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Her father had been the worst good-bye. It hadn't even felt like a good-bye. He hardly looked at her, and had nodded his head in her direction. She hadn't cried, no matter how large the lump in her throat was. She had gotten onto her horse – that she had insisted on, riding on her horse rather than the damned carriage – and turned away from them, telling herself that she would be back soon, that she wasn't afraid, the world most certainly was not coming to an end, and Starks did not cry. Luna was trailing behind her horse, growling at anything or anyone who came near to her, exactly portraying Merilyn's feeling aloud.
The King's party was one long receiving line, from her point of view. The King himself road at the head and then the Kingsguard followed, with her husband among them.
Even the North mirrored her mood. The grey gloom covered them like a thick blanket and stifled the normal chattering that such a caravan would normally produce. Every impulse in her shouted for her to run. Go home. Forsake vows.
She took a deep breath and straightened in her saddle. To distract herself, she observed the King's Court more closely. The Queen had many attending ladies, for both her and the Princess Myrcella, and they were currently flocked in a group, riding little ponies of calm natures. The loudest of the group was blonde, bright with Southern coloring, and was the obvious leader to such women. They were like a group of cawing birds, each trying to outdo the other in an attempt to garner attention. These are the women Sansa wanted to emulate, Merilyn thought. Draped in finery and droning on about nothing, these were the wives of the Court men. They were everything Merilyn should be, but wasn't.
The tents had been set up and camp had been settled. Merilyn had tethered her horse loosely nearby after sending Jaime's apparent Squire away. The boy had been both shy and eager to help, but Merilyn was used to caring for her own horse. She gently stroked her horse goodnight and steeled herself to enter the tent where she knew her husband lay.
She walked quietly down the encampment, past two intricate tents. She knew these were the King's and Queen's and felt slight jealousy at the separation. The sensible side of her realized the separate sleeping arrangements might have come about after the birth of the three royal heirs. It was dark besides the light the little torches were giving.
She reached the tent she had been shown earlier and recognized it as her shared temporary home. She took a deep breath and pulled back the cloth, stepping inside. Jaime already lay on the pallet, looking nearly unconscious from how deep he seemed to sleep. She sighed thankfully, knowing that tonight she would not be forced into the part of adulthood that scared her most.
She loosened her dress, watching her new husband curiously. He looked just as guarded while sleeping as he did awake. But he did look younger. She wondered about a young Jaime, before he'd become the Captain of the Kingsguard. Her dress fluttered to the ground and she stepped out carefully. She shivered in her underclothes and lay down carefully. Her entire body tensed. She scolded herself silently, telling herself it was just like sleeping next to Arya. Try as she might though, her body remained rigid and she counted each of her breaths, trying to exhale as quietly as possible.
The relaxed form next to her moved suddenly, sliding a warm hand up her leg and towards her thigh. If it was possible, her body became even tighter. The hand circled the top of her thigh gently, in a way that caused Merilyn to feel overheated uncomfortably and suddenly. She squirmed slightly, trying to move away from his touch. But the fingers clamped down, holding her in place. He was not asleep then. She flushed and felt panic begin to rise. The hand continued its ministrations when she no longer made as if to move away. Then his voice was in her ear, "Relax. There's nothing to fear."
The hand snuck its way north, up her stomach – tracing soft patterns and causing her to feel an extreme confusion. Heat was collecting throughout her entire body and her breath came heavier. Jaime moved suddenly, breaking contact between his fingers and her skin. Her body bemoaned the loss and her mind raced with questions about why. But it was only a moment before the questions were gone and Jaime was above her. He looked at her in the inadequate lighting and she desperately wanted to know exactly what he was thinking in that very moment. His hand rested on her hip, kneading slightly and for a second, green eyes met blue and then he kissed her.
Not the kiss that had sealed their marriage – the briefest of contact and then nothing. This kiss made her shiver from the cold and expand form the heat in the same instant. It was foreign and familiar. It made her heart race and her hands desperate to touch him. She wondered if she could touch him. He was touching her. Her hands had been lying at her side limply. Would her touch feel the same way to him as his touch felt to her?
Jaime pulled away from her and looked down seriously, "stop thinking."
She almost laughed aloud at that, almost. He kissed her neck and she felt a familiar tightening in her abdomen.
"You don't need to think to do this. It's about feelings, sensations. Not practiced theory."
In between words, he would place a kiss on different parts of her neck, her mouth, her forehead. He was surprising gentle and tasted like warm, spiced wine. He suckled lightly at her pulse and without thinking, she moaned aloud, surprising herself.
His hand slid up her hip, and teased the curve of her waist, trailing upwards to cup a breast, causing her to gasp lightly. She couldn't concentrate on all of it. There were too many overwhelming touches, too much heat. He was kissing, kneading, cupping, teasing, leaving her breathless. His hand shucked off her top and lightly twisted a taut nipple and her back arched without her mind's consent. So softly that her body tried to create more contact, grazing the tops of her thighs and then between forcing her thighs apart without her realizing it was happening.
His mouth still half-distracted her with long, lingering kisses and his hand dipped into her, between her thighs, into a place no one had ever touched. Her mind whirled chaotically. She was half-ashamed that anyone was there, but the other part of her was soaring, unbelieving that this feeling existed.
"You're thinking again," he whispered, and she heard the smirk in the tone. His voice was deeper and more strained.
And just those few syllables caused another sharp tightening in her low stomach. Her body was straining for something, though her conscious mind couldn't grasp what it possibly was. She whimpered loudly and Jaime let out a low laugh, his fingers completely sliding into her.
The intrusion felt alien and she wondered why this was necessary. His thumb flicked against her clit and she half-moaned, half-cried out and lost her coherent thoughts. Her back arched as his touch became more insistent. Her hips moved of their own accord against his hand and she almost died when he moved out of her and up her torso.
It became a pattern that he followed. Slowly teasing her skin, her chest, her stomach with light feather touches, before dropping low and continued the rhythm he had abandoned. She didn't know how many times she had endured this excruciating ecstasy before he had been so slowly drawing his fingers in and out of her and she had begged him. It'd slipped out in a breath.
"Ohhh, please…"
His soft laugh echoed again and then, "what was that?"
He sounded pleased, some detached part of her thought but then his thumb pushed down and his fingers picked up speed.
She half cried, and begged again in a steady stream, "please, please, please."
Every cell in her body desperately needed whatever she was begging for. And then it happened. Her whole body arched and tightened and the tightening spread out to the very tips of her fingers and toes. A loud sigh escaped from her and the floating feeling from earlier intensified.
Then she felt filled and heavy. Her eyes opened, dazed and confused. Jaime had taken off his remaining clothes and had entered her while she had been thoroughly distracted.
His hands guided her to wrap her legs around his own hips and she felt him wholly inside of her. Every movement crashed around her as he thrust in and out. And then it was over. Jaime lay atop of her, both gasping for her. It may have been seconds, minutes, days – she didn't know, but then he moved out and her body felt the loss of him immediately.
It came in a wave. That was sex.
She was no longer a maiden, but truly a married woman. And it was actually fine. She had liked it. She felt like crying in relief.
Jaime moved and picked her up, laying her atop of him. She felt stunned for a minute that he would want that again so soon, but then realized he want to sleep with her near him.
She let out a whispered thank you to the gods and let sleep wash over her.