"She's the girl ablaze;
Her kiss burns like whiskey,
Her touch trails fire,
Her eyes burn brighter than city lights.
She's the girl ablaze;
Who flames like the sun,
The moon and the stars,
She will ignite."
-Unknown
Chapter Fifteen – At Tourney's End
Kings Landing
The soft breeze ruffled the soft yellow silk and lace of Caryssa's skirt around her legs as she sat with her father, Sansa and Septa Mordane and watched the tourney. It was the very first tilt of the day, but they had yet to see who would be competing. Jaime had her favor again, though today wore a silver-grey handkerchief with the Stark sigil tied around the armor on his arm. He had returned her direwolf pin to her as he (and inwardly she thought so too) didn't want to test his luck with it further and get it damaged.
"That is a pretty dress. Don't think I've seen that one." Ned murmured to his daughter, and Caryssa smiled at him, eyes twinkling with something akin to mischief as she glanced down at the light yellow gown. It was adorned with small gold and brown leaves alone the bust and in a pattern down the bodice and skirt, as well as the sleeves. It was just one of many dresses that she had received from her husband over the last week. Most of them had been red, but there were a few yellow, gold and blue ones thrown in too.
'Technically, you are the Lady of the Rock, so it's time you started dressing the part. Or my father and sister will have my head.' Jaime had said, narrowing his eyes when Caryssa had rolled hers.
"My husband had the royal seamstress make me nearly an entire new wardrobe. Most likely the Queen's idea to remind me that I'm a Stark no longer."
"You'll always be a Stark."
Caryssa grinned, gripping his hand in hers and leaning her head against his shoulder, ignoring the eyes searing holes into the back of her head. She had felt rather than seen Lord Baelish as he had taken the seat just behind theirs, with Lord Renly just behind him. The she-wolf had gathered it was some strategic move on his part, being close to her and Sansa in order to whisper his lies and try to charm them with his silver tongue for whatever his reasons.
"Where's Arya?" Ned then asked his two daughters, his eyes searching for the little she-wolf around the tourney field.
"At her dancing lessons." Sansa replied, her eyes not leaving the tourney field as the first competitor made himself known.
The Mountain still dwarfed his horse, his armor cleaned of the blood spray that had splattered across the dark steel after he had defeated Ser Hugh a few days prior. He bowed his head towards the king, but my eyes were narrowed in on his opponent.
"The Knight of the Flowers." Sansa murmured in childish awe as she gazed upon the handsome knight as he rode towards the stands with two roses in his hand.
I smiled politely as he came near to Sansa and I, taking the offered rose carefully from him and murmuring my thanks as Sansa did the same. I noticed however his eyes flickered upwards and behind me, to Lord Renly and my smile grew wider.
Ser Loras Tyrell smirked before riding to present himself before the king, giving a low bow. I narrowed my eyes when the Mountain's stallion seemed to lose focus so close to the Tyrell lord's mare, but they were moving away from each other before I could draw any conclusions. The crowd jeered at Ser Gregor and cheered for Ser Loras, the two sounds mixing with the grunts and whinny's of their horses. Their squires handed them their lances and, in Ser Loras' case, helms, and I could feel Sansa tensing beside me.
"Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him." She whispered loud enough for their father to hear, looping her arm through Caryssa's and edging closer to the comfort of her elder sibling.
"Hey." Ned said, reaching around Caryssa and resting his hand on Sansa's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze for fatherly reassurance.
"I can't watch." Sansa breathed, her fingers tightening around her sister's arm, causing Caryssa to grit her teeth and grab Sansa's hand to relieve some of the pressure.
Behind her she could hear Littlefinger and Lord Renly making bets, and taunting each other. The she-wolf had to hide her grin when Renly told Baelish that with a hundred gold dragons he could buy himself a friend, but only because her sister was so concerned for the Tyrell knight.
"He's going to die."
"Ser Loras rides well." Ned informed Sansa, trying to assuage her fears.
Caryssa watched avidly, hearing the fanfare go off, signaling the beginning of the joust. The Mountain's stallion was still fidgeting restlessly, whereas Ser Loras' horse was perfectly at ease. She was starting to get a clearer idea as to why that was.
The two knights pushed their horses into a gallop, lances at the ready, helms hiding their faces.
After Ser Hugh's untimely death, Caryssa understood why Sansa was so worried for the Knight of the Flowers. Her own mind was flashing back to the dark images of Ser Hugh choking on his own blood, replacing his face with Ser Loras' instead.
Yet, that's not what happened.
When the two knights met in the middle of the tourney field, Ser Loras' lance splintered Ser Gregor's shield, knocking him and his horse back before galloping away as the victor. Some in attendance gasped in surprise, probably as sure as Sansa had been that Ser Loras would be the one to be defeated, while others laughed at Ser Gregor's hulking mass as it was flung to the ground. Caryssa knew she heard Lord Renly's chuckles of delight, having won himself a hundred gold dragons, and she found satisfaction in the fact that Baelish had been silenced.
"Such a shame, Littlefinger. It would have been so nice for you to have a friend." Caryssa heard Lord Renly taunt the Master of Coin, and saw an opportunity too good to let pass, even if it meant making an enemy of one Baratheon.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Lord Renly, but Lord Baelish has a friend in me, at the very least," Caryssa turned her head to smile at the two men. She looked down at her rose and held it towards the king's brother. With a hint of confusion, he took it and she explained. "I believe your friend meant to give this to you, my lord."
Seeing Baelish's wicked grin, Caryssa knew that she had him or he was at least playing along with her charade, though Lord Renly took her jest as sincere and smiled at her, even if his eyes were begging her not to say anything before flickering to the victor.
Baelish took his seat again, though he leaned forward to whisper to the two Stark girls. He still couldn't consider the Lady Caryssa a Lannister, even if they had been married near to two weeks now.
"Loras knew his mare was in heat. Quite crafty, really."
"Ser Loras would never do that. There's no honor in tricks." Sansa replied, as all three Starks turned their heads to look at Littlefinger.
"No honor and quite a bit of gold."
Caryssa's attention was stolen from Baelish, much to his disappointment, when Ser Gregor finally rose to his feet, tugging off his helmet and tossing it angrily to the ground, yelling out to his squire for his sword. The She-Wolf felt her brows knit together as she tried to work out why he would need his sword, because surely the knight would not attack Ser Loras for winning. There was no honor in being ungracious in defeat.
His squire raced towards him with the heavy two-handed blade, much like her family's ancestral sword, Ice, while the Tyrell knight presented himself in his victory in front of the King and his children. Much to her horror, Caryssa found she could not pull her eyes away as the Mountain beheaded his horse. She could not make sense of such mindless killing.
She grabbed her father's hand, and gripped it tight, just as Sansa was doing to her own as Ser Gregor advanced on Ser Loras and used his great sword to knock the knight off of his horse. Ser Loras hit the ground hard but managed to recover enough to hold up his shield in his defense when Clegane tried to clove him in two.
Caryssa pushed herself up onto her feet and looked towards the Kingsguard.
"Someone do something! He'll be killed!" She implored, her eye catching that of the Hound's just as he moved to act.
He drew his sword, leapt from the stands and growled at his brother as he came to the Tyrell knight's defense.
"Leave him be!" Sandor ordered, as their swords clashed together and he forced them apart.
Ned pulled Caryssa down to her seat, curling an arm around her as she did the same to Sansa, all of them staring at the scene in front of them as the two Cleganes began to fight. She noticed that the Hound seemed to fare well against the Mountain's heavy blows and proved to be a good swordsman when he wasn't chasing down the butcher's boy or being Joffrey's dog.
Caryssa turned her head back to watch the king, their blue eyes connecting and she saw a moment of blood lust. She had seen it before in a man's eyes, mostly from the murderers about to be executed by her father and she was disappointed that King Robert almost wanted it to continue.
She tore her eyes from his and refocused on the fight, seeing the Hound quickly blocking another would-be death blow from his own brother.
"Stop this madness in the name of your King!" She heard King Robert cry and a small smile spread across her lips, evaporating just as quickly when the Hound narrowly avoided being beheaded by the Mountain's sword when he immediately dropped to one knee by order of his king.
The Mountain stayed on his feet, angrily throwing his sword to the ground before he stormed off, the crowd separating for him to avoid his ire. Caryssa suddenly felt her heart beating rapidly and shared a worried glance with her father, wondering if it was such a good idea to let Ser Gregor just leave.
Ser Loras approached the Hound and lifted his arm into the air for his victory against his brother and the crowd cheered and applauded the two men.
Caryssa saw how uncomfortable the celebration had made him, so remained seated when most rose to their feet to clap and holler.
The sight of the two Clegane men fighting had an uneasy feeling spread through her. Brother against brother in a battle, fighting to kill.
It almost felt like another omen, like when she had found the fallen stag killed by the she-wolf who then died after whelping the pups.
She shook away the disturbing thoughts, rising to her feet and joining the applause if only to take her mind off of the path her mind had decided to wander down.
Winterfell
Bran watched wistfully as Theon practiced his archery, the sound of each arrow cutting through the air and sinking into the target distracting him from his lessons with Maester Luwin. He longed for his lessons with Robb and Jon and Ryssa, before their family had separated. Before he had been the Cripple of Winterfell.
He still had Robb, Rickon and Theon, but he was supposed to have his mother too. She was supposed to be there when he woke up, but she wasn't. She wasn't even in Winterfell. He toyed with the small pewter trout in his hands; the sigil of his mother's house. Why wasn't she here?
The tap of Maester Luwin's stick pulled him back to the map of Westeros on the table, and he stared sullenly down at it, seeing where his teacher had pointed.
"The Iron Islands. Sigil – a kraken. Words – 'We do not sow'." Bran recited, his voice as dull as the lesson he was being forced to endure.
"Lords?" Maester Luwin pressed.
"The Greyjoys."
"Famed for their skills at archery, navigation and lovemaking." Theon added, with a cheeky grin that failed to make Bran smile.
"And failed rebellions." Luwin retorted, though Theon had turned back to his archery, and rapped his stick onto another part of the map, on the eastern side this time.
"Sigil – a stag, a crowned stag now that Robert's king."
"Good." The Maester praised his charge, watching him play with the little trout figure in his hands.
"Words – 'Ours is the fury'. Lords – the Baratheons," Bran's eyes flickered the west of the map where Luwin pointed his stick and his jaw clenched slightly. "The Westerlands. Sigil – a lion. Words – 'A Lannister always pays his debts'."
"No. A common saying, but not their official motto."
"Lords – the Lannisters." Bran continued, ignoring Maester Luwin's corrections, as his eyes were once again drawn to the sight of arrows thunking into the wooden target.
"We're still on their words." Maester Luwin pushed, and Bran stared at the table in front of him, digging the sharp edge of the trout into the wood.
"I don't know them."
"You do know them. Think."
"'Unbowed, unbent, unbroken'." Bran murmured, and Maester Luwin shook his head once, seeming to understand that the boy was purposefully being difficult now, but tried nonetheless to get his lesson back on track.
"That's House Martell."
"'Righteous in wrath'."
"House Hornwood."
"'Family, duty, honour'." Bran all but sneered the words. Caryssa liked to use those words when any of their siblings were fighting, particularly to Sansa and Arya. Family comes first, little wolves. Never forget that. She would say that, and then make them promise to try to get along better. Sansa and Arya would try, but an hour later they'd be arguing again.
"Those are Tully words – your mother's. Are we playing a game?" Maester Luwin questioned him, and Bran didn't look up at him, simply continued to carve into the wood.
"Family, duty, honour…is that the right order?" Bran asked.
"You know it is. Your sister has told them to you enough that you would remember."
"Family comes first?"
Maester Luwin finally understood why the boy was being unreasonable. He was angry at his mother. For leaving his side, for not being there when he woke, for still being gone days later, Maester Luwin did not know which was the most likely, but if he had to garner a guess it would be all three.
"Your mother had to leave Winterfell to protect the family." The maester repeated his words from when Bran woke and realized his mother was not there.
"How can she protect the family if she's not with her family?" Bran questioned, finally looking at his teacher who was gazing back at him with soft, sad, old eyes and a furrowed brow.
"Your mother sat by your bed for three weeks while you slept-"
"And then she left!" Bran snapped, and Maester Luwin decided to try another way to convince the boy of his mother's love.
"When you were born, I was the one who pulled you from your mother. I placed you in her arms. From that moment until the moment she dies, she will love you. Absolutely. Fiercely."
"Why did she leave?" Bran pushed the old man, and he sighed.
"I still can't tell you but she will be home soon." Luwin replied, hoping that would convince Bran to stop fretting and being angry at his mother. Lady Catelyn had not sent word back to them to tell them how the journey to King's Landing had gone and whether or not her suspicions had been confirmed, but the maester assumed it would not be long before she returned to tell them in person.
"Do you know where she is now? Today?"
"No, I don't." Maester Luwin answered reluctantly, knowing that his honesty was only adding fuel to the boy's fire, but he couldn't bring himself to lie to the boy.
"Then how can you promise me she'll be home soon?" Bran retaliated, and Maester Luwin smiled slightly, knowing that he had been bested, and shook his head.
"Sometimes I worry you're too smart for your own good."
Bran brushed off the backhanded compliment from the man at his side, watching once more as Theon shot another arrow into the second ring of the target. He felt his anger bubbling up within him again, but pushed it down and settled for sadness instead. He was a cripple now. He would not become a knight or a member of the King's Kingsguard. He would not fight in battles and earn glory for the Stark name. He wouldn't swing a sword. He would never shoot another arrow.
When he voiced the last of his upsetting thoughts, Maester Luwin was quick to ease his mind.
"And where is that written?" The old man questioned.
"You need legs to work a bow." Bran stated, and the maester hummed in disagreement.
"If the saddle Lord Tyrion designed actually works, you could learn to shoot a bow from horseback."
"Just like Ryssa on a hunt?" Bran asked, remembering all the times his sister had gone hunting with his father and brothers with her bow and would come back with deer and rabbits with her arrows in their eyes or hides. He missed her. He missed Father, Sansa and Arya too, but Caryssa wouldn't have left his side if she had not been betrothed to Ser Jaime. She would have stayed with him until he woke. He did love his mother, but he was so angry at her for leaving when he needed her the most.
"Yes, if she were here, your sister could help you, but you'll have to make do with your brother and Theon instead."
"Really?"
"Dothraki boys learn when they're four years old. Why shouldn't you?" Maester Luwin informed him, finally bringing a smile to the little Lord's face.
This time when Theon drew back the bowstring and his arrow whizzed forward to its target, Bran's face did not sour.
Kings Landing
Once the horror left behind in the Mountain's wake had been cleared from the ground and the barrier had been fixed, the tourney continued for its final joust.
Caryssa saw her husband at one end of the tourney field fiddling with the handkerchief she had given as her favor, making sure that the direwolf was clearly displayed for her. She smiled at that, though she heard her father grumbling under his breath. He was still unhappy that she had been married, though it had been his decision in the first place, so she tried to placate him by gripping his hand a little tighter.
The next thing she noticed was that Jaime had changed his horse. Throughout the tourney, Jaime had been riding a white stallion, but now he was seated on a black mare. Caryssa could not help the smirk that spread across her lips. Her husband was not a fool and had surmised the same thing as Baelish; that Ser Loras' own mare was in heat and had distracted the Mountain's stallion to his defeat.
Jaime cut a significantly more intimidating figure now with his fierce black and crimson red armor and black mount, especially when compared to Ser Loras' flowery silver armor and pretty white mare. It was this moment that made Caryssa almost glad that her father had chosen to marry her to the Lannister lion instead of the Tyrell rose. While she was satisfied in her marriage to Jaime, she could hope for happiness and perhaps even love one day with him. She could not foresee the same outcome from a marriage to Ser Loras, especially when his eyes continued to flicker towards Lord Renly behind her. She would not have found any happiness with a man that could not love her.
The two men rode towards the royal stands, bowing their heads towards their king and his family, before each riding to their starting positions and making their last preparations. Caryssa was glad that Jaime had not made a spectacle of them again by requesting another good luck kiss, because she was certain her father would not have found it remotely humorous or charming as she had done.
The fanfare signaled the beginning of the joust, and Caryssa found herself practically on the edge of her seat as she watched her husband and the Knight of the Flowers charge towards each other. When Ser Loras almost knocked Jaime from his horse, Caryssa's grip on her father's hand became iron tight, surprising Ned. He looked at her, but her eyes were fixed on the joust, excitement and worry warring for the dominant emotion on her face.
Jaime recovered quickly, and on the second charge almost forced the Tyrell knight from his own mount. The two men were providing the crowd with a great show, gasps filling the tourney grounds whenever one knight nearly bested the other.
It was the fifth charge when it finally came to an end.
Ser Jaime and Ser Loras rode towards each other, lances and shields at the ready, and the crowd all held their breath to see who would be the victor. Caryssa rose to her feet the moment she saw Loras Tyrell tumble from his mare and fall into the dirt, clapping for her husband with a wide smile. The rest of the tourney audience did the same as Jaime took a small victory lap, removing his helmet as he did so. He was wearing a smug grin that exuded the arrogance she associated with him, but she could also see the happiness there too.
Caryssa's smile fell when she saw Jaime's squire hand him the flower circlet and saw the mischievous grin on his face as their eyes connected. She shook her head once, as she and her family took their seats once more but he pushed his horse into a trot to ride towards her and she did her best not to scowl in front of the crowds.
Jaime stopped in front of her, reached out his hand and placed the crown of roses in her lap. Winter roses, she noted. As blue as frost. She felt her father stiffen beside her, and she remembered why she had not wanted to be crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty in the first place. No doubt her father was remembering the tourney at Harrenhal all those years ago, when his own sister had been crowned with winter roses by Prince Rhaegar instead of the Prince's own wife, Elia Martell. She supposed that at least Jaime had not made the same mistake, even if she had all but begged him to crown Sansa instead. Sansa would have appreciated it more than she did.
Reluctantly, she smiled and placed the circlet of blue roses on her head and even went so far as to kiss her husband for his victory. The crowd's roaring cheers erupted around them, and Caryssa could not help the blush that warmed her cheeks at the very loud approval she received for her actions.
When she took her seat once more, Jaime having moved towards the royal stands to be announced the victor properly by the king, she did not look at her father.
She did not want to see that same look he sometimes gave her when he thought of his sister.
The look that said he was seeing a ghost.
Jaime was in very high spirits. He had won the tourney, crowned his wife the Queen of Love and Beauty and watched as the king squirmed before congratulating him on his victory. He had retired to his bedchambers with Caryssa, who had scolded him for going against her wishes by placing the flower crown on her lap, and had readied himself for the feast before her handmaiden had ushered him out of his own bedchamber to help his wife prepare herself.
He had gone ahead to the Great Hall, and was on his second cup of wine, when he realized that his wife still had not joined them. He looked around the hall and noticed that Lord Stark and his two daughters had come to the same realization.
Daena had sworn that Caryssa would not be too long before she joined him, yet she was still not here and Jaime could not help the irritation and disappointment that bubbled up within him. They were supposed to be celebrating his victory.
"Finally! I thought you weren't ever going to bloody show! The Queen of Love and Beauty has seen fit to grace us with her presence!" Jaime heard the King slur loudly, and his face snapped towards the entrance doors and a grin spread across the Lannister lion's lips.
His wife was forgiven for her tardiness.
Caryssa restrained an eye roll at King Robert's rather childish announcement of her arrival, but she knew that she somewhat deserved the embarrassment. She was incredibly late, even if it were not her fault. Daena had forced her in front of her vanity table and spent what felt like hours messing about with her hair and face, after forcing her into the gown she was wearing. Her hair braided twice at her temples, just underneath the crown she wore, weaved together until all four braids joined together at the back of her head and formed a larger braid that rested above the rest of her hair that had been left to cascade down her back.
She had been tempted to wear one of the new red gowns Jaime had commissioned for her, but that plan had been dashed when he placed the winter rose crown on her lap. Blue and red clashed in a rather garish way.
The dress the she-wolf wore instead made her feel more at home. It was made from pale blue silks and looked as though it was covered in white frost and large snowflakes along the sleeves, bodice and hem. Daena had told her that she looked like a winter queen, and Caryssa had laughed, even if she inwardly agreed with her. She would not have been able to wear such a dress in the North as it would have been too thin and flimsy for the harsh northern winds, but at the very least she felt like she belonged in a painting inside of one of the old tomes in the library at Winterfell about the old Kings and Queens in the North.
The compliment had worked in boosting Caryssa's confidence, feeling that tenfold when she caught sight of her husband and his pleased grin. He was unashamedly trailing his eyes up and down her body, sending warmth pooling into her stomach and a slight blush to her cheeks. She could clearly see the desire in his eyes from across the hall though she tried to appear unaffected by it.
"Ryssa!" She heard Arya call to her, and she tore her eyes away from her husband to see the little wolf rushing towards her, having been forced into another dress, paying no mind to the lessons in propriety she had been taught by Septa Mordane. Sansa and her father approached her as well, though with more grace than Arya.
"You look beautiful." Her father complimented her, pressing a gentle kiss to her brow which made her smile.
"Thank you, father," She took in the dark grey surecoat he wore, one that she had made back in Winterfell, the silver direwolf proudly displayed on his left breast. Caryssa pressed her hand over it, running a finger along the familiar stitching she had toiled over for months to have it ready for her father's namesday. "I haven't seen this for an age."
"It is one of my favorites. I wouldn't want to ruin it."
Caryssa smiled widely, before she glanced at Sansa, who was eyeing her with something akin to jealousy. She knew that Sansa had no reason to be jealous. With her flaming auburn hair and pretty blue eyes, the same shade as her own, Sansa was a beauty that even the southern women could not match. Hearing music pick up, Caryssa turned to her sister in excitement.
"Sansa, sweetling, dance with me?"
Sansa nodded, taking her sister's outstretched hand and following her sister into the center of the room where many others had gathered to dance. Caryssa noted that it was mostly couples, but she and her siblings always danced together at feasts. It was just their way.
The two she-wolves danced merrily with the other couples, the southern style of dance not unfamiliar to them as their mother had taught them all manner of dances being from the Riverlands and then the mother of Northern children. Even if they stumbled on steps, it did nothing to stop the laughter coming from the sisters as they enjoyed themselves.
Caryssa felt freer than she had since she had left the North behind her as she danced with Sansa. If she focused on nothing but the steps and her little sister, she could almost pretend that she was back in Winterfell, at someone's namesday feast, with no worries or cares and no games or politics to navigate. Just her home and her family and northern music.
Gods, how she wished that her dreams were true. Marriage to Jaime was fine, but the Red Keep was no Winterfell and the Crownlands were not the North. She did not belong here and she still felt that knowledge resting heavily on her heart, even during such a fun occasion as her husband's victory feast. Her whole being still ached for her home, for the Godswood and the Great Hall and her old chambers and the Healing Keep and the training grounds where she and her brothers spent most of their time together.
Every time she thought of home, that weight in her heart grew heavier still and the more she came to regret her father's decision to marry her into House Lannister, which only made her feel guilty. Jaime had been nothing but kind to her, attentive and as close to loving as they both could manage.
But she had yet to let go of that fantasy of returning home to the North and until she did, she knew she would not be happy.
Still, the She-Wolf of the North twirled and spun to the music, laughing as she did so. Because even if she could not find more enjoyment in this new life of hers, outside of her shared bedchamber with her husband, she would pretend for her family's sake.
Eventually, the dance was over and a slower, more romantic song filled the air as a pair of arms wound around Caryssa's waist. She looked over her shoulder as she and Sansa separated and saw Jaime smirking down at her, that lustful expression still in his eyes.
Without a word, Jaime tugged Ryssa away from her sister, who went and found her father and sister, and pulled her into the circle of his arms. Caryssa gazed up at him with a soft smile, thinking that his emerald eyes were possibly warmer than the last time she had looked into them. She couldn't fathom why, but she liked the change.
They danced in time to the song, doing the appropriate lifts and turns, but always ending up with their bodies almost pressed together. Their closeness as they danced went against propriety, but Caryssa felt herself minding less and less as the song stretched on.
When the song came to an end, Jaime took Caryssa's hand and all but dragged her out of the hall, no one paying them much attention.
"Where are you taking me, husband?" Caryssa questioned, as she looked around at the part of the castle her lion was tugging her down, making sure that no one was watching this strange display.
Jaime remained silent, finding the place he was looking for, and pulled his wife towards him. Ryssa eyed the dark, abandoned passageway with hesitance and suspicion broke out when she was taken to a darker still alcove. All her confusion was erased, however, when Jaime's hands gripped her waist and gently pressed her into the wall.
"You must be joking."
"I won a great victory today. Aren't you going to reward me, my sweet, little wife?" Jaime teased her, as he captured her mouth with his, silencing whatever witty remark she may have had.
In spite of herself, Caryssa found herself melting against Jaime's hard body and his hot mouth against hers, her fingers diving into his golden hair and tangling themselves there to keep his head in place. Jaime's hands however wandered her body, teasing the silk and lace covered flesh of her sides and back.
In that debauched moment, Caryssa threw caution to the wind and allowed herself to indulge in a momentary happiness unclouded by her pining for home.
For one moment, she allowed herself to just be Caryssa and for him to just be Jaime and for nothing to exist but the two of them, their passion and that dark alcove. She allowed herself to be wanton, as Jaime lifted her skirt up past her hips, his fingers rubbing circles over her damp smallclothes as his mouth swallowed her sighing moans.
Jaime was rocking against her when she decided that friction alone was not enough. She needed him, even if she would likely go to one of the seven hells for this act of indecency. It would most likely be worth it, she mused, as she unlaced his breeches and freed his cock from their damning confines. While her husband fiddled with the laces on her smallclothes, she ran her hand along his manhood, relishing in the power she felt as he groaned and rested his forehead against her shoulder at her actions.
Yet, they both grew impatient, and Jaime all but ripped her smallclothes away, picked her up and slammed inside her. Caryssa bit his shoulder, her fingernails digging into his surecoat, to muffle her gasp of surprise at how incredibly full she felt with her husband suddenly inside her. Once the surprise dissipated, she wriggled her hips against his. They both let out groans simultaneously at the movement. Jaime showered her neck and shoulders with small kisses as he withdrew slightly and pushed back in.
Burying her face in his neck, Caryssa clung to his shoulders as Jaime's thrusts became deeper and faster, the fire rising within her as she writhed against him. Vaguely, she could feel cold stone against her back and a slight breeze against her bare legs. Ryssa's head fell back against the wall. Her eyes drifted close. Her pulse accelerated. Her body seemed to be burning as she rose higher and higher, that coil in her lower stomach becoming tighter and tighter.
"Look at me, Ryssa," Jaime ordered, and her eyes snapped open and fixed themselves open his face. Emerald eyes stared into winter rose blue. His face was painted with pleasure and satisfaction, those green eyes fierce and possessive. She felt one of his hands leave her waist, fumbling down between their bodies to work at making her explode before he did. "Let go, wife."
She struggled to keep her eyes from rolling up into her head once she finally reached her peak, her walls fluttering around him, her cry muffled by her own hand that she had bitten down on. Everything went fuzzy and hazy at the intense feeling. It was so much more powerful than it had ever been before and she felt weak because of it.
Somehow she managed to keep rocking her body until Jaime tensed and she felt his strangled moan against her skin as he shuddered his release deep inside her.
Jaime panted, kissing Caryssa as he lowered her back to her feet. Quickly he smoothed down her hair as she straightened her dress and tucked him back into his breeches and laced them up. Looking down at her flushed cheeks and satisfied grin, he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped between his lips.
"What are you laughing at?" Caryssa asked, blinking up at him as her fingers combed through his hair in order to make him look less debauched.
"Whatever came over you, my lady? Fucking your husband in a hallway. Anyone could have walked by and heard." Jaime teased her and she blushed an even darker scarlet red, but rolled her eyes at him.
"You are a terrible influence," She blamed him, before pushing him away from her, back into the hallway. "Do I look like I've just brought shame upon my family or can we return to your victory feast?"
"You look beautiful."
Caryssa stared up at him, a smile on her face, before she took his hand and tangled her fingers with his.
She missed home, but perhaps, one day in the future, she would be able to let her longings go enough for her to be happy here with Jaime.
Maybe.
A/N:
I am so, so, so incredibly sorry for the lateness of this. I've had it written for ages but I've just not been in the right mind frame since Christmas to really focus on writing and updating and all that stuff. But I've already started the next chapter, which will start with a flashback to Caryssa's childhood before delving into what Ned has been doing and Jaime finding out about Tyrion being taken by Catelyn to the Vale. So fluff and then lots of tension.
I did add some smut to this chapter to make up for its lateness though...so I hope you enjoyed that.
Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed and favourite and followed the last chapter. It all means the world, honestly, and it kinda helped bring me back into myself actually. You guys can actually thank the guest reviewer 'G' for this update. They gave me the kick up the butt to try and post again, so thank you G!
So the wonderful people who reviewed and have my everlasting love are:
DragonessUnderTheMountain, MADStar529, HermioneandMarcus, NicoleR85, shipwreck321, LucyGreenhill, tlyxor1, Jolene, 0netflixme0, Guest(1), Lilo23, gummybear1825, velvetSunset, KD, DGfleetfox, Atalantide, ropertfree72, G, Guest(2), Lana Jones, Guest(3), mariihamadeh, Evaline101, Guest(4), masquerade04 and EmmaRose14.
My aim is to have the next chapter out by the 25th March OR the 26th March, depending on my schedule.
Thanks for reading,
SophStratt.