A/N Hi all. I've recently come back to this story, which has involved heavy editing and coming up with an actual plot. Mostly, it's still just Brienne/Jaime fluff and smut, but interspersed with some action. I've got seven chapters written, which is two more than I've ever posted, but uploads may be quite slow as I juggle school and editing and writing new content. But anyway, here you are, a not too heavily edited prologue:
Disclaimer: ASOIAF isn't mine. If it were, I wouldn't need to write fanfiction.
There she was, standing in front of him. Their roles were reversed – she was now his prisoner, but not for much longer. That dynamic had never suited them well. She was dressed in woman's clothes again, but not pink and Myrish lace, at least. It fit her well, and even managed to give her something akin to a woman's figure. She wore a deep blue gown with sleeves that reached her wrists without embellishment. The skirt was full, pleated with lighter blue panels. The bodice was embroidered with vines and flowers, which didn't exactly suit her, but she did look nice for a change. Someone had washed her hair, which was a dirty white-blonde and it stretched neatly to her shoulders, but it wasn't yet long enough to braid.
All of these efforts paled into insignificance when he looked into her eyes. Big, blue, innocent orbs that glittered in the candle-light. They were the colour of sapphires, just like the seas surrounding the isle that she was born on.
"Blue is a good colour on you, my lady," he said. It felt strange to call her a lady, and not wench, but she was the daughter of a lord, whether she liked it or not. "It goes well with your eyes."
Brienne flushed red, looking down at herself garmented in such a dress. She felt ugly, though the septa had tried her best to alter it for her. It reminded her of something she had worn when she was a girl, except this one fit better. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't pretty. She stood by the door, unsure of this new Jaime, who wasn't half starved and wore a white cloak. She wanted to leave.
"Jaime," she breathed. "You look..."
"Different?" he finished. He managed a small smile. He was different, he supposed. He realized that he no longer loved his twin. He wanted to love her, but he just couldn't any longer. She was too caught up in her own power to be the same woman.
"More meat on the ribs and fewer lice in my hair, that's all. The stump's the same," he lied. "Come here,"
She moved towards him nervously. This was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and she was, technically his prisoner. Although she felt more like a guest. She had been kept far more comfortably than she had kept him. No chains had been involved, at least. But he was still the Kingslayer, a man without honour.
"The white cloak..." she began. It changed a man, they said, to wear the white cloak. She wondered what he had been like before he took the white. Young, she supposed. In the years that he had worn the white cloak, he had killed the man he was sworn to protect, thrown a boy out of a window and quite possibly bedded his own sister. He was truly a man without honour. But just now, none of it seemed to matter.
"...is new, but I'm sure I'll soil it soon enough," he grinned, rolling his eyes at her. She thought every knight was as noble as the ones in the songs, but there were no songs where the Sworn Brothers of the Kingsguard were commanded to kill their own father. Cursed was the oathbreaker. Cursed was the kinslayer. What else could he do but soil his bloody white cloak?
"That wasn't… I was about to say that it becomes you," she said, putting all thoughts of the Kingslayer aside. For now, he was just Jaime. He looked very handsome. She stepped closer, so they were within an arm's length. She could have reached to caress his face from this distance and it was all she could do not to.
He smiled, a charming grin and she did not have to hold back her desire any longer. Because he reached for her. His stump reached for her hip and his hand caressed her flushed cheek. She lifted her own arms, but wasn't quite sure what to do with them. She had been betrothed three times, but never had she been touched in this way before. Never had she felt like this.
One hand cupped the stump on her hip, holding it there, letting her feel the scars in what remained of his wrist. The other hand went to his neck, her thumb brushing against his chin.
"Kingslayer," she whispered. "This is wrong."
Wrong? They had done nothing wrong. She was a maiden of noble birth; he was a Lannister of Casterly Rock. There was far less wrong here than when he fucked his own sister. He may also be Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, but he had broken those vows before.
"I don't care, wench," he returned, punctuating his statement with his favourite insult for her.
She pulled away suddenly, embarrassed. He was being playful, but she clearly hadn't understood. He had thought the tenderness of his caress would be enough, but the slight reminded her she was a woman, when so often she tried to be a knight.
He kissed her. Her lips were dry, not as sweet or willing as Cersei's. But she did not resist. A few moments later, her own lips began to move against his. It was a sweet bliss. Her hand found its way back to his stump, which she caressed gently. His own hand wanted nothing more than to find her almost non-existent breasts, but it was too soon. She was not Cersei. She was a maid, naive and innocent to the ways of men and marriage beds, or fornications outside of marriage. An excellent fighter she may be, but nonetheless a maid.
His hand brushed her hip instead, moving up to clasp her back and keep her close. His lips tugged at her bottom one. He doubted she'd ever been kissed before. At least, not more than a polite peck on the cheek. She deserved the pure devotion that knights had for their ladies in songs. She deserved love. She certainly deserved more than a crippled Lannister who had killed kings, crippled children and fucked his own sister for more years than he cared to count. But she parted her lips for him nonetheless.
She felt conflicted as his lips pressed onto hers. He wanted more than just a kiss, she was certain. Was she really willing to forsake her maidenhead for him and his ulterior motives? She was the heir to Tarth, if she didn't disgrace herself or die before her father. It was her duty to make a good match. Not that that was likely. Three times she had been betrothed, yet still she was a maiden. What would it matter if he took her maidenhead? No sane man was ever like to want it. But he did. He had saved her from being raped half a hundred times, she had always wanted an explanation why. But why would he want her when he could have the Queen, if rumours were true?
She was over-thinking. It was a kiss, nothing more. A moment of madness, mayhaps. It would go no further, she told herself, just as she felt a tug on her lower lip.
Her lips parted in surprise as he pulled at the bottom one. His tongue slipped between his own lips to trace hers before slipping inside her mouth. The taste was more bitter than Cersei's, but raw, untainted by the floral perfumes that Cersei wore. Strangely, he preferred it.
His tongue was inside her mouth now, and they were joined. It felt unnatural, strange to have a part of him inside her. But it felt good. She felt an overwhelming desire to touch him, not anywhere intimate, but she just wanted to feel his warmth. Her hand left his stump to settle in the base of his back and the other gripped his neck lightly.
She responded to his kiss like a maid should, with little whimpers that she would be mortified to hear normally, but she seemed oblivious to them, to everything except the kiss. But the noises she was making sounded beautiful to him, and were doing a very good job of making him hard.
She hated the little noises that sounded in her throat. She sounded like a little girl, a stupid little girl, but she couldn't stop them coming out.
His need was building, usually he would be inside Cersei's cunt as soon as he was hard. Their exchanges were brief, so they did not get caught. He hadn't taken fucking slowly for a long time. He hadn't taken a maiden in a long time either. Not that he was certain it would get as far as that. Her maidenhead was precious to her, but she also didn't care to remind anyone that she was woman either. The next step was a risk, but all good things were.
He left his stump at her waist but moved his hand up to the swells on her chest, and felt the padding giving her body a more feminine shape. Right now, he didn't care for the dress – he wanted her naked, screaming in pleasure for him. His hand cupped the cloth around her teats, yet she still didn't pull away.
Sparks flew through her, his touch was wonderful on her breasts. She should move away. This was very inappropriate. It felt better than swordplay, better than anything she had ever felt before. His mouth left hers and her heart fell. He couldn't stop now. Mayhaps his senses had returned to him.
He began to kiss a wet trail from her lips down her neck, pausing to nibble on a spot of smooth, pale skin below one ear. Her breath hitched. Her chest was heaving after the long kiss, but his access to it was barred by the fabric of her dress. It wasn't safe to expose her here.
He took her hand and led her to his sleeping cell. It was modest, but it would serve.
"Kingslayer," she breathed. "This isn't what I expected."
Her eyes flicked around the whitewashed room, from the soft sleeping pallet in the corner to the chest of clothing. His room was bare, unadorned with treasures and gold.
"We Kingsguard are a humble folk," he quipped, standing behind her to unlace her gown. His fingers pulled the strings clumsily. It was pulled tight – she must be extremely uncomfortable.
"Yes, but Lannisters aren't," she mumbled in return. She could feel his cold fingers on her neck, making her spine tingle. She felt the laces on her borrowed dress loosening and took a deep sigh. It felt good to breathe freely again.
"I gave up being a Lannister the day I said my vows," he lied. "I gave up being a Lannister when Father disowned me, when Cersei finally went mad with power and greed" he thought. It wasn't a difficult thing to give up.
The gown slipped from her shoulders to pool on the floor. She stood in only her linen shift. She felt vulnerable before him, fully clothed and handsome. He still stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. His mouth latched onto the base of her shoulder. Hard.
Her skin tasted sweet – raw and natural. He found himself pressed against her back, his member against her arse. Could she feel how hard he was? Why was he hard for her? She was still hideously ugly, except her eyes. He'd never met an uglier maiden, but she was brave and loyal and stupid. He liked her a lot.
He wouldn't take her from behind. That was for fucking. She deserved to be made love to, slowly, gently. She had never known that tenderness before. He let go of her shoulder and she took the opportunity to turn around.
He was very handsome. She ran a hand through his short hair, growing longer now he was back under the protection of his Kingsguard armour. Her other hand went to the laces that secured his leather jerkin in place. She deftly untied them, and pulled his shirt over his head. His bare chest was covered in bruises, and the chiselled muscle that had once been famed across all seven kingdoms had wasted away in the dungeons under Riverrun. He would never be as beautiful as he once was.
She felt guilty about the bruises, but any she had given him must have faded a long time ago. One hand traced the scars and bruises on his chest. It made him wince when she did, so she stopped. She didn't want to hurt him. She didn't want him to stop this, never mind that he should.
He kissed her again, but more gently this time. There was a hint of passion in the kiss as their tongues moved together. He pulled her close to him, until there was no space between them. His bare chest pressed against hers, until only her shift separated their skin. Their bodies pressed together, and they were lovers.
He broke the kiss only when he was breathless and reached down to relieve her of the shift. Her skin was porcelain, her stomach toned, her breasts even smaller than he had feared. Her first instinct was to cover her bare teats, her slit still covered by her smallclothes. His cock throbbed impatiently as he took in her naked form. She wasn't as beautiful as Cersei, but she had made him just as hard.
There was a chill of dishonour in the air as she allowed him to remove her shift. She was not his wife or a whore – she should not be naked before him. Both hands covered her breasts, blocking any further exploratory touches. This was too far. It had to stop. But she couldn't find it in herself to pick up her shift.
Jaime put his own hand over hers and guided it away from her body. He led her hand to his breeches, and soon enough, both her hands were working on untying the laces and freeing his cock. That left her body exposed to him, for his eyes and hand and stump to roam. His hand returned to her breast, where he cupped it and began to knead it gently.
No-one's touch had felt as good as this before. Her chest had flushed as he explored it, and a need was rising deep within her that she had never felt before. She was nervous too, which made her smile. She would face death, but not a man's cock. Every woman experienced this, it was nothing to be afraid of. He would be gentle with her, she trusted.
His breeches were around his knees, and he was naked in front of her. His cock throbbed, purple at the head. It must be the first cock she had ever seen. He smiled when he remembered again that she was a naive little maid. Though he supposed little was the wrong word.
It was bigger than she thought it would be, long and thick and angry. How did men fit themselves into such tiny maidens? She doubted it would even fit inside her. Her heart was racing, and she felt a wetness between her thighs that she had never felt before. Her fingers brushed it as she moved her hands away and he breathed in sharply. His hand was tugging at her smallclothes. This was her last chance. She could still put an end to all this dishonour, but it may be too little, too late.
She let him expose her slit.
He kicked his own breeches off from around his knees, motioned for her to step out of her smallclothes and led her to his sleeping pallet. She lay on her back as he climbed on top of her, kissing her lips, her neck, her breasts. His mouth latched onto one of her nipples, sucking gently on it as his hand grazed her hip. His stump hung limply over the side of the bed, unsure of where to put it. He was still clumsy with it, and this required a particular grace.
His trail of kisses left her breast and Brienne whined at the loss of sensation. It was a beautiful noise, one that made his cock even more desperate to be inside her. He brought the trail across her muscled stomach and down further.
She moaned in pleasure as his nose brushed her mound. She tasted earthy, raw, innocent, unspoiled, beautiful. The sensations all came to him all at once as he dipped his tongue between her folds. She shivered beneath him as a man explored her for the first time. He probed a little deeper, using his fingers to brush her hips, to stroke her smooth skin. His cock complained to him as he ignored it, but he was more interested in her pleasure than his own. She deserved to know she was loved.
His tongue was amazing. It was too late to stop this madness, so she lost herself in it. He made her writhe and moan with only the power of his tongue. The sounds she made embarrassed her, but she didn't make them consciously and she couldn't stop them. The need in her continued to build as the pleasure coursed through her.
His tongue flicked her mound, venturing inside her slit. She was wet, so wet. For him. One finger slipped inside her, but she was so tight. And he was clumsy with his left hand. He was so deft when he was right-handed. He was just so clumsy now.
He flexed his finger inside her, sliding it out and back in, and smiled a little as he heard her moan at the new sensation. It only served to make him more desperate to be inside her, but he knew she wasn't ready yet. He added a second finger and began to slide them in and out, stretching her, preparing her for his member. He had to be careful though, it wouldn't take much for her to be finished, and he wanted them to climax together.
She was wetter than ever, ready as she would ever be for his throbbing cock. Her legs were spread wide, her face morphing from pleasure to disappointment as he withdrew his fingers.
"This will hurt," he murmured, guiding the head of his shaft to her slit.
"I'll scream," she grinned, before wincing in pain as her maidenhead, and her honour, were shattered.
The pain was intense, something different to being wounded in a fight. The ache was dull, but pressing. The pleasure was still there, shadowed by this new pain, and it returned as he thrust his length into her. She grimaced as his full length was inside her, his stones against the outside of her slit. Her fists clenched tightly, but the pain began to subside.
He withdrew slightly and thrust again, causing her to grunt in pain and pleasure. She was a great beast, he thought as he thrust again, a little harder this time. But he loved this beast. Her hips bucked involuntarily, bringing him closer to the edge. It made him happier to know that she was enjoying this.
Her body reacted impulsively to his, and they were joined as man and woman. It was the best she had ever felt as a woman, and she finally understood why the Kingslayer always said that he only felt alive when fighting or fucking.
He thrust into her again, hitting a place deep inside her that sent all competent thought from her mind.
"Kingsl-" she moaned, the last letters lost in a heaving breath.
She couldn't bear to say his name, still? He was determined to make her scream his name. His real name. He thrust again, harder, faster and she groaned again. She was so fucking tight. Her walls resisted him, but clenched around him as he pulled out of her again. Only his very tip was inside her, until he plunged into her again, his stones slapping against her skin. It set off an eruption in her and he knew they were both close.
He latched onto her nipple, biting, sucking, teasing her towards the edge. Their hips moved together now, to a rhythm only they could hear, creating friction and sensation. Her hands clutched his back, forcing him to stay close, her immense strength pressing down on him as he thrust and grunted and suckled.
It felt incredible, their bodies moulded together. Where one of them began and the other ended, it was impossible to tell. The Kingslayer and the Beauty, they were one. The pleasure she felt was building to some kind of climax, she knew, and she was close to it.
She was panting heavily, her chest heaving up and down as he thrust into her, faster and faster. He was close too. His hand went to her other teat, squeezing, kneading her soft flesh. She was so beautiful, moaning, writhing under his touch. For once, she was completely vulnerable and had abandoned all pretence. She was a woman.
His fingers were at work on one nipple, his mouth the other. She lost all sensation, all sense of time and place and knowledge. All that existed was his touch, his thrusts. Gods, it was good!
He thrust again, his cock pounding into her. He was there. He heard her moan again.
"Say my name," he panted. He would get her to say it, to scream it as she climaxed.
"-slayer!" she moaned, the letters lost to pleasure.
"That is not my name," he growled, biting down on her nipple to illicit the correct response.
"Jaime!"
She screamed his name, and for a few instants, she felt complete. Happy.
He spilled his seed inside her, and felt her walls clenching around him as she moaned his name. He thrust one more time, grunting his pleasure. He had won. The sound of her screeching his name for the whole castle to hear was perfect. But it didn't matter if anyone heard. She would soon be gone and he could easily claim he'd had a whore. It wasn't strictly against his vows. His heart was racing, and he pulled out of her.
"Wench," he smiled as he rolled off her.
A/N As always, I hope you enjoyed. I love reviews and I welcome concrit as well.