Notes: Full disclosure: I started writing this back when 7x03 aired in the first place and then sort of chickened out because I'm still hesitant when it comes to writing for this fandom. But... here it is now, about half a year too late. Title taken from Krigsgaldr by Heilung, which also sort of serves as a soundtrack.

Feedback is always welcome!

Jaime isn't sure how he ends up in Cersei's chambers in the first place – at any point, but particularly tonight. If he's in this wing of the Red Keep at all, he would likely be expected to remain on the opposite side of the door, but that's not something he's entirely certain of either – he's not quite part of the Queensguard, but he might as well be, with how close he always is nonetheless.

But it's different this time. Cersei had disappeared a few hours prior in the general direction of the dungeons and Jaime doesn't expect that she'll be back soon. She had been quieter than usual during dinner and while she doesn't share much these days – not when it comes to her immediate plans – it's still all too easy to assume where she is just now while he gets ready for sleep.

Only his assumptions have been wrong, it seems, because she appears at the door a moment later and there's something in her eyes; something that makes him hesitate when she leans forward for a kiss fuelled by something he can't decipher just now. Every gesture feels strangely frantic, frenzied, almost, like there's fire trapped under her skin, and it feels wrong to let her carry on when she's not quite herself, but then she kisses him again, and. And it's different, suddenly, they're back on the same page, and she's here now. Jaime gets to his feet, wraps his arms around her and presses her closer and it all falls into place.

He wants to ask, at first. Whether the pain is easier to bear now, whether whatever it is that she's done has helped any. He doubts it – even without knowing what had occurred just minutes prior, even with the knowledge that their prisoners are likely dead by now, the wound that has been festering ever since Myrcella's death does not heal on its own. They are far from being the same, him and his sister, but he knows her enough to know that it's making her feel just as frustrated, just as powerless as him because nothing they could ever do could make things right again. Not with this.

It's still with this in mind that he tangles his fingers in Cersei's hair when she falls to her knees, but he doesn't let her stay there long. This won't be enough, not for either of them, and his left hand rests on her shoulder in a wordless request, freeing himself from his breeches completely in the meantime. She complies easily enough while he wrestles the rest of his clothing off, getting back up and letting him lead her to the bed and Jaime follows the motion; ends up leaning over her once she pulls him down.

"Turn around." His voice is nothing but a quiet rasp, but it has the desired effect – with some manoeuvring, Cersei kneels on the middle of the bed with her back to him, eyes fixed straight ahead.

It's about trust, in a way, he supposes, but about letting go too. She doesn't have her crown and her throne and her court here and although she's the same without them, there's a tension that always evaporates as soon as Jaime touches her for the first time.

And he does so now, fumbling the countless buttons of her dress open until the shell of it relaxes around her ribcage. It's easy to see the difference as Cersei slumps forward, holding herself up by leaning on her hands. The spidery marks that the lace has left on her skin reach all the way up to her neck and Jaime almost winces in sympathy at the sight of them. They're like armour, these dresses she's opted for ever since the day of the coronation, and it doesn't matter how often she denies it; it's clear to him that they weigh her down. It's all the clearer now as she turns around in his arms and finally meets his eyes and for what has to be the first time today, the look she gives him is as honest as it gets.

Cersei is only a pale silhouette on the light of the fire when she unlaces her boots and rids herself of them at last and then her hands are on him again; gripping his shoulders and cupping his cheek as he kisses her again. They sink into the soft surface of the bed and Jaime shudders when one of her legs wraps around his waist, urging him on. She's always been impatient, but it's different tonight and he falls under the spell of it all too easily, already so hard that he's almost aching. It's a mutual feeling this time, he can see it in his sister's eyes, and when his hand slides up her thigh and she gasps and clenches around his touch, he can almost feel her reaction echo through his own body as well – it's desperation and love and greed all at once.

"Jaime." This, this is what he had been aiming for – for the heat in her eyes and the breathless edge to her voice and her hair fanning over the pillows – and the sound of his own name leaves him lightheaded as Cersei's nails dig into his skin, more urgent than she had been just moments ago. "Please."

Oh, but it's sweet to hear her beg; to know that he's the only person she has ever done it for. Almost as sweet as being inside her, except— not quite, not really, he amends once he positions himself between her legs and finally thrusts in. He stills for a moment, just enough to at least attempt to keep himself focused, but Cersei's restlessness is nearly palpable and he sets a rhythm soon enough, closing his eyes when the sensations threaten to overwhelm him.

Every time they end up like this is bliss. It's not unlike the way Jaime feels when he's on the battlefield, his blood roaring in his veins, every little part of him on fire. It makes him insatiable, although he can never tell what for, exactly, and he braces himself against the bed on his right arm, his free hand roaming down Cersei's body as slowly as he would like despite her whispered commands for him to go faster.

He lingers over her breasts first, his lips following his hand just a moment later and he bites at the sensitive skin gently enough to draw another gasp from her, only to have it replaced by a moan once his hand wanders down her stomach and reaches its destination.

"Jaime." His name is accompanied by Cersei's fingers curling into a fist in his hair, pulling him up and into a kiss. It's distracted, barely a press of their lips as he moves against her, but along with his touch exactly where she needs them, it's enough. It doesn't take long at all, like this, to have her try to pull him even closer, her entire body drawing him in as she pulses around him. Jaime manages to keep his eyes open just long enough to watch her come – breathing shallow, eyes clenched shut, shivering from the force of it – before he gives in; lets himself succumb to her embrace as he reaches his climax with two more thrusts, stilling completely while the pleasure courses through him. He can feel it in every fibre of his being, tingling at his fingertips and bringing a strange kind of weightlessness with itself, and he does nothing to stop it; just nuzzles against Cersei's throat until she feels her hands on his shoulders again in a half-hearted attempt to push him off.

They don't stray far from each other even then. Jaime collapses on the bed next to her, exhausted, and his sister's smile and her hand reaching for his own are the last fragments of the world he can make out before he falls asleep.

o.O.o

The sunlight streaming through the open windows drowns the room in gold and while it isn't precisely warm – even in King's Landing, winter has arrived and it's starting to show – it's still better than the tower Jaime usually resides in. And of course it is – the Queen's chambers are indisputably the best place to be in in every aspect imaginable. Even the sunrise looks better from here, its first hesitant rays throwing what little warmth they can over them, but it's not the sunrise he's interested in just now.

That doesn't mean that the place doesn't have its downsides, which seem more obvious in the light of day than they had last night. Sooner rather than later someone would come knocking on Cersei's door and she would be forced to start the day; Jaime had seen it happen often enough. It's still too early for anyone to dare disturb the Queen, but it's still an all too unpleasant inevitability – the thought of putting his armour back on and marching around the throne room all day when everything here feels so good.

But for now, no one is here to disrupt their peace. With a smile, Jaime closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep again. Maybe just a while longer.