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Brienne had cold feet. She would move them around in the middle of the night, pressing against Jaime's shins like dull, cool blades. The shock would wake him sometimes. He would look over to her side of the bed with an ill-concealed, sleepy grimace.
Once her ice-box feet had found his legs to rest on, she would no longer stir. Her body would rise and fall with soft breaths; freckled shoulder peeking out from beneath the blankets.
"Gods, Brienne," he would murmur, fluffing his pillow, and try to fall back to sleep. The cold only remained for so long, and he could manage.
Sometimes, however, Brienne spread her body out across the entire mattress. Her tall frame would find each corner with Jaime attempting to fit in-between the free spaces. He often found himself curled in a small huddle, while she took up most of the space.
Jaime would anchor her down at the beginning of the night, draping an arm over her belly and sometimes tossing a leg over her calves. She was a strong woman, as he was well aware, and he couldn't keep her down for very long.
She had pushed him out of bed entirely once. He had awoken with a start, cringing as the floor met his side. He grabbed the blankets of the bed to pull himself up, and the comfortable look on Brienne's face kept him from being cranky and whining about the dull ache and the bruise blooming on his good side, no less.
Sometimes he would be woken by the absence of her after she had unintentionally moved away from him. She faced opposite from him, close enough to reach out and touch, but too far to feel cold feet on his legs. He would shimmy over across the mattress, with the knowledge of losing sleeping space, and would seek out the coldness himself. He would wrap himself around her; consume himself with the smell of her and the feeling of her warm shoulders and cold feet. Her blond hair was soft and tickled his noise. He found it easier to sleep.
Then, there were nights when Brienne slept peacefully. Jaime's shoulder acted as her pillow, her breath falling steadily against his neck. She would manage to curl up beside him, pulling in her long limbs, to fit comfortably against his side.
***
Jaime stole the blankets. On particularly chilly nights, Brienne would wake to find herself bare to the night air, the blankets smothering him in a heap. His golden hair, peppered with some grays, stood out in the pile of fabrics.
He grumbled a bit when she tugged them back, but he never woke with the stirring. Typically, a few moments later she felt the light pull of the blankets. She just grinned and held a little tighter.
Sometimes he snored lightly, though he'd never be the first to admit it. If Brienne was not in a deep sleep, the small noises would jostle her awake. The noise was thankfully not as loud as a horn, but it was not as soft as breath. His noises met in the middle, loud enough to be heard in the quiet of night and soft enough to be ignored on occasion.
She found it amusing rather than aggravating; the handsome Jaime Lannister with his mouth hung open and a snore ruffling his fringe. She laughed a bit too loudly once, unable to smother the sound with her hands and the blankets.
"Wh-what?" Jaime awoke, startled.
She would always wake up before him. The first lights of day would leak into the room through a space in the curtains, a thick stream of light that stretched across the room.
Brienne decided she liked these moments of silence, where her fingertips could brush across his face and she could look at him, or simply lay with her eyes closed and be immersed in the room they shared together. The smell, the blankets, the light coming in; everything was theirs, and sometimes it startled her that they had made it to this point at all.