The door was an old, heavy construction. Carved around the edges with inlaid gold leaf… which was somewhat faded where it hadn't peeled away. It must have been ornate in its time. And, Jaime supposed, those times were set to rise once more… with the King in the North.

A shiver ran through him, reminding him that the North was not his ally.

Why was he hesitating?

Where had all his bravery gone?

He'd left his room with the intention of confronting Brienne… he had the wine and wanted to finish the game they had started in the Great Hall which, incidentally, was still warm and brimming with living, breathing, drinking Northern armies and their allies.

Jaimie reached out his hand, pressing his fingers against the woodgrain, imagining the warmth behind it.

When did this get so difficult?

Back when they first knew each other he walked, naked and filthy, into the baths of Harrenhal… knowing full-well he would find her there. At the time, despite how shit-covered, dishevelled and under-fed he knew he appeared, Jaimie had all-but swaggered into the room… knowing that her eyes would only be drawn to a few areas of his anatomy he had complete faith in…

Jaime wondered where that assuredness had gone.

He looked at his hand as his finger crooked in preparation to sound his arrival, but still remained motionless.

This was probably madness. What was he even expecting?

She owed him nothing… she didn't have to explain anything to him…

And there it was! She owed nothing to him! Him, of all people… A king-slayer who had been screwing his own sister for the better part of a decade.

And he owed her everything.

That faith she had in him gave him meaning and brought him hope.

That hope had meant more than anything… it was addictive… just like her presence was… Jaimie couldn't get enough of the feeling of being around her.

He never wanted to be anywhere else.

Did she feel the same?

She couldn't… not for him… could she?

In the end… she didn't drink when Tyrion had named her a virgin… Why not?

Jaimie had to admit that she had no reason to explain herself to any of the men in that room.

After all, it was such a hypocrisy! Men were scorned for not having had sex where women were valued in their purity. Men were celebrated in their manhood when they first sleep with a woman but women were labelled as soiled and impure.

And who cared in any case?

Was sex so important? Did it fundamentally change a person?

For Jaimie, sex had been used as a weapon… a hold over him for so very long. With a stab of sorrow, he recalled how he had felt so connected to Cercie… he had thought he knew her because they had shared in one another. But what had he truly known? Cercie had only proved that the act of love was not connected to the emotion all of the time.

And it was love that Jaime had felt. He was certain of that.

But had she? There was good reason to believe the answer was no. Especially after hearing the rumours of her exploits during his time away from the capital.

If he had truly believed Cercie would be faithful to him then Jaimie might have been horrified…betrayed… even hurt. But the only thing he felt was disappointed; and even that was a distant sensation.

So here he stood.

In the North.

After risking the wrath of his sister and the murderous hoard of undead… worried that if he had been so wrong about Cercie… could he be wrong about Brienne?

Perhaps Brienne didn't feel the way he did at all.

All those months travelling from the Riverlands to the Capital… all those shared adventures… they had come to trust each other and…

…and he was waiting at her door for an answer he didn't deserve, and she didn't owe.

Maybe the question over her sexual status wasn't the thing that was bothering him so much.

Perhaps it was more about that look she gave him… very rarely… like he was the only one in the room… like he was a Knight like the kind you read about in ancient sagas; heroic and honourable and so very far away from how the rest of Westeros looked at him.

Those moments made time slow and Jaimie felt like they was the two people in the world.

Brienne had to be aware of them, didn't she?

He just needed to know if there was something… if there was anything that they could be?

Still… Jaimie stared at the faded, wooden door intently…

What was stopping him?

Was he scared she'd say no; that it had been nothing but her duty to Caitlin Stark that kept her by his side… and from there the debt she owed him for saving her from Hoat and his men then again in the bear pit. Perhaps, to her, they really were only comrades…

No… no… he'd had plenty of comrades at arms during battle. This was different.

Of course, the majority of his comrades had been men…

That thinking didn't help.

Jaimie shook his head.

The reason he was stood outside her door was that she hadn't answered the question in the game.

So was he scared she wouldn't drink… and so say no…

No, she wasn't a virgin any longer. And that meant she had given her heart to someone.

Because while sex was sex… Brienne was a romantic… she wouldn't do it if she didn't feel it.

And Jaimie agreed; the act was nothing without the depth.

Did that mean love?

Perhaps Brienne had met someone who felt all those things Jaimie felt for her and wasn't afraid to something about them!

But who?

Perhaps they were dead? No, that made no sense… there wasn't an air of mourning about her. Proud as she was, Jaimie was certain he knew her well enough to see she was sad… and she had seemed happy in his presence.

Perhaps it was Podrick?! The young squire had served her and learned from her… Jaimie could see Brienne in his movements when he fought and the pride she had in him.

No, no… the relationship with Podrick seemed more like a genuine mentorship. Besides, Brienne was too honourable to fuck her student.

What about Tormund? The Wildling was clearly besotted.

The night before the battle, Tormund had sought her out… and she seemed awkward, completely on edge as he spoke… was that because they had had an encounter of some form?

They had both been in battle, after all… the heat and adrenaline…

No…

No!

It couldn't be him…

And though there was a niggling doubt in the back of his mind, Jaimie attempted to think of the next option.

But what if she said yes; yes she was still a virgin.

And what was more… that she did feel for him how he felt for her.

And how did he feel for her?

Perhaps he wasn't all too certain… there were too many options flooding his brain.

Brienne was like daylight, bringing light to every person she was around… she steadied Caitlin and Sansa in turn, coached Podrick to his betterment, beguiled Tormund, impressed his little brother (perhaps the most remarkable feat of them all) …

And Jaimie?

He reached out and placed his hand on the door before him, as faded and bedraggled as his soul had been before he had met Brienne… a shade of what he once had been… those high ideals he had believed in brought low and dragged through mud.

Brienne brought all that hate into focus; in the beginning she placed him in that hole she thought he had dug for himself. But the time spent together made him want to change that thinking. It made him want to be better.

And he had changed for knowing her.

Jaimie even began to like himself again.

He had been defensively arrogant before – believing it didn't matter what others thought of him, as long as he remained at Cercies that she was all he needed.

It wasn't true anymore.

There was more… so much more to life and love than what he and his sister shared.

In that moment there was the sound of movement beyond the door… Brienne was only a few feet away, with only a piece of wood between them.

It rallied him; any thought of others disintegrated and, before he knew it, he was knocking on the faded door.

There was silence.

Shit!

Footsteps drew closer…

Shit!

It was certainly too late to run. You're a Lannister… pick up that wine and find out what's going on!

The door lock clicked open, the groaning wood swung-to and she was stood in the doorway, blinking in surprise to see him.

Jaime felt the world fall away as all conscious thought left him…

Time stretched out and they both stood there, gawking at each other uselessly.

Brienne literally brought warmth to his skin as her room up-lit her in firelight; the hues of autumn playing across her features but not dimming the oceanic depth of her eyes.

Gods, she made him into a poet… Eugh!

Say something!

Nothing came to mind as he felt a familiar pull calling him to her light.

Say anything!

"You didn't drink," Jaimie heard himself blurt, like an idiot.

So much for poetry.

The warmth in Brienne's eyes cooled a little and he instantly hated himself, so had to move… in the only direction open to him…

There was a table in Brienne's chamber, which seemed ideal for him to place the tankards as Brienne argued "I didn't drink?"

Vaguely, he noted her quarters were far larger than his own… charming. "In the game," he insisted, pouring them both a goblet.

"I drank," Brienne closed the door and followed him, a little bewildered.

"In the game," Jaimie heard himself insisting; seeing as it had given him a good enough excuse to enter her chambers... so he swung a full jug in her rough direction to inform, "This is Dornish."

Brienne still looked dubious and countered, "This is not a game. This is only drinking."

She was insufferable at times.

"Suit yourself," he levelled the goblet of wine at her.

Brienne, seemed disarmed and, cautiously took the goblet…

Jaimie was touched… doubtful though she was, she trusted him enough to take a long gulp…

In that moment, he wondered, was there anything she wouldn't do if he were to ask?

But then… he came to fight an army of undead… for the country? No…

It was for her.

He knew that.

So did she – even if she wouldn't admit it.

But this trust she seemed to have in him was the reason he was stood before her.

She really did think highly of him, didn't she?

And that meant more to him than the seven kingdoms.

She meant more to him…

Oh Gods… Tyrion knew, didn't he… Jaime's brother knew his feelings for The Maid of Tarth before the Golden Lion had admitted them to even himself.

And if he really was here to ask her something… he supposed he had his answer.

Brienne drank the wine to confirm Tyrion was correct. She was a virgin.

And so… was she waiting for Jaimie?

There was only one way to find out…

Jaimie shook his head to bring himself back into the moment, feeling an outrageous warmth storm through him and so he turned to the fire and huffed, "You keep it hot enough in here."

Her bed was large and at a good distance away, so he paced toward the cooler air.

"It's the first thing I learned when I came to the north," she explained, warily, as he inelegantly removed the stifling overcoat determined to suffocate him.

"Keep the fire going," she continued softly as his damned clothing rebelled.

It was always his hand! The fabric bunched there and refused to budge!

Smooth Jaimie, he cursed himself…

"Every time you leave the room," Brienne was babbling in the background, "put more wood on."

Finally, he shook his damned coat free, "Very diligent," he answered in frustration and turned to her, "very responsible."

Her face contorted, "Piss off."

Good – this was good. It felt familiar. Jaimie felt some surety in their banter return, watching her whole posture change from uncertain to a little more confident.

That's what he needed now; to know she was comfortable.

Instantly, he responded, "Do you know the first thing I learned in the North," swaggering over to her… "I hate the fucking north."

He gave her his most self-assured smile… reserved for those times when he felt anything but.

And some part of her knew that… because the way she looked at him… that comfortable back-and-forth fell away as she gave him a hard look and replied, "It grows on you."

Fuck. She knew there was something up.

What could he do?

The drink!

"I don't want things growing on me…" he replied and moved to pluck the almost forgotten goblet from the table…

He looked and decided it wasn't quite as full as it could be, so lazily filled it while summoning the courage to ask, "How about Tormund Giantsbane?"

He actually felt sick saying the man's name as images of how any passion between the wildling and his Brienne could be realised… but he turned to face her… needing to know… "Has he grown on you?"

She huffed at him… the tantalising irritation he could spark in her eye glimmered in the fire-light, so he pushed a little more with, "He was very sad when you left."

The glower she gave him intensified – that look would wither lesser men but by the Gods, it was delicious to Jaimie… she was truly delightful; he quickly hid his rapture by gulping down otherwise pleasant wine…

Brienne looked truly repulsed by the idea of the red-head.

Good, he thought, smugly, allowing himself a little victory.

His lady quickly saw Jaime's expression and narrowed her eyes… "You sound quite jealous…"

At first, the idea was like a slap in the face… Jaimie had never been jealous of anyone in his life! There were times when he had wanted what others had… but he would have never acted in the manner they had to obtain it…

So he wouldn't have considered himself jealous, as such… seeing as he didn't truly want their accomplishments with knowing the morally ambiguous means they had utilised to obtain them.

But Brienne…

Knowing she could have missed his chance with Brienne…

Knowing this was something he could have controlled if he had only he had allowed himself…

And someone else had done what he could not!

Was this jealousy?

Could it be...?

Shit, "I do, don't I?" The realisation was a little hard to handle.

It was an oddly repugnant feeling that settled poorly over the Lannister ego. Jaimie's face twisted in disgust… he was jealous of that oafish wildling?

He needed to get the conversation back on track… somehow… talking about something other than Tormund… and seeing as he was the main obstacle which was now removed…

Jaimie felt another wave of heat roll through him and turned to glance impressive fire; recalling his own dwindling pile of twigs… he marvelled at Brienne's skill at such things… Just one problem,

"You keep it warm enough in here," he huffed and gave her a little smile, attempting to open his shirt…

Yes! This was an avenue to explore!

Instead of jealousy over some man Jaime had confirmed held no interest… perhaps he could spark in her the same feeling she stirred within him…

There was a time, in Harrenhal, when he was certain she had felt an attraction to him… emaciated and filthy as he had been then, Brienne had seemed unable to draw her curious gaze from his body as they shared a tub in the baths of the hall.

But fate, it seemed, took the simple task of undoing his shirts and twisted his attempt to seem suave into yet another reminder of how dull and tactless he had become as wrestled hopelessly with the knot formed in the chords of his shirts.

For an agonising age he could see Brienne observing him with a strange, repelled sort-of expression as he grew more and more frustrated with his own lack of grace.

It took for him to resort to using his teeth in a vain attempt to free himself for Brienne finally sapped his hand aside and cried, "Oh move aside!"

Brienne slapped his hand away, gallantly setting to work on the problematic knot as she dragged Jaime closer to her.

Brienne had been in awe of him in Harrenhal – but all he had elicited this night seemed to be a slight frustration as she shifted him to stand opposite her and Jaime wondered if she looked the same as she had when she cradled him in her arms… he soft, pale skin glistening from the bath's misty, fragrant waters; it gave him a reason to reach out and gently take up the ties on her blouse…

But Brienne's hands stilled in their work…

Jaime had loosed her neckline when Brienne asked in a breath, "What are you doing?"

"Taking your shirt off, he answered honestly, emboldened by the idea of Harrenhal.

But Brienne reached up and took his hand, it made his heart stutter as he looked into her eyes… so clear and bright… as she gently pulled his hand away from its task.

She remained there… staring at him.

Dread and doubt settled in the pit of his stomach like a stone… had he made a terrible mistake?

Did she truly not feel as he did?

Was there nothing between them?

And as Jaime truly began to doubt his surety in the moment, Brienne to hastily untangle her own ties… her hands moving quickly, though Jaime was less interested in the motion than the expression on her face as she determinedly undressed.

Once her blouse was loosened, she looked up to him, resolve written on her face.

Jaime felt her hands beneath his shirt as she dragged the fabric up and away, with some difficulty over his golden hand… the hand he had lost in defence of her… until he was before her in the flesh.

She quickly matched his state by removing her own garments until she stood before him, fair but bruised, in the fire light… And Jaime suddenly felt even less confident than he had a moment ago.

In that instant, he knew she would be vulnerable as he and so, he confessed, "I've never slept with a Knight before."

Brienne's eyes futtered as she replied, "I've never slept with anyone before."

A burst of warmth filled him… Tyrion had known all along! He had even pushed them to this very moment!

And Jaime wasn't going to waste it… he was going to take what she was willing to offer and make sure she did not regret it. He was going to make sure to take care of her…

But first… there was something that needed closure… and so he shrugged, "Then you have to drink… those are the rules."

Time stretched out between the beats of his racing heart as his longing for her reached almost unbearable heights…

And that wonderful irritation fired her blue eyes as she breathlessly argued, "I told you…"

But she couldn't complete the sentence… because he could no longer hold back the moment…

His lips crashed onto hers with the heat of a volcano reaching the sea…

Fire and ice had nothing on the force with which she met him; his warrior fought in love the way she did I war… matching his passion by pressing back and opening his mouth and frantically pressing forward.

Her skin felt cool against his own as she fell on him; he relished the sensation of her nails digging into his shoulders as she pulled him closer… the eagerness she had to taste all he could endure and the sudden realisation her hands fell from his back to work on the fastening of his trousers.

By the Gods! What had he ever done to deserve such a moment?

She truly wanted him.

And it meant the world to him.

So as she freed him the last of his vestments, he moved to strip her in the same manner, finding her assistance most rewarding…

But as she finally stood before him, she let him guide her back to the sizable bed as he guided her down with a barely whispered, "Trust me…"

And she did…

So he showed her what love he had for all that she showed him.