5/17

Sansa's skin was soft and smooth as she stretched against Jaime's side, edging further away as she squirmed to find a comfortable position. Jaime took the opportunity to free his arm from her weight, tucking it under the pillows to hide the stump. When she stilled, she lay facing him, legs tangled with his, red hair thrown across the white pillows. She had pulled the sheets against her chest, bundling them until she stole Jaime's as well. His chest was bare, and when her eyes danced over his body, with his missing hand hidden from sight, Jaime felt whole again.

It was foolish, but a man could hardly help what he felt.

"Is it true what Lady Lydden said?" It took him a moment to refocus, the soft heat of the bed and the flickering candlelight had drawn his thoughts away. The last time he had come to her bed had been many months before, before her pregnancy, and never before had she initiated a physical relationship.

"Margot Lydden is a bitter woman," Tyrion was more suited to run the Rock, but Jaime had been Lord Tywin's heir once and he had not forgotten those lessons, "she was in her youth, and has only gotten worse with age."

His little wife had large, sad eyes, "I did not think-" she curled tighter into herself, "will everyone be angry? I know your aunt married a Frey."

"Some will be, but they have no right to blame you. You did not urge your brother to war, or betray your oath to your liege lord," he wanted to touch her wild red hair again, but resisted the urge. She often reminded him of a young filly, headshy and frightened, but eager to please, and no wild filly would appreciate the gesture, "Margot is not fond of Lord Lewys, or his son. She is his second wife and he had many sons before her."

She had wanted to marry Edmure Tully, but his father had refused the match and arranged her another. When that husband died, she had tried to convince Edmure to elope, but Hoster Tully was not a man to be trifled with. Sansa did not need to know her uncle's sordid past.

"And your aunt? She was not a second wife."

"Genna never wanted to marry Emmon," in truth, Jaime expected her to be happy. Her sons had been named Lannisters and there was even talk of Tywin setting aside her marriage. Even if she was enough of a fool to blame Sansa, she would be more likely to celebrate with her than to scream, "and she is not a fool. She will not blame you. Any of my house would not dare to treat you as Margot Lydden did. I will send them away."

"Will your father allow that?"

"If he wishes to speak of it, I will send them to King's Landing so he may speak to them. I swore you would be safe, and so you will."

"You are very kind, my Lord."

Jaime scoffed, "you are my wife. Any actions taken against you are also against me."

Blue eyes studied his face, as if she could see his lies written in words there, "what of the other claim? That Myrielle is..."

"I am unsure. You might ask her on the morrow, if you wish to know," she had not denied it, and in this heat it was strange for her to wear such long sleeves. If he was asked to place lots, he would say Margot spoke the truth, knowing it would hurt worse than a lie.

Sansa was silent for long enough that Jaime thought she might have fallen asleep. He was not yet tired, limbs languid from their coupling. Jaime did not want to wake her, but he did want the wine on the table behind him. When he finally moved, it was slowly, easing off the bed and taking care to keep quiet as he poured a glass. The flickering light made shadows dance in the room, and he considered snuffing them before he rejoined her.

"Is the rest of your family fond of the Freys?"

In the few moments of his absence, Sansa had stolen the remainder of the blankets. She was curled in the center of the bed, surrounded by a nest of them, looking for all the world like a pleased cat. He toyed with the idea that she had planned this, but it was more likely that he had woken her and she had taken advantage. He lifted the glass slightly, his meaning clear, answered while she thought, "you should ask Joy. She has spent more time there than I, in recent years."

Jaime brought her wine rather than waiting for her decision, watched as she curled her fingers around it and stared into the deep red. He settled beside her, amused as the flush crept up her face, her eyes deliberately avoiding him. She had no right to be embarrassed by his nakedness, it was she who stole his blankets, "you will like Dorna, Kevan's wife. She loves needlework and flowers, and has a girl of three. She is Willem's mother."

She would not like Myranda Lefford, but Jaime did not want to explain that this night. He had never seen Sansa this relaxed. Jaime half-suspected that Joy had given her a bit too much milk of the poppy, but it was good to see her without her armor. She had replaced her shield of propriety with the nest of blankets, and Jaime was unwilling to jar her from either. "Daven has a second sister, does she not?"

"An elder sister to Myrielle, yes. Cerenna is twenty and two and betrothed to Willas Tyrell. She and her mother will leave for Highgarden soon after we arrive... I remember that she loved horses as a girl," it was not much to know. Myrielle had loved them as well, once, "Shiera Crakehall is there as well, wife to my cousin. Two of Genna's sons are married as well." Kevan's Lancel had almost been, but that discussion would raise too many questions.

"Have they all been at Casterly Rock for many years?"

"Jeyne Darry has two sons with Genna's eldest," he mused, "but Lyonel is a new knight. His wife is a Crakehall girl of six and ten, newly married."

He wanted to ask of her family, but he doubted the question would be welcome. Her father and younger siblings were dead and she had been married to him on behalf of a Westerlands girl of minor birth. Many girls had been married off to secure wives for their brothers, but his father would not have married Cersei poorly even if he would have secured a princess for Jaime. He had not known the man, but he suspected that Eddard Stark would not have made this bargain.

"What did Ser Kevan name his daughter?"

Jaime could not resist the laugh that bubbled up, "nothing. Dorna named all of their children: Lancel and Janei were the names of a Lannister king and queen, Martyn is a name common in House Swyft, and Willem was the name of Dorna's late brother."

Sansa drank hesitantly from the wine. She winced at the taste, and he wondered if she might like the sweeter, paler wines that his father favored. Above the white blankets she had curled into, he could see the pink line of a scar. He had made a conscious effort not to look at her bruises these last weeks, had taken great care not to hurt her during their coupling, but he was pleased to see that they faded. Jaime rarely prayed, save to the Warrior, but he would ask the Mother for mercy if it was for his sweet wife.

"What will you name our son?"

That gave Jaime pause. His heir could not carry a Northern name, not Eddard or Bran or Rickon, but he hesitated to deny Sansa any control over the child she must carry. "I had thought perhaps Jason, but I am undecided. If there is a Westerlands name you prefer, we might name him that." It sounded pathetic even to his own ears, "What would you name our daughter?"

"I am to name her?"

Jaime reached for her slowly. Sansa did not draw back, but she did close her eyes as his hand came near. When his touch was gentle, she looked back up through her eyelashes, "I cannot name my heir a Northern name, and I would like a girl named after my mother, but our second son you should name. And our first daughter."

"Are we to have many children?"

"If you like. You are very young, Sansa," too young, he thought, but it would be worse for her if he abandoned her bed. Tywin was not a man to take disobedience lightly. Jaime had seen what he would do to his son's wife, "my father insists we have a heir, but I am worried for you. I had thought you would like more children, in a few years, but if you do not I will not force them upon you."

She sipped at her wine again, seeking strength from it, "I would like to have many children, I think. My mother had five."

"With a Lannister for a husband, perhaps you will even have twins," not for the first, he hoped. Sansa was too young to give birth. Once they reached the Rock, he would find the most skilled midwives in Lannisport, and send for a maester experienced in birthing. Jaime meant to keep his wife.

Sansa was quiet again. When she offered him her wine glass he set it aside, watched as she settled deeper into her nest of blankets, "Arya and Bran were like twins, at times. My septa said she should have been a boy and he a girl. Arya could ride and hold a sword, while Bran could not hit a target with a bow."

Jaime thought of Cersei. As a girl she had loved horses, but hated the proper saddle for a lady. She had wanted to swordfight, to inherit the Rock herself. She had often lamented she had been born a woman, "any daughter of mine who wanted to wield a sword would be welcome to it. Let them protect themselves."

"Perhaps I will name a girl for Arya, then," Sansa scooted closer to him, dragged along her nest of blankets, hesitated before touching him. Jaime set his own glass aside and curled his hand gently along her shoulder, his fingertips brushed the fine pink scar, and he tugged ever so slightly. Once Sansa was pressed against his chest, he stole a bit of her blanket for himself.

Let the candles burn themselves out.