blondie, baby

The first birthday Sirius Black ruined, you were seven years old.

You remembered it because your mother had spent the entire morning baking a strawberry cake with pink frosting, because James had been unusually well-behaved—which, in hindsight, should have worried everyone far more than it did—and because you had insisted on wearing a cream dress embroidered with little daisies since birthday girls were obviously supposed to look like princesses. Everything had been perfect. You had blown out your candles, squeezed your eyes shut while making the most important wish seven-year-old you could possibly imagine, and had just opened them again when Sirius, already grinning like someone who knew something the rest of the room didn’t, announced that birthday wishes only came true if everyone had blue hair. James believed him immediately. Remus looked deeply unconvinced. Peter looked curious. Your parents barely had enough time to exchange one tired look before James and Sirius disappeared upstairs and returned carrying one of Euphemia Potter’s experimental colour potions. Less than a minute later, Remus’s fringe was turquoise, Peter’s eyebrows had turned an alarming shade of green, James somehow managed to dye only his ears blue, and your carefully braided bangs had become violently, unmistakably purple. You cried for an hour. Sirius laughed for two.

The truly unfortunate part was that everyone assumed he’d eventually grow out of it.

He didn’t.

By the time you turned ten, your parents had actually believed James when he promised that he and Sirius would behave. They were older now, apparently. Mature. Responsible. Remus had looked at them with the exhausted expression of someone who already knew exactly how the afternoon would end. Somehow, against every law of probability, they behaved for almost three whole hours. You opened presents, ate cake, thanked your relatives, and fell hopelessly in love with the tiny cream-coloured kitten curled up inside a little basket lined with blankets. She purred the moment you picked her up. She rubbed her nose against your cheek. She looked impossibly sweet until Sirius disappeared for all of five minutes and returned carrying one of James’s old Quidditch capes, declaring, with the confidence of a man presenting royalty, that everyone should bow before “Lady Whiskerton, Protector of Birthdays.” The kitten wore the cape for approximately six seconds before launching herself up the sitting room curtains. Your father climbed after her. The curtain rod surrendered almost immediately. Your father landed safely. The curtains did not. Sirius laughed so hard he couldn’t stand.

You started expecting something after that.

Not because you wanted to.

Because experience had taught you it was safer.

Your twelfth birthday was suspiciously quiet. There were no explosions before lunch, no whispered conversations disappearing upstairs, no missing household objects, no suspicious smoke drifting beneath bedroom doors. You remember actually thinking, perhaps foolishly, that Sirius had finally outgrown whatever part of his brain convinced him birthdays needed improving. Then your mother walked into the kitchen and screamed. Six garden gnomes tore through the house as though they owned the place, one somehow wearing James’s old Gryffindor tie, another triumphantly dragging away an entire dinner roll, while a third attempted to climb the grandfather clock. No one admitted responsibility. James looked genuinely bewildered. Peter looked moments away from confessing to crimes he hadn’t committed. Remus apologised despite having absolutely nothing to apologise for. Sirius, meanwhile, was trying so desperately not to smile that the corners of his mouth kept twitching upward every few seconds, which only confirmed what everyone already knew.

As he got older, the pranks became less destructive and somehow much more elaborate.

For your fourteenth birthday, every single present waiting for you had been enchanted. You discovered this the moment your fingers brushed the ribbon on the first neatly wrapped box. It immediately burst into a booming operatic rendition of Happy Birthday. Before it had even reached the chorus, the second present joined in. Then the third. Then every single gift beneath the table. Within seconds, the sitting room sounded like it was hosting a full magical choir. The books sang bass. The perfume somehow managed soprano. Even the tiny jewellery box found harmony. The socks were the worst offenders. Every time you picked them up, they enthusiastically restarted the entire performance from the beginning. Your father nearly spilled his tea. Your mother laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks. James collapsed dramatically onto the carpet, unable to breathe from laughing, while Remus hid behind his own birthday present in a completely unsuccessful attempt to disguise his smile. Sirius simply leaned against the fireplace with his arms folded, looking unbearably pleased with himself before casually mentioning that enchanting every gift individually had taken him nearly three weeks.

You should have realised that giving Sirius Black more time to think only made him more dangerous.

Your sixteenth birthday proved exactly that.

To this day, no one quite understood how he’d managed to convince James that magical fireworks belonged inside a house, but somehow he’d done it. The first rocket shot into the air before anyone could stop them, exploding into glittering scarlet phoenixes that swooped beneath the ceiling while silver dragons chased each other through the hallway and tiny constellations burst across the sitting room in showers of gold. Peter vanished beneath the dining table. Remus already had his wand out attempting damage control before the second explosion. James looked as though he were witnessing the greatest achievement in wizarding history. Your father spent the next ten minutes extinguishing curtains, rescuing smoking portraits and muttering words you were fairly certain your mother wished you hadn’t heard, while black scorch marks remained stubbornly burned across the ceiling for months afterward. Sirius maintained they added character. No one else agreed.

By the time your seventeenth birthday arrived, the routine had become so familiar it felt almost comforting. You woke to your mother’s gentle kiss against your forehead and your father’s impossibly tight hug. James still tackled you onto the sofa before breakfast despite repeated warnings that one day he would actually break something. Remus handed you a carefully chosen book with a note tucked inside the cover because he always remembered exactly what you liked to read. Peter brought homemade sweets because he knew your favourite recipe by heart. And then, almost without thinking, you waited.

Because there was always one more present.

Not necessarily wrapped.

Just…something.

Something ridiculous and infuriating.

Something that would almost certainly leave your parents sighing, James laughing until he couldn’t breathe, Remus rubbing his temples, Peter trying very hard to look innocent, and you swearing that Sirius Black was the single most insufferable person you had ever met.

It never mattered that he ruined every birthday.

Because somehow, every ruined birthday became everyone’s favourite story.

Years later, no one remembered what books Remus had given you, or what sweets Peter had baked, or even what your parents had wrapped in pretty paper. They remembered the purple bangs, Lady Whiskerton, the garden gnomes, the singing socks, the scorch marks on the ceiling. They remembered Sirius laughing so hard he could barely stand while you promised, every single year, that this time you were absolutely going to hex him.

You never did.

And somewhere along the way, without either of you noticing exactly when it happened, your birthdays stopped feeling complete until Sirius Black had ruined them first.

Until your eighteenth birthday arrived warm and golden, wrapped in the kind of lazy summer afternoon that seemed determined to stretch on forever.

The Potter house was overflowing long before lunch. Every window had been thrown open to let the breeze carry the smell of freshly cut grass and Euphemia’s cooking through the rooms, while enchanted fairy lights drifted lazily above the garden despite the bright sunlight, twinkling simply because they could. Someone had charmed a wireless to play softly in the background, the music weaving through conversations and bursts of laughter as neighbours, relatives, old friends, and half of Gryffindor House seemed to wander between the house and the garden carrying plates piled embarrassingly high with food. Children darted between tables, chasing one another through flowerbeds despite repeated warnings from their parents, while James and Sirius were, unsurprisingly, encouraging them instead of stopping them.

You stood near the back garden with a glass of lemonade in your hand, absentmindedly smoothing invisible wrinkles from your dress for what had to be the hundredth time that afternoon.

“Eighteen,” James announced dramatically as he appeared beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulders with enough force to nearly spill your drink.

“I’m ancient.” you said, fixing your hair again.

You laughed despite yourself.

“You are.”

“I’m practically ready for retirement.”

“I’ve already picked out a lovely nursing home for you.”

You elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

He yelped loud enough for several guests to turn around before breaking into laughter, pulling you briefly into a side hug that smelled faintly of sunshine, grass, and broom polish.

Across the garden, Sirius was helping Remus carry a tray loaded with glasses balanced far too precariously for anyone’s comfort. He looked up almost absently, caught your eyes across the crowd, and immediately smiled, that effortless smile that always looked like he knew something no one else did.

You rolled your eyes on instinct.

He answered with an exaggerated wink.

You shook your head.

Everything was perfectly, wonderfully normal.

Dinner disappeared beneath conversation and laughter. James told the same embarrassing childhood stories he’d told every year despite your increasingly theatrical threats against his life. Sirius interrupted every single one to make them even less flattering. Your father claimed none of them were remotely true. Your mother insisted they all were. Remus quietly corrected everyone’s timelines with remarkable patience, Peter laughed a little too loudly at every joke, and for a while you found yourself thinking that perhaps this birthday would simply be...peaceful.

It should have felt strange.

Instead, it felt almost unsettling.

After dinner, everyone gathered in the sitting room, presents stacked neatly beside the fireplace in brightly coloured paper and crooked ribbons. Your parents insisted on going first, your mother fastening a delicate gold necklace around your neck herself while your father pretended very hard not to become emotional about the fact that his little girl was somehow an adult. Remus handed you a carefully wrapped first edition of your favourite novel, complete with tiny notes he’d pencilled in on scraps of parchment marking his favourite passages because, of course, he had. Peter shuffled awkwardly toward you next, cheeks pink as he admitted he’d completely forgotten to wrap your present before producing a slightly squashed Honeydukes box from behind his back. James, naturally, made an entire performance out of his gift, dramatically presenting a broom maintenance kit with a flourishing bow.

“Your current one,” he declared gravely, “looks tragic.”

“It does not.”

“It cries every time you fly it.”

You laughed so hard your sides hurt, clutching the broom maintenance kit to your chest while James looked unbearably proud of himself, as though he had personally invented gift-giving. He accepted your laughter as the highest form of praise, taking an exaggerated bow that earned him a chorus of groans from everyone in the room. Your mother affectionately rolled her eyes. Your father muttered something about raising a menace. Sirius snorted into his drink. Even Remus, who had been quietly sipping tea in the corner, couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You thanked your parents first, hugging them both tightly, your fingers lingering for a second longer around your mother’s shoulders when she reached up to straighten the delicate gold necklace she’d just fastened around your neck. You crossed the room to Remus next, wrapping your arms around him while he awkwardly returned the embrace, mumbling something about hoping the book wasn’t already on your shelf. Peter visibly relaxed when you hugged him too, laughing sheepishly as he admitted, for what had to be the fourth time, that he really had intended to wrap the chocolates before remembering approximately ten minutes before dinner.

For a moment, the room settled into that comfortable sort of chaos that always followed presents. Wrapping paper littered the floor. Empty teacups sat forgotten on every available surface. Your aunt had already started another conversation across the room. Someone reached for another slice of cake. James was still dramatically explaining why broom maintenance kits were deeply sentimental gifts, despite absolutely no one asking him to.

Then…nothing.

Your eyes drifted over the room almost instinctively, waiting for him to interrupt the moment the way he always did. Waiting for the inevitable chaos. Waiting for Sirius to produce something ridiculous that would leave everyone laughing and your parents questioning why they continued allowing him inside the house.

But the interruption never came.

You glanced around once more, slower this time.

“…That’s everyone?”

James frowned, looking around as though he, too, felt something was missing.

“I…” He counted silently on his fingers before shrugging. “I think so.”

Your gaze settled on Sirius.

He was sitting across the room with one ankle resting on his opposite knee, a half-empty glass dangling loosely between his fingers. The moment he noticed you looking at him, his attention shifted with remarkable speed toward the stack of empty dessert plates on the coffee table, studying them with such exaggerated concentration that it would have been convincing if you hadn’t known him your entire life.

“Black.”

“Hm?”

“You forgot.”

That finally made him look up.

“What?”

“My birthday.”

There was no accusation in your voice, mostly confusion.

Because forgetting simply wasn’t something Sirius Black did.

Not when it came to this. To you.

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

“I didn’t forget.”

A tiny knot tightened somewhere beneath your ribs.

“You didn’t get me anything.”

Silence settled over the room so quickly it almost echoed.

The conversations nearby faltered one by one until even the wireless seemed strangely loud in the background.

Remus’s eyes moved slowly between the two of you, the faint crease between his brows deepening as though he were trying to solve a puzzle that suddenly didn’t make sense.

Peter became intensely interested in the patch of grass visible through the open French doors, studying it with the dedication of someone hoping to disappear entirely.

James blinked once.

Then frowned.

“…Pads?”

Sirius shifted in his seat.

For the first time all evening, for perhaps the first time you had ever seen, he didn’t have an answer ready.

His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his glass before he set it down on the table.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

Opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

“I…”

His voice came out quieter than expected.

“…I didn’t.”

You stared at him.

Waiting.

Surely this was the joke. Surely in five seconds he’d pull something absurd from behind the sofa or announce that your actual present had escaped into the garden or somehow transformed itself into a goose.

Five seconds passed but nothing happened.

Your smile disappeared before you even realized it had.

“Oh.”

It was barely louder than a breath.

Not because you cared about a present.

Merlin, Sirius had spent years giving you things that couldn’t even be considered presents. Purple hair wasn’t a present. Singing socks weren’t a present. Garden gnomes certainly weren’t presents.

But there had always been something.

Always.

“It isn’t—”

“No.”

You interrupted him gently, almost automatically.

“It’s fine.”

The words left your mouth almost automatically, polished by years of pretending you were far less affected by things than you actually were. Even your voice cooperated, betraying nothing except perhaps a slight hesitation on the second word. But the silence that followed was immediate, suffocating. No one believed you. Not your mother, whose smile had vanished so completely that she was already twisting the edge of her napkin between nervous fingers. Not your father, whose expression shifted into quiet concern as he looked from you to Sirius. Not Remus, who had lowered his teacup without taking another sip, watching you with the kind of careful attention reserved for injured animals that might bolt if approached too quickly. Peter stared helplessly between the two of you, opening his mouth once before deciding against whatever he had been about to say. James looked genuinely horrified, his eyebrows drawn together so tightly they nearly touched, as though he couldn’t quite process what he had just witnessed.

“It doesn’t matter.”

The sentence came more quickly this time, almost tripping over itself in its desperate attempt to sound convincing.

James shook his head immediately.

“What?” he blurted, taking a step toward you. “No—it does matter.”

His voice was louder than anyone else’s had been all evening, sharp with disbelief as he looked first at you and then at Sirius, waiting, almost expecting his best friend to burst into laughter and reveal whatever elaborate joke this had all been leading toward.

Sirius didn’t.

“No,” you replied before your brother could speak again, forcing the corners of your mouth upward into something that vaguely resembled a smile. It felt unnatural the moment it settled on your face, thin and fragile enough that you were certain everyone could see straight through it. Unable to bear the weight of Sirius’s gaze any longer, you dropped your eyes to the delicate gold necklace resting against your collarbone instead, absently running your fingertips across the tiny pendant your mother had given you only minutes earlier. “Apparently…” You swallowed, your throat suddenly unbearably tight. “…apparently it doesn’t.”

The words lingered in the room long after you’d spoken them.

No one interrupted them.

No one tried to fill the silence they left behind.

Even the wireless seemed quieter now, its cheerful melody drifting in faintly through the open windows with an almost cruel indifference, as though the rest of the world hadn’t noticed that something had quietly gone wrong.

You stood very still for a moment, staring at the collection of presents scattered across your lap.

The first edition Remus had spent months searching for.

Peter’s slightly squashed box of Honeydukes chocolates.

James’s ridiculous broom maintenance kit.

Your parents’ necklace catching the warm evening light.

Your fingers closed around the handle of the maintenance kit first. You carefully placed it back onto the pile beside you with far more care than necessary, adjusting it until it sat perfectly straight. Then you smoothed invisible wrinkles from your dress. Once. Then again. Then a third time, simply because your hands needed something to do before they started shaking.

Only then did you stand.

The scrape of the chair legs against the wooden floor sounded impossibly loud.

Nobody moved.

Your mother looked instinctively toward your father, her eyes silently asking whether one of them should say something, anything, to stop you before this moment settled into something much harder to fix. Your father hesitated. Remus leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as though he were only a heartbeat away from getting up, but years of knowing you kept him rooted where he was. He knew that reaching for you now might only make you retreat further. Peter looked miserable. James took one uncertain step in your direction before stopping altogether, glancing helplessly between you and Sirius with an expression that bordered on panic.

“…Pads?”

His voice was quieter now.

Confused, almost pleading, but Sirius didn’t answer him.

He didn’t answer anyone.

He simply sat there, his forearms resting on his knees now, his hands loosely clasped together, staring at the floor for a long second before finally lifting his eyes toward you.

You couldn’t look back.

Because somehow, after eleven birthdays spent bracing yourself for absolute chaos...you had never once imagined having to prepare yourself for nothing at all.

Not from him. Never from him.

So you turned before anyone could see your expression change any further.

The sitting room suddenly felt far too small, every pair of eyes following you as you crossed it in slow, measured steps. The laughter that had filled the house only minutes before had vanished so completely that all you could hear was the quiet creak of the old floorboards beneath your feet and the distant clink of someone’s forgotten teacup settling onto its saucer.

You heard Sirius inhale.

As though he were finally about to say something.

Your name, perhaps.

An explanation. A joke. Anything.

You didn’t wait to find out.

You slipped through the doorway and into the house before anyone could think of the right words to stop you.

The hallway beyond felt strangely cool after the warmth of the crowded sitting room. The sounds of the party continued outside, muffled now by thick stone walls and closed distance. Laughter drifted faintly through the open windows downstairs. Someone in the garden started another story. Glasses clinked together in celebration. The wireless kept playing the same cheerful tune.

The party hadn’t stopped.

The world hadn’t stopped.

Only you had.

You climbed the staircase almost without thinking, each step carrying you farther away from the warmth and laughter still filling the Potter house. Your hand skimmed absentmindedly over the polished wooden banister your father had spent countless weekends refinishing, the familiar grooves beneath your fingertips grounding you just enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The music from the wireless drifted faintly through the floorboards beneath you, accompanied by bursts of laughter from the garden every few seconds, muffled now into an indistinct hum that felt strangely distant. It was odd, you thought. Only moments ago you had been sitting in the middle of it all, surrounded by people who loved you. Now it sounded as though it belonged to someone else’s birthday entirely.

Halfway up the stairs, your vision blurred.

Not enough to cry.

Just enough that you had to blink twice before the hallway came back into focus.

You swallowed hard.

The knot in your throat refused to move.

By the time you reached the landing, the noise downstairs had softened into little more than voices blending together beneath the music and the evening birds singing outside the open windows. The upstairs hallway was quiet, washed in the warm amber light of the setting sun pouring through the long window at the end of the corridor. Dust floated lazily through the golden light, undisturbed.

You stopped without meaning to.

It was as though your body had simply decided it couldn’t carry you another step.

The strength drained from your legs so suddenly that you leaned sideways until your shoulder met the wallpapered wall with a soft, dull thud. You closed your eyes immediately, pressing the heel of your hand against your forehead, fingers disappearing briefly into your hairline as though you could somehow massage away the tightness gathering behind your eyes. A slow breath filled your lungs. Then another. You held each one for a second before letting it escape just as carefully, willing yourself to calm down, willing your heartbeat to slow, willing the ridiculous sting behind your eyes to disappear before it became something you couldn’t hide.

It didn’t.

The ache remained lodged stubbornly beneath your ribs, heavy and uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with birthdays and everything to do with expectations.

A quiet laugh escaped through your nose.

“This is ridiculous,” you whispered into the empty hallway, shaking your head at yourself. “Honestly…”

You let your hand fall back to your side.

You were eighteen years old. An adult. Standing alone in your parents’ hallway, trying not to cry over a birthday present.

The thought sounded almost laughable.

Pathetic, even.

If anyone else had told you that story, you would have rolled your eyes and told them they were being dramatic.

“You walk fast.” His voice broke the silence so gently that, for a heartbeat, you wondered whether you’d imagined it.

Your entire body stiffened but you didn’t turn around.

Didn’t move. Didn’t even open your eyes at first.

For one brief, cowardly second, you considered pretending you hadn’t heard him. Pretending the hallway was still empty. Pretending that if neither of you spoke, this evening could somehow rewind itself back to before he’d looked at the dessert plates instead of at you.

Instead, you opened your eyes slowly and kept them fixed on the floorboards beneath your feet.

“Go away.” Your voice came out far quieter than you intended. “I really don’t want to do this right now.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t.”

Another silence followed, and this one felt heavier than the first.

“I can’t.”

You heard him begin walking before you saw him.

The old floorboards announced every careful step with familiar little creaks, each one echoing gently through the empty hallway. They weren’t the confident strides Sirius usually had, the ones that filled every room before he even opened his mouth. These were slower. Hesitant. As though he was measuring every step, giving you every opportunity to tell him to leave again.

He stopped a few feet behind you, close enough that you could hear the quiet rhythm of his breathing but far enough that he wasn’t cornering you.

The silence stretched between you until it became almost unbearable.

Outside, a breeze stirred the leaves beyond the open window.

Downstairs, someone laughed.

Life carried on.

“You forgot my birthday.” The words slipped out before you had fully decided to say them.

Behind you, Sirius answered immediately. “I didn’t.”

You let out a slow breath, your fingers curling slightly against your palms.

“You forgot a present.”

“I…” His voice faltered.

It wasn’t hesitation born from annoyance.

It sounded almost like he’d run headfirst into a wall of words he suddenly couldn’t climb over.

Slowly, you turned your head just enough to see him from the corner of your eye.

His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. His shoulders, usually so relaxed they bordered on careless, looked strangely tense. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed somewhere near the floor rather than on you, as though looking directly at your face required more courage than he currently possessed.

“You gave everyone something,” you said quietly, every word slow and deliberate, as though speaking too quickly might make your voice betray you. “You spent nearly a month’s allowance tracking down that fountain pen Remus mentioned once in passing. You searched half of Diagon Alley with Peter because he couldn’t stop talking about that camera he wanted. You bought James those Quidditch gloves before he’d even realized they were being released.” Your eyes finally lifted to meet his, and whatever little composure you had left seemed to disappear beneath the weight of his silence. “And me?” you whispered, almost afraid of the answer. “What did I get?”

Sirius inhaled sharply, his brows knitting together almost immediately.

“You don’t understand.” The words came too fast, almost stumbling over one another in his rush to stop you from believing whatever conclusion you’d already reached.

“Then explain.”

You gave him every opportunity to do exactly that.

His lips parted. He looked at you as if the answer was already there, waiting to be spoken. Nothing came. His jaw tightened, and he swallowed hard enough for you to see the movement in his throat. He tried again, quieter this time.

“I…”

The word died before it became a sentence.

His eyes searched yours helplessly, almost pleadingly, as though somehow you might understand what he couldn’t bring himself to say.

The silence that followed said far more than either of you wanted it to.

A sad smile tugged at your lips.

“…That’s what I thought.”

You pushed yourself away from the wall, brushing invisible dust from your skirt before stepping past him. Your shoulder barely grazed his arm as you walked by, determined to keep moving before your emotions caught up with you.

You had only managed two steps.

Warm fingers closed gently around your wrist.

Not enough to hurt. Not enough to trap you.

Just enough to ask you to stay.

His grip was unbelievably careful, almost hesitant, as though he expected you to pull away the second you realized he was touching you. For someone who had never doubted himself a day in his life, Sirius looked strangely fragile.

“Please,” he said quietly.

The single word stopped you more effectively than if he’d shouted.

You turned slowly.

His hand was still around your wrist, though his fingers had already loosened slightly, silently giving you the choice to leave if you wanted to. He looked nothing like the Sirius everyone downstairs knew. There was no crooked grin, no effortless confidence, no spark of mischief dancing in his grey eyes. Instead, he looked completely lost, standing in the middle of the hallway as though he’d reached the end of a map he’d always assumed he understood.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

“I…” Sirius started again, his voice catching almost immediately. His gaze flickered across your face, lingering on your eyes before dropping to your wrist in his hand, then back again. He looked as though he was searching for permission, for forgiveness, for any sign that he hadn’t already ruined something he couldn’t bear to lose.

“Sirius…”

You hadn’t meant for your voice to soften.

Something shifted in his expression.

You saw it happen.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no sudden realization written across his face, no grand declaration waiting behind his lips. It was quieter than that. Almost imperceptible. His shoulders, held tense since he’d followed you upstairs, relaxed by the smallest degree. His eyes searched yours one last time, lingering there as though silently asking a question he was too afraid to voice.

Then he moved.

The distance between you disappeared in a single hesitant step.

His hand left your wrist slowly, almost reluctantly, as though he wasn’t entirely convinced you wouldn’t vanish the moment he let go. For the briefest second, his fingers hovered uncertainly in the space between you before finding your cheek instead. His palm settled against your face with remarkable gentleness, warm and slightly trembling, his thumb brushing the soft curve beneath your eye in a touch so careful it almost felt accidental. Sirius Black had always touched the world with confidence: clapping James on the back hard enough to make him stumble, ruffling Peter’s hair just to annoy him, throwing an arm around Remus’s shoulders without a second thought. But he touched you like you were something infinitely more fragile than glass.

His breathing faltered, and so did yours.

For one suspended heartbeat, he simply stood there, close enough that you could see the tiny flecks of silver hidden inside his grey eyes, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your lips. His gaze drifted down to your mouth before returning to your eyes again, giving you every chance to stop him.

You didn’t.

And maybe that was all the courage he needed.

Sirius leaned in so slowly it almost hurt.

The tip of his nose brushed yours first, an impossibly soft, almost clumsy touch that made both of you pause instinctively. You felt him hesitate there, close enough that your breaths tangled together, as though he were memorizing the distance before crossing it forever. Then, with all the caution of someone handling something precious, he closed the final inch between you.

His lips met yours.

The kiss was impossibly gentle.

It carried none of the reckless confidence that seemed stitched into every other part of Sirius Black. There was no urgency, no arrogance, no triumphant certainty. Instead, it felt almost like a confession, one he’d been writing silently for years without ever finding the courage to read aloud. Every birthday prank, every ridiculous joke, every stolen glance across the Potter dining table, every excuse to make you laugh seemed to gather quietly into that single moment until the kiss became all the words he had never managed to say.

Time seemed to fold in on itself.

The laughter downstairs dissolved into a distant murmur. The music from the wireless blurred into something soft and unrecognizable. Even the birds outside the open window faded beneath the sound of your own heartbeat, loud enough that you wondered absurdly whether he could hear it too.

You didn’t know who moved first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you.

All you knew was that somehow the hesitation melted away. Your fingers, which had hung uselessly at your sides only seconds before, found the fabric of his shirt almost without your permission, gently curling into it. Sirius exhaled against your lips, the smallest, quietest breath of relief, and you felt his shoulders finally loosen beneath your hands as though he’d been carrying this moment for far longer than either of you realized.

He kissed you again, just a fraction deeper this time, still impossibly careful, still giving you every opportunity to pull away. There was something almost reverent in it, something that made your chest ache. As though he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to be this close to you. As though this wasn’t something he had taken, but something you had given him.

When he finally pulled away, it was only by the smallest fraction. His forehead came to rest against yours, both of you breathing the same stolen breath, neither willing to move any farther than necessary. His hand never left your face. His thumb continued its slow, absent-minded journey across your cheek, brushing back and forth in tiny, almost nervous strokes that betrayed everything the rest of him was trying so desperately to hide. He had never looked uncertain a day in his life, yet now, standing in the golden light spilling through the hallway window, his grey eyes searched yours with an unfamiliar vulnerability. There was no trace of his usual smug grin or playful arrogance. No spark of mischief waiting to ruin the moment with a joke. Just a boy looking at the girl he’d spent years making laugh, silently wondering whether he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

A soft smile, small enough that it almost disappeared before it fully appeared, pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Happy birthday.”

You blinked.

“What?”

His smile grew by the tiniest amount, though it remained painfully uncertain.

“That’s your birthday present, love.”

You stared at him for several long seconds, searching his face for any hint that he was joking.

There wasn’t one.

“Sirius.”

“Yes?”

“You…”

You laughed quietly in disbelief, shaking your head.

“You kissed me.”

“I did.”

“And that’s supposed to be my birthday present?”

He let out a slow breath through his nose, wincing almost immediately.

“When you repeat it back to me…” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, “…it sounds significantly less romantic than it did inside my head.”

Against every bit of your better judgment, a tiny laugh escaped you.

You watched the tension melt from his shoulders almost instantly, as though that one small sound had untied a knot he’d been carrying since he followed you upstairs. The anxious crease between his brows eased, and for the first time since the sitting room, you caught a glimpse of the Sirius you knew hiding beneath all the uncertainty.

“I didn’t forget,” he said again, this time so quietly you almost missed it. The smile faded from his lips as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by something earnest enough to make your chest ache. “I swear to you…I didn’t.”

Your amusement softened into curiosity.

“Then why?”

He sighed, his gaze falling to the wooden floor between you. His fingers disappeared into his dark hair, pushing it back only for the untidy curls to fall stubbornly into place again a second later. He looked strangely embarrassed, as though admitting this somehow frightened him more than kissing you had.

“Because I couldn’t think of anything.”

You frowned.

“Anything?”

“Anything good enough.”

His eyes finally returned to yours, hesitant, almost embarrassed. A small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, the kind that appeared only when he was remembering something fondly.

“Every year…” he murmured. “Every year I gave you something completely ridiculous. Purple hair. Singing socks. Garden gnomes. Fireworks that nearly got me permanently banned from your house.”

“They did get you banned.”

“For two weeks.”

“My mother wanted to make it permanent.”

“I know,” he laughed softly. “She looked at me like she was deciding whether Azkaban accepted sixteen-year-olds.”

Despite yourself, a quiet laugh slipped from your lips.

It lingered only for a moment before the silence returned.

Sirius lowered his gaze again, absentmindedly tracing invisible patterns against the sleeve of his jumper with his thumb.

“I always did those things because…” He hesitated, exhaling through his nose as though the words felt strangely vulnerable. “Because I liked being the reason you laughed.”

You didn’t interrupt him.

“I knew your parents would always give you something beautiful. Remus would find you a book you’d treasure forever. Peter would bring sweets because he knows you can’t say no to Honeydukes.” Another tiny smile crossed his face. “Everyone always gave you things you could keep.”

His grey eyes lifted to meet yours again.

“So I figured…” He shrugged, suddenly looking far less like the boy who laughed his way through life and far more like someone afraid of being misunderstood. “If I couldn’t give you the nicest present…then I’d give you the one you’d remember.”

Your heart squeezed painfully.

“This year…” His voice softened until it was almost swallowed by the quiet hallway around you. “I wanted to do better.”

You watched him carefully.

“I spent weeks wandering around Diagon Alley.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“Weeks?”

“Weeks,” he repeated with a defeated sigh. “I must’ve walked into every shop at least twice.”

“And?”

“I hated all of it.”

A smile tugged at your lips.

“You hated every single present in Diagon Alley?”

“It all felt…” He lifted one hand helplessly before letting it fall again. “Small.”

The word hung gently between you.

“I’d pick something up,” he continued quietly, “and then I’d imagine giving it to you…and it never felt right. It was always just another necklace, another book, another box tied up with ribbon.” He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “You’d smile because you’re kind, but it wouldn’t be you.”

He stepped a fraction closer without even realizing it.

“I kept thinking that after everything we’ve done together…” A soft laugh escaped him. “…after seventeen birthdays of ruining your life, how was I supposed to compete with all those memories using something I bought off a shelf?”

Your heart softened before you could stop it.

His thumb brushed gently beneath your cheekbone, lingering there with quiet affection.

“And then it finally hit me.”

He smiled, a nervous, almost boyish smile that made him look younger than ever.

“The only thing I had left to give you…”

His eyes searched yours.

“…was something that actually belonged to me.”

Your breath caught.

“So…” His ears turned the faintest shade of pink, something you would have missed if you hadn’t been standing so impossibly close. He let out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh, lowering his gaze for the briefest moment before looking back at you. “…I kissed you.”

For several long seconds, you simply stared at him.

You should have been annoyed.

You should have reminded him that making someone think they’d been forgotten all evening was an absolutely terrible way to confess feelings.

Merlin, you should have made him suffer at least a little for the emotional torture he’d put you through downstairs.

Instead, the tightness in your chest slowly unraveled.

Like sunlight melting frost.

Your eyes drifted almost involuntarily to his lips, still close enough that you could remember exactly how they had felt against yours only moments ago. When your gaze lifted again, you found him watching you with cautious hope, as though he was waiting for the inevitable moment you laughed in his face or shoved him away.

You did neither.

Without saying a single word, you closed the tiny distance between you once more.

This kiss was different, it wasn’t born from years of hidden feelings finally spilling over. It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t an apology.

It was light.

Your lips brushed his in a kiss so brief it barely lasted longer than a heartbeat, yet somehow it made Sirius freeze far more completely than the first one had. You smiled into it before slowly pulling away, though not nearly far enough to break the space between you. Your noses still brushed lightly, your breaths mingling in the warm evening air filtering through the open window.

“So…”

His eyebrows lifted almost immediately, the corners of his mouth twitching with cautious curiosity.

“So?”

A smile slowly found its way onto your face, not a big one, not yet. Just enough for something to click behind his eyes. You watched the exact moment recognition dawned on him, watched his shoulders tense ever so slightly as he realized that expression had nothing to do with forgiveness and everything to do with the fact that you were about to make his life considerably more difficult. Sirius had known you long enough to recognize that smile instantly. It was the one that usually appeared moments before you proved him wrong in an argument, stole his wand after he’d annoyed you, or spent an entire afternoon refusing to speak to him simply because he’d deserved it.

“You still have to buy me something.”

For one perfect heartbeat, he simply blinked.

His mouth opened.

Closed.

Then opened again.

“You cannot possibly be serious.”

“I absolutely am.”

He stared at you in complete disbelief, bringing one hand dramatically to his chest as though you’d physically wounded him.

“I’ve just poured my heart out to you,” he said, gesturing animatedly between the two of you. “I confessed feelings I’ve been bottling up for Merlin knows how long. I kissed you.” He paused, looking personally offended by your lack of appreciation. “I’ve spent weeks emotionally suffering.”

You nodded with exaggerated sympathy, gently patting his arm.

“That sounds incredibly difficult, Black.”

“It was.”

“I’ll light a candle for you.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“A little.”

His expression became even more dramatic.

“I’ve been through an emotional ordeal.”

“And yet…” You tilted your head with practiced innocence, your fingers absentmindedly reaching forward to tap the front pocket of his jacket as though checking whether a mysteriously forgotten present might suddenly appear there. “…I still don’t have a birthday gift.”

Sirius looked down at where your finger had poked his pocket before looking back up at you, scandalized.

“I am deeply offended.”

“You should be shopping.”

“Come on,” he protested, throwing both hands into the air. “I just gave you the most meaningful gift I’ve ever given another human being.”

“You gave me a kiss.”

“The best kiss of your life, Potter.”

You rolled your eyes so dramatically it earned exactly the grin he’d been hoping for.

“Very romantic,” you admitted.

“I knew you’d see reason.”

“…And extremely convenient.”

His mouth fell open.

“You kissed me because you had nothing else.”

He gasped so theatrically that you almost expected him to collapse onto the floor.

“I kissed you because I have impeccable instincts.”

“You kissed me because the shops were closed.”

“The shops were not closed, love.”

“They may as well have been.”

“I refuse to accept that version of events.”

“It’s the only logical explanation.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, trying very hard to look offended while fighting a smile that refused to stay hidden. The silence stretched between you for only a second before he let out an exaggerated groan, dropping his forehead gently against yours once more.

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“No,” he murmured, laughing under his breath as his nose brushed yours. “I think you’re actually getting worse.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate for me.”

“It really is.”

He sighed with theatrical defeat, letting his shoulders slump dramatically as though accepting the outcome of a battle he’d fought bravely but inevitably lost.

“…Fine.”

Your eyes lit up immediately.

“Fine?”

“I’ll buy you something.”

“Good.”

“But,” he added, lifting a finger between the two of you with all the seriousness of someone negotiating an international treaty, “I’m still counting the kiss as the main present.”

You looked at him for a long moment before your smile softened into something so bright it made him forget, if only for a second, that he had just lost the argument entirely.

After eighteen years of trying to make your birthdays unforgettable, Sirius Black finally realized the truth: he had been the unforgettable part all along.

You didn't know what you had expected when you walked into his mess of an apartment. More so than usual, enough for you to sense the abnormality of webs upon webs coating his furniture. Stepping into what seems to be a genuine crime scene, it's as if the culprit was one massive spider that decided to make its hive in Ned's apartment.

"Ned?" You call out, worry raised in your tone as you look around—catching no sight of him through the thick layers of webbing. His large monitor screens are all left online, files left unclosed on the window tab, with no sign of their user.

You're one step away from the monitor, tempted to call the cops when you catch sight of crumpled papers upon papers scattered on the wooden floors beneath the desk. Brows furrowed, you crouch down, brushing away the loosened cobwebs coating the papers. They are— letters.

Your first instinct as your fingers trace over his handwriting, paper crumpled at the edges, is to leave it alone as it's most definitely personal—before your eyes catch sight of your name. No—you weren't imagining it. The letters were most definitely, addressed to you.

Hey! It’s Peter, your Peter.

Earlier was bad. Like, really bad. I can't believe I said 'Oh no!' to your face, like what kind of idiot does that as their first impression? Well, technically that wouldn't be our first meeting, though I doubt you'll remember me. I was anything but smooth on all the other occurences either.

Just talking with you in the hallway and carrying your boxes—I nearly forgot myself. I still can't decide if it's a curse or some cruel joke of a blessing that you moved into my apartment complex of all places. It's like the world's trying to tell me to just say the truth.

I should be going out there and telling you this instead of writing this stupid note or letter, but a letter should come in one of those fancy envelopes, so I guess I should call this a note? Anyways, I'm getting off track.

I miss being with you, and I’m so scared I’m starting to forget how it iswas between us, and talking to you again like everything was normal just—I had the urge to sit down and write to you, before I did anything stupid. So I could talk to you, in some way, without hiding behind 'Ned'. How stupid can I be, using Ned's name, like was that seriously all I could think of? I don’t know if this note will be worth anything by the end, but I think it’ll hurt worse if I just let what happened simmer in my brain.

I miss you so, so much. It feels like it's killing me sometimes, and I don't know what to do with myself now that you're here, so close to me, for what could be a really long time. I don't know what hurts worse, being apart from you or this, and I don't know what I'm going to do. You'd know what to say, and I wish you could tell me. I miss you ordering me around. I just miss you.

Love, Your Peter.

Your heart thumps painfully against your ribcage, fingers tightening over the crinkled edges, digging deeper into the forming lines. What kind of sick joke was this? Had he known you for longer—since before you moved into this apartment?

His strange reaction when he had bumped into you in the hallway for the first time reformed in your memory, the intensity of a stranger that came off as more than usual awkwardness.

"Sorry for bumping into you—" You huff, a cramped smile peeking through the many boxes you're carrying. "Not my best line of sight right now."

Past the boxes, is possibly the cutest potential neighbour you've ever seen. With wettened curls drooping over his forehead, a towel draped around his neck, in his grey sweats and baggy hoodie—this stranger looks like a dream. Or maybe you're just in desperate help to ease the load on your arms that carries your entire future life in this new apartment complex.

"What are you doing here?"

You blink, stunned by his sudden interrogation. That was—not what you expected. You run faces through your mind, anyone you may have accidentally pissed off in the last four years of your university life, but his doesn't come to mind at all. You would remember that face.

Especially if he's staring at you like the existence of you in this cramped hallway was a signal that the world was collapsing on him and his perfect curls.

"Uhm, I live here?" You answer, shuffling the boxes awkwardly between your two palms. "Well, starting today—I do."

Your words register slowly for him, and you feel it in the strain of your arms under the boxes, as the fact that you're his actual neighbour slowly kicks in to his senses.

"Oh." His lips part in genuine anguish. "Oh no."

"Yikes." You wince. "That's a warm welcome."

He's panicking. The cute stranger looks like he's one miscalculated breath away from passing out in the hallway, and you're in no position to assist him when you're clearly winded yourself.

"No—I didn't mean—" His voice stutters, catching at the tail-ends and running out of breath. "Oh, this is not how it's supposed to go."

"No, I don't think I've ever caused genuine pain to a neighbour just from my mere existence." You snort, offering a lighter tone. "Though Margeret may disagree."

His lips quirk up slightly, involuntary even if he has no idea who Margeret—your old neighbour, is supposed to be. "No, I'm sorry. That was rude of me." He tries again, voice sincerely apologetic. "Can I please help you with the boxes to make up for it?"

You open your mouth to brush off his request, but the boxes tilt right as you make another forward step. "Fine." You oblige. "Just don't start spreading rumours about me taking advantage of your kindness. I really need a new start here."

"Had personal experience with that?" He raises a brow, almost teasing—softer than he had been earlier in his initial shock. His hands come up under your boxes, brushing over your fingers almost tentatively.

The warmth of his touch lingers for a second longer than it should, but you're too focused on the relief of the heavy weight being lifted off your palms as he carries it into his own arms, clearly handling the boxes with more ease than you had.

"Ask Margeret." You shrug, rolling your shoulders to ease the cramping. "Thanks..."

His lips part and close, realising he's supposed to introduce himself. It takes him awhile to gather the syllables of his name, before he offers it. "..Ned."

"Thanks, Ned." Your smile deepens, and he stares at you long enough, gaze tracing over the curve of your lips for it to teeter towards awkward.

He keeps doing that, registering your presence as something otherworldly, as if it was the last thing he expected in his path. Maybe the complex has few new tenants to explain his abnormal reaction.

"Oh, my door's 13B."

"What—oh, right!" He blinks, still looking stunned and turning with such an abrupt motion towards the direction of your new studio—and somehow, you're fond of it immediately.

Fond of Ned, even if your arrival seems to have jumbled his senses into a frenzy, and you have only known him for approximately four minutes.

Hey, it's Peter again!

It's two in the morning, my ribs are aching from Scorpion, and talking with you in the laundry room was easily the best ten minutes of my life since everything changed. My smile refuses to be wiped and it's been nearly an hour, and I can't sleep cause I'm thinking about you. You genuinely work better than painkillers, and I love you. I love you so much that I have never wished so desperately...

I wish I wasn't Peter Parker. That I wasn't the person who took your love for granted, who reassured you that I'd always make it back to you and that I'd help you remember. I can't even protect the people I love, not without ruining their lives just by letting them in. Being able to keep you safe from me, is the only reason that's enough to keep me from barging in and fulfilling my promise. From reminding you of what I used to mean to you, and what we used to be. I am a coward, but I can only hope that I won't be a selfish one. I've created enough reasons for why I can't stand being me, but I refuse to list another which involves hurting you.

That's enough for tonight. I just wish that if the universe ever gives me the chance to make things right, without making everything else much much worse, I just want you to know that I would never take anything for granted ever again. Over anything. Over pineapple on pizza, or the supremacy of rock bands, or the Lego pieces I stuffed under my bed, or me being Spiderman. I miss you so much, and I hope you're having a better night that I am.

Love, Your Peter.

“Ned, are you okay?” You ask, watching as he limped forward towards the washing machine, one hand gripped right at his ribcage.

Your own batch is tumbling along, and you're seated cross-legged across your machine as he slumps forward to sit right next to you, hand going towards the cover of the conjoined machine beside yours.

“Peachy.” The crinkles of his eyes deepen, tossing you a wayward smile with a barely concealed wince. “Tripped and slammed into the washing machine yesterday.”

“That’s like the third time this month.” You raise a brow, expression contorting in concern.

“Is it?” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “Must be really off my game.”

“Of making amends with the washing machine?” You tease.

“Yeah, I suppose.” His smile softens, gazing up at you.

He does that a lot, go soft at the edges, as if he’s peeling back something fuzzy over his expression—and revealing something honest.

"My advice is to make an offer." You whisper conspiratorially. "Throw in your most favourite shirt or something, and the laundry gods will be kinder on you."

He snorts, and it feels strangely familiar to talk to him this way, under the dim lighting of the flickering lamp, surrounded by the scent of detergent. You barely get to see Ned as is, not like you're expecting a practical stranger to make up much of your socialising hours, aside from the quick friendly nods and occasional 'how's your day's' when brushing past each other in the hallway.

He's a busy guy, and the laundry mat has become a sacred space where the two of you existed in each other's worlds for just a few minutes, till the timer runs out.

"I don't really have anything of mine that'll please the gods." He whispers back.

"I could give you something." You shrug non-comittally.

His gaze widens, staring at you as you dig around in your inner pocket, before tugging something out. One of your favourite scrunchies in hand, you offer it to him.

"Here." You gesture. "Just toss it in with the pile, I guarantee you that the gods will leave you alone."

His gaze flickers between the scrunchie in your hand to you. He's about to say something, brows furrowing together in brief conflict, but chooses not to divulge as his hand reaches for the scrunchie. You note the bruises forming along his knuckles as his fingers loop around the silk, and your lips press together further in concern.

By the time your gaze meets his, he's already turned his head and placed the scrunchie gently on top of his pile of clothes. When he sets the settings and presses the button, the machine runs smoothly, beeping along with yours as his clothes begin to turn and tumble without fault.

"Wow, you really do make everything better." He mutters to himself.

Your smile softens. "It's just a scrunchie."

He shakes his head loosely, his curls falling to his forehead before he turns back to face you. His gaze pours over your features, the crinkles in the corner of his hazel eyes so soft in the dimmed lighting. "No, I think it’s you."

Peter here!

I just wanted to say happy birthday to the smartest, beautiful, kindest, most awesome human to ever exist! I ran out of other big words, but you make up the whole dictionary of synonyms for amazing in every language possible. I’m really sorry I couldn’t be there, you have no idea how sorry. I have many other things to be sorry for, but this week, that’s definitely going top of the list. I should really stop with these letters, but I really wanted to give you a proper wish just this once.

It kills me that I can’t celebrate with you, and I know you’d end me yourself if you remembered my promise with the camera. You always did like the grain. You still look absolutely beautiful even without it. I’m so proud of you—for being you, and existing, and just killing it out there in the world. I did something a little sad, and not even close to what you deserve, but I bought a cupcake from Delmar's earlier, and I even have the candle right in front of me.

I wish for you to live the most happiest, fulfilling life, and that danger will never come close to you. I wish that you will achieve everything you've ever dreamed of, and that you'll have people who will look after you and love you just as much as I do. I wish—that you'll live a life worth remembering.

I love you, and I think this will be my last letter. I think it'll be nearly impossible for me to let you go, but I think it's time I accepted that for you to live the life I wished for, I have to try.

I love you, Your Peter.

P.S. Sorry, just had to add this in one last time. You're always beautiful, and I'm not saying this because I only get to see you from a distance, but because I don't think I ever got to tell you that enough.

"Ned?" Your voice croaked out. "Is that you?"

You hear shuffling, before his left shoulder peeks out from the doorframe, slowly entering into view as he takes the lower step into the laundry room. He's staring down at you as if you've handed him an atomic bomb, and you're a sure mess, nose stuffy and eyebags swollen from crying.

"Hey." His soft call is close to making you lose it. "I didn't know if you wanted me intruding on your—"

"Date with the washing machine?" You huff, amusement dry as you turn back to look at your tumbling laundry. "By all means, join in. This current option isn't really doing it for me."

You spot the turn of his lips into a smile in your peripheral vision, before he eventually drops his weight beside you. His knee brushes against yours, and that contact registers like lightning to your senses, before he pulls back to that appropriate distance he always sets between the two of you.

You have no idea why it frustrates you so, even if you have nothing you should expect from him. Your gaze drops to his hand resting over his knee, bouncing slightly with a restless energy—and you spot your scrunchie over his wrist.

Your breath shortens, pulling your attention to his face only to find him already looking at you with unbridled concern.

"You okay?" He asks gently.

Your lip trembles, and you steady yourself as much as you are able. "Fine, just a real shit week."

"I'm so sorry to hear that." He's honest, you can hear it even without really looking him in the eye. "If you want, you can rant to me. I'm a real good listening ear. No mouthing off, just a still statue for your needs."

Your lips quirk up slightly at his attempt at minimising his presence, without even knowing how much it mattered to you that he came in here—or that he stood by the door for a solid ten minutes before you called him out. That he didn't leave, even if any normal stranger would.

"It's my birthday." You shrug, wiping at the tearstain at your cheeks. "And I just lost my job."

His lips part, brows pulling together—but he doesn't interrupt you.

"I was supposed to have a party today, and my college friends cancelled last minute." You mutter weakly. "Not that we were super close, but close enough that it mattered, y'know? I wasn't their first pick, or anyone's for the matter, so it really shouldn't have come as a surprise."

"No, you're—" His voice raises almost in frustration, and you meet his gaze. His Adam's apple bobs up and down, and his tone softens into an admission. "You're definitely my first pick."

Your laugh bubbles out of you, finding his statement absurd. "For what? You barely know me."

"I know you're extremely kind." He starts. "That you'd offer your favourite scrunchie to a stranger just to please the laundry gods. That you're funny, and beautiful—and my first pick for who I'd always want to run into."

You stare at him, unable to suppress your shock. He just called you kind, and funny, and beautiful—things people who've known you for longer hasn't thought to mention in years.

"That's—the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me in awhile." You confess, licking at your lips. "Thank you, Ned."

"It's only the truth." He presses. "I shouldn't be the only person to see that, and I know I'm not the only one who does."

"I don't know." You shrug uselessly. "My birthday hasn't even ended, and I feel completely unseen in my own life. I know it's a stupid thing, but I wish I had someone to take my picture, at least to comemorate that I've completed another spin around the Earth or something."

"You could use my camera." He offers almost instinctively.

"You have a camera?" You blink, before a slow smile spreads across your lips. "Of course you do. Do I need to be a tech-savvy to use those too, secret hacker?"

You're no stranger to the many monitors that crowd his apartment, courtesy to the many curious glances past the few times he's left his door ajar, into the premises of his own studio of what looked to be a completely different realm.

His smile deepens. "No, you just need to press two buttons. I could teach you how to work it out."

"You're into photography?" You ask.

His expression stiffens, thoughts trailing off. "Yeah, something like that. My aunt used to love taking physical photos, and I sorta inherited that trait. There was someone—who used to love using my film camera too. So, yeah—I guess I have some experience."

"You could teach me photography." You offer, almost tentatively. "Not just for the sad, lone birthday picture, I mean."

"Oh." He stares at you, and you see it then. Conflict—a pure, unmasked internal battle. "I—I don't know if I'm the right person."

You shrink slightly, less confident than you had been a few seconds ago. This really wasn't your day. "Right, sorry. I know you're a really busy person."

"No, I—" He winces, jaw clenching tight. "I would really love to. It's just that I'm—"

He pauses, staring at you with a nearly broken expression. Your brows furrow together, waiting for his answer—heart thumping in what could only be anticipation. Rejection is close at hand, and you hate that you find yourself waiting still, for something different. For him to fulfill something even you couldn't quite understand.

"Busy." He eventually settles on, voice trailing off in defeat.

You can't take it to heart. You don't allow yourself to, because disappointment is the last thing you wanted a taste of on a day like this. Ned was still nice enough to sit down here with you while you moped, and you shouldn't expect anything more. Even if you liked him, and the crinkles in the corners of his warm, brown eyes, and the sweet sound of his voice—more than you'd ever admit to yourself.

"That's not very creative." You mumble, presenting him with a weakened attempt of a smile. "I gave you that excuse, thief."

His own softened smile rises to meet yours, equally shattered. "I'm sorry. I promise I'll make it up to you."

You know he means it, you just don't know why your heart churns so painfully when you hear those words coming out of his mouth. You don't know if you have faith in promises lately. You haven't believed in those for a really long time.

You don't know how many letters you've gone through, flipping through confessions scribbled in secrecy, of mind-spells, and magic, and vigilantes—a life you don't even remember to be a fraction of your world.

A loud crash resounds behind you and you instinctively rise, tripping over your feet—almost frightened, lashes wet at the corner of your eyes when you turn and see Ned. No, Peter—dressed in a black tank-top much too short for his defined torso and… Juicy Couture pants?

He’s clearly disoriented, and you’re not sure if it’s the chronic migraines he usually gets—or something heavier he keeps hidden past the pile of letters that’s just spilled everything. You can barely look at him without feeling like you’re going to burst at the seams, and he hasn’t even noticed your presence in his apartment.

“What is this?” Your voice eventually breaks through.

His head snaps up, expression scrunched in tension—and he freezes. That same tentative smile he always tossed to you, always sweet and somehow all-too-knowing, locks in place as his lips part—assuming you’re talking about his outfit. Or the state of his apartment, there’s just too much about him that you could never quite put a finger on.

“Wrong laundry basket.” He huffs, churning out an attempt of a laugh to play it off. “Fell asleep in the laundry room, and I didn't even think to take a look at what's inside. I promise I'm not a thief.”

“Stop.” Your stern expression is caught by him immediately, and his attempt of a smile falters. Slowly, your hand raises the letters to his line of vision. "Peter."

His gaze snaps to the letters creased between your shaking fingers. You can't remember what breathing looks like, especially not when his own chest stutters visibly beneath the tank top, as if all the oxygen's been sucked out of him.

He knows, that you know.

"Oh—no." He whispers weakly, because that is the only appropriate thing to say. You’re struck with déjà vu, back to the first time you ever crossed paths with him in the hallway, when he had looked you with so much pain—one you couldn’t decipher.

He takes a step forward towards you, both hands raised with his lips parting to come up with an explanation. You instinctively take a step back, not on purpose, but the distance you've created lands all the same.

He flinches as if you've struck him, his expression shattered to pieces of that raw agony you've felt slip up from him once or twice. That same gaping sadness beneath his gaze, that he always covered up with a bandaged smile meant more for show.

"I'm sorry." His voice breaks weakly, hands clenching into a fist before dragging back down to his sides. "I didn't mean to scare you. Oh god, this was not how this was supposed to go."

"How was this supposed to go?" You echo back to him. "From your letters, it didn't seem like you were ever going to tell me."

It didn't mean to sound accusatory, but you're high on the precipice of a reality broken to pieces, and you're unsure if you're left alone in apartment with an actual lunatic, or with a truth you weren't suppose to discover.

"No, I—" He sucks in a breath, desperation seeping into his tone. "I swear I was going to, but then I found you and you looked so—"

His hands that have begun to brush through his curls fall flatly to the sides, defeated. "So peaceful—and safe. I felt so selfish to take that away from you. To drag you back into my world, knowing that all you'd face was danger or worse."

"And the truth is that hurt the people I love." He admits, his eyes squinting together as something wet flickers over his lashes, and you can tell he believes it. This so-called truth he tells himself. "Nothing good comes out of being close to me, and I couldn't lose you."

"I had to be okay with it." His gaze meets yours, broken. "Not being in your life will always be better than a world without you in it. I had to protect you, somehow—even if it meant leaving you alone."

"It was easier before you came." He huffs out, pained. "To keep a distance before I saw you everyday, just out of reach. I can't count the amount of times I nearly told you. I was just afraid, that if you didn't remember me, I don't think I can—live with hearing it. I'm a coward, and I took the only path I knew, which was to pretend. Like everything was fine, and that seeing you from a distance was enough."

You see it, the way his brain registers his actions as protection, but you don't feel protected. You feel isolated, locked out of your own memories and faced with a man you're supposed to know, someone your body is pleading for you to recognise past the fog in your brain.

“Listen—whatever worked worked, and I can’t remember.” You breathe out, exhale shaky from your lips. “I can’t remember what we had, but I know myself. I don't let people make promises to me, not unless I trust them so much that I—If you promised you’d find me, that you’d help me remember.” Your fist clenches tighter around the letters. "You should've known that I'd never be okay with leaving you alone to deal with this—"

"How could you know that?" He snaps.

You blink, stunned.

"I mean—you never had a normal life from the moment you met me." He goes on. "You never experienced a life without hoping I'd make it back home safe, without looking over your shoulder when I became the world's public enemy, or having to deal with stitches and blood and worrying about survival—instead of school!"

"You don't see the difference but I do." He confesses. "You're living a good life now, and I already screwed it up by entering it again."

"Peter." You cut him off, nearly pleading. "Stop it."

His jaw locks, lips clamping shut before he lets out a huff, one closer to a panic attack than frustration. "I'm sorry." He mutters, clenching his jaw. Something wet pries behind his lashes, and he runs his palms over them, covering his face. "I don't want to fight."

Your heart cracks a little, because there's something so heartbreakingly earnest in the way he says it, as if he's beating himself up over a million thoughts you can't uncover. Your steps inch closer, almost instinctively your body knowing the rhythm at the sight of a distraught Peter before you even have the chance to piece together the 'why'.

"We're not fighting, Peter." You reassure him, your hands tentatively lifting to rest atop his palm.

He freezes, unable to comprehend your touch. You peer through the gaps of his fingers, and find his gaze staring back at you, fractured and pained.

"I knew something wasn't right." You sigh. "I felt it this whole time. Like there was an absence of something—someone important. It gnawed at me, that emptiness, and it nearly drives me insane some nights."

He recognises the feeling, you know he does with the way his expression draws tighter—in understanding, in regret.

"I wish you came to me." You whisper. "I wish you told me, so you wouldn't have to go through this alone."

His lip trembles, as if he never expected you to hear the truth and stay. As if you'd pick the exit over him, when he clearly needs you now.

"If I had promised I'd be there for you, you should've let me keep that promise." You scold gently. "Even if it meant starting over. You’re not meant to deal with life alone, much less one as heavy as yours.”

His gaze is shaken, staring at you with his pupils blown wide. Waiting for reality to hit, or for you to take back your words—but you remain. You stand there, close enough for him to feel you. You don't falter.

Something in Peter gives—shatters completely, and it’s a mere blink before his arms are completely wrapped around you, squashing you into his chest. His fingers are shaking, trembling—a relieved exhale pressed against your shoulder blade before he buries himself deep into the crook above your collarbone.

“I missed you.” Wet tears pool at your skin. “So, so much. It felt like I was dying a little inside every single day, knowing I wasn't keeping your promise. I couldn't—I really tried letting go and it didn't work, not when you mean everything to me."

"I know you don't remember me or what happened between us but—" His voice shakes, muffled from his tight hold. "I love you and I’m sorry—I’m so sorry for everything.”

You can't answer him, not with the words he wants or deserves to hear with full honesty backing it, not without the memories you used to share. Yet, the hold of him is familiar, the way you run your fingers through his curls like memory work. His entire body caves in deeper to your touch, as if he’d been waiting this whole time since your arrival to let himself fall into you.

"From the first day I saw you." You admit. "I felt like I was meant to know you, Peter. I wouldn't have given you my scrunchie if it didn't mean something, if I didn't want to tie myself to you in some way."

Pulling back slightly so he meets your gaze, you find yourself mesmerised by the familiarity of him, the way his gaze pours over you automatically as if memorising you is all he wishes to do.

"I want to get to know you, Peter." You confess. "And I want to do it without you pushing me away, pretending like my life is happier without you when laundry nights are what I look forward to the most, because of you."

His breath halts, short-circuiting with your words. Something bright and warm bleeds into his face, and you recognise it to be happiness. Genuine, unconditional relief—before his forehead presses against yours, his lashes fluttering to a close as he embraces you.

"I can do that." He mutters softly. "I'll do anything you ask me to."

It's nice, to be held so tightly and finally feel whole. To have that gap in your chest you've never truly stitched up fade into something mind-numbingly warm and fuzzy, in the arms of the one person your body still commits to memory, past even some stupid mind spell.

“Also.." You murmur, still wrapped in his embrace. "Seriously, what is this outfit?"

A surprised chuckle escapes his lips, a little wet-sounding as he clears his throat. "I wasn't lying about the laundry mishap. I swear I don't dress like this normally."

You hum. "I don't know, I kind of like it."

The silence stretches for a brief second. "I'll buy more if you want me to."

Oh, and Gwayne has this habit before bed. He won't fall asleep until he's whispered a prayer or two. Early on, he always turns slightly away from you, like it's something private between himself and the Seven. If you ask what he prays for, he gives you the safest answers possible. His house, his father's health, the Hightower standing another year. Simple ones, boring ones.

But as your marriage settles and the two of you grow comfortable with each other, he starts asking the moment your heads hit the pillow. "Shall we give thanks to the Seven for today's blessings?" he'd ask in the dark. 

You're not really used to it at first. Especially during those first few weeks of marriage. But somewhere along the way it becomes your routine too, and before you know it, you're the one starting it. "I'm grateful for today's weather. What about you, husband?"

And boy, does Gwayne Hightower have nightmares (lots of them!!!). Years of carrying the weight of being a Hightower would do that to him. It scares you the first few times because you think he's talking to you. One night, you hear him whisper oddly, "No, don't leave the tower... don't. I'll fix it."

The next morning, you ask what he meant and if he wants to talk about it. He just shakes his head, presses your hand flatter against his heart, and say, "Just stay. That's all I need."

By the time real trust settles between you, Gwayne stops faking it. He still starts the night as the big spoon out of habit, but it never lasts. Twenty minutes later, he rolls around, signalling for you to hug him from behind, and you do so wholeheartedly. 

And he loves it!!!! Loves it when you let him curl into you without saying a thing about it. You never tease him or point it out. You just wrap an arm around his waist, press a kiss to the back of his head, and carry on like this is exactly where he's meant to be.

Whenever he's away from you, whether it's on campaign or travelling to King's Landing, his sleep slips right back into old habits. Odd waking hours and restless nights. He blames the tent, the road, the food. He even blames Criston Cole. Literally anything except the real reason. 

Every so often, his arm reaches out in his sleep for someone who isn't there, and he wakes feeling lost before remembering where he is. The prayers still happen, of course, but they're different out on the road. 

Which means: less recitation and more requests. 

He asks the Mother to watch over you. Promises the Father he'll become a better man if he makes it home alive. Even bargains with the Stranger for one more chance. One more chance to love you properly, the way a wife deserves to be loved. He even catches himself promising children. A son or two. Maybe a daughter with your smile and his eyes.

As for letters, Gwayne's always come out shorter than he means them to, but somehow they end up saying far more than he intended. He'd never write that he can't sleep without you. Instead, he'll complain about the weather being poor for rest, or the cot being uncomfortable, or mention he's been unusually tired lately.

"The road is long and I find little rest upon it. I think of you more than is wise for a man meant to be thinking of other things."

And when Gwayne finally comes home safe... oh, does he keep those promises to the Seven.

He holds onto you a little tighter than usual, doesn't bother leaving that careful bit of space between you anymore. His kisses linger and he becomes way too clingy. And when the two of you finally make love again……

It's all slow hands and passionate kisses like he's making sure you're really here. Then it becomes desperate. Like he's trying to make up for every night he spent sleeping without you. Like he's thanking every god who listened for bringing him home in one piece.

When you quietly ask what happened to the composed Hightower heir, he just buries his face into your shoulder and mutters, "He died on the road. So you can have me tonight."

And really... how could you say no?

You pull him closer, let him rest, and remind him that he doesn't have to be the Hightower heir tonight. He doesn't have to be Otto's son or Alicent's brother, or the man everyone expects him to be.

she nodded and tucked herself in the corner, looking away with her arms crossed over her chest. "not at all, my lady."

you quickly stripped and set your things to the side, slipping beneath the water with the pummice-stone covered in a thin layer of soap in hand. you instantly began scrubbing it against your skin, anxious for the dirt and oil to leave you. brienne didn't turn, and you offered, "i'm in the water now. it’s alright."

she slowly turned straight again, reaching for her own bar of soap to rub in her hands and then run the suds through her short hair. you both worked quietly, ridding yourselves of the filth from the journey until she finally asked, "how is ser jaime?"

you hesitated, flashes of his screams and bloodied wrist and the surprisingly honest words you’d shared in the midst of it all flying through your mind before you shoved them away. you offered her a thin smile and a nod. "he's fine now. the maester burned away the infection and stitched the skin back together, so hopefully the arm won't have to be taken."

"that's good," she said quietly, nodding too. another few moments passed before she spoke again, words quick like she'd been waiting for an opportunity to get them off her chest. "i failed him and lady catelyn," she admitted, looking up from the water to meet your eyes. a brief silence passed where you both sat in her words, your brows knitted slightly in disbelief. "i promised to return him to king's landing safely. i failed."

all along your journey you'd noted the way that she upheld herself with a sort of knightly virtue that you hadn't seen often in those who weren't declared knights, and even some who were. she was honorable and diligent and loyal with a strength that was missing from the world.

you admired it greatly. in your experience, most women of court were vile and manipulative and disloyal. even you, in some senses, had been raised how to manipulate situations in ways that best served you, pushing you to take control of your life even as you attempted to remain as pure as possible.

you'd tried to be like brienne, but you were raised to be like olenna - and in so many ways you believed that you failed to be either.

"it isn't your fault," you told her with a sad sigh and a shake of your head. "you couldn't have done anything."

"i could have. i should have," she said surely.

you shook your head again. "there wasn't anything we could do. how were we supposed to know that he was going to cut his hand off? honestly, i assumed they'd keep him in one piece just because of who his father is. though, i guess the constant reminder of that pissed locke right off." you let out a breath. “look, it’s not your fault, it’s not mine, and it’s not jaime’s. it’s on locke, not us.”

she nodded slowly, watching you with probing eyes that you tried to avoid. then she said, "except you did try. you went for the sword."

"and i was thrown away," you said, rolling your eyes. "what could i do anyways? i'm a girl from highgarden; born to look pretty and be obedient, raised to manipulate the few choices i have, trained to be the perfect highborn woman to sit next to jaime at the rock. i've no right to a sword."

she frowned. "you do. every person has a right to a sword. you've been practicing too, i'm sure in due time you'll be exceptional."

you snorted, looking away. "not according to jaime."

"ser jaime doesn't know what he's talking about," she told you. "and anyways, i'm sure he only said that to get a rise out of you. he seems to admire you more than he lets on."

"thank you, but i doubt that," you answered with an amused smile, continuing to scrub your arms harshly with the pummice-stone soap.

you didn’t doubt it as much as you let on, mind immediately going back to the conversation you’d had during his surgery.

he would go to war for you, he told you. you were a better person than cersei, he told you.

he even alluded to the fact that he could have even been grateful for your help and compassion, which had stuck with you in the hour since leaving him.

it made you mad, almost, how quickly he was able to twist your anger into compassion. you hated that his pain disarmed you, but you would have hated yourself more if you'd let him suffer.

brienne watched you as if you were speaking aloud, a certain understanding in her eyes as you scrubbed your arms harshly.

she cleared her throat. “i would be angry too,” she told you quietly. “i know it’s not my place, forgive me, but i can’t imagine this is an easy thing to carry on your own. i would hate him too.”

“i don’t hate him,” you answered quickly, shaking your head as your eyes caught on the ripples in the water from your movements. “but, he’s definitely pushing me closer to it.”

her smile softened even more until it dropped, and she eyed you like she knew something you didn’t. you met her eyes for just a moment and then her expression pissed you off and you went back to washing.

you hated when people thought they knew you; especially if they turned out to be right.

it was then that the doors opened behind you, brienne's eyes widening slightly as she sunk deeper beneath the water.

"if you scrub any harder, you'll scrub your skin off."

seemed like he had returned to normal.

you let out a deep sigh through your nose, not even turning to see jaime as he walked in. you could hear his footsteps behind you, stopping near where you rested your things and setting his own down. "speak of the devil," you murmured to brienne, who was appalled as jaime rounded the tub and began to strip.

she looked away while you looked to him briefly, rolling your eyes as he unabashedly dropped his trousers. "gods, jaime, a warning next time."

"this is a bath," he said as he slipped into the water. "you should've expected it. and anyways, it's not like it's anything you haven't seen before."

"it's been a while," you hummed, dragging your soap now over your legs as jaime glanced over to you. he took in the sight of your bare shoulders and collarbone, not greedy, but almost remembering what they looked like without the tattered remains of robb’s grey dress covering them.

“too long,” he answered quietly, which only made you roll your eyes.

brienne grew more uncomfortable, moving to the side and reaching for her clothes. “i’ll leave you two be.”

“yes, perhaps we can mend our missteps,” jaime said ironically, a slow smirk pulling at his lips as he watched her. she hesitated now that his eyes were on her and you scoffed, setting your soap to the side and shifting through the water to his side.

you slapped a hand over his eyes. “decency, jaime,” you told him even as he grabbed your wrist with zero attempt to pull it away.

“i am a decent man,” he answered with a laugh.

“what a high bar for yourself, husband,” you said dryly, brienne now standing and shuffling for her clothes as you kept your eyes on jaime.

he was even more filthy than you thought, the dirt all across his collarbone and chest, down his arms and covering his face. some of his muscle had left him, though you still wouldn't call him thin, and there were a variety of scars covering his skin that you didn't notice before the war began. he held his wrapped stump above the water, instructed not to let it get wet, and you could see the dull cloud of brown in the water that came from him settling into the bath.

his hand trailed from your wrist to your shoulder and then down your side. you smacked him. “stop that.”

“you used to like that,” he hummed with a smirk.

brienne was finished now, looking between you both with knitted brows and a small frown. “are you alright, my lady?” she checked once, towel and toiletries in her arms as she passed you and jaime.

you smiled gently, offering her a nod. “i’ll be able to handle it, yes. thank you, lady brienne. we’ll see you at supper.”

she nodded, eying jaime as you dropped your hand from his eyes before she fled the room, muttering in answer, "i'll see you when you're both decent."

"might take a while!" he called after her, earning a frown from you.

"do you ever shut up?" you asked with a raise of your brows.

jaime grinned, turning to you. “what? are you going to run from me too?” he asked with a tilt of his head. “you always did look so good walking away.”

“be quiet, jaime,” you scoffed, smacking him again before moving back to your previous spot. you dunked beneath the water, wetting your hair and running your hands through it to shake any loose dirt out before rising again and rubbing shampoo into the roots and ends, determined to get all the dirts and oils and blood from the surface.

“you don’t want me to shut up,” he hummed, watching you. “how else would you be so entertained?”

you didn't answer, scrubbing your scalp still and then dipping your head back into the water. you were aware that in the process your upper body was bobbing in and out, exposing you for a few brief moments, but you couldn't find it in you to care. in fact, you even were mildly appreciative of the way jaime continued to look at you, waiting for an answer maybe, or breathing you in in a capacity he hadn't been able to in a long time.

when the suds were rinsed from your locks, you glanced back to him, eying the dirt covering his arms. with a sigh, you shifted towards him. “if you don’t keep it clean it’ll rot away,” you said, reaching for your soap.

you moved to stand in front of him, the water just barely above your chest as you grabbed his right arm. careful to keep the wrappings dry, you began to clean the rest of the area, scrubbing away the dried blood and grime and mud that was still caking his skin. he pulled him arm slightly towards him, which brought you closer too, now standing between his knees with your heart racing in your chest. you stilled for just a moment, catching his eyes with slight warning before continuing your wash.

“well, why would i keep it clean if it meant i get my pretty wife to clean it for me?” he asked as he raised his arm with a nod, grinning as he watched you rinse the suds away, hands gentle against his skin.

you rolled your eyes, running water down the length of his arm, your other hand cupping just above the wrappings to keep them from getting wet. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you’re too kind to me,” he answered instead, not an ounce of sarcasm in his tone for once as you moved to his left arm, keenly aware that he had no way to scrub this one either.

“i swore myself to you, jaime,” you reminded with a sigh as you ran your hand up and down his bicep, surprised at how his muscle had maintained even with such little food and so much adversity. he watched you, looking to your eyes as you ran your hand up to his shoulder and collarbone, faltering as it came to his jaw.

his once clean-shaven skin had a thick beard now, somehow soft to the touch despite the amount of dirt caked into it. there were a few odd grey hairs mixed into the usual dark gold, and you almost smiled at the sight, not having noticed them before now. had you not been so close, and so naked, you might have teased him about them.

you remembered a time that he would've thrown a fit over a single hair being out of place, or freaked about having greys appearing in his hair, and how he would spend a surprising amount of time in the mornings making sure he was up to par in the ways that people expected of him. despite not being a prince, he was the people's prince still, and a prince to you. he wanted to live up to it.

what a stark contrast to the ways he was forced to live now, and how he'd grown accustomed to it.

your thumb ran over the hairs again in slight wonder. as long as you’d known him, jaime had kept himself shaven, said he felt cleaner that way, and more put together. but now, you felt almost partial to the beard. it suited him. heart thumping, you thought again how it would feel against your lips, or your neck, or wherever else jaime would choose to kiss you.

you froze at the thought, and he searched your eyes for any inclination as to what was running through your mind. his hand reached gently to wrap his fingers around your elbow, leaning forward a bit to be even closer.

"careful, wife," he murmured, your heart jumping at the husk in his tone. "you'll polish me back into the man you married."

you almost wished that was possible, but you knew he was just as unfaithful then as he was now.

memories of experiences long past filled the both of you, what it felt like to be close and intimate tarnished with the knowledge (or assumption) that the other had shared that with another person. and yet you were still drawn together, that normalcy that came with covenants and the last few months of genuinely knowing each other encouraging you closer.

slowly, you ran your hand back down his now clean arm and then stepped back, clearing your throat as his hand fell from your arm.

“i think you can handle the rest,” you told him quietly, nodding to his hair and chest.

silence filled the room as you went back to your spot a ways to his side, relaxing once more in the warmth of the water even as your brain ran through a million potentials for what had just happened.

you couldn’t stick to one side, it seemed. too inclined to be angry, too inclined to be cruel, yet unable to leave him hanging in his hurt and struggle even when he’d left you too many times to count. he was surprisingly easy to be soft with; teasing jokes and lingering touches and eye contact that had your heart racing. in some ways, he was still that sparkling young man you’d found yourself obsessed with at such an early age, your own knight in shining armor. and in every other way, he was a hardened soldier who took comfort in the arms of another, and had the faults of every other man in the west.

after the silence dragged on long enough to leave the both of you stilling in your through, jaime began to clean the rest of him with his remaining hand. when you didn’t look at him or speak anymore, he tried at a new joke. "at least i didn't lose the hand i used to please you." and when that didn't earn a response, he huffed amusedly, "or, perhaps it was a reminder from the gods to stop touching things i shouldn't."

he was trying to make you laugh, and you knew it, but you also knew why; he was hurting. he always tried to smother brokenness with humor, pretending like he was fine and sometimes trying to make other people hurt instead.

unfortunately, your heart thumped in your chest at the thought of him pleasing you, it having been a long time since it happened. you also paused at the mention of him not being able to keep his hands to himself, a strange satisfaction at the acknowledgement of his wrong and also frustration with the reminder. after a quick moment, you collected yourself and let out a terribly annoyed sigh, rolling your eyes.

he grinned. "ah, there's the wife i know. for a second, i thought you'd gone tender on me."

"i've always been tender, jaime," you said with another roll of your eyes. "you're thinking of your sister again."

he twitched, eyes searching yours as he thought of a quick answer. "well, in the last few months," he scoffed. "you surely have not." he paused, eyes lingering on you for several moments before he tilted his head. "you certainly bring up my sister quite often. are you sure you're not the one obsessed with her?"

your eyes flashed to him for a frustrating second, but you quickly looked away with a frown. "are you sure she's still going to love you without a hand?"

it felt like a cruel question, but evidently it wasn't.

"yes," he answered almost casually. "it makes me even more interesting. and, she'll probably find a way to make it seem sexy - she, at least, always thinks i'm attractive."

you knitted your brows, eyes turning back to him. "what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

jaime had always been attractive to you. there wasn’t a single moment in your almost twenty five years of life that you hadn’t thought jaime lannister was a beautiful man. sure, you’ve been frustrated with him as of late, and not too interested in telling him so, but before this all you made that very clear.

even a few hours ago, in trying to distract his mind from qyburn snipping at his skin, you’d admitted it to him.

and now he alludes otherwise?

"what kind of a wife refuses her husband for months before she even learns of his infidelity?" he asked then, rolling his eyes. "you didn't even try to hide it. after winterfell everything changed." he froze for a moment and you just lingered on that, wondering what, exactly, had ticked you off and told you to stop with jaime. his attitude, probably, and the sudden realization that he was not this perfect golden knight like you thought he was. but, jaime came to a different conclusion. "though, i suppose that's where you first met your wolfish lover. didn't need me after you had him, am i right?" you knitted your brows, moving to answer but he scoffed and cut you off. "at least i had the decency to be with you and cersei."

and that just pissed you right off.

"you weren't though, jaime," you said sternly, frowning deeply. "you weren't with both of us. you left me for four years. no letters, no visits, no anything. and i did not have an affair with robb stark at winterfell."

he hummed. "only at camp, then."

"i didn't sleep with him," you answered angrily, letting out a frustrated sigh through your nose as you turned away and dropped your hands back in the water. "i'm not like you. i stick to my word."

you thought back to the kiss you'd shared with the king, the way he'd held you gently and kissed you firmly, with more passion and intent than jaime ever had. well, of course he did - jaime was too caught up thinking about another woman while he was with you. robb was only thinking about you.

"then what did you do?" jaime asked, watching you reminisce with an understanding to his tone.

he knew what it was like to think of a lover while being bound to another.

you shrugged, leaning back against the tub. you didn't want to give him the real answer - you didn't want him to think you had more in common than you did. ultimately, you'd turned robb down, and jaime... well, he'd never been able to tell cersei no.

"i listened to him," you told him without a glance. "and he listened to me."

the silence that followed had you questioning things, and it took a quick look his way to realize you may have made a mistake in judgment. he stared at the water in front of him, jaw clenched and eyes fogged in a way that made it seem as though you telling him you'd connected with robb emotionally was worse than saying you'd kissed him.

the silence dragged and you swallowed harshly, desperate for a way to fill it now.

"i'm not sure who roose is going to return you to," you admitted quietly then, watching jaime form the corner of your eye as he stewed in your previous words. "he seemed... hesitant in giving that information away. whether we'd be going back to king's landing or to robb."

"i'm sure you'd prefer the latter." he wanted to make you flinch now, because if you flinched he wouldn't be the only one at fault.

luckily, you didn't.

"if i did i would be there right now, jaime," you said, flicking the water away as you let out a frustrated sigh, definitely regretting your earlier words now.

"no, you didn't know you hated me this much until now."

"yes, and yet i'm still here because i said i always would be," you said, your annoyance bubbling in your chest as you pushed water around in front of you and refused to look at him.

a few tense moments passed and then he said, "you shouldn't be." your eyes flicked to him, frowning at the mention of refusing your own honor the way he has, but he continued. "you called cersei cruel and uncaring, said she was a liar and a cheater and maybe you're right. but, maybe she was also right, about one thing anyways. maybe she didn't come for me because she knows i'm not worth saving."

you watched him for several seconds and then looked away once more. "if i waited to help people until they were worth saving, there wouldn't be anyone left to save."

your words settled between you for a long while, jaime’s eyes falling away as he considered them harshly. he shook his head, finally murmuring, “maybe you should've waited.” you knitted your brows, looking to him and then he told you, “you have the wolf boy waiting for you in the riverlands, i have cersei in the capital. maybe we should both go where we’re wanted.”

it didn’t make sense to you, the way he was suddenly so against you helping him earlier. only an hour ago he’d asked you to stay with him while he rested, only a few minutes ago he drilled you about your relationship with robb as if he’d cared.

and now he didn’t? now, he just wanted to go back to cersei and for you to leave to the king in the north. fuck vows, fuck oaths, fuck the life you promised to each other, just go where your desires take you.

that was everything you’d stood against since everything had come out. that was everything you’d tried to avoid since you’d discovered his affair.

and you would continue to avoid it.

jaime was sworn to you, he was your husband, the father to your future children, the man you’d promised in the eyes of the gods to stand beside no matter what happened, he was yours. or so said your vows. and you would do what it took to keep it that way and actually manage a decent life for you both.

still, you stood from the bath, reaching for the towel as you stepped out of the water. his eyes traced you delicately, even when you wrapped your towel around your curves and dried quickly, ringing out your hair into the bath.

his expression was pitiful; shocked and hurt, almost. like he'd expected you to sit with him in the water until he was clean and contented.

but, it didn't keep you from pulling the simple blue dress lord bolton had provided for you over your slightly sticky skin and gathering your toiletries into the fold of the towel.

he could stew in that water until the seven themselves took pity and he would still think he was the only one hurting.

but, if he was going to continue behaving this way, you wouldn't pity the lion anymore.

you met jaime’s eyes and lied: “maybe we should.”

the surprise and confusion on his face was exactly what you’d been going for, and you tried to resist a smile as you turned and left the room.

the heat clung to you long after you left. you could still feel his gaze, his touch, his voice, the ache of every word neither of you had said.

maybe you should go where you were wanted.

the lie echoed all the way up the hall.

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"and you didn't run?" he said, half confused and half suspicious.

you snorted. "we're half a day out from harrenhal. you'd catch us even if we tried."

he hummed, considering you for a few moments and grinning as he glanced down at your lap before stalking away. "get up, then. time to meet lord bolton."

you stood quickly, brows furrowed as you stepped hastily after him. "lord bolton? what about the king?"

"he's in riverrun, my lady," he told you with a splitting grin, amused at your evident confusion. "the poor lad had a funeral to go to. but, don't you worry - lord bolton is as gracious as your wolf. perhaps he'll even care for you the same as the king would."

he walked off with a laugh, yelling for the horses to be brought while you stood watching.

if you had known that robb wasn't even going to be there, you would've tried to run last night. you didn't know lord bolton even though you saw him once in robb's tent. he seemed respectful enough, but you hadn't had a single good experience with his men. with his king absent, you assumed he would be one in the same.

they pushed you towards your horse and you swung up without help this time, waving them away as they all gathered to begin the journey.

the ride was short enough, though it seemed to tax jaime even more than the day prior. by the looks of it, he hadn't slept when you did. his eyes were darker and more sunken in than before, his breaths labored but thin, his hold on the reins with his single hand almost slack as he trotted along.

you tried not to look at him too much, the sight of your husband so defeated not good for your morale. still, you couldn't help your eyes catching every so often, a silent wish that he would look up and make a jest. but he didn't. just stared down at the saddle and bounced along, eyes thinly lidded and mouth dropped into a dull, nearly lifeless frown.

when you rode up to harrenhal early that afternoon, the skies had sunk even darker than they’d been before. a variety of northmen bustled about the place, shouts for squires and tools and “a new sword for ser alec” echoing around the stony ruins.

brienne was shoved to her knees as soon as she was off her horse, you grabbed by both arms and held in place next to her, and jaime pushed forward with unmatched aggression as locke called for lord bolton.

"the kingsalyer," he declared with a wave, grinning as roose looked over the three of you.

his eyes caught on jaime's stump, then turning to locke. "he's missing a hand," he said, tone almost unimpressed even as locke laughed.

"no, my lord, he's got it right here," he answered, pulling at the rope stringing jaime's lost hand to his neck.

roose snatched it off quickly, shoving it into locke's chest with a frown. "take this away."

"send it to his father?" locke asked amusedly.

"you'll hold your tongue unless you want to lose it," bolton answered shortly, and his tone gave you a tiny bit of hope that you would actually be treated well here. he turned to you and brienne, eyes on the men at your sides. "let them free. apologies, my ladies. you're under my protection now."

as soon as their grip grew slack on your arms you stepped forward and pulled the rest of the way out, giving the man a cordial but thin smile and a nod. "thank you, my lord. that's a comfort."

brienne stood, towering over both you and roose as she answered the same. "thank you, my lord."

he nodded and looked back to jaime, taking in his filthy state for a few silent moments. and then he instructed, "find suitable rooms for our guests. we'll speak later."

he turned, his men beginning to disperse before jaime spoke up, surprising all of you.

"lord bolton," he said, ignoring your probing eyes as you watched him closely. roose turned around slowly, meeting jaime's eyes and raising his brows in silent question. jaime took a short breath before asking, "is there word from the capital?"

it was a stab in the chest to hear him ask of it, ask of cersei, a knife to whatever sort of hope had begun to spring in your heart, and you prayed it didn't show on your face. though, when you took a single step back and brienne stepped into view next to you, you knew it did. her brows were furrowed, lips downturned in judgment as she looked from jaime to you. she tried to meet your eyes but you just stared harshly at your disloyal husband, ignoring the softened look she gave you.

roose's eyes flicked to you momentarily before he took a step towards jaime, head tilted. "you haven't heard?" jaime watched, mouth open though he held his breath in wait. roose was nearly smiling as he told him, "stannis baratheon laid siege to king's landing. sailed into blackwater bay. stormed the gates with thousands of men. and your sister..." roose paused and jaime looked up finally, eyes wide and concerned as the silence dragged on. you waited impatiently as well, almost hopeful before he stepped forward to be face to face with jaime. he let out a sigh. "how can i put this?"

the excitement you felt budding within you almost disgusted you, but you quickly reminded yourself of cersei's crimes, disloyalties, and cruel intentions, and suddenly you were righted again. you recentered yourself, leaning just slightly to hear better whatever news roose was set to deliver.

"your sister," he started again slowly, jaime's breath becoming labored as he steeled himself. "is alive and well. your father's forces prevailed."

you let out a breath at the same time as jaime, though yours was accompanied by an eyeroll too similar to your grandmother's as you turned away. jaime, instead, hit the muddy ground, grabbing lord bolton's legs as he tried to remain on his knees, but he fell still.

roose's voice was deadpan as he said, "ser jaime isn't well. take him to qyburn." you didn't watch as they dragged him off, turning to face brienne instead as you shared a look of inherent disappointment. behind you, roose let out an amused laugh. "did i excite you, my lady?"

you smiled thinly, though he couldn't see it. "yes, you surely got my hopes up." you turned to meet his eyes, tilting your head slightly. "it's a pleasure to see you again, my lord."

"and you, my lady," he agreed with a nod. "i admit, the nature of our meetings hasn't been ideal."

"not so much," you said with a light laugh. "but, i appreciate your courtesy nonetheless. it's a splendid change from your men."

he let out a sore sigh as if he wasn't surprised in the least to hear that. "they're a determined group."

"very opinionated," you hummed. "crueler than most. though, i wasn't surprised given their sigil." you paused, eying him. "and yours."

bolton considered you for a few moments before stepping towards you and admitting quietly, "i have no intention to harm you, my lady, whether it is on my banner or not. there is use for you yet, and i, for one, am looking forward to seeing it."

"you'll bring me to the king, then?" you asked, raising your brows.

roose clicked his tongue, glancing away for just a moment. "we'll discuss our plans when you're better rested, my lady." he nodded to a man waiting for instruction. "take lady lannister and lady brienne to suitable rooms. ready the baths."

"yes, my lord," the man answered quickly. he gave him a short nod and then waved to you and brienne. "come along, my ladies. it isn't far."

brienne left first, watching you as you paused to hold lord bolton's eyes for just a few seconds longer, wondering what plans and tricks were forming behind those dark northern eyes. you finally turned away and followed them down, though you could feel roose's gaze remaining.

something was wrong here. you saw it in the way he looked at you, as if he'd already decided where you belonged. you just didn't know where that was.

you were about to leave your room to bathe when a sound caught you - a shallow, echoing scream from somewhere in the lower halls. it made the knock that followed it all the sharper. with knitted brows, you pulled the door open, surprised to find what seemed to be a maester's assistant, dressed in his robes but absent of a chain, with a distressed look on his face. you looked up at him expectantly. "yes?"

"ser jaime," he said anxiously, and your heart dropped. "the maester is attending to his hand, and he's refused milk of the poppy, and, well, my lady, you must come quickly."

you let out a thin, fragile breath, nodding without another thought. "get going, then."

he nodded quickly and waved you after him, rushing down the hall at a pace you nearly had to jog to keep up with, holding your skirt above your boots to keep from tripping.

you knew where you were going only because the sheer volume of jaime's screams echoing around the corridors of the lower level of harrenhal. the guard glanced over his shoulder to ensure you were still following, but at that moment you weren't sure if you would have been able to not. hearing jaime's pain only quickened your steps, as much as you resented that, and soon you were pulled through the door of the maester's office.

the room smelt absolutely awful, the metallic ring of blood mixing with the sourness of infection in a way that made you want to leave instantly.

jaime was still in his filthy rags, hair still stuck together with mud, dirt still smeared across his skin even as the maester underwent an incredibly difficult and sensitive surgery. his arm was locked in place to the table with a metal cuff, his forearm tied off to minimize the amount of blood that would spill as a result of the cutting. he had a variety of knives on the table, scissors and gauze and wine, and yet it all still looked incredibly unprofessional.

"why hasn't he been cleaned?" you asked with furrowed brows as you moved to take the chair the assistant had placed for you next to jaime. your husband grabbed your arm tightly, his hand too warm for comfort, teeth gritted and eyes shut as the maester continued to cut into his arm with an uncomfortably intrigued gaze. you weren't graced with an answer, jumping as jaime let out the loudest scream you'd ever heard in your life.

the assistant watched in slight horror as the maester continued to slice away the dead and infected skin surrounding jaime's stump, hands and scissors covered in his blood as he snipped away a particularly black piece of flesh. jaime screamed again, his hand tightening on you as you held it right back, turning in your seat with a sudden idea.

you reached a hand to cup his jaw, drawing his eyes to yours even as his face was pulled in a perpetual wince, the corners of his eyes wet with tears and lines drawn in the dirt on his cheeks from ones that had already fallen. "let's talk," you said decidedly. "now is a good time to talk."

if you couldn't stop his pain, you would try to smother it.

qyburn cut again and jaime yelped, and from the corner of your eye you saw the purply sort of thin pus begin to ooze from the area freshly exposed. you winced, looking back to him and mustering a small smile. "what should we talk about?"

"anything," jaime grunted, eyes squeezing shut as qyburn brought a pick to area to carefully drag the dead skin away. "fucking anything."

"okay, well," you hummed, thinking for just a moment. "i'm pretty sure this is the most time we've ever spent together. even before you fled to king's landing we rarely saw each other at the rock. what do you think of me now? do you think we've finally gotten to know each other?"

he let out a breath through his nose, eyes still shut as he nodded. "we... have!" he grunted again, folding forward as qyburn shoved his arm back to the table. he let out a labored breath and nodded again. "you're utterly... delightful."

"so are you," you answered, hand coming to his cheek again as you guided his eyes back to you. "i must say that for as much a pain you are, you are certainly enjoyable to be around."

"thanks, darling," he breathed out, almost mustering a smile before he crumpled again, grip tightening on your hand like a damn snake.

you squeezed his hand back, holding it now in both your own and shaking it in any sort of attempt to draw his mind away. a thought passed fleetingly through your mind, and you clung to it.

perhaps now, with him confined to a chair, only able to speak in half-thoughts, too focused on on the pain shooting up his arm, now was the time to get some of your thoughts out. you decided to take that chance. "though, you are a bit insufferable when you speak of cersei. she's not as wonderful as you think she is, i promise you."

even though it caught his attention the way you wanted, your heart still jumped in slight shock and awe. what sort of wife mentioned her husband's affair while he was being carved apart?

the one that wanted to distract him, evidently.

when he opened his mouth to answer, qyburn snipped again and he folded into you, head falling to where your hands gripped his tightly.

"she's a liar, and a cheater, and she treats me as though i were a child."

"comparatively-" jaime yelled out, arm jerking in its restraint as qyburn leaned back to wait for him to calm again. he let out a shaking breath, meeting your eyes after a second. "given our age, you are one."

you scoffed. "cut him again, maester."

"as you wish, my lady," qyburn answered with almost an amused smile, slicing into jaime's wrist once more as the knight let out a strangled cry.

any sort of satisfaction that came from his response immediately washed away at the sound of his pain and you found yourself leaning closer to him, scooting your chair up so your knees were pressed up against his thigh, jaime immediately sinking closer to you and squeezing your hand tighter.

"i'm not a child," you told him as you held his hand. "nine years doesn't make me a child. i'm much more matured and wise than your sister, that much i know for a surety. your father saw it too."

he grunted, a highpitched cry following almost immediately before he answered with a deep breath, "did he?"

you rested your forehead on his, squeezing his hand. "why do you think we're married, jaime?" his breaths were heavy and harsh against your skin, but he seemed to relax at your continued touch. he flung back suddenly, yelling out and you said loudly over it, "and why do you think incest is illegal?"

the subtle smile on qyburn's lips and the slowly steadying breaths of jaime told you your method was working - well, at least for you. jaime's head fell forward, grunting once before muttering, "you trying to torture me more?"

you raised one of your hands to lift his head again, brushing his hair away with a soft touch that shocked the both of you. you tried to get it out of his face for a moment, avoiding his probing eyes and bated breath before answering, "i'm trying to distract you, lion boy."

"it's working," he answered quietly before qyburn cut him again and he yelled, jerking away.

"back here, love, come on," you said, shaking your head and dragging his attention back to you with a hand still in his hair. "it was working when we talked about cersei, so damn it, let's talk about cersei. what's so endearing about her anyways?" he grunted, eyes squeezing shut and your hand moved from his hair to his cheek. "she seems rude to me, to be honest. but, i suppose she isn't rude to you if you'd go to war for her."

"we went..." he took a deep breath, yelling again and flinching towards you before finishing with much labor, "we went to war for tyrion." he winced. "not cersei."

you knitted your brows at his correction. since the war had become one of five kings, it had turned into a war for his and cersei's son's legitimacy. in your eyes, he was at war for cersei.

apparently not, though.

"would you go to war for me?" you asked, smiling almost as a tease.

qyburn was gently scraping dirt and dead flesh and dried blood away now with a sort of spatula, and jaime was nearly hyperventilating as he hunched forward, grip on your hand steadily tight. you squeezed back, sitting up and risking a glance at the process. that was a terrible idea, because you could see the bone, and the blood, and the small bit of infection that qyburn hadn't gotten to just yet and you nearly threw up.

you turned back to jaime, lips pulled into a thin line as you tried to steady yourself. "i would." you knitted your brows, tilting your head as jaime continued to stare at the floor.

"boiling wine now, please," qyburn told his assistant, and jaime's eyes widened.

you moved quick to distract him, raising your brows and tilting his face back towards you. "you would?" you asked, almost disbelieving.

"you're my wife, of course i would," he told you, sucking in a breath as qyburn wiped to wound with a towel soaked in wine.

you raised your brows. "so, being your wife does mean something now. good to know."

he turned to you with a glare. "it's always meant something."

"would you go to war for cersei?" you asked, and his pause gave you your answer. you laughed dryly. "see? my point exactly."

"she's my sister - ahh!" this scream was louder than the rest, his jerk more aggressive, his grip even tighter. qyburn snipped the last bit of infection away, tossing the rather large bit into a can next to him and you looked away quickly, unable to watch the way he was finishing cutting off the edge of the stump, though with smaller pieces now. jaime was crying now, trying to resist the sobs but unable to resist more tears.

and that nearly broke you.

for the next forever, it seemed, you tried to take his mind off the snipping and cutting of his right hand with words about your marriage, his sister, his father, your family, brienne, whoever and whatever would get and retain his attention. you spilled your guts in that room, telling him your intentions for the lannister name, the things tywin taught you, the things you thought he expected of you, and the things you both expected of jaime.

you expressed your sheer and utter disbelief over his affair, how at first you didn't believe joffrey when he told you, and how ned stark confirmed it. you told him that you'd asked cersei, and you told him the way she mocked you for it.

he stiffened at that, but didn't give you an answer, crying out instead as qyburn pushed his spatula at a sore spot. "infection still," the maester muttered and grabbed his scissors again.

you looked away quickly and started talking again, nodding insistently as you told him, "you don't know this, but i've been in love with you since forever." this intrugued him, even as he grunted and shifted closer to you. "when i was a girl, you were this beautiful, sparkling knight in shining armor. i wanted to marry you, and i was so excited when your father made that happen."

he winced again, and you continued with haphazard breaths and shaky words as you admitted to being obsessed with him, so excited to be a lannister, to be his wife.

"even though i'm nearly ten years older?" he grunted, a whimper slipping past his lips as qyburn pushed dead skin around his stump.

you smiled a bit at that. "it didn't matter to me then."

he looked up, brows knitted slightly. "and now?"

he yelped, jerking in your hold and you tried to earn his attention back. "i don't mind it when it comes to you, but i do when it comes to your family." he grunted, a tear slipping down his cheek. "you see, your father and sister look down on me because of my age. i'm just jaime's young wife to them, not so much the lady of casterly rock. though, i think your father has started to change in that. he taught me what i needed to know when i was there." you squeezed his hand. "i think it's up to you to change how cersei views me. i gather you're the only one she'd think to listen to if she ever were to look at me different."

he screamed when qyburn poured the wine onto his hand, blood and grime and remaining infection burning and washing away with it. silently, you pressed your forehead into his shoulder and held his arm tightly, his quiet whimpers breaking your heart again each time. "i'm so sorry," you murmured as he stiffened and shook in your hold, unable to find words to distract him anymore. "i'm so sorry."

mustering the words, "thank you", seemed impossible with how much 98% of you wanted to hate him, but apologizing for his pain felt easy because you were truly sad to see him hurt.

his hand shook in your hold and you just held him tightly, a few tears of your own slipping down your cheeks at his cries. you shook your head, once, twice, three times, and told him, "it's okay, you're okay. this is a good thing. you'll be alright."

the way he collapsed into you once qyburn had finished pouring the boiling wine over his wound eased your sadness a touch, both of you falling into each other like you'd done in those few first months of marriage. it felt natural, like muscle memory for you to shift even closer and hold him tighter, even if the only time it ever had been natural had been before everything happened. still, you held him.

qyburn finished pulling the remaining good skin over the wound and carefully began stitching it together. this seemed much more bearable to jaime, but he stayed with his head tucked into your neck and his upperbody slumped against yours. you ran a hand through his hair as he squeezed your hand tightly.

in both an effort to distract him again, and to simply get it off your mind, you told him, "i imagine cersei wouldn't have held you during your hand surgery."

he didn't answer, simply hummed against your skin beligerently and continued to squeeze your hand.

"if i may, my lady," qyburn cut in while continuing the stitches up his stump. "it is rather uncommon for a wife to stay during a whole surgery. you impress me."

you raised your brows and let out a pseudo-amused chuckle. "well, thank you, maester. at least i'm impressing someone."

when he finished, he wiped his skin with more wine and applied some ointment that smelled vaguely of mint and thyme. jaime stayed slumped into you as he did, unwilling to look at the stump of his hand, and so qyburn handed the jar to you.

"twice a day," he instructed. "morning and night. if and when you reach another city and will need more, tell the maester it is the castor infection salve. they will know how to remake it."

"the castor infection salve," you echoed with a nod. "thank you."

he smiled thinly and nodded, wrapping it then with gauze. he worked quickly and tied it off, standing then to collect his supplies and begin cleaning. it had been a brutal few hours, jaime's blood practically everywhere, and you couldn't stare too long or else that disgusting sense of bile rising in your throat would reemerge. gently, you pushed jaime up and forced him to meet your eyes.

"let's get you to your room," you said quietly, nodding encouragingly before standing.

"can't a man have a few moments to breathe after going through surgery?" he asked dully, standing anyways and beginning to follow you out.

you led him by his hand, tugging him closer to hold his arm. "you should lie down," you told him surely.

"will you lie with me?" he asked then as you went up the stairs and neared the hallway both your rooms resided in.

you went quiet and simply didn't answer, walking quicker down the hall and releasing his arm. "this one's yours," you said, remembering the way roose's guard had told you when he led you to your room.

"just mine?" he probed with a curious lift of his brow.

"even lord bolton knows when and when not to make man and wife share a room," you answered simply. you nodded behind you. "i'm just across the hall if you need anything."

"company?" he suggested, but for the first time that afternoon, you faltered.

you offered him a thin smile. "i've done my part for now. rest now, jaime."

the words were gentler than the ones in your mind, encouraging you to point out that he didn't deserve your comfort in the first place, that he'd turned to another woman, his sister, so many times that he should just wait for her now, so on and so forth.

but, you couldn't find it in you to tell him that now, watching the fragile way he held himself with the stump of his right hand wrapped in pain and freshly stitched.

you stepped back towards your room and said, "you should get cleaned up after you rest. we're having dinner with lord bolton." and then you pushed your door open and shut it tightly behind you, back flat against the wood as you let out a sore breath.

your mind was a mess of emotions and thoughts, hating how you'd comforted him and at the same time physically unable to have not.

somehow, jaime continued to find ways to fuck with your life, and you continually hated him for it.

and yet, you didn't really hate him, did you?

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“how many fingers you think we can fit up his ass?” he taunted, glancing back to his men.

pryce, the prude he was, giggled maliciously, glancing back at you. “depends on how freaky him and his sister were. was he already broken in for you, pretty girl?”

locke thought that was hilarious. “already loosened up for us, kingslayer?”

their crude words made your skin crawl, a gross feeling squeezing your chest as they snickered amongst themselves. jokes made at his expense, especially involving cersei, weren't always objected to by you, but ones as sick as these made your blood run hot.

you narrowed your gaze at them as jaime just stared dully ahead, the bobbing of the horse bouncing his mangled hand against his chest. even brienne seemed uncomfortable and almost apologetic as she watched from behind, letting out a thin sigh through her nose.

“do any of you know how to shut up?” you asked with raised brows.

locke laughed. “getting bold now, sweetheart? think i won’t do nothing to you now that your husband here has lost his hand?”

you clicked your tongue. “this may bite me back later, but i actually think you’re smart enough not to damage anymore of the goods you’re delivering to the king. i imagine he wouldn’t be too happy.”

he breathed out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head as he grinned widely at you. he looked to jaime. “i see why you like her.”

“it wasn’t him who liked me, my lord,” you reminded with a frown.

the mention of tywin lannister had the boltons frowning, exchanging stern looks before locke turned straight again. “he’ll pay a damn good price for what he likes.”

“but, not to you,” you reminded with a thin smile.

it would have been convenient if he delivered you to king’s landing, but that far traveling with this group would be absolute hell. you were almost grateful he was taking you to robb first - you’d much rather be with him than locke.

the man rode ahead and you looked to brienne’s probing gaze, meeting her eyes with a resolute look of your own.

"you're not making him like us any better," she murmured quietly, to which you laughed.

"do you really think he wants to barter with us?" you shook your head. "we're the ones bartered over. and trust me, my lady, it isn't a happy place to be."

she raised a brow. "you've been bartered over before?"

you smiled thinly. "my whole life."

your eyes caught on jaime's slumping figure, the way his remaining hand grew slack against the reins of his horse. slowly, his body crumpled forward and brienne warned, "he's going to fall." when nobody did anything, the two of you still bound in ropes and unable to help, she repeated, "he's going to fall off his horse."

he hit the mud with a sickening slap, his face immediately covered in the black stuff as he was awakened from his dehydrated, wounded stupor. he pushed lamely to his knees, murmuring quietly, "water."

since they were unable to use you and brienne as objects of pleasure anymore, they’d begun to have their fun with jaime. refusing him food, water, and proper sleep, tossing barbs and insults and embarrassments his way. it had been grady who'd come up with the idea of stringing his hand around his neck, and it was locke who taunted him the most for it.

you couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him drink; likely before you'd gotten captured. perhaps he'd been allowed some while you were being romanced by the fire, but you didn't see it.

and even now, they laughed at his thirst.

a burly northman poured his canteen over jaime's head, only wetting his clothes and hair even more than it already was. the men surrounding laughed harder and jaime only blinked, looking up to locke instead.

"if i die, you won't get anything-"

"oh, come off it already. here," he sighed, offering the knight a waterskin and watching as he greedily drank from it with his left hand. after a few moments, a wicked grin split locke's face and he said, "i've never seen a man so eager to drink horse piss."

jaime spat it out with knitted brows and you sighed heavily. as much as you were still frustrated with your husband, it almost hurt to see him jabbed at in such a vulnerable state, his only redeeming quality hanging off a rope at his neck. still, you stayed put; childlike tricks like this weren't worth intervention like sexual harassment was, even if jaime was dying of thirst. he wretched into the mud before he was dragged to his feet by a giggling northman, dressed in the same leathers in furs as robb's men back at the whispering wood.

he wouldn't approve of this behavior, you thought to yourself. no matter how much he hated your husband and likely wanted to kill him, he didn't seem a man of cruelty. but, the boltons were, that much was evident by even just their sigil.

suddenly, jaime whirled on the man grabbing him, jabbing an elbow into his nose and knocking him away, snatching his sword from his side in the same movement. your eyes widened as you watched him toss the sword into a better position for his left hand, turning to locke as he drew his own sword.

"what in the seven hells?" you mumbled under your breath, exchanging a bewildered look with brienne as three other boltons circled jaime.

pryce took a jab at the one-handed knight, and surprisingly enough, jaime fended him off. the younger boy stepped back with wide eyes, unsure, it seemed, as how to handle a left-handed opponent. or, at least, how to handle jaime.

he fended off the other two men, locke stepping to the side and watching his quick lunges and parrys, almost as shocked as you as he went after the wondering northmen. pryce took that opportunity to kick jaime in the back of the knee, sending him back into the mud as the boltons cackled.

"stop!" brienne said then as she slid off her horse, struggling to keep balance with her hands tied at her sides.

jaime scrambled to his feet as she kicked a man heading straight for her, the boltons dividing easily to contain the both of them.

part of you wanted to help as brienne was, and the other part knew it would be fruitless. they wouldn't hurt him as badly as they did the other night or else they would most certainly be killed for it. for now, they were just having a bit of fun.

at the expense of your once sparkling knight.

jaime was punched in the jaw and pushed back into the mud, brienne continuing to fight the men approaching her. she kicked another in the belly and he hit the ground, his belt loose and his weapons looser as he struggled back to his feet. after another moment of fighting, there was a blade at the lady's neck, and she was prohibited from approaching the kingslayer anymore.

quietly, you slid off the saddle, eyes caught on a shine on the forest floor near where the man brienne had attacked had fallen.

the men were playing with jaime again, meeting his sword and throwing punches, finally sending him back into the mud with a wooden club to the back. you nearly felt it in your own back, sucking in a sharp breath at his cry through gritted teeth.

you walked slowly and quietly to where you'd seen the shimmer, crouching and squatting over it as the men watched locke approach jaime. he kicked him, rolling him onto his back before sending his foot into his stomach again and again, earning resistant grunts in return as his men laughed.

your fingers managed to find the hilt of the fallen blade, grabbing it and sliding it up your wide sleeve, fingers clinging to the flat of the blade as you stood straight again.

locke pressed his foot hard into jaime's wrist, and eventually he released the sword in answer. he kicked him again, jaime now flat on his back and wheezing as locke crouched down with a hand to his throat: "do that again and i'll take your other hand."

they dragged brienne back to her horse, "come on, you," to which she reluctantly complied, but you were left standing where you were, watching as jaime took in slow, shallow breaths, collapsed in the mud.

the mud was near black and it covered his skin, hair, and clothes. all you could see amidst it were those damned emerald eyes, somehow still glimmering and striking as they were all those years ago at robert's coronation.

maybe it was that memory that had you approaching him, the knife still held up your sleeve by your left hand.

or maybe it was duty, a recollection of the vows you'd told him once.

i am his and he is mine.

and well, duty demanded that you care for what's yours, even if that sentiment wasn't always returned.

"come on," you murmured quietly as you took hold of his uninjured arm. "you've got to sit up now, jaime." he looked to you with mild surprise, but did what you said, grunting in pain as he sat up slowly. you offered him a small smile and nod. "good. let's stand now. come on, up."

you did your best to help him up, arms still mostly tied down to your middle, but your hands were semi-free. he nearly slipped as he stood, but you held his hand, meeting his eyes with a stern look that told him that neither of you could take it if he fell again. unable to help much more, you simply ran your thumb over the back of his hand, and watched as the tension in his shoulders soothed slightly, his eyes searching yours in calm wonder.

"let's go," you said then shortly, stepping away and dropping his hand. you smiled thinly. "we'll get you cleaned up when we make camp."

you walked away from him then, going back to your horse where locke and his men had been watching you with amused grins.

locke raised his brows. "making up with your husband?" he clicked his tongue. "don't think the king will like that."

"well, i don't think your wife likes you," you hummed with a surprised laugh, shocked by how much of a childish, jaime-esque answer that was. "i think i can handle the young wolf."

he seemed even more amused. "done it before, have you? i wouldn't be surprised, and none of us would blame you." he let out a coarse laugh, suddenly grabbing you around the waist and lifting you back into your saddle.

you shot him a dry smile. "what a gentleman you are, my lord."

he grinned back at you, the blackness in his teeth earning a scrunch of your nose. "only the best for our future queen," he said ironically, giving you a shallow bow before stalking off with his men trailing after him. "let's get on, now! at this rate, we're bound to reach harrenhal by nightfall! that is if the kingslayer doesn't fall off his damned horse again."

you gave jaime another long look as brienne rode to your side, watching him climb back into the saddle and take the reins with his one, muddy hand, the other clapping loosely against his shoulder, somehow more clean than his working one. his hair was filthy, his clothes even worse, but it was the expression on his face that had your heart sinking.

he'd never looked more defeated, and you hated how much your first instinct was to look away; not because you despised him, but because you didn't.

there was nothing noble left in him - and gods, that was more frightening than his arrogance ever was.

when you made camp for the night, you, brienne, and jaime were put to the side with your own fire and your own rabbits to cook. with a second glance, locke tossed you a piece of stale bread that you smiled thinly at.

"how kind of him," you muttered as he walked away, rolling your eyes and setting it on a piece of wood by the fire brienne had started.

she was stilled tied, wrapped in rope and sat back against a log in a lame attempt to be comfortable. you sat on the opposite log, eyes on locke at the other campsite as you slid your knife down your sleeve and slowly began cutting at the rope.

brienne looked to you with a furrow between her brows. "what are you-?"

"these restraints are rather uncomfortable, don't you think?" you asked, raising your brows before refocusing on the knife in your hand. it was awfully difficult to saw with one restrained hand and you frowned as you continued to work at it.

jaime sat next to you and didn't pay you any mind, staring ahead at the flames with a dull expression. it bothered brienne, it seemed, as did the way he'd slumped in his saddle the whole ride here since he feeble escape attempt. her eyes hadn't left him nearly the whole trip, you noticed, and you had to bite your tongue to keep from questioning her when she told him, "eat."

"i don't want to," he answered tiredly, like a child.

you rolled your eyes as she said, "you need your strength to keep on. to get revenge."

"i don't care about revenge," he muttered, and to that you scoffed.

he looked to you then, brows knitting as your knife finally broke through the other side of the thick rope. you let out a breath of relief, pulling at it best you could and beginning to unwind it slowly from your arms. "you don't want revenge?" you asked as the rope fell from your sides into a messed pile.

you pushed to your feet and crossed to brienne, using the knife to cut through her rope much quicker than yours and she shook it loose.

"i don't care," jaime repeated with a frown, watching you as you turned with a raised brow, brienne nearly disgusted as she looked at him.

"you coward," she accused quietly, shaking her head. "a little misfortune and you're giving up."

he met your eyes with a cold stare, not appreciative in the slightest of her tone or words. "misfortune?"

"you lost your hand," she said with knitted brows.

"my sword hand - i was that hand," he told her, and you had to agree. for everything jaime was, no one could deny that he was an excellent swordsman. perhaps, even the best swordsman in westeros. and for that he didn't need to thank his father or his name or his wealth. it was all him; his skill, his work, his drive to succeed and defeat. in his mind, losing his hand meant he lost the thing that made him jaime, and all he was left was the spoils of being a lannister.

brienne scoffed quietly, absolutely bewildered by his perspective. "you have a taste - one taste of the real world where people have important things taken from them, and you whine, and cry, and quit." he tilted his head, gaze narrowing before her words finally sunk in. and then, to drive it home, she told him, "you sound like a bloody woman."

ouch. that wasn't very nice.

you raised a brow at the lady knight, breathing out an incredulous laugh as you shook your head. "thanks brienne."

"you're more man than your husband," she told you sternly. "i've thought so from the start."

"if that's meant to be a compliment, then i'll take it," you hummed, standing and slipping your knife into your belt before crossing back to sit next to jaime. he seemed conflicted, considering her words more deeply before his eyes fell to you questioningly. you let out another hum and reached for the bread you'd set to the side before, tearing off a piece and offering it to the man. you met his eyes with a half-hearted smile. "she's right, to an extent."

"to an extent?" brienne echoed from across the fire, but you ignored her.

"it's alright to be sad about your hand, jaime," you told him sincerely, breathing out a light laugh as you added, "hells, i'm sad about your hand." he cracked a small smile, both of you sitting in the memories of your more intimate experiences for just a moment before you continued. "but, if we're going to make it back to king's landing alright, and we're going to move forward - and we are - you can't just give up. that's not a very lannisterly thing to do."

he didn't accept the bread, so you ate it instead, and he scoffed. "being a lannister hasn't been working out well for me lately."

"me neither," you agreed, laughing after swallowing the bread. you met his eyes with a sincere, gentle look, tilting your head. "for what it's worth, and for as well as i know you, which i know may not be too well, it's not just a lannister thing. it's a jaime thing. i've never seen you give up on something you care about. never, not once."

it was true. all the things jaime loved - his family, swordplay, casterly rock, becoming a knight and maintaining that knighthood - he worked for, committed to, and ensured would remain well.

what you didn't include was how you'd long wished that your marriage would end up on that list. and how you resented that cersei was there instead of you.

both jaime and brienne caught on when you looked away, eyes on the fire as you tried at a tiny, encouraging. he was silent, but reached forward to take some bread from your hands, eating for the first time in a few days.

"now that we're unbound, are we going to make an attempt?" brienne asked you with a raise of her brows.

you smiled thinly and shook your head. "no. we don't have food, or weapons, and jaime can hardly ride let alone walk." he gave you a glare, but you continued anyways. "let him take us to robb. we're only half a day away, they'd catch us if we ran even if we had horses. and honestly, i think we'll be safer there."

jaime stiffened and you pretended not to notice, looking still to the lady knight.

"you will," she answered shortly.

"as will you," you said. "lady catelyn won't see you harmed, and i don't think the king would kill you for following his mother's orders." you side-eyed jaime and let out a sigh. "he'll probably keep jaime alive still. he'll trade us for his sisters when he reaches king's landing."

"if he reaches king's landing," jaime interjected.

"when," you corrected still. "you underestimated him before, jaime, and look where that landed you. i don't suggest you do it again."

he frowned and turned to you more completely, muddy hair falling in his eyes. "and what do you think your king will do when he reaches the capital? how does this end for you?"

"this ends with me back in casterly rock living a content, quiet life with no more war," you answered simply, reaching to push his hair out of his eyes with a frown. he tensed for a moment, but your move was quick, and soon your arms were crossed over your chest once more. "you're welcome to join me there when it's done."

"and before then?" he wondered, raising his brows.

you let out a single dry laugh, turning away and setting your eyes on the fire, its smoke curling up towards the dark night sky. "i imagine you'll be with cersei."

he eyed you hesitantly. "you'd let me?"

"i didn't before and you still did it," was your answer.

this peaked brienne's interest, and even though she wasn't usually nosy she found herself asking, "you knew about his affair and called him on it?"

you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you reached forward to toy with a stick in the fire. you picked it up, the edge black and covered in flame as you drug it through the air. "no. but, i assumed our vows would tell him as much." you blew out the flame. "i was wrong."

jaime was still next to you, refusing to look at you even as he shifted the slightest bit closer to you. you didn't acknowledge it or him, placing your stick back in the flame and watching it burn.

it wasn't too long before brienne settled down next to the fire atop a few blankets the boltons had spared you all. you draped one across your lap as you watched the fire, jaime all too awake next to you as brienne's semi-violent snores filled the night.

he let out a breath of a laugh through his nose, rolling his eyes. "she sleeps like a bear."

"we're lucky that she fights like one too," you answered quietly, giving him a pointed look as he shook his head.

"didn't get us out of this, did it?" he asked.

you sighed. "no," you admitted. "i suppose it didn't."

silence spilled over you again, accompanied only by the distant sounds of sleeping boltons and brienne, the occasional chatter of the watchers at the edge of camp. jaime's body shook with the breeze, gritting his teeth as he stared harshly into the flames.

you didn't say a word, just scooted a hair closer to him and rested the other half of your blanket over his lap. he accepted with a silent nod, pulling it closer and shifting further to you. his heat was welcome with the oncoming cold of the night, both a familiar and foreign sort of comfort that came with your strange situation.

six months married, four years apart.

nine months together again, then three months apart.

and now, you'd been forced to suffer almost two months of trying to get you both back to king's landing, even when your initial intent had been to return to casterly rock.

you wondered if robb would ever take the stronghold like he said or if he would simply turn to king's landing entirely since that was where tywin had gone in an effort to help defeat stannis baratheon at the blackwater. or, so locke said.

word didn't travel well in the backwoods of the riverlands.

"five years," you murmured quietly, shaking your head as jaime's bright eyes turned to you.

"what?" he asked with knitted brows.

you met his eyes, still annoyed by how green they always managed to be, even when he was contemplating death only minutes before, and answered, "we've been married for five years." he didn't have an answer, especially when you turned back to the fire and murmured quietly, "and you weren't there at any of our anniversaries."

the silence was thick as he tried to come up with something to get him out of this, but he couldn't manage anything. it was all too heavy, too real to escape.

you were right. each time another year passed on your wedding day, he was nowhere to be found. mostly in king's landing, then off to war.

and never once did he attempt to return to you.

instead, you were forced to spend the days with his father. tywin was always focused on propriety and efficiency; long meals at the table, elaborate lessons in his study, conversations that rarely strayed from politics and household duties.

ser erryk and ser jarrod were there too. they made decent enough company, though they didn't know really what to make of you for a long while.

it had taken years to get anyone at casterly rock to view you as a lion instead of a rose. you'd fought to convince them of your status as best you could, with every order, every practiced curtsy, and every smile that wasn't really yours, you tried. eventually it became what you were supposed to be: a lion.

you drew a slow breath, fire popping in front of you as a horse shifted somewhere in the dark.

you were still that, weren't you? a golden, proud lion, and yet so was jaime, and so was cersei, and so was tyrion, tywin, and even the children. all one pride.

but, you weren't part of that pride, and you felt it every day. casterly rock didn't see you as a lannister, they saw you as a lion; the small one at the back of the pack, the gentle lioness, the obedient wife and daughter who followed the rules. and the thing was, they weren't wrong.

you wondered if jaime resented you for it. if he wished you were as stubborn and clever and witty as cersei. if you were beautiful in the same way as her too.

and you hated yourself for thinking it.

jaime was watching you, and you could feel his gaze - heavy, probing, wondering what was going on inside that pretty head of yours. his gaze never flitted down or turned greedy. in fact, in all your marriage it had never done that. a sign of respect yes, but also a tell that maybe he didn't want you.

maybe he only became greedy when his lover had his same blood.

crickets chirping and owls hooting filled the crisp air around you, in and out with the breeze until even they seemed to go to rest. leaves fluttered in the wind, and his breaths were slow and heavy, loud enough for you to focus on and follow as you sat restfully in the stillness of the forest, the fire flickering and crackling in front of you both.

"will you just say what you're thinking?" he murmured finally, brows furrowing slightly.

you smiled thinly. "i'm thinking a lot of things right now, jaime."

"well, clue me in on one," he tried again. "i'm assuming i can probably guess."

"go on, then. guess," you said with a nod.

he held your eyes for a few moments before looking back into the flames, thinking. it was another bit before he finally opened his mouth, humming out, "you're thinking about how i never returned to casterly rock. how i stayed in king's landing with cersei. and how amazing i look in the firelight."

you snorted, rolling your eyes as he breathed out a laugh that sounded surprisingly real. he was covered in mud and grime and absolute filth and yet he was almost right. the firelight had always done wonders against his skin and the green of his eyes, flickering into the greens and refusing to leave for hours after. it seemed to lighten the weight of the brown on his skin and leave him brighter than the sun had earlier in the day. he looked younger to you then, more like the sparkling knight you'd married.

he met your eyes with a teasing smile and wondered, "did i get it?"

"close," you admitted, unable to resist the small smile that came before you looked away from him.

he watched you for a longer while still, tilting his head as he searched your expression. you too couldn't be called clean, patches of dirt on your cheeks and neck that had obviously been tried to wipe clean even though you didn't have use of your hands until now. your lips were pursed just slightly in thought, hair messy as it stayed in the same braid you'd pulled it into days before, with pieces flying out the sides and front to frame your face in a way that almost made you more endearing. "you're not going to tell me?"

"not now," you answered. "i'm not sure either of us are ready to have that conversation."

"and when do you think we will be?" he asked, tone honest and wondering.

you paused and considered the question. when? that was a really good question.

"when the war is over," you told him, meeting his eyes with a thin smile. "and when you're ready to give up cersei." he held your eyes, stilling and hardening all at once in that way you'd expected. the fire crackled, loud in the silence, but neither of you flinched. after another few moments, you couldn't help but let out a dry laugh and you looked away. "that's what i mean."

"no, let's talk," he said, voice louder and more confident in that frustratingly jaime way that only made you want to keep him in the dark for that much longer.

you shook your head. "i'd rather we didn't. i'd rather sleep."

"y/n-"

"we're rising early to break for harrenhal," you told him shortly, moving away and stealing the blanket back from his lap. "it'd be best if you sleep too."

his jaw flexed like he wanted to say something, but he didn't, swallowing the thought and the few dozen that likely followed it as he watched you leave him.

you didn't look back at him as you made yourself comfortable by brienne's feet, tucking yourself into the wrap of the blanket until you were snug and decently warm. you listened for jaime, his heavy, frustrated sigh making you smile slightly as he slumped back against the log.

it was a few minutes later that he said it, soft and gentle in a way you hadn't heard in too many months, and you were almost angry at the way your heart jumped at it.

"goodnight, darling."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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they had given you your own horse, a rope tied around your upper arms to keep you immobile but still allowing you to move the reins. jaime and brienne were tied the same way on their own horse, back to back as a bolton man walked behind them. you had two bolton escorts, one on each side, keeping you ahead of your two companions and not allowing you to turn back to them. you could feel brienne's eyes and every so often caught the tail end of one of jaime's jokes, but every time you turned you received a hand to your arm.

"eyes ahead, love," the bolton boy on your right would tell you. probably only joffrey's age, you'd learned his name was pryce, and he was a huge fan of women. so was the man to your left, closer to your age, called grady, but he was less of a prude about it.

it had only been a few hours on the road, and brienne was ready to kill jaime - or, at least, rip out his tongue. you didn't blame her, all too familiar with his jests and teases, and yet you were far more patient than the lady knight. he'd been chiding her the whole ride long and he wasn't stopping.

"i hope you're pleased," he hummed next, shaking his head as she rolled her eyes. "this wouldn't have happened if you'd armed me."

"you were armed when they captured us," she deadpanned.

"yes, but i was also in chains," he said dramatically, rolling his eyes. "our little match would've ended quite differently if my hands were free."

she huffed a lame laugh. "you know, i've heard my whole life, 'jaime lannister, what a brilliant swordsman'. you were slower than i expected, and more predictable."

"i've been sitting in a muddy pen, wrapped in chains for the past year," he excused with a frown.

"i'm a woman, i was beating you," she answered.

he laughed. "you were not beating me."

"maybe you were as good as people said," she admitted after a moment. then, a grimace covered her features. "once. or maybe people just love to over-praise a famous name."

jaime fell silent, frowning at her words even though at this moment they seemed to ring true.

up ahead your eyes caught on the various singing men, analyzing each head and leathers, the sigil on their shoulders and their banners. the flayed man of house bolton.

they were a characteristically brutal house, and it bled into their people's behaviors too. all a little too blunt, too quick to violence, too excited for war. you imagined it was all of that that made roose bolton a good advisor to robb. you also imagined it was all of that that would be the downfall of the bolton house.

knowing that robb had told his men, not just in his camp but all over the riverlands apparently, to keep you safe and return you to him filled you with something you couldn't describe. appreciation, maybe? it felt warm, and secure, and you were glad for the small sense of safety that came with it.

they were instructed not to hurt you.

and even if they did, which you were counting on, robb would hurt them right back for it. if the stark track record held, he would even have their heads for it.

hopefully.

jaime stared out behind him at the forest road, the reality of the rest of the night settling heavily upon him. brienne's breaths were heavy and frustrated with his jabs, that much he could tell, and as much as he enjoyed pushing her buttons, his pint-sized conscience made him speak his mind.

"when we make camp tonight, you'll be raped. more than once," he said, voice quieter than before but not necessarily gentle. brienne froze behind him, grip tightening on the reins, but she didn't answer. he sighed. "you'd be wise not to resist."

"oh, would i?" she answered shortly.

"they'll knock your teeth out," he told her seriously.

she stared sorely ahead. "you think i care?"

"no, i don't think you care about your teeth," he said with a scoff. "if you fight them, they will kill you. do you understand? you're not a prisoner of value. what does it matter?"

"what does it matter?" she echoed incredulously.

"close your eyes. pretend they're renly," he told her, even as his heart pounded harshly in his chest.

it was the only way he knew to cope with the thought of the crimes that would inevitably be committed tonight - make light of it. maybe if he made jokes and made it seem less than it was, then it would make that reality. maybe it wouldn't matter as much as he knew it did. maybe brienne could walk away with a little bit of dignity.

and then, she threw off his whole facade with a single sentence, her eyes straight ahead at where you were being led ahead, trapped at both sides by two greedy young men whose eyes rarely left your figure.

"they'll go for her first," she said quietly, not a mere thought, but a fact the both of them understood.

you were prettier. younger. a right lady by the standards of anyone at court.

and you were sought after by not only them, or jaime, or men in the capital, but by their king.

they will go for you first.

brienne couldn't see his face, but his silence was loud enough to understand. she breathed out a dry, almost sad laugh. "does she know not to fight back?"

jaime paled, sucking in a thin breath. "yes," he answered quietly. "she does."

she looked up to you again, shoulders back in that graceful way, silent and obedient as you'd been born to be. and she realized then that it wasn't the polish of a lady that had you like this, it was learned survival.

when the boltons set up camp, pryce and grady kept you away from jaime and brienne still. your husband and the tarth woman were tied to two adjacent trees, hands and feet chained tightly as they were forced now to face one another instead, which didn't make either of them happy.

jaime spent most of his time glancing past her to where you were sat by the fire, leaned up against a log as the men laughed and sang and cooked dinner. some food was offered to you, but you declined, waving it away with a chained hand and a polite smile.

"come on, you need to eat," pryce told you as he sat next to you, tilting his head teasingly.

"leave her be, pryce," the main man, who you'd learned to be called locke, said with a roll of his eyes, waving him away as you stiffened slightly. he moved and waved pryce away, taking his spot instead with a slimy smile. "how are you doing, pretty girl?"

jaime's stomach turned as he heard the term of endearment, eyes shutting as he remembered the times he once enjoyed hearing you called that. he resolved to never call you it again, and he was sure you wouldn't mind.

you looked away, eyes on the fire as you took a slow, even breath. "as good as i can be with cuffs on my wrists."

he laughed, shaking his head. "well, i couldn't count on you not to run if i took them off, now could i?"

"if i was going to run, i would have," you pointed out, gaze blurring slightly as the fire burned black circles into your sight. you thought back to robb, the glitter in his eyes from the candlelight, and also to the moment you'd first read jaime's note, the wax seal dripping gold from the flame next to it. "i don't mind returning to the king. it's better than spending the next forever with my idiot husband."

locke was amused at your response and you were glad for it. you couldn't afford for him to be frustrated with you. "then, i think pryce was right. you need to eat. we can't have you returning to the king sickly and pale."

"i think the king is wise enough to look past it," you hummed.

"perhaps," he answered with a nod. "though, there are a few things he won't look past." you finally turned to look at him and he grinned. "your history with the kingslayer isn't ideal, my lady."

"we're married," you said, brows knitting.

"which makes him your only experience, am i correct?" he asked, raising his brows as you faltered, eyes widening. he laughed, turning to the older men he'd kept at his sides the whole journey and were coming to him now. "i'll take her first. ready the giant for after. i'll make them nice and wet, and then you all can have your piece."

you were grabbed by the arms and tugged away from the log, your mouth dropping open in shock. "the king will have your head for this."

"the king will appreciate us putting a buffer between his cock and the kingslayer's," locke answered with a grin.

your grandmother had taught you the proper responses to situations like these. what ladies do when faced with violence. and really, they do anything possible in order to stay alive.

"stay quiet," she'd told you. "don't give in, but don't fight. a boring victim gives them the least amount of satisfaction."

luckily, you'd never been forced to test her theory, though you were under the belief that she had once. you didn't ask, and she never told, but there was a strange, sad look in her eye as she explained it all to you. and then, she'd avoided your eyes. olenna tyrell never refused eye contact, not once. and yet she did.

and you did now too.

two other men went to grab brienne and you watched them instead of locke, who was eying her as his men untied her ropes. the larger woman's voice was even and strong as she told him, "my lord, i am brienne of tarth. lady catelyn stark commanded me to deliver jaime lannister and lady y/n to king's landing safely."

"catelyn stark is a treasonous cunt, and so is he," locke answered with a gruff laugh, nodding back to jaime. "the orders were to take the kingslayer and the lady alive. nobody said shit about you."

she acted quickly, tugging herself from their arms and earning a solid punch to the jaw in return. she shouted, the men grunting as they tried to hold her in place. one man, bald and grimy, grabbed her by the hair, up close and personal as he said to her, "you're only making it worse."

she headbutted him hard, the man falling backwards as the two men at her sides only held her harsher, shoving her back and away from camp.

"if you behave nicer like pretty girl here, maybe you'll be treated nicer too," the man on your right said, shooting you and brienne both a toothy grin before brienne fought back again.

she managed to get one good jab in before a punch landed harshly in her gut and she folded in half, locke rolling his eyes and letting out a sore sigh. "take her over there where it's dark." he looked to you and let a smile pull at his lips. "perhaps we'll save best for last."

jaime's skin was crawling and he'd already tested the strength of his restraints one too many times, sure there would be even darker bruises on his wrists than before. he gritted his teeth, racking his mind for a way out of this.

brienne was screaming as they dragged her to the edge of camp and you stiffened, finally meeting locke's eyes. "no, my lord."

jaime's heart fell to the bottom of his stomach, his breath stolen from him as he watched you step forward towards locke, the bolton men letting you slip from their grasp as you approached their faithful leader.

he raised his brows, an amused smile on his lips as he tilted his head. "did you say 'no', pretty girl?"

"i don't want to go last," you told him, chin high even as you glanced back at where they'd stopped pulling brienne away, her yells faltering into breathless puffs of air as she watched you with wide eyes. you looked back to locke. "i'm the highborn woman, the lady of casterly rock, the eldest grandchild of luthor tyrell. i expect due courtesy even in situations such as these."

locke was all too intrigued as he stepped towards you slowly. "due courtesy," he echoed with a grin. "i think we can arrange for that, love."

you tried to resist the terrible shiver that ran through you at the nickname and at the inevitable fate you'd just signed yourself up for. all you could think was how brienne could likely manage a half-decent escape while you kept them occupied, saving herself from the same horrible fate. as smart as you thought yourself to be, you simply couldn't come up with another way out.

luckily for you, jaime was always the quick one, even if you silently resented that he had to and even could save you.

you caught his eyes for just a moment, recognizing in those deep jade greens that same lannister calculation that you saw in in his father and sister. and for the first, utterly surprising time, you were grateful for it.

"you do know who she is, don't you?" he asked, head tilted.

locke turned, frowning as his gaze landed on the kingslayer. "the bitch dumb enough to marry you, now being sold off to the young wolf."

jaime smiled thinly, glancing past him to meet your eyes again as you held your breath, wondering what he might do and say to get you out of this. when he looked back to locke, he nodded. "yes, to both of those things. now, you seem to be a smart man. have you thought about what that means?"

"she's prized property," he answered simply, grinning sideways. jaime couldn't help but frown at the black in his smile, the bits of meat left over from dinner stuck between his canines telling him more about the man than his words even did. "we simple men get few chances to fuck prized property."

"there's a reason for that," jaime told him. "who she belongs to, whether it's the tyrells, the lannisters, or the starks, we all don't want her tarnished."

"you've already tarnished her," he laughed. "give the rest of us a chance."

jaime raised his brows. "i have just named two of the wealthiest houses, and two of the deadliest houses in all of westeros, and you still want a go at her?"

it was a smart line, even you had to admit. it seemed that his idiotically knightly charm was finally paying off.

locke paused at 'wealthiest', and stilled at 'deadliest', watching jaime curiously. "you have a proposition for me, kingslayer?"

"yes," he answered with a firm nod. "my father would pay her weight in gold to see her returned with her honor untarnished. her grandmother would as well. and, if she weren't, you would have robb stark and tywin lannister both to answer to, and as soon as i'm out of these chains you'd have me to as well."

locke turned to watch you, the men behind you ready to take you once more but he waved them off. "leave her be. but, ready some ropes for her. i'd wager the women should be together tonight." he glanced back to jaime as you let out a heavy breath. "and the giantess? she got someone back home to pay her weight in gold or are you protecting your captor too?"

jaime shrugged. "her father is the lord of tarth, and it is called the sapphire isle for a reason. but, again, only if her honor goes unbesmirched."

"bring the big girl back!" locke called, earning a distant, "yes, my lord!" from wherever they'd dragged her off to. he met jaime's eyes. "unbesmirched."

jaime looked to him lamely, explaining as though locke were a child, "not defiled."

"fancy word for a fancy man," the bolton man said then.

brienne was brought in as jaime sat up, shoved towards you as she yelped and ripped away from their grasp. when she stood before you, you grabbed her arm, holding her eyes in silent instruction. be still.

"i hated books as a child, but my father made me read before i could practice with sword or horse. two hours every day holed up in the maester's chambers. i learned a lot of fancy words," jaime explained with a nod.

"i bet you did," locke said, shaking his head as you and brienne were shoved towards the tree she was once tied to.

they pushed her to the floor, but with a wave of locke's hand you were allowed to stay standing, ropes tied quickly around her as he turned back to jaime and crouched before him. "your father... he would pay your wait in gold to get you and your wife back?"

"you'll be a rich man till the end of your days," jaime answered. "and your sons will be rich men and their sons after them. lands, titles - you'll have them all." he leaned towards him more, voice near a whisper as he said, "the north can't win this war. you're a smart man. you understand that. we have the numbers, we have the gold."

the conversation had shifted when you hadn't expected it to, but with the way locke was nodding you assumed it was for the better.

"aye, you have both," locke said with an agreeable nod.

"fighting bravely for a losing cause is admirable. fighting for a winning cause is far more rewarding," jaime told him then.

a moment passed where all you could hear was your own labored breathing, brienne sat next to you watching them with wide eyes. she fought against her ropes and you kicked her leg, brows knitting as you met her eyes. "stop it," you instructed quietly.

"my lady-"

"quiet, brienne," you whispered harshly, watching as locke moved to answer him.

he sighed. "hard to argue with that."

jaime was more than confident in himself which frustrated you just slightly, grinning a bit as he said, "now that we're speaking together man to man, i wonder if you need to keep me chained to this tree. i'm not asking you to free my restraints, but if i could sleep lying down my back would thank you for it." he breathed out a laugh. "i'm not as young and resilient as i once was."

brienne seemed utterly amazed as locke nodded and answered, "none of us are." he stood then and looked to one of his men. "unchain ser jaime from the tree."

the men at yours and brienne's sides moved to do just that, and your heart thudded uncomfortably in your chest. it couldn't be this easy. even jaime had to know that no northman in their right mind would give into a lannister quite so easily.

"suppose you'll be wanting something to eat," locke said next, and alarm bells went ringing in your mind.

as you shook your head at your husband, he simply smiled up at your attacker. "famished, actually."

"i think we've got a spare partridge on the fire," locke said, glancing once at you as you stilled. "since your wife didn't care to eat with us."

"she has a habit of that," jaime said as he stood with the help of the men undoing his chains, offering locke a thin smile. "don't take it personally."

you rolled your eyes, letting out a quiet breath as brienne watched you closely.

they walked away from you and you moved to follow hesitantly, the guards guiding jaime after locke with a firm hold on his chains still. locke called for the bird and the carving knife. jaime's eyes followed it as it was brought forward, a shining steel and a deep cherry stained oak on the hilt. the blade was curved as was customary for such a knife, and the sight of it made your skin crawl.

suddenly, brienne caught your foot.

you stumbled forward, turning with knitted brows. "what is it?"

"my sword," she told you quietly, nodding beyond you to a pile of weapons and armor they'd stripped from you and other travelers they'd come across in their time on the road. it was at the edge of camp, near the stump they were leading jaime too, only a few steps away. "do you see it?"

you did. shining amongst the leather and plates, half fallen out of its sheath as it laid with the rest of the men's discarded weaponry. you looked back to her with a nod, not needing her to explain anymore as you began quietly crossing the campsite.

it didn't surprise you in the slightest when they kicked jaime's legs out from beneath him, slamming him face first into the massive tree trunk they'd used earlier as a table and holding his hands against the surface. you glanced over, eyes widening as locke traced the carving knife across his face and nearly into his eye, shut tightly. you picked up your pace, eying the sword that sat way too close to where they were all gathered.

"careful, you don't want to say the wrong thing," the bolton man breathed out, digging the tip of the knife into jaime's eyelid as he tried to resist. locke kept him in place with a hand in his hair, holding tight. "you've always been worth more for your name than your skill, haven't you?"

your steps were soft and careful as you reached for the sword, hand trembling as your breath grew unsteady. but, just as your fingers wrapped around the leather hilt, grady shifted on his feet and spotted you out of the corner of his eye, shaking his head and throwing you to the ground away from the sword.

jaime couldn't see you, but he heard your grunt, and watched the way locke looked up in amusement. he clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "divided loyalties, huh, sweet thing? the king won't like to hear about you protecting your husband."

"don't touch her," jaime managed to spit out even as the blade traced along his cheek.

"or what, baby lion?" locke asked with raised brows. "you're nothing without your daddy, and even, it seems, your wife. and look - your wife is on the floor and your daddy ain't here." he got closer to jaime's face. "never forget that."

you let out a breath as he pulled away, knife gone from jaime's skin for just long enough before he said, "this should help you remember."

and he swung the knife down hard on jaime's wrist.

your yell was high-pitched and breathless, eyes wide as you covered your mouth with your hands. jaime's yell was panicked and painful, loud and echoing through the forest as the bolton men grinned.

you scrambled to your feet, shoving grady away with a strength you didn't realize you had as you ran to jaime. the blood was spilling rapidly over the treestump and you racked your brain for every little stupid tidbit of medical knowledge you'd stored from four years of lord tywin's war stories.

jaime slumped forward, eyes going hazy as he began to tilt to the side. the men who were once holding him up didn't care to catch him, but you did, cradling his torso in your lap as his eyes fell shut, the last thing he saw being the look of utter concern and fear written across your features.

"if you know what's good for you, you'll grab one of your swords and stick it in the fire. this needs to be cauterized," you ordered harshly, grabbing jaime's arm and holding it straight in the air to keep more blood from spilling than necessary. he was dead weight in your arms and you could hardly keep him up, but the adrenaline you felt at that moment was unmatched by anything you'd felt before. you glared at the group of northmen. "now!"

"she's getting a little feisty now," locke chuckled. "i think the king will like that she's got a bit of she-wolf in her."

"he won't like you so much when he learns you've brought him damaged cargo," you answered, narrowing your gaze further. "this needs to be cauterized now, or i'll have your heads."

"on who's authority?" he asked with raised brows, amused still.

"whoever fucking wins," you told him, holding his eyes as he came to the sudden realization that no matter who won this war, you were on the winning side.

what a shame for them.

you were dragged away as they pulled jaime's limp body from you, tying you quickly in with brienne even as they followed your lame instructions. you watched with wide eyes as they placed orange steel flat against the open wound, gasping and wincing when you watched it seal. you looked away as jaime began to shake, waking from his shocked unconsciousness with clumsy, terrified looks to his missing hand and the burned stump left behind.

the smell of burning flesh mingled with the metallic scent of blood in the air, your head going woozy as you leaned back against the tree in exhaustion. your vision was tunneling in and out, the edges black and trembling before you finally just shut your eyes tightly. and when you finally breathed, all you could taste was iron, earning a harsh, heaving cough.

brienne looked between you and the screaming kingslayer, eyes wide and mouth dropped open slightly as she realized at the same moment as you what had just happened.

your eyes still shut, imagining jaime with a missing hand, repeating the scene of the crime, wondering what tywin would say and what jaime would do, you could still only think one thing.

"he got his hand cut off because of me," you breathed out thinly, voice cracking on the last word. the words didn't feel real, but they were - and they would echo for who knew how long. you pushed your palms flat into your knees, taking in several deep breaths as you remained unable to put the image of his freshly cut hand from your mind. "his sword hand, his dominant hand. it practically made him - gods. this is because of me."

"he chose to save you, my lady," she told you then, placing a hand on your arm and shaking her head firmly. "this isn't your fault."

you shook your head, eyes still shut tight. "i should've listened. i should've taken it."

"my lady-"

"happy now, pretty girl?" you looked up to see locke grinning, gesturing over to your husband limp on the ground once more as someone began wrapping his stump with a cloth you feared way too dirty for the sensitivity of such a wound. locke laughed, mussing your hair as he turned away. "the man will live. that's all the king wanted."

silence overtook the camp, even with the quiet mumblings of the rest of the men, and the labored breaths from a semi-conscious jaime. all you could focus on was the orange firelight, the sound of the flames licking the air and crackling in the breeze the only thing able to start to calm your heart.

you let your eyes fall shut again and you leaned back against the tree, brows furrowed deeply as you let out a sharp, disbelieving breath. "he lost his hand for me."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ummm sorry @misspinkponygirl he has to lose his hand

if you want to be on the taglist lmk!

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the air was cool and damp with dew, crisp against your skin as you moved about the space in swift steps. you swung the blade with precise, even motions exactly as brienne had shown you. step, cut, parry, reset. with fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt, you pretended to strike that bolton man who'd held you down again and again - sometimes he became cersei, and sometimes he even became jaime.

you bit your tongue as you swung again, turning and yelping as your eyes found jaime's.

he was sat leaned up against a tree, watching you with an amused smile. you dropped your arms, sword hanging loosely in front of you as you let out a sore breath. "why are you awake?"

"why are you awake?" he retorted, raising his brows.

"take a guess," you said with a roll of your eyes, nodding to your sword and letting out a sigh as you stepped away from him.

"i'm practically unable to. with that grip it's hard to tell what you're doing," he answered with his same grin, tilting his head as your eyes fell to your hands. "you're holding it too tight; it's a sword, not a lover."

you huffed, but loosened your grip anyways, ignoring the flicker of heat that came with his smirk. it baffled you sometimes how he could turn anything into a jest, even this. "i don't need your help."

he hummed and didn't answer your statement, saying instead, "why are you up before dawn anyways? you could practice anytime."

you turned away, raising your sword and falling back into your stance. you swung once, "because it's mine."

"it's yours?" he echoed, raising his brows in amusement. "dawn is yours?"

"it's my time," you answered, following the swing through and then stepping back, resetting. your eyes were on the trees, back to jaime now as you continued with a breath, "everything's always been decided for me; where i go, who i am, who i marry." you rolled your eyes. "but, this is my time to practice, and no one can stop me. from being better, from being..."

you paused, grip subconsciously tightening on your hilt. you couldn't think of an accurate word to describe what this allowed you to be - this being having your own time, your own sword, and your own skill all with your own decision.

"free?"

you froze, the word echoing in your mind for several moments. you clenched your jaw, letting out a breath. then, you cleared your throat, stepping into your swing again and grunting out, "i suppose that's a word for it."

he watched you work through your stance a few times, expression steady before a small smile pulled at his lips. "you swing like you've never been hit before."

"i have never been hit before," you answered with a frown, spinning the sword in your hand and swinging at the imaginary bolton man again, watching as his morphed into cersei at the last moment.

jaime chuckled. "darling, if you want to be better as you say, you'll accept my help."

"i don't need it," you told him, but he didn't care.

"you'll learn faster," he said.

"i'll learn on my own," you answered.

he raised his brows and you swung again at the invisible bolton man, his head falling from his shoulders with one swift swing. "you think independence means isolation? even the best swordsman in westeros had a teacher."

"and look where you are now," you answered, finally turning to him with raised brows.

he grinned. "so, you admit i'm the best swordsman in westeros?"

you rolled your eyes and turned around again. "be quiet now, jaime. you'll wake brienne."

"oh, we wouldn't want that. she needs beauty sleep more than the both of us combined," he said, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. a few moments passed as you chopped the bolton man's head off again, and then his cock, and then jaime spoke. you could hear the grin in his words, "i don't think in all our years of marriage i've had a better view of your ass than i do now. makes me wonder exactly what i've been-"

"will you be quiet?" you said, turning with a glare and pointing the tip of your blade at the lion man.

he just grinned still, tilting his head. "if you let me correct you. just once."

you didn't want his help or his corrections, and you certainly didn't want to hear his voice anymore this early in the morning. but, with the sun rising higher and the chance of brienne waking and getting your journey started once more increased, you were becoming more inclined to it.

with a sigh, you dropped your arms, blade hitting the dirt. "once."

he popped up from his spot on the floor, giving you a firm nod. "once," he agreed. "the biggest thing to correct here is your stance - it's awful. brienne certainly didn't teach it to you, she has too much pride."

"don't insult me, just correct me," you told him with a frown.

"i'm not insulting you, i'm telling the truth," he answered, rolling his eyes.

you hummed. "yes, for the first time in our marriage."

he held your eyes for a few moments before shrugging lamely. "not the first, just one of the few." he stepped closer to you and nodded for you to get into your stance, which you did, and then kicked the inside of your left foot. "your feet - wider. you'll fall over the second you're touched standing like this."

you hated to listen to him, but you did anyways, silently acknowledging the way you felt instantly steadier once set again. then, he raised his manacled hands towards your arms, adjusting your elbow. you watched him with a frown, his touch all too warm in the chill of the morning.

"better," he murmured quietly, brows drawn together as he carefully adjusted your arms. "loosen here - there you go." his hands dropped to your fingers. "not so tight now."

as his hands touched yours, warm and careful, almost too careful - like when touching something you fear might break. but, this wasn't tenderness; it was guilt. as his fingers pulled yours loose on the hilt, you were reminded of every time he'd handled you before, and of the other woman he was far more familiar in handling. you drew in a sharp, stinging breath and stepped away quickly, surprised by the way his face fell.

"enough," you told him, shaking your head as you held the sword tightly in your grip. "i said once."

he covered his shock with a hesitant smile. "you're not afraid of me, are you, darling?"

you shook your head, the flat of your blade hitting your thigh as you dropped your arms. you stood straight, gently toying with the hilt of your sword. "i don't need you," you told him firmly, as if that was the question he'd asked in the first place.

"ah, is that what you're afraid of?" he asked, raising his brows in a peculiar sort of amusement. "needing me?"

"i haven't needed you for almost five years, why would i need you now?" you asked in answer.

"i don't know, darling, you tell me that," he retorted, knitting his brows. "why do you need me? why did you come for me?"

you stalled, unwilling to give him the answer that you'd given yourself and your knights when you left

he watched your struggle and glanced away for a moment, letting out a thin sigh. "you won't need me," he promised. "not for long."

you narrowed your gaze at him, trying to decipher what he meant before the call of a bird caught your attention. the sun had risen to its fullness and the forest was awakening. so, it seemed, was brienne.

she sat up with squinting eyes, knitting her brows as she looked between you two - jaime still shackled and staring at you with an oddly earnest expression, and you clinging to your sword ready to raise it again as if he were going to bite you. there was a flicker of acknowledgment in her eyes, a silent judgment made before she hummed, rolling her eyes. "practicing?"

"trying to," you answered dully, stepping past jaime to approach the woman. you grabbed a waterskin from the side of your already packed bedroll and handed it to her. "good morning."

she accepted it with a thankful nod. "good morning."

you slipped the sword into the sheath on your hip that was also once brienne's; you'd had to cut another hole into it to make it fit you, and then you cut the tail end off, but it worked as well as any. "hungry?"

"not particularly," she answered as she screwed the top of the waterskin back on, watching you and jaime curiously.

he kicked at the dirt, telling you, "i am."

"didn't ask you," you said, crouching to pull a small piece of bread from your pack.

he groaned, padding over to you. "come on, darling. you're my wife. give me some bread."

"yes, i'm your wife," you hummed, pulling away from him and sitting back against the tree he'd previously watched you from. you smiled up at him. "but, you found another woman to perform my duties before. perhaps cersei will have some food for you now."

"you offered brienne food," he objected.

"because she gave me a sword and safety and welcome company," you answered. "you give me annoying quips and grins. it's not a fair trade."

he glared at you, but you ignored him, munching on your bread with a satisfied smile. at least you were able to win your morning back in one way.

brienne couldn't hide her smile as she stood, moving to gather her armor and tie it on. "best we start moving as soon as possible."

"no leisurely mornings?" jaime asked, turning with a raised brow. "just right back into walking?"

"unless you want to get stuck in the riverlands, yes," she answered with a roll of her eyes.

he turned to you, but you shook your head. "roll your bed up, jaime. i ain't doing that for you either."

he huffed. "a day will come when you need me," he promised quietly.

"that day is not today," you answered simply.

that day, jaime turned his attentions to brienne, trying to get some more personal information from her that she was not keen to give. "something to talk about," he declared with a smile. "how did you come into lady stark's service?"

this actually peaked your interest and you glanced over your shoulder, watching as the lady knight huffed. she didn't answer and so, of course, jaime continued.

"it had to be recent," he hummed. "you weren't with her at winterfell."

"how would you know that?" she asked with a frown.

you chose to cut in, sending her a small smile. "we were there."

"yes, not so long ago," he continued with a wide grin. "thank you, my darling wife. yes, lady brienne, we were there and you were not." you rolled your eyes and so did brienne, and the silence, apparently, always, always needs to be filled with jaime's voice. "were you with stannis?"

"gods no," she said, rolling her eyes.

"renly, then," he hummed amusedly. she stiffened and that only encouraged his grin. "ah, so you fought for renly. he was pretty, always well-dressed, very cordial. baffled he thought that made him a king though."

brienne was usually very good at putting up with jaime's jabs, but for some reason this was struck a nerve, and she turned on him sharply. "he would've been a great king."

he laughed, shaking his head. "you forget i watched that boy grow up, trapped in the same halls as him for his whole childhood. i know him better than you."

"i knew him as well as anyone," she answered, frowning deeply. "i was his kingsguard, he trusted me with his life."

"and yet you hardly could see him for was he was. he was handed everything, never had to work for a thing, thought the whole world was owed him," he mused in answer.

"king renly was a good, honorable man," she said again. "he would have made a fantastic king."

he laughed. "it almost sounds like you fancied him." she looked away and so did you, smiling gently as you glanced ahead. jaime breathed out an incredulous laugh and you pitied the woman then. "you did fancy him. oh my - well, i'm afraid, my dear lady, that you weren't his type. no, sweet renly preferred little girls like loras tyrell-" you glanced quickly over your shoulder, narrowing your gaze even as he continued. "you are much too man for him."

she shoved him harshly, grabbing him by the hair and forcing him down. "you will not speak about renly in such a manner in front of me."

you perked up at the sound of leaves crunching to the east and you turned, brows furrowed as you looked through the trees.

jaime just grinned still. "it was the worst hidden secret in court. everyone knew, i'm sorry you didn't."

"you cannot-" brienne started through gritted teeth but you shushed her quickly, stepping back and grabbing her by the arm, eyes still searching the trees.

"shh," you mumbled quietly, eyes wide as she and jaime both followed your gaze. "do you hear that?"

all at once brienne released jaime's hair and you shoved him behind you, hiding his cuffs and rope behind your dress as the large woman stepped ahead of you both. you grabbed jaime's chains around the middle and he stepped forwards, both hands holding yours to cover the cuffs. you tossed him a quick glare, but he just nodded forward, and you turned back round.

a man was walking with his horse drawing a wagon filled with hay, whistling mindlessly as he went along. after a few moments, his eyes turned to you three, taking you in with wide eyes. "ah," he then chuckled happily. "staying off the kingsroad too, are ya?"

"challenging times," you hummed, offering him a smile and easing slightly at his light tone.

"aye," he answered. "they'll still find ya anywhere. but, it seems you're in good hands." he chuckled joyously again, nodding to brienne. "i mean no offense, my lady, but i wouldn't want to tangle with ya."

"neither would i," jaime joked as brienne mustered a small smile.

the man smiled back and asked, "where are ya headed?"

"south," jaime answered. "and you?"

"riverrun," he said. you met his eyes again as he glanced from jaime to you, to brienne, and back to you, offering him a nod and a wider smile. he patted his horse and stepped to continue. "well, seven blessings to you all."

"seven blessings!" you and jaime answered together, brienne adding her own straggling wishes as he bobbled away.

you let go of jaime's chains, shoving his hands away as he frowned at you. then, he turned his eyes to brienne, and you knew what he was going to say. you couldn't find it in you to disagree.

"he knew who we were, who i was anyways," he said.

she shook her head, glancing once to you but you just looked away. the man and his horse disappeared over the hill, as naive as ever. "we're not going after him. he's innocent."

"he knew us," jaime insisted, looking to you now. he raised his brows insistently. "he knew us."

"i know," you said with a sigh, brienne turning to you now. you met her eyes. "he did. he definitely knew us, but i agree we can't go after him. i just recommend we move a bit faster than before. i'd like to be gone before whoever he tells can track us."

she sighed, looking between you and your husband as you stepped away from him, ducking down to brush past her and head forward again. "alright then. lead the way, my lady."

you started off diagonal to the man, heading towards where you knew the river bridge was built. jaime trailed after you, followed by brienne, and soon enough the sound of the rushing waters filled your ears, and you smiled small. you glanced over your shoulder at brienne, raising a brow. “what do you think? we going over the bridge or are we swimming through this?”

jaime was grinning as he watched her attempt to weigh the options, and of course, felt the need to assist. “if we go over the bridge, we risk someone spotting us. but, if we go through the hundred foot water i could escape.”

“you could try,” you snorted.

he shot you an annoyed look before turning back to brienne. he wiggled his chain, the rope pulling in her grasp. “what will it be, my lady knight?”

she met your eyes past him, jutting her chin out. “the lady will choose.”

great.

you sighed, glancing between the bridge and the loud river, watching the way the water folded over the rocks in its path, sinking in on itself to create pools of sucking blackness. you eyed jaime’s rope in brienne’s hand and then decided, “the bridge.”

the three of you made your way quickly to it, your hand resting on the hilt of your sword in a fashion your cousin loras always had. it used to make you laugh, but now you understood it - you felt more powerful and in control with a hand on your sword.

you walked ahead of jaime as you crossed the bridge, trying to pass as quick as possible to avoid being caught. still, you heard him behind you.

"seven hells, this bridge looks like it was built before aegon's conquest. if it collapses, i'm haunting you both."

you answered in a dry tone, "you already do."

"well, at least i'll be consistent," he hummed, and you hated that it earned a small smile from you, grateful he couldn't see it at the least.

when you reached the halfway mark of the cobblestone bridge, brienne said sharply, "get up." you turned with furrowed brows, frowning deeply as your eyes landed on jaime sat back against the halfwall and grinning up at his captor.

"i need to rest," he breathed out, shaking his head. he waved down to the chains at his feet. "you know, when you have these, you can't walk too far. tiring, really."

"get up," brienne ordered again and you let out a terrible sigh, walking back to them.

"get up, jaime," you told him, reaching to grab his arm as she pulled at his rope.

"i have corns," he complained, gesturing to his feet. "i never used to get corns. of course, i used to ride everywhere, not walk around like some common foot soldier wearing the same shitty boots for over a year." you grabbed his arm and hooked yours underneath it, hauling him to his feet as he said, "this heel is ruined, there's no-"

in the same moment that he shoved himself into a standing position and reached down, you gasped, "jaime!"

he pulled your sword from your side and knocked you out of the way, swinging it downwards and cutting himself free from the rope that tied him to brienne. his cloak fell from his shoulders and he grinned, kicking it out of the way as he turned to face brienne, who had drawn her sword as well and looked dangerously ready to counter whatever he was bound to do.

"jaime-" you started again, but he cut you off.

"no worries, darling," he hummed. "i'll get us out of this soon."

"there's nothing to get out of," you told him firmly. "she's taking us to king's landing safely. there, we will trade for sansa and arya. everyone is winning from this, there's no need to fight her."

he shook his head. "there's no need to give those girls back. there's a reason cersei didn't offer to trade me for sansa - she needs her."

it was a familiar sting, like salt in a half-scarred wound attempting to heal. you knew he loved cersei; of course, he loved cersei.

but, hearing him openly admit to having her well-being and intentions in mind as he tries to escape just made your heart clench in a terrible sort of jealous pain.

"right, of course," you said, hiding your hurt with a scoff as you glanced to your lady knight. "anything for cersei. carry on, then. i hope brienne throws you off this damn bridge."

he faltered for just a moment, shooting you a glance as he twirled the sword in his hands and grew more comfortable with it, even as he was still chained. "don't be like that, love. she's your sister too."

you leaned back against the halfwall, crossing your arms. "only by law. and i still didn't fuck her, did i?"

a slow smirk pulled at brienne's lips as she took a step towards the kingslayer, the two beginning to circle each other slower. jaime didn't look at you, but still said, "would you mind moving, love? i'd hate for you to get caught in the middle of this."

"then don't fight her," you answered simply. "you'll lose anyway."

he grinned and ignored your comment, watching brienne's form as she held her sword against him. "you move well enough," he hummed to her, tilting his head slightly. "for a great beast of a woman. though, not enough to win against me."

he made the first move, sword crashing against hers as you leaned back away from the move. he pushed her back and to the side, allowing you to sit up once more, watching her strike him firmly as he parried in a way you would almost call beautiful.

"you shouldn't grimace before you lunge," he told her. "gives away the game."

he swung again, stabbing at her as she answered his moves with swings of her own, stepping backwards and backwards as her sword dipped dangerously close to you. again, he directed the fight to the other side of the bridge, shoving her backwards before she began to do the same, chasing him with her blade as she let out a great yell.

a pause in the fight, their blades against each other's, had jaime speaking again. "bit of a quandry for you. if you kill me, you fail lady stark. if you don't kill me," he paused, pulling his sword back for just a moment. "i'll kill you."

he lunged again and they continued their duel, you sitting to the side entirely unimpressed with this random and needless battle. each time they neared you, jaime put his back to you and shoved brienne away, and once you used this to your advantage. you kicked his knee and sent him stumbling, brienne raising her sword to his neck as he brought his blade back up to defend.

"want me to die, do you, wife?" he asked, breaths heavy as he brought his sword against hers again.

you shrugged. "want this to be done with, though i can't say i'd mind the consequence."

he laughed dryly, grunting as she shoved him back again. "flattering."

as they fought you watched with a dull expression, silently and unwillingly impressed with how well he was holding up against her even bound as he was. the chains at his hands and feet were loud as they collided with each other, and he looked to be tiring at the weight and strain, but brienne was tiring as well. it had to do with quite how much armor she wore there.

"brienne," you warned, pushing yourself up from the wall and coming to them as she shoved jaime down, raising her sword to the approaching envoy waving the banner you'd hoped not to encounter again this trip.

bolton men.

the man at the front was thin with greasy hair, though his uniform told of his status in the northern army. he raised his brows, perched upon his horse and looking down at the three of you almost amusedly.

jaime came back to his feet with a heavy breath, trying at a smile. "hello, there."

"looks like your woman was getting the better of you," the man answered, nodding to brienne. but, then, his eyes caught on you, and you cursed to yourself. "or is that your woman?"

"both, actually," jaime joked with a dry laugh. "and neither. actually, it's a bit of a mess we're in right now, fighting over that beautiful woman behind me. it's best you leave it to us to decide."

the bolton man watched you intently before a slim smile pulled at his lips. "i think there's another involved in your fight."

your brows knitted before a short, stubby man was pushed to the front of their group, the soldier at the right of their leader asking him, "you sure they're the ones?"

you let out a quiet curse.

it was the man you'd run into before. the man jaime had suggested you kill.

"that's him alright," the man answered, nodding to jaime. "the kingslayer. i saw him fight at the tourney for ser willem frey's wedding."

that damned wedding. the freys were ridiculous, you'd quickly realized when you'd gone, the first time you'd seen jaime since he left for king's landing. practically the whole of the riverlands went to it, and the freys basked in the attention. you figured it was half the reason walder got married so many times - the other half being, of course, the pleasure that comes with young wives.

the bolton general nodded, holding jaime's eyes. "get the man his silver."

his second in command handed the river man a few silver coins and then the man rushed off back to his horse and wagon, happy as could be with the justice you were sure he thought would be served.

you caught the eyes of the main man again, and you hated the grin he gave you.

"that makes you the wife," he hummed. "who else would sit by and watch him get dragged from town to town with no remorse than the woman he betrayed? and who else would the king in the north make his men swear not to harm if not a girl that pretty?"

jaime's jaw tightened and he stepped to the side to block you from view. "let us go and my father will pay you whatever you want," he told him.

"enough to buy me a new head?" the bolton man asked, tilting his head. "if the king knew that i had the kingslayer and let him go, he'd be taking it right off. i'd rather he takes yours."

jaime and brienne began walking backwards, both swords raised as the bolton men on horses began to approach. you held your breath, mind running through all the possible outcomes in a moment.

you all could escape and make it back to king's landing, where jaime and brienne would both protect you all the way down.

or you'd be dragged back to robb's camp, where brienne would be punished for her crimes and jaime would likely end up dead.

either way, you'd be kept safe.

and yet your heart felt heavy.

"come on, love," the bolton man said with a grin as you walked hastily backwards. "let's not be difficult."

"run," jaime told you, turning with an insistent look.

"i'm not leaving you," you said with a shake of your head.

he faltered just slightly, mouth dropped open in shock, but he quickly steadied himself and told you again, "i need you to run."

except you didn't know what you would do if you ran. you'd be caught for sure, and even if you managed to get away you were helpless on your own with no weapons or food.

you shook your head, jaime faltering with wide eyes, and soon enough the three of you were grabbed and tied, your ropes knotted together as they kept you in a line.

"come now," the bolton man said with a grin as the group started north once more, your ropes fastened to the saddle of his horse. "the king is anxious to see ya."

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you'd been on the road for two days, finding your way back through the mountains towards the river road. you favored that route despite the added length, hoping it would bring more safety and less bandits than the journey in the westerlands.

and the entire time jaime had been making casual jests, attempts at lame conversation that were avoided by both you and brienne. the woman was decent company, you'd discovered. short enough in her word, entertaining enough with her responses to the kingslayer's cracks.

"you got yourself into this when you married me, darling," he answered, tilting his head up at you.

you snorted. "and for that i'll never forgive your father."

he grinned. "oh, come on, love. obviously you feel something for me, or else you wouldn't have come all this way."

"obviously," you said instead. "i have my name to salvage. not everything is about you, jaime."

a short smile pulled at brienne's lips and it gave you a small sense of pride at your little jest. you weren't always funny, but being with jaime had taught you how to keep up with his quips.

"your name is only yours because of me," he told you then, grinning still. "most things do have to do with me."

"well, your name is yours because of your father, and his to his father before him," you clicked your tongue. "again. it's not about you, jaime."

you came to the bank of a river then, and as brienne pushed jaime off the back of her horse you couldn't help but snicker. his back hit the dirt roughly and he grunted, stumbling back to his feet and shooting a glare at the large woman.

"who are you anyways? a woman of your size and ugliness isn't common," he hummed with a frown. when she didn't answer, instead making her way down to the water where you spotted a small boat was tied, he followed and so did you. "it's a long journey, it's best we get familiar with each other." she ignored him still and you chuckled, crossing your arms over your chest as you watched her push the boat off the bank and undo the ties, shooting him a frown as she went about it. "i'm jaime lannister of casterly rock, son of tywin, and this is my wife, y/n lannister of casterly rock, daughter of jameson tyrell."

you shook your head but couldn't stop your grin as brienne looked at you with impossibly wide eyes. she huffed with no answer, tossing the ropes into the boat and finally standing straight to tell jaime, "i know who you are."

he grinned. she shouldn't have told him that.

"a captive has the right to know his captor's identity," he egged, nodding pointedly.

she rolled her eyes. "brienne of tarth."

"tarth, tarth, tarth," he echoed, clicking his tongue and glancing at you once. his smile grew when he noted your amused expression, and so he continued. "crescent moons and starbursts. lord... selwyn tarth. do you have any brothers or sisters?" she didn't answer again, but he stepped closer, wondering then, "have you known many men?" she shot him a sideways glance. "women? horses?"

she shoved him harshly to his knees and you placed a hand on his shoulder, holding him there as she glanced away. he looked up at you, eyes catching yours with growing intrigue before he turned his gaze to the tall woman.

"i meant no offense," he said with a grin. "though, only a few words about your stature and you already hate me."

"you will not provoke me to anger," she said through gritted teeth.

he laughed loudly and your hold on his shoulder tightened. "i already have! look at you, you're ready to chop my head off." she huffed and he tilted his head, glancing once at you as you stepped away from him. he popped up once your hand was off his shoulder, bobbling on his feet. "do you think you could? do you thinking you could beat me in a fair fight?"

"i've never seen you fight," she answered simply.

"the answer is no," he said, pointing at her with his bound hands and an exaggerated smile. "there are three men in the kingdoms who might stand a chance against me, and you're not one of them."

you smacked him upside the head, however lame of a hit it was, and he turned to you with that same tilted grin that had once had you swooning. "you'd think a chain would keep you from running your mouth."

"you'd be wrong," he hummed, and you smacked him again. "just when you thought you were rid of me," he murmured quietly in answer, grinning as he turned to meet your eyes.

brienne hummed, returning to her work on the boat. she pushed it into the water, holding it steady as she gestured for you to get in. you did, settling in the small space as she answered him, "all my life men like you have sneered at me. and all my life i've been knocking men like you into the dust."

you laughed loudly, jaime shooting you a quick frown before telling her, "if you're so confident, unlock my chains. let's see what happens."

"do you take her for an idiot?" you asked, raising a brow.

he moved to answer, but before he could brienne nodded to the space behind you in the boat and said a sharp, "in."

"you know, i always dreamed of being ordered around by a tall woman," he hummed as you and brienne both rolled your eyes. "dreams really do come true."

jaime followed instructions, stepping behind you as she held the boat and you held yourself up, and settling in behind you. his legs popped out at your sides and you reluctantly let your arms rest atop them. "but no, i didn't take her for an idiot. i took her for a fighter. a man, pardon, woman of honor," he said, returning back to his earlier comment. brienne stepped into the boat opposite you and you realized quickly how small it was. with both of them standing at above six feet, the space was cramped and you were trapped in the middle. "was i wrong? you're scared."

"maybe one day we'll find out, kingslayer," she answered with a thin smile as she grabbed the oar and pushed away from the bank, awkwardly maneuvering you into the river.

jaime shifted behind you, his chained hands brushing against your back as he pushed backwards to sit up better. his voice softened a touch even though brienne could most obviously hear as he leaned forward and told you quietly, "you're welcome to lean back. i don't imagine it's very comfortably with nothing to rest on."

"i'm fine, thanks," you answered shortly.

you regretted your words only a few minutes later, your lower back aching as you leaned forwards towards brienne, having to shift every other second to avoid the butt end of the oar smacking you in the face as she rowed. jaime's feet were bumping yours as you sat cross-legged and his knees knocked against your sides when the boat shook.

after another few minutes of this you let out a great sigh and used his knees to help push you up and back until you were flush against his chest. you could practically sense his grin as he lifted his chained hands up and over your head, settling them on your stomach as instant relief filled your posture.

"comfortable, are you?" he hummed, leaning his head to look at you better.

you grunted. "well, i thought i might get some use out of our marriage while i still can."

the corner of brienne's lips quirked, nearly a smile, as jaime's faded, and he turned his gaze back out to the water. he glanced quickly to the lady knight before murmuring quietly, his lips close to your ear, "there's more to our marriage than this."

again, you snorted. "prove it."

he huffed. "i think the gods sent you to torment me."

"i think the gods sent you to test my patience," you retorted with a frown.

you could hear his grin as he asked, "how am i doing?"

you rolled your eyes even as you settled more comfortably against him, shutting your eyes to avoid the slightly judgmental look you both were receiving from brienne. "spectacularly."

"if you fall asleep, try not to drool. i have a reputation to maintain," he said, his grip softening around you as he let you settle into him more. his thumb ran over your stomach gently and you smacked it away, resting your hands on your middle to keep his from having access.

"oh, yes, and what a reputation that is."

when brienne finally pulled the boat onto dry land you were asleep, entirely too comfortable in the kingslayer's hold as he rested his forehead on your shoulder. when the boat hit the bank you looked up with wide eyes, sitting up quickly before being caught by jaime's locked arms.

you grunted and turned with a glare. "you can let go of me now."

he grinned, tilting his head. "oh, i'm quite alright where i'm at."

you rolled your eyes and pushed his arms up, ducking beneath them and taking brienne's hand as you stepped out of the boat. "get out, jaime."

"if you insist," he answered, stumbling his way up and out of the small wooden thing. he stepped next to you onto the bank, both of you looking to brienne before she just rolled her eyes, grabbing the end of the rope tied to jaime's hands and wrapping it once around her wrist for safekeeping.

"come on, then," she said, waving you both onto the rocky trail ahead.

you took the lead, walking in sluggish silence as you tried to blink yourself more awake. you hated to admit that falling asleep in jaime's arms wasn't unwelcomed, but it certainly had been a surprise. but, unfortunately for the both of you, you weren't planning on letting it happen again.

as you got onto the road, jaime turned his attentions to brienne, barbing and insulting her like he had before. "you must be a virgin, yes?"

"jaime," you warned, shooting him a frown over your shoulder.

"what?" he said, breathing out an amused laugh. "childhood must have been terrible for her. a foot taller than all the boys, stronger for sure." he looked to brienne. "but, some of them must have wanted the challenge. tried to climb big brienne?"

"some of them, yes," she said shortly, pushing him forward. "walk."

"ah, but they didn't succeed," he hummed then, walking forward but still not quickly. you began to get a decent distance ahead of them, though his voice carried loudly to you still. "not strong enough, were they?"

"no."

"i bet you wish they were. that they could've pushed you down, torn off your clothes, kissed you like it mattered. would've made you feel like a woman."

"i'm not interested."

"oh, sure you are. even my wife here, stubborn as she is, is interested."

you turned then, raising your brows as you tilted your head at him. "do you remember the last time i was interested before your leave?" he paused as if actually thinking about it and you laughed dryly. "yes, neither do i."

you turned back around, though not quick enough to miss brienne's ill-concealed smirk at your words.

you continued down the path briskly, running a hand through your hair in slight frustration. it was true; even before jaime left you hadn't been keen on being intimate with him because you felt you hardly knew him, and the parts you did know frustrated you to no end. you hadn't wanted to give him the satisfaction of having you, even if it would've been appreciated on your end as well, and now you were glad for it.

you turned a corner and stopped abruptly, brows knitting as you took in the scene before you.

three women, covered in dark cloaks and bags over their heads, strung up by their necks with a sign over one that said:

"they lay with lions," jaime read aloud, coming up next to you with brienne on your other side. he glanced at you, meeting your eyes without a smile. "suppose it's a crime now." he looked then to brienne. "the glorious work of the northern freedom fighters. likely tavern girls, served my father's men. maybe gave them a little kiss or a feel." he tilted his head. "must make you proud to serve the starks."

"i don't serve the starks," brienne answered with a frown. "i serve lady catelyn."

"tell yourself that tonight when they swing in your dreams," he said dryly.

her face screwed up with anger and she quickly shoved him to the side, tying him by his ropes to a side tree. you didn't even bat an eye as she did, moving instead to the opposite side of the road to where the girls' ropes were tied keeping their bodies up.

"what are you doing?" he called to you with knitted brows.

you pulled a dagger that erryk had given you from your hip and jaime's brows furrowed even deeper. you shot him one glance. "burying them."

"we shouldn't stay here, we should get back on the river," he told you both as brienne moved to help you.

"we don't care what you think," she shot back, and you felt a moment of pride that you and her had become a 'we' now. you had to admit that it felt nice not to be considered a captive as well, or to be grouped with your ratty husband.

and then, beyond the bend of the road, there were voices. you both perked up and jaime's eyes widened. "untie me now."

but, she didn't, simply stepping to the middle of the road with you behind her as five northmen rounded the bend.

"woah!" the man in the middle yelled, brows furrowing as his eyes fell on the three of you. his hair was short and tied back halfway in a manner that reminded you of ned stark, and that simple fact made you hope desperately that this wouldn't end poorly. "what's your business here?"

brienne answered. "traveling a prisoner."

all five of the men burst into chaotic laughter, punching each other in the shoulders as one exclaimed, "you're a woman?!" and they all continued laughing harshly.

you sighed, rolling your eyes. "come off it."

their eyes snapped to you and you missed the way that jaime stiffened, pulling at his ropes just once to test their strength.

the middleman's eyes narrowed at you, brows furrowing slightly as he took a step towards you and grinned. "and who are you, lass?" he glanced to brienne, huffing a laugh. "the lady's squire?"

"you could say that," you answered, hand resting on your dagger as you straightened your stance.

he laughed again, shaking his head. "i don't think so." he glanced at the men at his side, and the one with short blond hair gave him a firm nod.

"i saw her with the king," the man said firmly. "that's the one he said not to hurt."

you exchanged a look with brienne, letting out a sore sigh as her hand tightened on the hilt of her sword.

the first man looked back to you three, eyes now on jaime. "then, that makes you the kingslayer. robb stark wants you back, you know."

"i'd venture robb stark didn't want you to kill those girls either," you answered with a frown.

he glanced up at the hanged bodies and grinned. "you like our work?"

"i hope you gave them quick deaths," you said.

he shrugged. "two of them, yes. one..." he laughed, shaking his head. "not so much." he shot a glance over his shoulder. "boys."

brienne moved first. she cut down two men in four seconds, moving to the third who actually had a decent fight to put up as the other men moved to you. with nothing but instinct to tell you what to do, you raised your dagger and slashed it forward, eyes widening when it actually caught the arm of one of your attackers.

instead of wincing, though, he laughed. "the lioness has got some bite to her." he tilted his head. "or are ya a wolf now? the king seemed awfully concerned for your wellbeing."

you grunted as you swung again, but the man you'd missed before caught you by the arm and the other moved swiftly to kick you legs out, dropping you to the floor. he kicked your dagger from your hand and then he grinned, dropping to cover you and tracing his knife over your upper arm. "i'm sure the king wouldn't mind too terribly." he cut your skin harshly and you winced, feeling the tears start to come as you thrashed against his hold. he laughed. "no worries, love, we match now."

"what stark doesn't know won't hurt him," his friend said with an absurd sort of giggle as you cried out, kicking wildly. he grabbed your legs harshly, holding them down to let the other man return his knife to your skin, now raised to your cheek.

you heard the grunts of your husband behind you, and then suddenly the men were dragged off you, one stabbed through the belly and the other at the feet and mercy of brienne of tarth.

you gasped, pushing yourself up and away from the four dead bodies on the road, eyes widening. brienne stood over the last man, the one who'd spoken and taunted you all only minutes prior, and tilted her head.

"a few quick deaths," she said, echoing his words from earlier and nodding to his dead friends around him. "and the one? not so much."

you had to look away as she shoved her sword slowly up his abdomen, his grunts and thin noises of dying life making your skin crawl. the smell of blood filled your senses and you winced, mind hazy with the newness of it all.

jaime's eyes were wide and focused on you, his rope beginning to loosen from his efforts, and you crossed to untie him from the tree with an almost numb feeling washing its way over your skin. your fingers moved slow and your eyes couldn't find his, breaths shallow and halfhearted. as soon as he was freed, he grabbed your arm, examining the surprisingly thin cut, and then he cupped one hand over your cheek.

"you alright?" he checked, searching your eyes.

you grabbed his wrist, the movement surprisingly grounding, and nodded once. "i'm fine." and then, the world seemed to catch up with you and you pushed him away, running a hand through your hair and turning to brienne, even as she was already cutting down the murdered girls. "thank you," you said to her.

she smiled small and gave you a firm nod. "anytime, my lady."

"those were stark men," jaime said as he looked to her too, brows knitted slightly.

"i don't serve the starks," she answered simply. "i serve lady catelyn. i told her i'd take you to king's landing, and keep your wife safe, and that's what i'm going to do."

you wondered for a moment about lady catelyn's instructions to keep you safe, but moved on from it quickly. the starks were kind, you'd learned. well, all of them but these.

you moved to the body of one of the men brienne had killed first, pushing him onto his belly with a grunt to begin at the fastenings of his cuirass. "i don't think they were starks either," you said, eyes catching on the flayed man sigil stitched into the man's undershirt. "these are bolton men. can't say i'm surprised. i hear they have a habit of torture in those parts."

"what are you doing?" jaime asked then, crossing to you with his hands bobbing loosely in their cuffs. brienne had begun burying the girls in the loose dirt around the bushes, doing the best she could to cover them with greens and soil.

you tugged the leather cuirass off the body, leaning over to grab the dagger that had been kicked from you before and starting to trim the sides with labored strokes. "they knew who we were because of me. i can't be in this damned gown anymore."

"but, you look so pretty in that damned gown," he answered. you didn't answer and he breathed out an ironic laugh. "i marry a lady and here she is robbing corpses. the gods really do have a sense of humor."

you heard cloth tearing behind you but didn't turn to see what he was doing, focusing instead on shortening and thinning the armor. you cut the sides and bottom off, reusing the short ties that had fastened it before in order to be able to fasten it to yourself later. before that, you moved to remove the man's boots and began at his trousers.

"trousers too?" jaime asked, quirking a brow. "darling, they're massive."

"it's better than what i have now," you said, even though it wasn't true. your gown was covered in dirt, yes, and quite obviously showed you were a woman, but it wasn't gold or red or green, it was an easy grey. and it wasn't all too pretty either, just a simple gown that robb had managed to find from the women that apparently did exist at his camp, nurses evidently.

"it's not," he answered with a roll of his eyes, grabbing your uninjured arm and pulling you backwards. you yelped as you fell on your behind, looking up at him with a glare. "we can explain your presence away. if you'd given us the chance, we could've then too."

"but, they knew me."

"because of your face, not because of your dress. dressing like a man isn't going to make any difference," he said. "i'm a captive, brienne is a knight, and you're a girl who has been brought along by brienne's kind heart in an attempt to get home to riverrun. and when we pass riverrun, any other damned town."

you huffed, moving to object before he dropped to his knees next to you and began wrapping a piece of his cloak around your cut, struggling due to the chains but managing nonetheless. you knitted your brows, pulling away from him.

"hold still," he told you sharply.

"i can-"

"you can bleed out if you argue," he bit back with an unimpressed frown before returning to the struggle of wrapping your wound.

for a few moments it was just the two of you sitting in the road, brienne finishing her work burying the girls off to the side, her moving dirt from one place to the other the only sound filling the space.

it seemed as though jaime's old knighthood instincts had taken over, his movements as efficient as possible even with the cuffs at his wrists. you remained quiet, simply watching him work in slight shock. once he finished wrapping the piece of fabric around your arm as many times as he could, he tied a loose knot, unable to tighten it with his hands so close together. he dropped his head, taking one end with his teeth and then pulling back, the knot tightening as you shut your eyes. he double-knotted it and pulled with his teeth again, and then it was done.

he pulled away, examining his work and then looking to you, your eyes still shut. "too tight?"

you shook your head, letting out a thin breath before you opened your eyes to meet his. it was almost unsettling to be cared for by jaime lannister - the only times he'd done so was in the dark of night after a particularly rough escapade, and even then it wasn't with half the worry or care you saw in his eyes now.

"you didn't have to," you said, holding his gaze still as you watched for any sign of tease or annoyance.

"didn't i?" he hummed instead. "you're my wife."

you just watched him for a moment, brows furrowing slightly. you let out a disbelieving breath. "since when has that mattered to you?"

"since i started remembering what that meant," he answered.

you thought back to two nights before, when he'd told you he didn't think you would care about his relationship with cersei, that he didn't think you cared about your relationship, even. and you did. you'd said you'd wanted him once, that you wanted trust and loyalty.

and he'd told you that his note wasn't meant to be a goodbye.

i will see you safe however i can, even if it is from myself.

your eyes were heavy on him, probing and slightly confused, and he rolled his eyes. "if this is how my wife looks at me after i save her life, remind me to never do it again."

you snorted. "you didn't save my life. brienne did."

"i wrapped your wound," he hummed with a teasing grin. "it's practically the same thing."

and as he stood up, your blood on his hands and his cloak torn from where he'd retrieved fabric to wrap your arm, you wondered if a part of him did, actually, care for you.

"we should continue," brienne said as she stepped onto the path again. she looked at where you'd cut the cuirass and raising a brow. "are you ready?"

you sighed and stood, glancing to jaime once and nodding. "yes, i suppose i am." she nodded and turned to lead you both down the trail. as she did, you noticed the variety of weapons on her sides, the two swords, two shortblades, one dagger. then, you looked to jaime, weaponless, but still the best soldier in the seven kingdoms. "will you teach me to fight?"

he raised a brow before breathing a laugh. "i think i'd just prefer you to untie me so i can fight for you."

"that's not going to happen," brienne cut in surely. she glanced over her shoulder and offered you a thin smile. "i will teach you to fight, my lady."

"no, no, no," jaime said, shaking his head. "i am her husband, she asked me, i will teach her."

"you declined," you answered with a laugh, skipping ahead to walk by brienne's side instead as he followed you. "and anyways, i think i'd rather learn from a woman since i'm a woman myself."

"i will teach you," he insisted.

brienne raised a brow. "with what sword?"

"i don't need a sword to teach," he answered with a frown. he looked to you. "i will teach you. you're right, someone has to make sure you come back in one piece - and i don't trust her aim. when we stop for camp, we'll begin."

you shrugged, smiling as you turned your eyes in front of you again. "we'll see about that."

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robb clicked his tongue and the wolf rounded to his side instead, walking beside him contentedly. he glanced to you with a small smile. "this is greywind," he introduced. "he won't hurt you."

you looked to the wolf again and was surprised at how calm he seemed as he faithfully followed his master. the wolf looked to you and you mustered a small smile. "hello greywind."

robb smiled as his wolf chuffed in return and earned a short laugh from you. "he likes you."

"i'm not sure about that, but i'll take it," you hummed, watching greywind carefully.

he silently led you both to where jaime was being held, and you were simultaneously glad and sorry that it was in such a small, cramped, and dirty place, absent of light entirely.

robb stopped a few steps behind you, watching and surely listening, but giving you enough space to have a decent enough conversation. greywind, instead, came to your side. his amber eyes were focused on the kingslayer, and had you been jaime you would've been deadly frightened.

your husband sat in dirt, covered in black grime and dried blood and more filth you didn't care to wonder at. his beard had grown into a thick scruff, and you hated to think that it suited him. his hair was matted down and filthy as well, not half as beauty as it had been only a few months prior in the capital, and his hands were bound behind him, a collar on his neck to keep him in place.

when he looked up, he had that same half smirk on his lips that was meant to protect him from the world. but then, his eyes landed on you beside the north's king, and he faltered a touch.

"my lady wife," he breathed out, as if it had been meant as a tease but he couldn't yet manage it.

"don't call me that," you answered shortly, gaze narrowed as it met his.

he laughed lightly, shaking his head. "why? it's true, isn't it? unless my sister has arranged a wedding in my absence - i can't say i'm surprised." you didn't answer for a moment and he fell back into his routine of teases. "if i'd known you were coming, i would have dressed for the occasion."

you frowned. "i don't think there's any attire that suits what you've done."

at that, the man stilled, and greywind stiffened next to you as if awaiting his next move. jaime let out a breath. "so, you've heard."

"everyone has heard," you told him quickly. "i just wished i'd heard from you."

"what would you want me to say? that i've been with my sister longer than i can remember and that it didn't stop even when we were married?" he said then, knitting his brows. "would that have made you feel better?"

"it would've made me feel better if you'd said it and then at least tried to be a husband to me. you could've tried to end it," you answered.

he smiled thinly. "trust me, darling, i know it's odd. but, i've been hers five times longer than i was ever yours - old habits die hard." again, you didn't answer, eyes holding his intently as he let out a heavy sigh. "it wasn't supposed to matter. you weren't supposed to care."

"you think i married you just to be seen at your side?" you asked with raised brows.

he snorted. "no. you married me because my father arranged it."

"and i was grateful at the start," you told him, the admission a foreign sort of shock that had you taking a sharp breath in. when you finally released, his gaze was heavy, probing, intrigued as he watched you. "i wanted you," you continued quietly. "i wanted a marriage, a good one, an honest one. i thought i could have that with you."

a beat passed where he considered being true, but he turned to barbs again. "and i thought you knew what i was."

you glared then, hating the way he was able to spin things. "i knew what you were to your father, and your sister, and the realm. the kingslayer. the knight with no honor. but, you were kind to me, good, even. i assumed you'd continue that way."

he laughed. "you assume too much."

"i realize that now," you answered with a dry smile. you stepped back, glancing over your shoulder at robb who seemed all too frustrated with jaime's words, and nodding as you turned away.

the exchange caught jaime's attention, an amused grin pulling at his lips.

"is that what you're here for, then?" he asked, breathing out a laugh. "i have to hand it to you - you have your grandmother's wit. changing sides when things go to shit. it's smart, truly, to escape my family while you can."

you stilled, holding robb's eyes as he let out a sore breath. for a moment, you wondered if it meant anger or pity before you turned back around to see your husband. you knitted your brows, tilting your head a bit.

"i came for you, actually," you told him with a single nod. he watched you with intrigue, brows furrowing slightly as you continued. "i was planning to trade for you and return to casterly rock to wait all this shit out. it's what your father trained me to do."

"to rule casterly rock?" he asked, raising his brows amusedly then.

the similarity between him and his sister infuriated you, even their expressions bordered on identical and their opinion of you was nearly that too.

you levied him with a single gaze, lips thinned into a frown. "to save you from yourself." you stepped back, taking on his amused grin as his fell from his lips. "though, i suppose you're not needing that anymore. wait for cersei to save you."

you turned on your heel, refusing to meet robb's gaze as you brushed past him, greywind following you away as the king watched your husband for a few moments longer.

"for what it's worth," jaime called, and you paused just long enough to listen. "that note wasn't meant to end things."

and you believed him.

but belief doesn't mean forgiveness.

it didn't keep you from walking away, shoulders back and head held high, proper in the way you'd always had to be.

greywind followed you even as robb stayed, murmuring a few quiet words to the kingslayer that you couldn't hear. you heart was pounding too quick and too loud for your liking, an anger simmering in you that only frustrated you more.

soon enough, the young king came to your side again and greywind crossed to him, walking you both through the aisles and back to the tent.

"what did you say to him?" you asked quietly, glancing sideways at the younger man.

he stayed determined with his eyes forward, lips pursed slightly as he ran a hand over greywind's fur. "that he didn't deserve you. and that he'd sooner die in my watch than win you back."

that made you laugh. "that way i'd be husbandless?"

he looked to you then, smiling softly. "it'd definitely be a perk." he led you to a tent adjacent to the one he'd counseled in, a soft bed waiting there as he pulled the door open. "you can stay here for as long as you need. i know you're wanting to get back to casterly rock, but i imagine we'll be there soon." he shot you a teasing grin that earned a small laugh, and you nodded, sure he was correct in that assumption. "you're welcome to stay."

"thank you, your grace," you said with a gentle smile. "you didn't need to."

"no, but i'm more a gentleman than your husband," he answered, half teasing and half true. "i'll fetch you something to eat as well."

"i'm truly alright, your grace. that conversation has ruined my appetite," you told him, shaking your head.

but, the king was resolute. "i'll bring you something to eat," he said again. then, he nodded into the tent. "go on, get some rest. i'll be back soon."

you smiled small and stepped inside. "thank you, your grace."

"robb," he insisted for the second time. but, he seemed to soften as he did, tilting his head slightly. "you can't stay unless you call me robb."

you chuckled. "thank you... robb."

he grinned and nodded, stepping away with greywind following. "anytime, my lady."

"y/n," you told him instead. "you can call me by my name too."

"i'll do that then," he said. he gave you another nod, that boyish grin still on his lips as he stepped back and let the door fall.

you listened to him walk away before turning to collapse on the bed, which was much more comfortable than you expected.

the camp quieted as night fell. somewhere outside greywind padded by, his low growl drifting away with the wind. you wished it would take your thoughts with it too.

jaime had told you once in passing why he didn't like wolves - well, ned stark in particular. too loyal, too focused on honor, too self-righteous. you assumed that's why you liked them.

you thought back to the note he'd left you, tracing his messy handwriting in your mind as one sentence repeated again and again in your mind -

i will see you safe however i can - even if it is from myself.

was this, everything he'd just said and done, acting so flippant and ignorant and uncaring about it all, an attempt at that? to push you away?

unfortunately for the both of you, it was failing.

you wanted to hate him, you really did. he'd done the worst things to you, cheating with his own flesh and blood, fathering bastard children, running off to fight a war over it, and lying to you about it all.

but still, that little girl who'd seen the golden-haired knight at robert's coronation kept you from truly hating him. that young teenager who had met him again and swooned over his kind words and pretty eyes refused to let you hate him. the freshly married woman who had fallen in love with his gentle words and touches, and the way he'd made her feel everything in just that first night, she didn't allow you to push him away.

and so instead of hating him, you hated yourself for being unable to.

and that was the worst part.

you decided then that even though you couldn’t hate jaime, you didn’t need him either. you would be able to restore the lannister name to its former glory without him and without his sister.

you were the lady of casterly rock, who were they to tell you that you didn’t know what it meant to be a lannister?

the next morning robb walked with you to breakfast, greywind padding behind you with the huffs and puffs of a content pup. and just when robb opened his mouth to begin a conversation, his mother appeared.

you had hoped to avoid lady catelyn while you were here, knowing she would likely be less than excited to see you at her camp with her men and more importantly, with her son. and quiet honestly, you couldn’t blame her. your husband had attacked hers and killed their family guard, your sister by law had killed her husband’s best friend, the king, and your nephew/stepson had then executed her husband.

you wouldn’t be inclined to trust you either.

“lady catelyn,” you said with a small smile as she glowered at you, glancing between you and robb with obvious confusion. “it’s good to see you.”

she frowned. “what are you doing here? why have you come?”

“she isn’t here to harm, mother,” robb told her with a tone and a look that begged her to remember the reason they were at war in the first place.

because ned had discovered that your husband was sleeping with his sister.

a sudden sympathy covered her features then, and you were reminded of how kindly the starks had always treated you, in winterfell and in king’s landing. what a contrast to your own family.

“still,” the lady pressed. “why have you come?”

“well,” you sighed, glancing once at robb before returning your eyes to catelyn. “my house has been shamed by my husband’s sins. i came in an attempt to amend that. as much as i hate it as well, it’ll be much easier to do so with jaime not in your hold.”

she raised her brows. “you came to barter for the kingslayer?”

“i came with an offer, and your son has refused,” you answered. “which i understand.”

she eyed you still, crossing her arms and glancing once to robb. “what was your offer?”

“your girls are still in king’s landing,” you answered simply with a grim thinning of your lips. “it’s a fair trade.”

“it isn’t,” robb cut in with a shake of his head, watching as his mother softened at the mention of her daughters. “military-wise it’s extremely unequal. they’re just girls.”

“yes, but they’re our girls, robb,” catelyn said with a furrow between her brows.

he sighed heavily, shaking his head. “we will retrieve them when we can see them ourselves in king’s landing. it won’t be long now.”

she shook her head, glancing away and you knew then that this was a conversation they’d had before. you understood it from both ends, but were hoping to appeal to the one anyways. you smiled small and looked around the camp as though it were what you were focused on and not the wolves in front of you.

“the king has decided,” you said finally, meeting catelyn’s eyes. then, to break some tension, you breathed out a thin laugh. “on the bright side, with my husband staying with you all i’m not forced to endure his company.”

robb smiled at that, glancing away as catelyn eyed him curiously. when she looked back to you, you saw the same sympathy from before in her eyes.

what you didn’t see was the way you reminded her of a younger version of herself. betrayed by a husband you hardly knew, forced into a family and marriage you didn’t agree to, and pushed to make amends and uphold their honor as best you could while the men waged war. of course, her story ended much happier than yours. ned loved her and never cheated again, she made winterfell her own, and her loving family filled its halls upholding their values on their own. you were alone.

but luckily, your story hadn’t found its end quite yet.

“we’re happy to give you that reprieve,” robb teased, tilting his head and then lowering his voice. “for however long you’d like.”

you rolled your eyes but smiled anyways, and catelyn was amazed at the ease between you both. “you can’t have me going husbandless for too long, your grace.”

“oh, trust me, my lady,” he said, holding your eyes with an intensity that proved his honesty. “you wouldn’t be husbandless.”

catelyn’s heart hammered in her chest as she watched robb lean closer to you and rest a hand on the small of your back, your smile brighter than before as you held his bright eyes.

whatever was happening had the potential to be wonderful, a thing of fairytale romance, or it could utterly destroy the starks.

she was filled with relief when you took a step away from the king, his hand falling from your back as you turned to look at catelyn once more. you shifted a touch closer as your eyes met and you softened, voice dropping to a solemn tone as you told her, “i made your husband a promise before it all. i promised to bring your girls home.” you smiled thinly, almost sadly. “they’re wonderful, i hope you know that. they’re managing well as far as i know. and i will do what i can to bring them back to you.”

her breath caught as she searched your eyes for any hint of the lies that always came with a lannister, but there wasn’t any. only solemn promise.

even though they didn’t give you jaime, you would bring her their girls - you weren’t a lannister, she decided silently. you were better than that.

she smiled small and reached to take your hand, squeezing gently. “thank you.”

you returned her smile and nodded. “you don’t need to worry, my lady. i promise i’ll bring them back.”

“and she keeps her word,” robb added, smiling as his hand twitched to reach for you but paused at your notice.

and his mother’s.

catelyn eyed him curiously before a call from behind her caught all of your attentions.

“my lady,” ser erryk said, coming up with a smile and a grinning theon next to him. they both pulled horses along next to them, different than the ones you brought, but fresher and energetic. “are you nearly ready?”

“you haven’t eaten,” robb reminded, looking to you with a frown even as theon held up a bag filled with fruits and meats.

“they’re well off now,” he assured his friend.

robb didn’t seem reassured, but he calmed a touch as you sent him a smile. “thank you,” you said to theon when he placed the food into your saddlebag. “i appreciate your kindness.”

the greyjoy boy snorted. “it’d be a kindness if we killed your husband for you.”

“i assure you, it wouldn’t,” you answered, even as you drew an amused smile. “i’d have all sorts of problems on my hands then.”

“but at least one of them wouldn’t be him,” he answered with a teasing grin.

you chuckled and nodded at the dark haired boy. “you’re have a point there.”

robb turned your eyes back to his as he placed a hand gently on your arm, brows knitted slightly. “you’re going to casterly rock?”

you nodded. “i need to ensure it is being maintained properly before returning to king's landing.”

“we’ll see you soon, then,” he promised with a small smile.

“coming to take it?” you laughed, raising your brows.

“going to take it,” he corrected with a firm nod. “straight from your father by law’s hands.”

“well,” you hummed, tilting your head a bit as you smiled. “i look forward to seeing you try.”

even catelyn could appreciate the sort of tease in your tone as you stepped away, a strange sense of friendship filling the group of you as you met the eyes of the others. you weren’t sure what had happened over dinner last night, but theon and erryk seemed chummier than you’d expected, and catelyn still looked grateful that you’d come and been kind.

and robb - well, he looked at you in a way you hadn’t been looked at your whole life.

and impossibly, you wished he were jaime, and you hated yourself for it.

you resolved in that moment that you would be alright without him, robb or jaime, that you'd make your name for yourself on your terms. you didn't have a choice when you were a girl but you had many choices now, and you were going to make the most of it.

you were only a half a day away from robb's camp and halfway to oxcross when another horse came upon you, loud and charging and carrying two riders. you turned sharply, stepping out of their path and backing your own horse to stand next to ser erryk as you watched them stop, the horse rearing as the large person pulled at its reins.

"who are you?" erryk demanded with a frown, eying them carefully.

the horse turned, exposing its riders more easily to you and you gasped.

you knew this woman. brienne of tarth.

and you definitely knew the man sat behind her.

jaime's face was expressionless as he looked between you and ser erryk, considering the way the man moved in front of you defensively even as jaime's hands were still bound.

"my lady," brienned said to you with a cordial nod. "i am sworn to lady catelyn stark, and she has sent me to find you and bring the kingslayer to you. she accepts your trade."

you raised your brows. "and the king? what does he have to say of this?"

"i'm not sure," she admitted. "i know only what my lady has told me. she begs you go to king's landing now and retrieve her daughters before it grows too late."

you looked to jaime, frustration bubbling up within you. in the short time you'd had since leaving camp your mind had been running with all the ideas of how you would change the rock and change the lannister name, how you could undermine cersei and his sins and restore things to the balance tywin had brought them to long ago. in this, you'd become nearly excited about the idea of being on your own for a time - no tywin or jaime or olenna or anyone to pull your strings.

and yet, here he was; the man you couldn't hate nor love, the man you'd sworn you didn't need in order to make a name for yourself. and yet, you still had his name, and it was that name you were determined to change.

you tilted your head, considering him more for a moment.

even after everything, you were sworn to him, and, you had sworn to protect those stark girls. it was clear what you needed to do, even if it scrapped your second plan and spat you back to the first - and even if it really was without robb's knowledge.

you met erryk's eyes and he watched you questioningly. "no one has visited casterly rock in month, my lady. it needs to be addressed."

you nodded. "you go, erryk. check in with ser finnick," your master at arms, "and see who has succeeded ser pyson," your captain of the guard. "speak with them, and maester colmar, and then write to me at king's landing." you let out a breath. "hopefully jarrod and thia will be there soon as well."

"my lady," he objected near instantly. "you cannot go to king's landing alone. the queen will-"

"do nothing to me as long as i have her brother at my side," you said, cutting him off as you nodded to jaime, silent and filthy behind brienne. you softened a touch at erryk's continued disagreement, and offered him a small smile. "i'll be alright. i will write to you when i arrive at king's landing."

"those mountains are treacherous, my lady," he warned with a shake of his head. "if we only wait a few days, go to casterly rock, and gather a few more men, we'd all be the better for it."

"my lady insists we go now," brienne cut in, looking to you intently. "those girls are needed back in the north." she glanced to ser erryk then. "i'm a competent fighter, ser. i will see your lady safe."

"yes, and push comes to shove, you all remember i can fight too," jaime finally chimed in, earning frowns from each of you as he held up his tied hands with a lopsided grin. he shrugged, meeting your eyes with particular amusement. "should you loose my bands."

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "there isn't a chance."

he clicked his tongue, grin widening. "you're a real lioness these days, darling. not much rose left in you."

"i think we'll gag you too," you said with raised brows, looking to brienne as she watched the exchange with a sort of proud amusement.

"i'm not opposed," she hummed in answer.

you looked back to erryk and offered him a reassuring nod. "you go to the rock. i trust you to make sure everything is safe and running."

he sighed heavily, but obeyed. "as you command, my lady." he gave jaime a reluctant look and nod. "my lord."

"perhaps you'll untie me, given that you're sworn to me," jaime suggested, holding his hands out again, but ser erryk ignored him, turning around with one last look to you and racing off towards the rock. jaime sighed dramatically, hanging his head. "'spose not."

you glanced the way you'd just came down the trail, and then to your moping husband, and let out a tired breath. just when you thought you'd be done with him and he's thrown back at you.

how convenient.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

HAHA GUYSSS leave it to me to make everyone like robb better than who the story is written for - we gotta focus up people (including me, the king in the north is very distracting) jaime has a long way to go but we will get him there!!

if you want to be on the taglist lmk!

TAGLIST:

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"your grace," you said with a small smile, noticing immediately the way he seemed to soften at the slight tease. he still had that kindly way about him, though he stood stronger and taller with the confidence of a battle-hardened victor. he seemed less a boy than he was back at winterfell as he faced you

his advisors seemed more than confused, one man with a curt voice asking sharply, "who is this?"

"lady y/n," the greatjon answered for you, nodding your way.

the first man sighed heavily, rolling his eyes at the umber lord. "and her last name?"

"what's your house, lass?" umber asked you, but theon was answering for you.

"she's a tyrell," he said quickly, frowning deeply. "she's jaime lannister's wife."

the entire energy of the room shifted even though robb didn't, simply watching you with curious blue eyes and a tilt of his head. you didn't miss the way his eyes ran over you quickly, almost respectfully, and instead of asking what you were doing here, he asked, "have you eaten?"

the man from before knitted his brows, and so did the large woman next to him. "your grace-"

"she's not a threat, lord bolton," robb answered, holding your eyes still. "at least, i don't think she is." he raised his brows, the corner of his mouth tilting up. "are you?"

you breathed out a laugh, shaking your head. "i don't think so, my king. though, i was wondering if we may have a word in private."

there was an instant objection from all his advisors, but he ignored them, giving you a firm nod instead. "as you wish, my lady."

"robb," theon said sternly, turning to him with a piercing gaze. "she is the kingslayer's wife, a lion. we cannot trust her."

"she's a rose, theon," robb answered quietly, shooting you a sideways glance. "she was good to my sisters, and my father. and you forget that she's a victim in this - i doubt she likes her husband much more than we do right now."

that resonated with theon and it seemed to calm him just a touch. finally, he let out a huff and nodded, stepping back and waving a hand your way. "do as you will."

robb looked back to the men filling his tent and nodded dismissively to the door. "go on and get your supper." his eyes met yours quickly then. "do you need food?"

"i'm alright for now, thank you," you said with an appreciative smile. you watched his advisors leave, meeting each pair of eyes with a nod and maintaining your gentle look.

you couldn't seem a threat if you wanted any sort of cooperation.

when the door was shut again, with one last look from lord bolton, robb finally turned to you. he smiled gently. "it's been a while."

"i was worried you wouldn't remember me," you admitted, tilting your head as he moved to lean against the foot of the table, only a short distance from you now.

he shook his head. "yours isn't a face easy to forget, my lady."

heat rushed to your cheeks and you breathed out a laugh, glancing away from him to collect yourself once more. you weren't used to compliments - people back home were as hard as the rocks the place was named for, and jaime wasn't necessarily an eager husband when it came to making you feel good. the most compliments you got were in king's landing when baratheon-sworn knights hit on you without knowing who you were married to.

of course, you were gorgeous. it was half of what your family was known for. but, since your leave of highgarden, it wasn't brought up so much. at least, not in the wholesome way robb just did now.

"i've heard much of your successes," you told him, eager to return the favor as you turned back to him. "i'm impressed."

he laughed. "even though they've been against your husband and father by law?"

"especially since they've been against my husband and father by law," you answered, grinning slightly. "they're hard people to win against, and you've done it three times."

"soon it will be four," he hummed, relaxing more against the table. "i appreciate your admiration."

"well, someone has to put the lannisters in their place," you said. "the lions could use a bit of a knock in their pride. they aren't as perfect as they believe themselves to be."

he considered you for several long moments, a wolfish grin pulling at his lips. “you don’t think so?”

“no,” you answered easily, folding your hands in front of you. “no, i think the lannister name needs a bit of a rebrand, to be honest.”

“do you?” he said, raising his brows amusedly.

“yes,” you hummed. “which is why i’m here, actually. unfortunately to clear our name i’m going to need jaime back. i’ll bring you your sisters in return.”

your words surprised him, the man faltering a bit as he watched you. “our name?” he echoed. “you still claim the lannisters as your own? have you been told what the kingslayer has done? what the queen has done?”

you sighed, eyes flicking to the floor for just a moment. “i have,” you told him with a sure nod.

“and you don’t hate him for it?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

you breathed out an ironic laugh. “i never said i didn’t hate him.”

“and yet you’re bartering for his release,” he said then, crossing his arms over his chest as he tilted his head. “forgive me for my bluntness, but he didn’t deserve you before, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve you now. why should you help him?”

that shocked you.

not many people dared to actually say truth aloud, especially not the people who surrounded you most often. and, this was a truth that was hard to say, hard to comprehend, even if it was right.

jaime didn’t deserve you. and he didn’t deserve to be saved.

it was a shame that you were sworn to him still.

“i’m sorry?” you asked in surprise, brows raising high on your head.

“you are beautiful and young and kind,” he told you as if it were a simple sort of truth. “you seem very intelligent and you are very conscious of public image. i imagine you’re one of the only things keeping people from believing that jaime and cersei had an affair in the first place.”

you thought back to cersei’s lie about your pregnancy.

you laughed unsurely. “your grace-”

“i hardly know you, my lady,” he continued anyways, pushing off the table to come to stand at your front. “and yet even i can see clearly the fault it is to continue to come to your husband’s aid. he’s already used you and betrayed you - who’s to say he won’t do it again?”

"nothing," you admitted with a nod. he held your eyes and you sighed, his gaze overwhelming you to the point that you glanced away. "look, i just need him back. not for me, but for the lannister image."

he frowned. "and why do you care about the lannister image?"

"because i am one," you told him as you met his eyes again, matching his determined frown. "i'm a lannister, your grace. it's my image he's ruining too."

a beat passed and then he said, "you speak of image but what you mean is honor." slowly, he shook his head. "you won't find it in their colors."

"it's still my house," you answered quietly.

"no," he disagreed with another shake of his head. he took a single step towards you, his gaze intense and knowing. "it's your cage."

you let out a harsh breath, stepping away and glancing to the side.

who did he think he was? he didn't know you, he hardly knew your husband, and he certainly didn't know what it meant to be bound to a house that was barely even yours.

and yet, he was right. he was impossibly right.

"which is why i'm trying to change it," you told him finally, meeting his blue eyes that seemed to have dulled in the few seconds it took you to come up with a response. his shoulders had slumped slightly, and the way he looked at you screamed sympathy.

but not pity. robb stark did not give pity.

"you have other options, you know," he said.

"i don't," you answered firmly, shaking your head. "i don't. i thought i did too, but my grandmother is set on me having some sort of control on this family, and cersei would never let me get-"

you paused, realizing suddenly that you were admitting exactly too much information to this boy king that you hardly knew. and yet, you wanted to continue. you hadn't spoken to someone who genuinely cared since your short conversation with ser barristan several weeks prior.

robb watched you with great intrigue, head tilted slightly. gently then, he told you, "you're not my enemy." he paused to hold your eyes, nodding once as if to cement his words. "you have done nothing against my family, and from what i've heard you've tried to help my sisters. for that, i owe you a great deal." you held your breath, waiting for him to finish. "you have a place here," he said then, word firm and resolute. "if you want away from the lannisters, just tell me, and you can be free from them."

it was the most tempting offer you'd ever received in your life.

all the hatred and frustration for jaime and cersei and even tywin now began to bubble within you, every barb cersei ever threw at you, every sideways comment from jaime, every time tywin demeaned you or ordered improvement rising to the forefront of your mind.

and so did your marriage vows.

a touch to your hand threw you from your mind, the king holding your hand gently as he insisted again, "you can be free from them."

he was the opposite of jaime in nearly every way, in regards to the physical and personality. auburn hair versus gold, curls as opposed to straight locks, blue eyes against green, freckled skin counter to jaime's smooth tan. and then, there was the fact that there wasn't a single stark who had ever broken an oath, and at this point, jaime was an expert at it. that along with lying, scheming, killing, and cheating.

robb was honest. you'd learned as much in this simple conversation, much easier than any real conversation you'd had with jaime.

and yet you wish that you had had these conversations with jaime. perhaps they would've endeared him more to you.

robb stark was an honorable man, a just one too. and those gorgeous blue eyes certainly didn't hurt as they held yours with a sort of promise you weren't used to.

still, you sighed. "i can't."

his brows knitted; the king was perplexed. "you can't? you owe them nothing."

"i swore an oath," you told him. "in our vows, jaime and i promised each other our lives. it is my duty to stand by him."

"do you understand what i'm offering you?" he asked, searching your eyes for a moment. he squeezed your hand, nodding as though it would encourage you to say yes. "freedom from him. you will not be bound by him or his family any longer. i am a king, i can annul your marriage."

you smiled small. "you are king in the north, your grace," you said slowly. "but not in the south. my vows were said in the south. you cannot break them, and neither should i."

he didn't understand you, not in the slightest. he shook his head. "you have a clever mind," he told you. "i should like that you be by my side, and join my council. you know tywin better than most, you can help us. stay, aid me, and i will be king in the south, and you will be free."

there was something in his eyes, a warmth and near desperation about him that made you curious. and it made you wonder about his true intentions.

you raised a brow. "are you looking for a queen, your grace?"

"no," he answered shortly, but then he grinned lopsidedly, tilting his head. "but, if you're offering..." you rolled your eyes, breathing out a laugh as you took a step away. he chuckled, pulling you by your hand to stand in front of him again as he shook his head. "i would not ask that of you if it weren't your intentions. though, if after this war is complete and you find yourself husbandless... i wouldn't mind getting to know you better."

you couldn't help but laugh again, much more amused this time. "is this your way of telling me you're not willing to trade for jaime? you going to kill him instead?"

"nah," he said with a grin, shaking his head. "he's worth nothing to me dead." you chuckled again and he watched you with a softening smile. "you have a kind soul. arya wrote as much in her letters home."

"she wrote of me?" you asked with raised brows.

he nodded, smile remaining. "a lot. said you spent too much time with sansa, though."

you scoffed, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. "i spent time with all of them. it was all i had to do in the capital."

"well, there is much to do here," he hummed. mischief glinted in his eye as he continued, grinning, "and in winterfell."

"it is a beautiful keep," you answered with a nod.

"it is," he agreed. a great pause passed between you both, his eyes flicking quickly over your features. then, he let out a sharp breath, "the kingslayer doesn't deserve a woman as beautiful as you."

you laughed, shaking your head. "you're too young to say that, your grace."

he raised his brows, smirking. "oh? and you're not half lannister's age?"

"nine years is not half his age," you answered with a roll of your eyes.

he squeezed your hand, gaze flicking to your lips for just a moment before he told you softly, "well, i'd be willing to bet there's less than nine years between us."

you both knew he was right, given that jaime was even younger than robb's parents and you were already practically a decade younger than he. you'd be lying if you said that didn't entice you more to the king.

"i'm not too young to call you beautiful," he finished surely.

you had to focus a bit on your breathing as he looked to your lips again, not expecting this to be the way the evening ended. especially since you still hadn't come to a conclusion on whether he would trade for jaime or not.

jaime.

jaime.

the vile, yet beautiful man was likely covered in dirt and shivering in a cage at the edge of camp, all dreams of being rescued lost with the wind. and with it, any hope of restoring the lannister name to any sense of honor or pride.

your thoughts were cut short by a soft pair of lips pressing to yours, and a hand rising to cup your jaw just as gently.

it was near instinct to shut your eyes, to lean into his touch and into the kiss, even as his hand dropped yours to take hold of your waist and draw you closer to him, even as his kiss deepened and his mouth moved more firmly against your own. your hands rose to his shoulders, one threading through the curls at the nape of his neck and reminding you of how jaime's felt in your grasp.

you raised onto your tiptoes to reach him better and he dipped down to meet you, but it wasn't exactly what you'd wanted. normally, jaime would just tilt your chin where he needed it, and you were happy to let him. robb came to you, not half as lazy in his kiss, and yet it was odd to you.

in fact, this whole situation was odd to you.

it felt wonderful to kiss a man who was actually decent, especially when he pulled you flat against his chest so you could feel the firm muscles that definitely proved to you that he was not the boy you'd met in winterfell near a year prior. especially when his hand ran over your side and tugged at your waist, and when his tongue ran questioningly over your bottom lip.

except, you hardly knew him, and he was the king of an opposing kingdom, fighting against your husband. oh, yeah, and you had a husband.

you pushed away from him, gasping as you stepped back and looked up at him with wide eyes. instantly, his brows furrowed, but he didn't try to approach you again, just held a hand up in wonder.

"i shouldn't have," he started, fumbling with his words for a moment. "i'm sorry. you didn't want me to kiss you."

except you did.

you ran a hand through your hair, shaking your head as you stepped back again. "it's not..." you sighed. "it's not your fault. it's fine, i just - i can't. i'm married, your grace."

"robb," he said then. he tried at a small smile. "you're free to call me robb."

but, you shook your head again, offering him a thin, nervous smile. "i shouldn't. i fear we've already gotten too comfortable."

that made him laugh gently, but you didn't want to hear it. his words, his voice, his face, his body, his laugh, it was all too perfect and too tempting and making you question everything you'd come here so determined to do.

you just hadn't expected the king in the north to be so grown and so charming, even if he had been kind to you once back at winterfell.

"i'm married," you reminded thinly, trying at an awkward smile as he eyed you thoughtfully.

"and if you weren't?" he asked then. when you faltered and avoided his gaze, he stepped forward again, not touching you, but catching your attention nonetheless. "he cheated on you with his own sister. for the entirety of your marriage he has broken his oath to you."

"no need to remind me," you said, taking in a deep breath as you stepped away from him towards the door.

"i fear you need to be reminded," he said, knitting his brows. "y/n... you owe him nothing. he's done nothing but wrong against you."

he wasn't wrong. jaime had done everything wrong since you'd been married. and yet, you were still his wife, and he was still your husband. you didn't want to participate in the lying and scheming that your family did - lannisters or tyrells. all of it frustrated you to the point that you ran from king's landing with a lame attempt to rebrand a centuries old house famed for its glory and greed.

you met his eyes again, resolute suddenly in the one thing you knew of a surety. "his sins do not absolve my own," you told him softly. he sighed and moved to answer, but you started again. "i am a woman of my word, your grace, without it i am nothing. i have nothing. and unfortunately for us all, my word and my life belongs to jaime lannister. will you allow me to trade for him?"

thrown off by your sudden demand to get back on track, the king faltered, mouth open for a few moments before thought returned to him. and he shook his head.

"no," he told you. "i'm not in the market to trade the kingslayer."

"jaime," you said. "his name is jaime. and i will give you your sisters in return for him."

again, he just stared at you for a few moments before stepping away fully. "i cannot ensure that my sisters will be brought to me," he told you. "i'll keep him with me until i reach king's landing when i can see their faces myself."

"please," you tried then. "the girls can't stand for much longer there. cersei is cruel, joffrey is cruel to sansa, and i'm not even sure arya is still there. she's been missing for days, there isn't time."

"if they were of such a worry to you, you would've brought them now," he said with a shake of his head.

"sansa refused and arya is gone," you told him sternly, a frown settling on your lips. "trust me, your grace, i tried. but, it seems the two of you are on the same page - she'd rather wait for you in the capital."

he nodded shortly. "i suppose i should get to it then."

he passed you, making his way quickly to the door, but you caught his arm with a sigh. "robb."

he met your eyes, raising a brow at the use of his name. "yes?"

"i promised your father i would get your sisters back to the north," you told him, trying not to get caught up too badly in his baby blues. "i intend to make good on that promise."

he smiled small, nodding once. "yes. you are a woman of your word, as you've said." simultaneously, you both let out short sighs, and you watched the other. finally, he added quietly, "if you want to see him, you can. but, i'll escort you."

for a moment, you didn't want to. the thought of seeing him after knowing that he'd been sleeping with cersei for fifteen years made you want to heave, but then you stopped.

you wanted to know why. you wanted to know that it had happened, and hear it from him. you wanted him to confess and apologize, if he was capable of it.

and you wanted to know why he'd left that note for you.

you nodded, mustering a small smile. "thank you."

he searched your eyes for a reason, and you wondered if he found one when he said, "come on," and then pulled his arm from you and stepped through the tent door, holding it open for you to follow.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

it's the way i wrote a whole chapter for one conversation with robb stark. i'm in love. hopefully we all are understanding miss girl's motivations now though - the whole "don't be like the lannisters" thing, be honest and good, even when the king in the north is actively seeking you out

more willpower than me babe damn

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"you ask a lot of questions," he hummed, resting his forearms against his desk as a small smile pulled at his lips.

"i have to, my lord," you answered, breathing out a laugh. "otherwise no one tells me anything. and even when i ask, they still don't tell me anything."

it was true. other than whispers and gossip around the keep, you knew nothing about the obvious dramatics happening around you. cersei was conspiring, that much you were sure, because she was requiring more of jaime and had been making odd comments about the fate of the kingdom while at supper. robert was as oblivious as ever, especially when petyr baelish was sneaking about with even more wonder than usual.

even ned seemed on edge, and you were determined to reveal the cause.

one of the things you had managed to overhear was the attempted murder on lord stark's son. bran's mother and direwolf saved his life, but it was a mystery as to who had sent the hired knife in the first place.

everyone's weariness and suspect behavior around the keep made you wonder the connection between it all.

"perhaps it is wise of them to not tell you anything. there are certain things too heavy for shoulders that small," he told you, and though by his steady smile you knew he meant it in a fatherly sort of way, you grew a touch defensive.

"my shoulders are strong enough. i promise you that, my lord," you answered, lips pulling into a thin line. "if there's anything you feel you can trust me with, i'd greatly appreciate it. unfortunately, even my closest family are keeping me in the dark, and i'd only like to understand what's happening in the castle."

he considered you for a moment, furrowing his brows. "jaime hasn't spoken with you?"

"no, my lord," you said, shaking your head.

"and cersei?" he wondered then.

you snorted, letting a short smile through as you met his eyes again. "you'll find that the queen and i aren't as close as most sisters - though we're not truly sisters at all."

"don't you have true sisters, my lady?" he asked you, knitting his brows.

you shook your head. "i'm an only child. perhaps you're thinking of my cousins, margaery and alanna, both still safe at highgarden."

he nodded. "not married?"

"no," you said, humming loosely. "so far, i'm the only tyrell forced away from home." you paused, tilting your head. "do you see how easy it is to answer a few simple questions?"

ned chuckled softly, shaking his head. "i can't answer your questions, my dear, because i haven't the answers yet."

"but, you're looking?" you asked, raising your brows.

he paused for just a moment, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. then, he let out a breath, admitting a sore, "yes. i'm looking."

"for what, exactly?" was your next question as you leaned forward.

he smiled at you. "i admire your gall, lady tyrell, but unfortunately i cannot share such information at the moment. as soon as i come to a conclusion myself, i'll ensure that you are informed. i fear it will have much to do with you."

you knitted your brows. "much to do with me?" you repeated. "why would jon arryn's-"

you stopped, eyes widening as you breathed out a laugh. ned raised his brows, smile dropping as he tilted his head at you.

for everything olenna taught you, apparently she did not teach you discrepancy.

"i think it is time you left, my lady," he said with a nod, gesturing to the door.

you smiled thinly, nodding as you pushed from your chair. "i hope you'll still allow me to visit with your girls. they're lovely."

"they are," he agreed, though he didn't give you one answer or the other. he stood, bowing cordially. "have a good day."

"you as well, my lord," you said, curtsying in return before turning on your heel and exiting his office.

as you padded down the stairs to the tower of the hand you let out a heavy sigh. that would teach you to be blunt. unfortunately, it seemed, even with starks this game was played in whispers and silent alliances.

you left the tower feeling slightly foolish, but also certain: there was something amiss in the castle, and no one trusted you enough to say it aloud.

the red keep was quieter at dusk, the shadows bouncing off the halls in almost an eery sort of way. the sun dropped low until finally it dipped below the cover of the walls, leaving you in dim light as you walked the corridors towards your rooms.

supper had finished shortly with the starks and you weren't expecting jaime to be back for some time, which left you an evening to yourself.

which was good. there was much you needed to do.

you locked the door behind you after entering, kicking off your shoes and crossing quickly to the desk you shared with jaime. you lit the candles with a careful hand, blowing out the match and tossing it into the bin beside the desk. then, as you sat, you reached to undo the tie on your corset, letting out a relieved breath at the instantaneous comfort that came with it. now relaxed, you reached for two pieces of parchment and your quill, unfolding the first and dipping your pen into the inkpot to begin.

dearest grandmother,

i find myself at odds with this place and the people in it. i regret to inform you that i am actually beginning to miss casterly rock. if that doesn't tell you anything, i'm not sure i can help you understand further.

there is something happening here in the capital, i'm sure of it. unfortunately, i haven't been able to deduce exactly what - no one wishes to speak of it. i've never felt more helpless and clueless in my life, and i would like to remedy this quickly. it's not right for a tyrell to be ignorant.

you told me once that i must learn to play by the rules of the game as they are, not as i wish they were. please tell me how i can survive a table of liars and cheats without becoming one myself, and how i can convince a liar to tell the truth for once. or, at the least, how to deduce the truth from their lies.

i hope all is well in highgarden. i quite miss it as of late.

your favorite granddaughter

you smiled slightly as you signed the parchment, blowing on the ink to make it dry quicker. once it became matte, you sealed it with the small rose stamp your grandmother had gifted you on your wedding day. the green wax glistened in the candlelight and the sight of it made your smile soften ever so much.

rolling it and tying it with a green ribbon, you then set it to the side and turned to the second piece of parchment.

you let out a short breath as you began, dipping your pen again and putting more careful thought into the next bit.

lord tywin lannister,

i find myself missing your company the longer i stay in king's landing. this place is vile and filled with secrets, and has no favor for our name. when the people think of the lannisters, they think of a cruel queen and a betrayer kingsguard, not of the power and honor i know you wish for.

i write to you not as your daughter by law, but as one looking to restore the lannister name to its former glory. i have done my best to establish myself amongst the people, but i fear cersei and jaime are continually losing favor.

you have taught me many lessons in our time together and i am in need of one now. how does one make the lion beloved when the world has grown tired of its roar?

lady y/n lannister

this one was stamped with jaime's stamp and a deep red wax.

you sat back, eyes flicking between both sealed letters - one a thorny rose, and the other a roaring lion. two sides of yourself, perhaps.

the door opened harshly, a heavy sigh sending your heart soaring in your chest as you pushed the letters to the side and turned sharply.

emerald eyes met yours, both wide as they met the other's. jaime slowly pushed the door closed, locking it and kicking off his boots. "hello, darling."

"jaime," you answered, mustering a thin smile. "you're early. i didn't expect you back until late."

"yes, well, you've chastised me enough about that so i thought i'd come home at a decent time," he told you, matching your expression as he pulled at the ties of his tight leather tunic.

home.

he'd never referred to anything to do with you as his home, and yet he just had.

maybe there was some progress being made between you.

"well, thank you for being aware," you said, turning more fully to him and pulling your hand away from the letters.

still, he caught sight of them. approaching you with long strides, he raised a brow. "been writing?"

"i haven't been back to highgarden in years," you explained. "i've been missing my grandmother."

"and the other?" he asked, nodding to the lion-marked seal.

"your father," you hummed, mustering a gentle smile. you'd sworn to tell the truth, so you would. though, it may require a bit of bending. "believe it or not, i grew fond of the man during my time at casterly rock."

he seemed amused as he leaned back against the desk, eying you. "just checking in on the rock, then?"

"what else have i to do?" you asked in return, tilting your head. "despite the size of this city, there is very little to do." he opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off with a sigh. "and do not tell me to spend time with your sister one more time. you know as well as i that she practically despises me."

"despise is such a harsh word," he said, smirking a bit. "she's just... protective is all."

you hummed, sitting back and crossing your arms over your chest. "that must be why we don't get along, then, because so am i."

he held your gaze for several long moments before pushing off the edge and reaching a hand to brush your hair gently from your face, fingers stalling at your jaw. "how are you feeling tonight?"

"sore," you answered honestly, the corner of your lips quirking slightly as you pulled jaime's hand from your face to hold it in yours instead. "you?"

he shrugged, smirking still. "sore." he kissed you anyways, free hand finding your chin as he tilted your lips up to meet his.

you pulled back with a small smile, standing and crossing the room. "you're an impatient man."

"one of my fatal flaws," he agreed, shrugging as he stepped towards you with a sideways grin.

"and unfortunately i'm a demanding woman," you continued. "i'd like you to tell me about your day first. talk to me, like husband and wife would."

he let out a breath of a laugh. "what modern husband and wife truly discuss their days?"

"just because cersei and robert don't doesn't mean it isn't common practice, jaime. ned and catelyn stark are rather in love. my grandparents too. from what he's told me, your father loved your mother a lot," you answered. "it's not impossible."

though, with the disappointed and sort of apologetic look crossing his features, you wondered if it was for the two of you.

"it's not," he confirmed, nodding once.

and he said nothing more.

instead, he crossed to the wardrobe and began undressing, changing into his night clothes and tossing the dirtied ones into the hamper beside the desk.

you glanced at your letters, sighing through your nose.

you hoped you would get responses soon.

the next morning you sent the ravens off, praying for quick flights, and by the time you returned to your rooms to prepare for lunch with the girls it was midday.

and jaime was there, and in a panic.

"jaime?" you asked, brows knitted. "what's happened?"

he shoved a few pieces of clothes into a bag, turning and scribbling something onto a slip of parchment. "the starks have captured tyrion and refuse to give him back. we got in a bit of a scuffle and now i'm going to casterly rock."

"casterly rock?" you echoed, worry evident in your tone as you stepped towards him. "why?"

"this is how war works, darling," he sighed, signing his name at the bottom of the paper and leaving it there before turning sharply to you. "we attack and they retaliate. i would like my army behind me before they do."

"war?" you asked with raised brows. "jaime, you can't go to war with the starks."

"and why not?" he answered, knitting his brows and frowning as though what you'd just told him was the single most idiotic thing you could've said.

"there's already something happening in the city, i can feel it. this conflict is unnecessary and preventable. what charges are they levying against tyrion?" you said.

"they say he conspired to kill their son bran," he told you.

you frowned. "alright, well, he obviously didn't. all we have to do is give him a fair trial and prove his innocence. there is no need for violence."

he laughed, shaking his head. he raised a hand to your jaw, running his thumb over your cheekbone as he clicked his tongue thrice. "oh, my sweet wife. how naive you are when it comes to the ways of the world."

and then he moved swiftly past you, making way for the door.

infuriated for just a moment, you whirled around and demanded quickly, "i'm coming with you."

and then, he laughed again, shaking his head as his hand found the doorknob. "you're not."

"i am," you told him sternly, and he finally stopped to look at you. "if you are going to be at casterly rock, then i will be there too. i should not like to be here when war breaks out."

"it is the safest place for you to be," he answered with a shake of his head.

"no, casterly rock is," you said with a furrow heavy between your brows. "i don't know this place, jaime, and its people seem to hate us. or, you, more like. i'm better off at casterly rock with you and your father."

"we will be leaving practically as soon as i arrive."

"even better for me to be there and run the place in your absence," you said, raising your hands as if you'd just solved the problem entirely.

he stilled for just a moment, expression hardening before he shook his head. "it isn't your place," he told you, voice lower than you'd expected. "one day it will be. one day you will be the lady of casterly rock, but that is not this day."

you sighed. "yes, but i'm still a lannister-"

"hardly," he said, eyes boring into yours as his lips thinned into an uncharacteristic frown.

every small moment, every little touch and nickname and attempt to better your marriage seemed to slip away. with one word, all your progress with jaime unravelled, and your heart fell with it.

you froze, and never before had you felt such frustration and anger boil in your chest, overtaking the sudden sadness. your hands shook at your side before you raked one through your loose hair, glancing away from him with a disbelieving laugh. "all i do for you and your damned house and this is the response i get."

"what the hell have you done for my house?" he asked, tilting his head. "you sat at casterly rock for four years and did nothing. you come to king's landing and do nothing. you refuse to make friends with my sister, to wear my colors, to call yourself by our name, and yet you're offended when i tell you that it isn't yours."

"and you're right in that!" you said, hands flying out in frustration. "it's not my name. but, i'm trying to mend that, i'm trying to make it mine."

"well, you can stop," he answered coldly. "we have it well under control."

you simply held his eyes, unable to hide the plain sneer on your lips as you shook your head. "i hope you lose your fruitless war," you told him then. "i hope the starks beat you."

he smiled. "at least that way you wouldn't be my concern anymore, and you'd be left to the dogs." he pulled the door open. "goodbye, wife."

it slammed harshly behind him and with it came your shout of frustration. there wasn't a single moment in which you had a leg up on anyone or anything in this damned castle. and still, you hadn't a clue of what was even happening.

so you did something about it.

you marched quickly down the corridors towards the hand's tower, climbing the steps and finding the queen fleeing ned's bedroom, a dark red mark beginning to form on her cheek. you looked to her with a frown. "what's happened?"

"haven't you heard?" she asked with a thin smile. "our house is being attacked."

she pushed past you and descended the stairs quickly, even as you turned to ask her more questions. you grunted out a frustrated sigh, moving to the door, but being stopped by the gracious ser barristan.

"my lady," he sighed, holding a hand to keep you from the door. "you shouldn't be here."

"and why not?" you asked, frowning still.

"lord stark is speaking with the king, and well, his injury has made him irritable. especially if he were to see you," the older man answered honestly.

you knitted your brows. "he's hurt? did jaime do this?" he nodded once and you let out a frustrated sigh, running your hand through your hair again. "how bad is it?"

"lord stark's leg is severely wounded and half of his guard was killed in the attack," he told you with a grimace.

your eyes snapped to his. "his guard? is ser jory alright?" just barristan's expression alone was enough to tell you that your fast friend had fallen in your husband's violence, and your heart fell heavy to your stomach. "i see."

you hadn't expected this to happen in a million years, though you hadn't thought much about the starks' investigation of who attempted to murder bran in his sleep. you knew it was likely undergoing at the moment, but you never once considered that tyrion would even be a suspect.

what cause would the youngest son of tywin lannister have to kill a boy of ten? though, what cause would anyone have to kill a boy of ten?

unless, you realized then, he'd seen or heard something in winterfell that he wasn't meant to hear.

and since his fall wasn't enough to silence him, a more efficient murder would have to do.

but, what did bran hear, and what would tyrion of all people have to hide?

"i must offer my condolences," you told ser barristan. "i had nothing to do with my husband's actions, and i fear what will happen if we do not remedy them quickly."

"i admire your concern, my lady, but i would advise you to wait a while," he told you gently, offering a short smile. "the conflict between the starks and the lannisters began long before you married lord jaime, and it won't be solved in a single conversation."

"what will solve it?" you asked, looking up with knitted brows.

he had given you more information than you'd received in the months of you being here, and you predicted that his wisdom would be the most you'd get for a long time.

the lord commander of the kingsguard shrugged then, letting out a sore sigh. "i've recently began to wonder the same, my lady."

"if even you're wondering," you breathed out softly. "then, perhaps none of us know how to stop it."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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"apparently the girl and the butcher's boy jumped my nephew and began beating him with clubs," he hummed, shaking his head. "the butcher's boy ran off when he fought back and struck the stark girl, and then her wolf attacked him. little sansa came running back for help."

"is he alright?" you asked, brows knitted.

jaime clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "he's fine, though he's wailing on and on about the pain. he's been calling for her head on a spike once we find and try her, though that's bloody ridiculous and very unlikely to happen."

"wait, she's gone?" you said, brows knitting. you stood from your place in your room, rushing for your coat. "jaime, we have to find her."

"she's not our responsibility," he told you, waving the thought away.

"no, but she's a defenseless little girl off in the woods alone," you answered, frowning. when he moved to argue still, you added, "i imagine cersei will be wanting her back to be held accountable for what her wolf did to joff."

at that, he stilled, pondering for just a moment before sighing. "yes, alright. let's find her."

"thank you," you said with a smile, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips before pulling the door open.

he followed you out the door and out the castle your party was staying at, fleeing into the woods with a band of lannister men at your sides.

jaime stayed close to you as you searched, calling the girl's name in hopes of her responding. the chance was slim, but it was still there, so you continued to yell and look behind trees and bushes, noticing the way jaime's hand rested on the hilt of his sword with a frown.

"where is the little bitch?" he muttered as he walked by your side, scanning the surrounding area with a heavy set between his brows.

"don't call her that," you told him. "she's just a girl."

that drew a small smile from him. "i only meant to be accurate. a bitch is a female dog, darling. she's a wolf, and she's a girl - even though she hardly acts like one. hence, bitch."

you let out a breath through your nose, not even attempting a smile. "funny."

two days of searching passed and still, you hadn't found the girl.

"where is she?" cersei demanded through tight lips.

"if we had the answer to that question we wouldn't still be here," you answered with a roll of your eyes, exhaustion and frustration leaving you careless to the glare she then shot your way.

jaime sighed as he glanced between the two of you before finally looking to cersei. "we're doing the best we can."

"she's eleven," she told him with a frown. "how is she escaping you?"

"i suppose we'll have to ask her when we finally find her," he said, lips drawn into an unamused line.

she fumed, sitting back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest. you turned then, catching jaime's arm as you moved to the door. "come, dear husband," you said dryly. "our efforts must continue."

it was only a few hours later, the night sky black and dotted with dim stars covered by stormclouds, that you came across her, the girl dirty and tired and hungry even as she resisted being caught by two lannister guards.

quickly, you jumped off your horse and crossed the space to reach them as they dragged her away from the tree she'd been crouched behind and into a small clearing covered in autumn leaves. she grunted as she tried to pull her arms off of her, stumbling as they pulled her straight once more.

"lay off her!" you commanded as you approached, the men nodding and stepping out of your way respectfully. when arya looked at you she softened slightly, and surprisingly let you run a hand over her hair and give her a concerned once over. "we've been searching for days," you told her quietly. "your father has been worried sick." she didn't answer, eyes turning to the ground, and so you said, "come. let's get you back."

you wrapped an arm around her shoulders, walking her to your horse and letting her mount before you. jaime came to your side, resting a hand on your thigh to keep you from leaving quickly and catching your attention.

"take her straight back to the keep," he told you quietly.

"send a rider to inform lord stark of her return," you answered, glancing behind him at the surrounding guards. "he can meet us there."

he hummed, following your gaze and squeezing your knee. "yes, i imagine he's eager to see his daughter again." he turned completely, shooting you a thin smile and a nod before calling for one of the men. "get word to lord stark that his daughter has returned. tell him to meet us back at the castle."

content with his work, you then galloped steadily back to the castle, riding in much more comfortable than when you'd left that early morning.

as soon as you crossed the gates, a guard came to your side and reached for her.

"the queen has requested her immediate presence," he told you after you swatted his hands away.

"arya needs to eat," you answered with a frown. "and she needs to see her father."

"the queen wants the trial over with," he answered, and after a moment, added, "and so does the king."

you glanced at arya before sighing, dismounting the horse swiftly and offering her a hand to follow. she hopped off the saddle and stayed close to your side as you led her to what served as a temporary throne room, numerous guards lined up to watch the mock-trial about to take place.

joffrey stood beside his parents fuming, nose scrunching as he spotted arya at your side. he glared at you when he noticed your arm around her. "come to us, aunt," he told you. "a lioness has no need to care for wolf pups."

"and yet a lion is marrying one of them," you answered with raised brows.

he paused and cersei pursed her lips, standing straighter as she glanced to you. "speaking of the girl," she hummed. "go and fetch her for me, will you?"

you knitted your brows. "sansa?"

"yes," she said, rolling her else. "who else would i be speaking of?"

you didn't acknowledge her quip, asking instead, "why does she need to be here?"

"it's a trial," robert huffed, frowning as he glanced between arya and joffrey. "it's best we have witnesses."

and, you knew, the only witness left was sansa. the hound had ridden down the butcher's boy called mycah only a few hours before, his face and body bloodied from sandor's quick and fierce slashes. even jaime had seemed troubled by the brutality, giving you a single nod of agreement when you muttered, "he was just a boy."

"where is lord stark?" you asked, glancing around the hall then.

"he will be here," cersei said, rolling her eyes. "go and find the older girl." you moved to object, but she cut you off with a curt, "listen to your queen."

in that moment you thought of her father and all the time you'd spent with him, of all the miniature lessons he'd taught you as you upkept the rock and helped him with his work. one stood out to you then.

"aerys was no true king," he told you once, filing through various pieces of parchment marking the inventory in the cellars beneath the keep. then, when you asked why, he continued. "because he constantly had to remind those around him that he was the king. any respectable monarch won't have to remind their subjects of their station - their presence will do that for them."

you smiled thinly at cersei, curtsying just enough for it to not seem too mocking, before stepping away and relinquishing your hold on arya's shoulders.

you wondered if she ever remembered that she was a mother, a sister, a simple girl from casterly rock, or if she'd traded that all for queen too long ago.

"as you wish, your grace."

you turned sharply and made your way down the aisle of soldiers, masking your frustration with a neutral raise of your lips as you walked. but, as soon as you were out the doors and in the corridor alone, the facade fell, and you let out a heavy sigh.

"what's happened?"

you didn't need to look over to know that jaime had appeared at your side, especially when his hand slunk to your waist and drew you closer to him. you raised a hand to your brow, shaking your head.

"the queen has ordered i bring sansa to witness at this trial," you told him, allowing yourself to lean into him as you let out a sore breath. "their father hasn't even arrived. neither one of them should be facing this right now."

"they'll be alright. everyone says the northerners are tough people," he answered.

you shook your head again. "that doesn't mean they should have to face troubles alone."

that final word had your husband stilling, and you both silently thought back to the last four years spent apart.

jaime, in the comfort of the place he'd called home since he was fifteen, with his siblings and niece and nephew, surrounded by the friends he'd formed long ago as he served the best way he knew how. and you, in a place new to you, with duties you weren't sure how to fulfill, with no one but your recent father by law you'd hardly had a full conversation with on your own.

your grandmother was almost excited for you when you'd said jaime had been called away, telling you about how lovely a little peace and quiet was when your husband was gone. and then, after expressing your worries, she promised you would be alright.

"you're a strong woman," she'd said with a smile. "just as i've raised you to be."

as if that meant that it was okay for jaime to leave you for four years without so much as a single visit home.

"i'm going to go fetch her," you told him quietly, pulling from his hold with your eyes on the other end of the hall.

but, before you could slip away completely, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and turned you right back around, brows knitted as he searched your eyes. "darling," he started, though he seemed a bit lost as to where he should go from there. he sighed. "you seem... off. you're caught up in your mind, i can see it, and you have been for weeks now."

your smile was thin as you nodded. "yes, well, there's much to think about."

"and what is it you're thinking?" he asked. you stilled, simply holding his eyes with a spark of determination that had him faltering. he glanced away, shaking his head. "fine, don't tell me. just..." he met your eyes again, a flicker of uncertainty in his own as he finally told you, "i don't want you to be unhappy."

you nodded, smiling small. irony threaded your words just enough to be frustrating as you pulled your hand from his grasp, stepping away. "that's good to know." you turned, set on making it to sansa's room before pausing, sending your husband a glance over your shoulder. "i want you to be happy too, jaime."

your eyes met for a few seconds before you started down the corridor once more, heart pounding in your ears and an unsettling feeling knotting your stomach.

how sad that such a thing had to be clarified.

when you came to sansa's door, you gave three short knocks before announcing yourself. "it's y/n," you said. "lady tyrell. the queen wants to know if you'll join them in discussing what happened between joffrey and arya."

"i don't want to!" her voice was muffled through the oak, but sure in its tone anyways.

you sighed, resting your forehead against the door as you racked your brain for any sort of advice. eventually, you landed instead on the truth.

"i'm afraid it's not a choice, little bird," you told her, just loud enough for your words to reach her. "i think you're beginning to realize that the queen's wishes are law around here. if you're to live in the capital and marry her son, you must understand that."

several beats passed and you didn't hear a single sound through the door, only silence as you waited. you stood straight, letting out a breath.

"come, sansa," you said. "your father will be there with you soon. it's best we leave now to get it all done with."

it was another few seconds before you heard shuffling within the room, and before long she was pulling the door open. her expression was filled with a frustrated sort of melancholy as she stepped past you, eyes lowered to the carpeted floors. "let's get on with it then."

her voice was curt and her eyes grim, her steps quickening as she moved rapidly down the hall.

you didn't go to her side, opting to walk behind her to avoid the angry glare you were sure would be shot your way if you'd done otherwise. when she reached the open doors, she finally looked to you, nodding to go in.

but, you shook your head. "go to your father. i'm not needed here tonight."

her brows knitted slightly, but then she rolled her eyes, letting out a huff and moving quickly into the room. she snuck along the back wall, hiding amongst the men and servants who were crowded to watch, robert and ned speaking loudly before cersei interjected. and then, she called sansa forward.

you turned around, not at all interested in whatever the conflict between your husband's house and the wolves of the north would escalate to, and instead began walking around the halls in an attempt to clear your mind.

not yet in king's landing, and already there were squabbles between the starks and lannisters. perhaps it would be better to return to casterly rock, you thought to yourself. jaime and cersei were better suited to the games the capital and court played.

but at that following thought, you decided against it.

if cersei could play this damn game, so could you. and you, with honesty and wit and commitments she could hardly think to keep, you could actually win it.

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OKAY YALL let's get into it!! we've established the background and now i'm actually so stoked to actually get into who the heck you are and what your whole purpose in king's landing is.

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"it's been well enough, thank you," you answered, returning his smile as you followed him down the halls towards where you assumed jaime regularly stayed. "i miss your presence there, though."

he chuckled. "yes, i imagine it's quite dim with only my father there to keep you company."

"we get on rather well, actually," you hummed, catching his surprised look with a light laugh. "believe it or not, he's a respectable man, and a clever one too. i've learned a great deal about the meaning of a lannister life well lived, and how to maintain casterly rock correctly. i'd say i'm a proper lannister lady now."

"good for you, then," he answered, shaking his head as he let out another short laugh. you neared a large door with a golden handle, steps slowing as you realized you'd arrived at your destination. tyrion shot you a glance, brows knitting slightly. "how long has it been since you've seen my brother?"

you stared at the door, mustering a thin smile. "four years."

his eyes widened and he glanced from you to the oak and back to you. he breathed out a wary laugh. "this should be quite the reunion, then."

"well, when four of the five years we've been married have been spent apart..." you trailed off, laughing ironically as you shook your head. "yes. it will be interesting. thank you, tyrion."

he nodded, smiling politely. "i will see you in the morning."

"yes, in the morning," you echoed, smile warming a touch as you watched him flee the hall. once he was gone, you turned back to the door and slowly raised your knuckles to rap against the wood, once, twice, and then-

"wife."

he smiled at you like no time had passed, his face familiar yet changed as he looked down at you.

he seemed different. older, certainly, and almost worn, and tired. but, he still had that same dumb smirk and the electric green eyes that had your heart fluttering like you were eight years old again. he ran a hand through his hair, which was much longer than it had been last you saw him, and let his eyes scan your figure briefly before he mustered a smile and pulled the door open more. he reached for your hand, tugging you inside before he shut the door tightly.

you smiled small, feeling almost a stranger in front of him. "hi, jaime."

he clicked his tongue, shaking his head as his hand rested gently on your waist, stepping towards you. he grinned. "that's no proper hello for your husband."

you relaxed at the tease and touch, glad to find some semblance of familiarity still with him despite the time and distance apart.

"my apologies," you laughed gently, tilting your head. "how would you have preferred me to greet you?"

"well," he hummed, pretending to think on it before nodding behind you. "preferably, we would've been on that bed by now." his grin widened. "but, i suppose a kiss will do."

you smiled, reaching your hands to wrap around his shoulders. "i suppose," you answered before kissing him.

he was all too eager to reciprocate, pulling you into him by the waist as he nipped gently at your lower lip, trying to slip his tongue past the opening already. you didn't let him, drawing away a touch so he was forced to chase your lips, fingers tugging at his hair simultaneously and doing all sorts of things to his brain.

"tease," he muttered as he caught you again, one hand rising to cup your chin and draw your mouth back to his while the other attempted to work the ties at the back of your dress and doing a decent job at it.

you laughed, pressing a hand to his chest and pushing him away with a shake of your head. "i've only just gotten here. it's been four years, my lord, you can't have it all right now."

"all the more reason to get right to it," he told you, smiling as his hands slid back to your waist, squeezing gently. "four years of lonely nights, all of which we need to make up for."

"all?" you echoed, raising your brows as an amused smile tugged at your lips. "we have a busy night ahead of us then."

he smirked. "that we do." he picked you up then, tossing you half over his shoulder as he began marching across the room.

instinct had you hitting his back and laughing. "jaime!"

"what?" he smacked your rear before dropping you onto your back on the awfully comfortable feather mattress, hovering above you with a grin.

you reached a hand up, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. "you need a haircut," you told him, half teasing and half serious. you really loved the short hair he had both when you first saw him and when you first met, and had cut it for him to keep it that length the first year of your marriage. it was odd to see it so long and flowy like it was instead of shaggy and rough like you were used to. you liked it best that way because it was perfectly messy, just like him.

he shrugged, smile slipping from his lips for just a moment as he answered, "cersei likes it." your brows knitted slightly, an uneasy feeling settling heavily on your chest. but then, before you could answer, he kissed you again.

the next morning was pure chaos. servants and stable boys and stewards ran amuck, every other one saying something about ensuring the queen's comfort or her wardrobe or her food or whatever it was.

"perfumes," one girl said. "we need perfumes for the wheelhouse. she hates the stench of horse."

jaime had woken early to organize the household guard, leaving you in the bedroom with a kiss to your forehead and a promise to return and collect you to prepare for departure.

he did, and you held his arm as you navigated the courtyard and made your way to the large stables. "i expect you'll want to be in the wheelhouse with cersei and the kids?" he guessed, shooting you a glance over his shoulder as he pulled you along.

you snorted and caught his attention again, squeezing his arm. "no," you said as you stopped amidst the chaos. you pulled the hem of your deep green dress up to reveal stretchy brown riding leathers and boots beneath the layers of fabric. his brows raised before he looked back up to meet your eyes, and you grinned. "no, i don't want to be in the wheelhouse."

his brows knitted then as you pulled away from him to start into the stables. "i didn't know you rode."

"every noble lady knows how to ride, jaime," you answered with a huff of a laugh.

"yes, well," he sighed, rolling his eyes as you picked out a beautiful chestnut mare, the stable boy nodding and telling you quickly you could take her out. "i didn't know you enjoyed the ride. it'd be easier in the wheelhouse."

"i disagree," you told him with another shake of your head. "wheelhouses are incredibly bumpy, a little noisy, the air is sticky inside, and if i rode i n it i'd be forced to make awkward conversation with your sister, niece, and nephews whom i've met only twice."

he stiffened slightly at the mention, watching you as you combed the horse's mane with your fingers, adjusting the stirrups of the saddle slightly to fit you better before facing him again expectantly. he swallowed and nodded. "right. when you say it like that i suppose it makes sense."

"and i enjoy it," you said with a small smile. "the breeze, the fresh air, the scenery. and then i can be with you. like you said, we have four years to make up for."

and just like that he'd softened up again, smiling gently as he stepped forwards to press a gentle kiss to your lips. when he pulled back, he grinned. "sounds perfect." he brushed a lock of hair behind your ear before stepping away. "i need to round up my men, but go ahead and get situated and i'll be back in a few moments. the train is expected to depart close to now."

you nodded, smiling a bit as you watched him go. things and people and luggage continued to move around you, but you focused on the pretty mare at your side, guiding her to the edge of the courtyard nearest the gates and waiting patiently for your husband's return.

except it wasn't he who found you next, but his sister.

cersei was dressed in a fantastic red dress that you were sure wouldn't be comfortable enough to sit in for the whole length of the day, with a matching elaborate hairstyle and small tiara that just seemed like it pulled at her head. but, she wore it all well, looking as gorgeous as ever as she examined you in return.

"sister," she hummed cordially, her smile as thin and fake as you remembered it in years past. "i'm so glad you could make it. i know jaime has been missing you as of late."

as of late? as of the last four years, more like.

you smiled back, attempting to be as warm as you could. you'd been reminded several times by your grandmother that this woman was one you would have to deal with for the rest of your life, whether that be as a sister by law, the queen, or the queen mother. she would always have influence, and your job was to make your relationship as unstrained as possible.

"my queen," you answered with a nod. "i appreciate the invitation. i'm very much looking forward to visiting the north and being able to spend this time together. it has been a long time since i was with any lannister but your father."

she chuckled dryly at that. "yes, i imagine that's been rather dry for you, hasn't it?"

but, you shook your head, smile softening a touch at the mention of your father by law. "no, actually. i've learned a lot from lord tywin. he's a strong man and much more clever than my own late father. it's been nice to be with him."

cersei was silent for several long moments, measuring you with a pointed gaze as if doubting the truth in your words. she doubted that anyone would consider it nice to be with tywin lannister, and yet you did.

she plastered on a quick smile. "well, how pleasant. i'm sure he's appreciate your company."

"i hope so," you answered with a nod.

"will you be traveling with us in the wheelhouse?" she asked, though with a glance to the horse at your side she quite obviously already knew the answer.

still, you shook your head. "no, your grace. for the first little while, at least, i'll be riding beside my husband. like you said, we've missed our time together, so we'll take advantage of it while it's here."

her lips pursed even as she tried at a smile, nodding just once. "of course." she looked from you to the horse again and then took a step back. "well, i hope you enjoy the ride."

"you as well, my queen," you hummed with a small smile.

"oh, i always do," she said, her grin brightening amusedly for just a moment before she slipped away towards where her giant wheelhouse was nearly finished being readied. you watched her with knitted brows as she collected her two younger children, muttering something to a maid who then scurried away. tommen and myrcella jumped into the wheelhouse, and then jaime appeared with his normal striking smile, head tilted as he approached his sister.

you couldn't hear what he said, and you couldn't hardly see what words his lips were forming, but you saw the unsettling sort of grin on cersei's mouth, and something about the scene made you uncomfortable.

a thought struck you as she gently tapped his arm, looking up at him with bright eyes. it was nearly romantic how close the two were.

that thought absolutely disgusted you and you wished it away, frowning as you looked back to your horse. no. the reason it bothered you wasn't because it was inappropriate but because jaime was spending precious time with her instead of you, when he's been with her and away from you for the last four years.

fairness was what you were worried about, of course.

of course.

he came to you then, the same grin on his lips as he came to stand opposite you, holding his horse by the reins. "ready?"

"as i'll ever be," you hummed in answer, smiling gently. you glanced past him to catch sight of cersei watching you both and then turned back to jaime, taking his hand. he squeezed it gently, and as you leaned up to press a kiss to his lips hesitated just slightly. he stepped in front of you, concealing you better before he kissed you back, just as fully as last night, with his free hand tilting your chin up so he could better access your mouth.

"our first night's stay is at hayford castle," he told you, breath hot against your lips as he smirked slightly.

"yeah," you answered breathily. "an actual room? no tents?"

"not for a few days, actually," he hummed. he kissed you slowly again. "you alright with that?"

you chuckled, one hand threading through his hair and pulling him back down to you. "quite alright."

he pecked your lips once more before stepping away, squeezing your hand and shooting you a nod towards your horse. "off we go, then. we're heading up the back of the train."

"getting strategic there, lannister?" you hummed, heart jumping as he grabbed your waist to help you onto your horse. you yelped slightly as he easily lifted you onto the saddle, murmuring a quick, "thank you," as he shrugged, patting your thigh.

"perhaps i am being strategic," he answered, grinning. he squeezed your knee before turning to his horse and mounting, trotting to stand at your side. "you ever kissed a man on horseback, wife?"

you couldn't help but smirk. "once."

he raised his brows, breathing out a laugh. "you have?"

you nodded, smirk widening as you recalled the time. "yes. i was fifteen and went for a ride with a potential suitor. he kissed me, and then he fell from the saddle and nearly got trampled. hence why i'm now married to you."

"and who was this potential suitor?" he asked with an amused grin, tilting his head at you. "anyone i need to worry about?"

you shook your head, breathing out a laugh. "not in the slightest."

"who is he?" he asked again, smile faltering just slightly when you didn't answer.

"trust me, there's no need to worry."

"just answer the question."

your grin seemed near permanent to jaime as he watched you with furrowed brows, stepping closer to you and leaning halfway off the saddle to be even nearer.

you tilted your head. "renly baratheon."

and then he understood, and watching his eyes soften and his grin widen, you knew he did. he laughed, sitting straight again as you let out a giggle.

"yes," he agreed. "no need to worry at all."

"not my type anyways," you told him, grinning sideways as you walked your mare in a circle, watching the party begin to pull out of the gates. cersei's wheelhouse slowly passed you, but jaime's eyes were on you, a brow raised curiously.

"and pray tell, my dear, what is your type?" he asked you then.

you looked back to him, shrugging as you glanced him over in his pretty lannister armor and cloak, his too-long hair, those gorgeous eyes, and the sword at his hip. "well, for one, i prefer the oldest son to the youngest," you hummed. "preferably tall, pretty hair and prettier eyes, good with a sword. should be able to kiss me without falling off his horse too."

with that, jaime was smirking widely and he quickly leaned towards you. "like this?" he tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a firm but quick kiss, making your heart jump.

when he pulled back, you met his eyes with a slow growing smile. "you know, maybe i have missed having you around."

he laughed. "was there ever a doubt?"

with that, he beckoned you on, the two of you following the rest of the king's party out the gates on the red keep and onto the kingsroad towards hayford castle, the short start to a long road ahead.

when you arrived at the hayford castle your horse was taken to be cared for and fed, and you were directed to yours and jaime's chambers.

"the queen has invited us to dine with them tonight," he told you as he stripped clean of his dirty riding clothes, changing into a fresh tunic and trousers as he watched you do the same.

you let out a thin hum. "i'm actually not very hungry. would it be terribly rude for me to decline?"

"i'm sure they'd understand," he answered, watching you closely with knitted brows. "though, i'm not inclined to just leave you in the room alone."

you breathed out a laugh, slipping your nightgown over your head and tying it at the waist. "you left me back at casterly rock for four years. i'm sure one night won't make a difference."

the tension increased in an instant, jaime's silence more telling than any words he could've conjured up. from what you knew about your husband, as much as he said he liked to face problems head on, he truly hated discussing them when they were emotional. he seemed to view emotions as a sort of weakness, morals as an optional guide, feelings as disruption to logic.

at least, that's how it came off when he discussed the war with you when you'd asked. the one thing, or person, he complained of the most was ned stark - the master of acting on his emotions, and maintaining his morals. jaime thought the war could have been completed much quicker if ned hadn't let his moral compass get in his way.

but, in your view, he'd only ever done good. ned stark, or what you'd heard of him at least, impressed you, and you were excited to meet him at last at winterfell.

jaime wasn't, and he wasn't pleased with your little quip either.

"it was my job," he told you with a frown, brows knitted slightly. "i was called to king's landing, so i went. there wasn't anything i could do."

"you could've brought me with you, or made an attempt to return at least once," you answered simply.

it was an easy truth in your mind, but not to jaime.

"you could've come to king's landing," he answered.

you weren't surprised by his answer. in the first year of your marriage, it was always the same sort of routine if you had an issue; you make a comment, he flips it back on you, you correct him, and he tries to kiss it better. honestly, you weren't mad at it, considering it a win when his mouth would find yours, but it was a bit disheartening.

you sometimes wished your relationship consisted more of words than kisses.

you shook your head. "i can't simply arrive at king's landing in the same way you'd go to casterly rock. i'd need to be invited since it's not my home, whereas you can come back anytime. and, you never invited me, jaime."

he held your eyes, thinking for several long moments before letting out a heavy sigh. "you're right. i'm sorry."

you smiled thinly, shrugging. "it's the past. now that you're aware we can do better to fix it and move along."

"here," he said, crossing the room and taking your hand. "i'll fix it. and i'll start by staying in here with you."

he glanced from your eyes to the mattress next to you and you couldn't help but laugh. you grinned amusedly, shaking your head slightly. "you're sure that's not for your own benefit, lannister?"

he shrugged, leaning forward so his breath fanned across your lips during his response. "who's to say we can't both get something out of it?"

and, as you'd predicted, he kissed you.

you broke for a moment, breathing out an objecting, "jaime-" but his mouth cut you off again, hands pulling you in by the waist.

"four years," he murmured against your lips. "four years without your touch, your taste, your everything." he kissed you again, harder this time, before breaking with a heavy breath, eyes still closed. "let me take advantage of the time i have with you here in my arms."

they were not the words you wanted - a discussion, preferably, but they were sure as hell pretty. and in your mind, you had plenty of time to finally have the conversation you wanted. nearly a month to winterfell, a month there, and a month back, you had all the time in the world.

presumably.

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