So the latest chapter of my MUCH longer Jaime/Sansa Fic - The Eyes See True - just wasn't flowing, so I decided to walk away from it for a few days. But, of course, that didn't mean I could completely walk away from Jaime & Sansa. Writing this has helped break through my issues with my longer story, and get the creative juices flowing, but I thought I would share, for those of you who need some Jaime/Sansa in your life. There's nowhere near enough fics for them :)

…

Sansa woke with a start, her heart pounding against her chest. She gasped for breath, wondering if the screams in her dream had become a reality. She lay still and listened, the silence and stillness telling her that she was alone. If I'd screamed aloud, someone would have come. Her hands were still shaking and Sansa forced herself to be brave as she looked around the room. It took a few moments for her to recall where she was. At first, she thought that the castle walls that surrounded her were those of the Red Keep or the Eyrie. Her first thought of the day was always that she was still a prisoner.

Then she would remember where she was. I'm home. I'm finally home.

Jaime and Brienne had returned her to Winterfell less than a moon's turn earlier. Though the Boltons had left it more a ruin than castle, they had managed to make a few of the interior rooms habitable while Winterfell was slowly restored to its former glory. Sansa slept in her parents' old bedchamber, surrounded by the few possessions that she had been able to recover from her childhood room. Most everything was burned and stank of smoke but she'd found her old mirror and some hair pins and other trinkets. Brienne had helped her search through Arya's room and her brothers' rooms as well, seeing her desperation for anything that had belonged to them. Anything that would prove that they had existed as more than a figment of her imagination. Anything that proved she'd had a family once.

Sansa knew she had nothing to fear anymore, but she never felt safe sleeping alone. Her dreams were always so real and her terror continued long after she awoke. Since Joffrey took her father's head, Sansa had been afraid every moment she was awake and that fear continued once she fell asleep. And when she was at the Eyrie, she was always afraid that Littlefinger would come to her room in the night and force himself on her.

Since Jaime and Brienne had taken her from the Eyrie, she felt safe during the day. She knew they would both protect her with their lives and one of them was always near her. But her nights were still filled with horrible nightmares. She sometimes wondered if they would ever go away. Sansa had believed that once she was home – once she returned to Winterfell - her nightmares would go away, but that had not been the case. This ruin isn't my home. The home she had longed for was gone. This smoking charred pile of rubble wasn't the home she had longed for. It wasn't the same place she remembered. It wasn't filled with the laughter and memories she was desperate to reclaim.

Sansa knew it was absurd, but she almost missed when she, Jaime and Brienne had been traveling. She missed riding in front of Jaime on his horse and sharing a tent with both of them at night. She was never alone and she had felt safe sleeping between them, knowing they would not allow anyone to hurt her. Especially Jaime. The first time she had woken up screaming in terror, Jaime had held her tightly, her back pressed against his chest, and spoken to her quietly, swearing that he would never allow anyone to harm her. She had not known him well then. Truthfully, she had still feared him a bit. But then she'd turned her head and looked in his eyes and believed him sincere. From that moment forward, as he proved his loyalty, she knew that she was right to trust him.

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to go back to sleep, but she couldn't shake the fear from her dream and opened them again, looking around the room, and made up her mind. She threw off the covers and wrapped her robe around her shoulders, padding barefoot to the door. She carefully opened it and looked up and down the empty hallway. The torches flickered but there was no one. As she expected, the castle was asleep. Sansa quietly crept through the halls, passing the charred rooms and broken windows.

It pained her to see what had become of her childhood home. When she had first seen Winterfell, Sansa had felt her knees weaken as her eyes filled with tears. Jaime had held her upright and promised that he would help her make it the home she remembered. He told her that she was stronger than she thought – like a lady in a song – and that he wouldn't allow her to fail. Were it not for Jaime…I don't know if I could have gone on.

She continued to walk through the halls until she reached Jaime's bedchamber. She knew it was a weakness, but Jaime made her feel safe as no one else did. She silently cracked open the door, and peeked in, seeing that he was in bed, all the lights extinguished, save the fire. She waited, watching, and assured herself that he was asleep, before slipping the room, carefully closing the door behind her so as not to make a sound. She stood against the door, the light from the fire casting a soft glow on the entire bedchamber.

Sansa shivered at the feel of the cold winter air and quickly went to the bed, seeking its warmth. She watched Jaime sleep for a moment before pulling back the furs and settling herself beneath. She listened to his even breathing and moved closer, carefully brushing his hair from his face. I love him so very much. Sansa placed a ghost of a kiss on his lips, fervently wishing that she had the courage to kiss him when he was awake and wishing she could tell him how much he meant to her. She lay down, close enough to feel the warmth of him, but not so close as to wake him, and closed her eyes.

…

Jaime hated the North. It was far too cold and far too grey. No one but Sansa Stark could have convinced him to accept permanent exile in the North. He'd told her more than once that lions didn't belong in the snow, but she'd not relented in her insistence that he accompany her. Not that he had a choice. Jaime supposed it was generous of her never to point out that he'd been exiled to the North and if he left he'd face execution. He supposed it was a worthy sacrifice.

Jaime sank deeper under the furs, seeking the warmth that always seemed to elude him, and felt his foot brush against soft skin. He opened his eyes and saw Sansa cuddled up in his bed as if she belonged there. She met his eyes and smiled sheepishly, a soft blush on her face.

"I'm sorry…I was afraid and…" she trailed off, embarrassed.

"Another nightmares?" he asked gently, tucking her hair behind her ear. He sighed when she nodded affirmatively.

He had hoped that her nightmares would end once she was finally home, safe behind the Walls of Winterfell. The first night after leaving the Vale, Sansa's screams of terror had woken him and Brienne. While the lady knight had worried that something was wrong with the girl, Jaime knew such terrors himself. He'd held her tightly as she screamed and fought him, until finally she awoke and stopped struggling, though she'd nearly drowned in her tears, sobbing mournfully as he held her.

When it wasn't his turn to have the watch, Sansa slept so close to him that they may as well have shared a bedroll. And when the nightmares woke her, she would spend the rest of the night in his arms. They had both said it was to keep warm, but Jaime had begun to take comfort in holding her in his arms. He had missed being close to someone. And Sansa looked at him as if he were a true knight – a brave man who kept his oaths and protected the innocent. She made him feel needed – as if he had a purpose again. As if he weren't a one-handed knight with shit for honor.

Jaime supposed he had always allowed a woman to define him. To guide him. First his mother, then Cersei and, for a time Brienne. Now he had firmly attached himself to Sansa. From the moment he found her in the Vale, caught in Petyr Baylish's web of lies and intrigue, Jaime had known that he had found his reason for going on. His last chance for honor. He'd cut Peter Baylish's throat and shoved him through the moon door, before offering Sansa Stark his sword.

He had expected her to refuse – to fear him or scorn him – but she had not. She'd allowed him to prove himself – to prove his devotion to her. Little by little, she came to rely on him. He knew that he made her feel safe. And little Sansa Stark was just as devoted to him. She had insisted that the Dragon Queen pardon him and allow him to accompany her to reclaim the North. He'd seen the way the Targaryen girl had looked between them, and he knew that she realized how much Sansa needed him in order to go on. He knew it was the Queen's compassion for Sansa that spared him, and nothing else.

Sansa had slipped into his bed many times since their return to Winterfell. And Jaime had always allowed her to remain, after reminding her of the difficulties it would cause. She never seemed to hear him. He knew that he needed to be firmer with her. That it was for her own good.

Jaime turned onto his side, facing Sansa. "My presence here angers your bannermen enough. If they knew that you sleep here in my bed most nights…they'd certainly think we were doing more than sleeping."

He expected her to blush at the suggestion but she didn't. "I don't care what they think. We shared a tent for months traveling here. It's none of their concern where I lay my head."

"You need the support of your bannermen. Not just to rebuild, but to rule the North. Sansa, it wouldn't due for me to be anything more than your sworn shield and protector. Your presence here endangers your standing in the North, Sansa."

"You wish me to leave?" She whispered, her voice trembling. "No one has ever seen me come here…except maybe Brienne, but she would never tell." She looked away, her embarrassment tearing at his heart. "I'm sorry, Jaime. I was just afraid, and-"

She moved to leave, tears forming in her eyes, and Jaime reached for her before she could go, pulling her into his arms. He smiled at the way she melted into his arms, not bothering to fight him. "What did you dream of tonight?" He asked softly

Sansa cuddled in his arms, her fingers absently moving over his chest and Jaime forced his body not to react to her. She can't possibly know what her touch does to me. She's far too innocent.

After taking her from the Eyrie, Jaime had worried about what Littlefinger had done to her. Brienne had blushed bright red and outright refused, when Jaime suggested that she ask the little wolf if she was still a maiden, so Jaime had been forced to broach the subject with Sansa. Her reaction to his question told him all he needed to know. Though Baylish had made overtures towards her, Sansa had been able to put him off and keep him out of her bed.

Jaime stroked her hair as she spoke of how the memory of Joffrey's misdeeds still tormented her, even as he rotted in his crypt. Jaimecould not understand how Sansa found any comfort with him, of all people. If anything, she should go to Brienne.

Though, Jaime supposed he should not have allowed Sansa to comfort him when he learned of Cersei's death. They had learned of the Queen Regent's execution as they traveled through the Riverlands. He hadn't believed it. He had always believed Cersei when she told him that one of them could not live without the other. Brienne had tried to offer her sympathy and Jaime had snapped at her, stomping off to hunt for their dinner. She'd not said a word about Cersei again.

But, as he lay beside Sansa in the tent that night, she had silently reached over and taken his hand. That small touch had broken him and, for once, it was she who held him though the night, murmuring words of comfort.

"Please, Jaime…may I stay here tonight?" she asked quietly, distracting him from his thoughts. Jaime nodded quickly, too quickly for his liking, and kissed her forehead, all thoughts of propriety vanishing from his mind.

She looked up at him, staring into his eyes as if she were searching for something. Whatever it was, she must have found it because she slowly leaned forward and kissed him. Her kiss was gentle at first – hesitant – until he tangled his hand in her hair, and she deepened their kiss, opening her mouth beneath his. Jaime didn't know how she ended up on her back, with him on top of her, ravishing her mouth. He was vaguely aware that he was pressing his hardening cock against her and his hand had found its way to her breast. When she gasped against his mouth, and he realized just what he was doing, Jaime pulled away abruptly.

"Forgive me, Sansa, for forgetting myself-"

She smiled and covered his hand with her fingers. "I kissed you," she murmured softly, before pressing her lips against his again, her hands gently gripping his shoulders

He forgot why, exactly, he had stopped, and gave in, holding her body against his as he explored her mouth with his own and allowed his hand to roam over her body. It had been so long since Jaime had experienced any intimacy with a woman and he reveled in every touch as Sansa hands slowly traced over his bare back and chest. Reluctantly, Jaime stopped while he was still able and rested his forehead against hers as he tried to catch his breath.

He loved her. Though he could never tell her, never have her for himself. He loved her.

Once, when she'd had too much wine, Sansa had tried to tell him that she loved him, but Jaime had stopped her, simply telling her that he knew. He feared hearing the words would make it real. That it would make it hurt all the more when the day came that she married another. When it was another man's arms that comforted her. Another man's bed she slept in.

Sansa's fingers gently stroked the hair at the back of his neck and he met her eyes. Even if he wouldn't allow either of them to say it aloud, he could see her love for him in her eyes. Part of him hoped she knew how he felt about her.

"Don't stop," she whispered against his lips as she resumed kissing him. He closed his eyes and gave in to her.

For tonight, he could pretend that she was his.