Well, this is not AT ALL how things turned out...

The Kingslayer could never be called meek, never shy, introvert, nervous. He has seen more than his fair share of war, the same of love. Has been splattered with both blood and spit in tavern brawls; witnessed his brother in all manner of positions with all manner of whores. Has repeated the moves when he could with his twin in the privacy of locked rooms. His eyes are wide open.

And yet.

There is a bloom in his chest that tells him he has slept all his life. Something that was dead is breathing fire.

Specks of orange-gold light travel over her body, the cream-white of her, the small pink buds of her breasts. Strong arms. Strong thighs. That long beautiful neck where he's focussed his kisses for so long already. As he gazes down at her, with all of what is to come before him, there is the fleeting hint of darkness in the corners of the room, in his mind of shadows, and he shakes it off quickly. He has dreamed of this for too long now, danced around this flirtation with her.

This bond they've formed with no plan to do so, not even a desire to be near her in the beginning. And now a need never to be apart.

He becomes aware of his hand still laying on her stomach, and her hand atop of his. Her eyes are bright sparkling blue and he thinks of the island, her isle, and the blue of its waters as he sailed by.

If she is nervous she does not show it. And yet he feels like a fumbling boy, uncertain of how far to go. Scared that at any second she could change her mind, find him out for the awful man that he is and reject him.

"Jaime…"

Her fingers flex against his and he watches, takes in the shape of her fingers, the emotion in her voice as she says his name; the steeliness in her gaze. Did he really think she would be nervous? She, who has faced down enemies that would make grown men quake.

She already knows who he is, and what he's done, and rejection has never been a concern. She embraces it all. Somebody so inherently good, honourable, loyal, brave; somebody who has experienced such ill treatment from others and yet she only seeks to find the good in him.

"I don't deserve it…" he says softly, and then bends, kisses the back of her hand where it lays upon her stomach. She turns it over, cups his cheek in her palm, strokes the whiskers of his beard, and her fingertips touch his mouth, he kisses the tips, kisses her palm, her wrist and she is smiling when he looks down at her.

He is talking of her love, and in a way she is glad he didn't give her some glib response to her confession. Theirs has never been the way of hearts and flowers.

He leans down, resting on his hand to hold himself just above her, his chest on hers, their stomachs touching. She is glorious, shining in the dark.

"You're sure?" He asks, and he wonders if they drank too much, if she'll regret this later and blame it on the wine. But now he feels stone-cold sober; and yet intoxicated by her.

A curt nod, which is so very her, and then she's caught him off guard, has pushed her mouth up to meet his and is kissing him hungrily. Her tongue is soft and sweet, and he moans into her mouth which surprises them both.

She is inquisitive, always, and her hand travels over his bare back, for a few seconds she debates what she can touch but these things are natural and desire takes over as her fingers, tentative at first, stroke over his backside. She squeezes. His kisses intensify.

For long minutes their bodies melt together; he has never really explored kissing before, not like this, it was always just a preliminary route to the bigger prize. But now it is the way of countless pleasure. Soft murmurs, hums of desire, and mouths and tongues communicating all that needs to be said. He thinks he would worship her forever; she thinks she could do this for the rest of her life, only with him. Just him.

All those torturous months without seeing his face; thinking of him when she lay down to sleep, mentioning him to Podrick for an excuse to say his name. There was a never guarantee she would see him again; they were on opposing sides and both so loyal. But she would dream, and those dreams were hers, locked away inside her mind for nobody else to share in. For surely men would laugh at her if they knew. This bumbling hulk of a woman and her crushes leading to nowhere. She had loved but twice, and both out of her reach.

That he was there now, and seemingly loving her, remained something of a fantasy, an oasis of the mind from which she drank when lonely and hopeless. It couldn't be true.

His fingers caught tight in her hair as his desire intensified and he pressed so hard against her she could feel the entire length of him against her leg. There was a rushing of blood, a pulsing between her thighs, and some deep aching ebb of want and need tangled her up inside. These weren't entirely new sensations, but they were stronger than any she'd felt before.

For a second, trembling in her arms, he felt emotional. And he stopped, cradled her head, his fingertips stroking through her hair as he gazed down at her. "Yours is the sweetest, most untainted love I have ever known." He said.

She opened her mouth to speak, but were no words to that; it was a confession of sorts and she would take it, hold onto it whatever came to pass.

His hand stroked down her face, to the delicate purple along her collarbone. "You shouldn't be bruised," he whispered, and she watched as the firelight danced across his face as he bent to kiss her there. His hair looked golden in the light and she thought him a king.

The first time would hurt, she knew enough to know that, but he was tender and slow as he moved inside her. He waited for her body to adjust to the new sensation, watched her face, read the darkening of her eyes, the biting of her lip and moved gently in rhythm with her hips.

When he moved deeper, his pelvis pressing against hers, he gasped her name and she felt the slightest jolt of power at that – he wanted her, the thought kept returning to her – he wanted her. Her back arched, legs lifting and curling around him, and their bodies finding ways to belong together.

In the distance of her mind she could hear the water, the sea calling.

Euphoria and awkwardness. One she wasn't that familiar with; the other was an old haunt. She had never really considered what her first time might be like, had never got far enough on that path to dwell on the niceties of what happened after when you were lying there red-faced, chest rising in a kind of panicked overwhelmed fashion, or how to get across the room naked without him seeing so she could clean herself. Not that it mattered, he had seen everything, only it seemed different when the initial desire had been quenched.

It was too much to say it had left her weak and giddy, she was no youthful simple-minded fool, and yet something had changed. Something had shifted.

There was knowledge, an understanding of what it meant to give yourself to somebody, and the completeness that came with having him inside her. And she wanted it again, she knew her own mind well enough for that. How would she communicate that? She'd overheard enough whispers and gossip over the years to have an understanding that men usually rolled over and snored after.

But here they were. He was lying on his side, one hand propping up his head as he gazed down at her.

"What did you expect?" He said.

She was wide-eyed, smiled, "That's a very odd question."

"I can be a very odd person."

She laughed at that.

"I've never seen you smile so much as you have tonight – and before you protest, I mean all night, not just here with me."

She forced herself to stop smiling, feeling her mouth pull at the effort. "Things seem out of kilter tonight. I've felt it before following battle, but this seems…"

"I know. Like life has shifted."

"I'm not sure where it goes to now." She admitted.

"South." He stated.

The thought that he would leave soon to either fight alongside a Targaryen or return to be a Lannister tasted bitter. She didn't want to think of either because whichever way he went it meant he would leave the North, and her, behind, and would probably not live to see her again.

She gasped when his hand closed over her breast, closed her eyes momentarily before looking down, watching as his thumb and forefinger stroked and caressed, and then he bent his head forward and kissed the tip of her nipple and she found herself giggling at the sensation.

"That's better," he whispered, "let's not think of what's to come," he rolled her onto her back again, and she more than willingly parted her legs around him. "Let's enjoy being alive."

She lifted her chin, "You're awfully sure of yourself Ser Jaime."

"Believe me, with you, I'm anything but."

That thought excited her, "Oh…?"

He touched her hair, his finger curling into the strands, "Things we don't say, Brienne, things we ignore because it's easier than facing up to our realities."

There was a lump in her throat, "What don't you say?" Her mouth felt dry. "You can say anything to me." She felt like a child when she said that, like a girl as she looked up at him and for the first time she thought he looked older, tired; perhaps it was the remnants of the battle, or thoughts of where he still had to go.

"I have shared more with you than anyone, man or woman, more of my soul."

"Do you regret it, showing weakness?"

He smiled at that and his eyes shone, "I would do it all again."

She stroked her hands up his back, "Perhaps there are some things which don't need to be said at all."

"Indeed. But I have pushed away thoughts of you for far too long in the hope they would disappear."

She was silent at that. But she thought of her own battle to rid him from her thoughts.

"And yet here I am, and quite happy to pledge myself to living out the entirety of my existence in this very room." He teased.

"Oh, and how would we eat?"

"We wouldn't need to." He kissed her deeply.

"And drink?" She asked as his mouth moved to her neck.

"Nor that."

"You're telling me your plan is that we gradually waste away in between doing…this?"

"Yes." His mouth was on her belly and he paused to look up at her. "I think it sounds a wonderful way to go. Now, do be quiet, I have something I want to show you." And he disappeared down the bed.