly.
For a second—just one—something passed between them. A flicker of something dangerous. Something that should be stepped around, not touched.
She gathered her papers, jaw tight. “Good day, Mr. Lannister.”
He left—but she could feel the heat of his stare lingering like a smudge on glass.
Later that night, Brienne stood at her kitchen counter, wine glass untouched beside her.
Why had she let him get to her?
She had faced harsher things than flirty boys with golden hair. She had deflected worse. But something about him...
The way he looked at her like he was trying to memorize her.
Like he wanted her to look back.
She shouldn’t. She wouldn’t.
But she already had.
And something in her chest whispered: This is not the last time.