CHAPTER 20: Escape
Jaime had been reunited with his father for only a few days in King's Landing, before Jaime could stand to be near the man no longer.
"He hates me," he confided later to Cersei. She was in her room, and he wore his white cloak, guarding her as Kingsguard had done for centuries. "Insisting on being Kingsguard was too much for him this time. I swear, Cersei, the look on his face," he broke of, shaking his head. Jaime didn't even understand why he was speaking about it. It wasn't as if he was still a boy that wanted or needed his father's approval.
"Well, then if it matters to you so much give it up," was Cersei's silky response. "It's not as if Joffrey needs you. And father's been threatening to send me back to Casterly Rock for weeks." She flicked her green orbs to his and smiled, "We can be there together, like a lord and lady."
Jaime stared at her. "What do you mean Joffrey doesn't need me?"
Cersei shrugged, and Jaime had the disorienting feeling he had fallen into one of her manipulations. "Father has got it well in hand here. He had a few ideas for your replacement on the Kingsguard. You could leave the city and it would be fine, Jaime. Everything's well in hand."
"Tywin's hand," Jaime had said.
Leaving the city to his father left him feeling at odds with himself and the past ten years of his effort. His father had proved long ago the sort of man he was to Jaime. Jaime was loath to leave him unattended in King's Landing.
But then, he knew his father planned to leave for battle. Now that Ser Kevan had apparently either been slaughtered or captured, his father had no choice. Jaime had not wished to be in the room when that particular bit of information had been told to him. Tywin relied heavily on Kevan, and loved his brother more than he would admit.
Cersei said something but a knock at the door interrupted her. Without so much as a blinked eye, she looked to Jaime. He opened the door.
There, looking as sullen and fair as Jaime had come to expect him to, was Loras Tyrell.
"Ser Loras," Jaime greeted.
"Ser Jaime. I've just come from your father. He demands your presence in his chambers immediately. I'm to relieve you of duty here."
Jaime was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard—not his father— and there was the slightest scowl on his face as Ser Loras said this. But that would be a lesson for later, and not in front of Cersei.
"Very well," was all he said. Without another look to any of them, Jaime took his leave.
Tywin had saved the city from Stannis Baratheon little over a moon ago. Before that, Tyrion had been acting in his place as hand. But now Tyrion had been kicked out of the chambers of the hand, and Tywin occupied them.
Once again, as he had been before many times, Tywin Lannister was Hand to the king.
Jaime felt that could only bid ill for the city.
He knocked once on the door.
"Enter."
Jaime entered. "You wanted me?" he asked disdainfully. He thought he'd seen the last of his father for a long time, after they had quarreled yesterday about Jaime's position on the Kingsguard. His father wanted badly for him to resign and take up the mantle Tywin was leaving him as heir to Casterly Rock.
Jaime wanted the opposite.
His father was standing over his desk, fussing with moving things about. He was clearly agitated. The man's sharp grey eyes caught Jaime's sharply and he motioned without words for him to sit.
Jaime didn't sit. He stood, his cloak swinging, behind a chair and looked evenly at Tywin.
Tywin didn't remark on this. Instead, he said coldly, "We've had two letters. Both from the North."
"Is there word of Kevan?" Jaime wondered if his father's devoted brother was dead or merely captured, as Tywin had hoped.
"Yes. One of our men who is, as we speak riding back to Casterly Rock, writes us that Kevan was taken captive by Jon Snow, the commander of one of Robb Starks's army and apparent heir to the mantle of King in the North."
Jaime smiled unpleasantly. "I remember Jon Snow. I saw him at Winterfell."
He thought hard of the boy he'd seen fighting in the courtyard with his lordly, kingly, brother. That the boy fought well was all he could remember (and fought well he had), but he could hardly tell his father that.
Jaime continued, "Doubtlessly the Starks will want to trade Kevan for Sansa and Arya."
This was another point of high contention between them. Jaime had wanted to at least consider honoring the agreement he made to Catelyn Stark for his release and at least think of sending Sansa to them. But his father had said no, and that was the end of it. The only Stark they had, Sansa, had been married to Tyrion, as well. Jaime couldn't deny his father had many good points, and he could hardly cart off his sister-in-law, but the whole thing made him feel something closely resembling shame.
It was a feeling he detested.
Tywin snorted. "I doubt it. They'll want nothing to do with that after we didn't honor the agreement you made."
And he thought Tywin couldn't amaze him any longer.
Jaime glared. "I wanted to honor it," he said, hoping he wasn't petulant. "If you had let me, Sansa Stark would be back with her family in Riverrun right now."
"Yes," Tywin said and slammed a book onto the table. For the first time he looked at Jaime. "And then where would we be? The other Stark girl is surely long dead, and if we don't have at least some sort of hostage here then there's no hope of ever ending this conflict. I suggest, Jaime, that you try thinking before you open your mouth and try and argue with me."
Jaime was sure to think for a long moment, then said, ignoring the last statement, "I'm sure you'll find a way to end it just fine."
His father had never had problems starting or finishing things.
"Yes, I shall." He didn't seem inclined to say more than that.
Finally, Tywin seemed to have found what he was looking for on his desk, although Jaime saw nothing in his hands, and he sat down. There in front of him were the two letter he had spoken of.
"Is there more news?" Jaime prompted finally.
"Yes."
Another long moment.
"Care to share?" Jaime asked, scowling.
Tywin's own scowl grew sharper. "The Mountain is dead. Jon Snow slew him in single combat during the battle."
Jaime laughed. He had no love for his father's dog. He hated the man, in actual fact. It wasn't him that had killed Rhaenys, but Jaime knew he would have if given the chance. It was easier to blame him than Tywin, at any rate. And the image of the short (if Jaime remembered well) Jon Snow killing the Mountain was rich.
"That's quite the feat," he said through laughter.
"Yes, it is," Tywin said through clearly clenched teeth. He'd never had much patience with Jaime and that which he had summoned now seemed to be quickly waning. "He beheaded Ser Gregor in the field and took the head back with him to Riverrun."
"That hardly sounds like something a Stark would do," Jaime said, still chuckling. "But I suppose he's not a Stark, is he?"
Tywin stood abruptly. He was staring at Jaime, trying to see something on his face. "If you have news," he growled through his clenched teeth, "If you have information I don't about Jon Snow, you'd best share it now, Jaime."
Jaime stopped laughing. "I don't know anything about Jon Snow."
Tywin continued to glare.
With forced casualness, Jaime continued lazily, "Well, I know he's going to be a problem for us if he really did take Kevan prisoner and kill the Mountain in a single fight. Oh," he said as something occurred to him. "I'm glad Sandor isn't here so I don't have to tell him his brother's dead. Gods protect the man who does tell him."
Tywin said nothing.
"But surely you'll have to retake the field," Jaime said thoughtfully. With Kevan gone and Mace Tyrell's bannermen deemed untrustworthy there was no one else to run the armies while his father ruled in King's Landing. His father's less than cheerful disposition and less than friendly reputation was catching up with him: there were perilously few left to help the man wage his wars.
"No. I'll stay here in King's Landing. Joffrey needs me."
Jaime snorted. His father needed Joffrey, more like.
"Your brother will take up Kevan's place," Tywin continued.
It took Jaime a moment. "Tyrion?"
"You only have the one brother, I believe."
"Tyrion's never even been in battle before, how can you expect him to lead an army?"
"I would prefer if he didn't." Tywin glared. "But my other son refuses to do his duty. Tyrion is much cleverer than he allows people to believe, anyway. He will do fine in the field. And I have but a few matters to deal with here and then I will join him."
"My duty is here," Jaime said defiantly. "Protecting the King."
His father was unimpressed. "Yes, you've made your opinion quite clear, thank you."
There was another stretching silence. Jaime hated speaking with his father. There were old wounds between them, and they had never fully recovered.
Also, Jaime found Tywin to be an unpleasant person.
"Do you have anything else?" Jaime asked finally.
"Read this." Tywin threw a letter at him.
Jaime read it.
The blood rushed through his veins and Jaime felt dizzy as he tore through the letter. Something like the feeling of fighting in a battle came over him and he could only blink for a few seconds when he reached the end of the letter.
"Well," he said finally, his heart racing. "This changes things, doesn't it?"
"Yes." Tywin snatched the letter back out of his hand.
Jaime was thinking fast. Unbidden, flashes of memory and Prince Rhaegar's face swam before his vision. A lump had grown quite suddenly in his throat, and he swallowed painfully. Rhaegar's voice was in his ear for only a moment before Jaime shoved it away. He looked at his father with wide eyes.
"Is it true?"
"The crown he's put on his head is true enough. As for the story he sings… it might be true, it might not be true. As it can neither be proved or disproven, it hardly matters."
"What does Robb Stark think of this?"
Jaime's mind was another place, another time. Rhaegar staring at him, a smile on his face as Jaime held the hand of his daughter of only five. As Jaime grew closer and closer to Rhaenys he'd been more and more apprehensive about Prince Rhaegar sensing Jaime was slowly usurping his place in the girl's affections. But Rhaegar had welcomed it, seemed relieved, even. He was glad Rhaenys had someone to care for her, he'd told Jaime… young girls needed that… but Rhaenys had not deserved Jaime as protector… he could think of no one worse, now that things had happened as they had.
Tywin snorted. "Robb Stark loves it, I'm sure. You noticed the Six Kingdoms part, didn't you?"
"What?"
Tywin sighed like his son's thickness was nothing more than another tedious trial for him. "Signed," he read from the letter, "Jon of House Targaryen, first of his name, hereby known also as Jaeherys Targaryen, King of the Roynar and the First Men, King of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Six kingdoms, six, obviously Robb Stark's fine with it as Jon Snow isn't stealing any of his land. It's just the other six kingdoms he lays claim to, and the Iron Throne, of course. In fact," he continued with his characteristic bland anger, "I bet Robb Stark was only too thrilled when—"
"I have to know for sure if this is true or not," Jaime interrupted. "Hand me the letter."
Tywin didn't move, and Jaime stepped forward to urgently tear it from his hands. Tywin allowed him, but Jaime was sure that was intrigue more than anything else.
Jaime was scanning through the letter, searching, when Tywin said with a small trace of curiosity in his voice, "But what does it matter if it's true? It will be easy enough to dispute… but it's the sort of story people seize on."
Jaime found nothing in the letter, but he hadn't needed to. He looked at his father in shock as Tywin's words caught up with him.
"What?" Tywin snapped. "What is it?"
"His name is Jaeherys Targaryen?"
"That's the name he claims his father—excuse me, it's the name he claims Prince Rhaegar chose for him when Lyanna Stark was with child. To every upstanding citizen, lord and lady of this realm he'll be called Jon Snow like the lowborn bastard he is, mark my words. I'll have a letter out refuting this before the day is over, see if I don't."
"You don't believe it's true then?" Jaime asked in a strange voice that wasn't his own. But Jaime knew the truth, he knew it from the name. Like pieces of a puzzle in his mind, all the answers had come together before him. The way forward was painfully obvious.
Tywin snorted. "I don't believe the truth is a thing that matters here." He shut his eyes as something occurred to him. "Do you know what I'll bet he's going to do with that head of Gregor Clegane's? I'm sure he'll send it to Doran and Oberyn Martell. Well, there go the Dornish and," a vein stood out sharply on his forehead as he growled, "and there goes Myrcella."
It was history repeating itself, Jaime thought. There was another little girl about to get caught up in the game of thrones… and pay its price. How similar Rhaenys and Myrcella were when he thought about them in the context of history. Both young, both girls, both blonde, both sisters to kings and daughters of queens.
It was a mess they'd made, sending Myrcella to Dorne. Cersei would spit blood. It was a mess they'd made, killing Rhaenys. Jaime had spit blood. The symmetry, the cruel justice of it took his breath away. In everything for their entirely lives, he and Cersei had been, deep down, the same. The exact same. In this, now, they were no different.
Tywin only had himself to blame, Jaime thought. This was the same evil, rattling around and repeating again and again. It had happened to Rhaenys, and it would happen to Myrcella. He still felt odd and knew that this was the sort of information that changed wars. It shook the ground.
Jaeherys Targaryen, the only living son of Rhaegar.
"Are you listening?" Tywin snapped.
He'd been talking for quite some time, Jaime thought… but these were the first words to make sense to Jaime.
"Yes."
"Good. We'll have to get that letter out tonight disputing his parentage and Eddard Stark… Tell them what I think of his honor. Anyway, there was other business."
"More?" It seemed almost impossible that Tywin would want to speak normally after news on this level.
"More. And of a more cheerful magnitude. This," he said and took a sword from under his desk and placed it on the desk, "is for you."
Jaime eyed it impassively. It seemed to be the thing to do though, so he picked up the sword and pulled it from its crimson sheath. It was made up of a strange layered red color that rippled when he held it. The pommel of the sword was a golden lion, and rubies and gold made up the handle. It was the grandest sword he'd ever seen.
Tywin was watching him closely.
"I want nothing to do with this," Jaime said. "It's Valerian steel, isn't it?" This was obviously freshly forged, and there was only one place Jaime could think of his father would be able to get his hands on new Valerian steel. They had never returned Ice, Ned Stark's sword to Robb Stark, after all.
"Yes, it is, and don't look into it. This isn't a bribe to get you to quit the Kingsguard or whatever you imagine. We are the Lannisters, Jaime, and it's about time we had one of these in the family. You are the only one fit to wield it. Here take it," he thrust the sword Jaime had put on the desk back into his hands. "I would see you with it."
Jaime drew the sword and held it in front of him as if he meant to skewer his father. Giving him the sword had been a monumentally bad idea… Rhaenys's face was before his eyes now and he could feel her gentle, small hand in his own even as he grasped the sword. The familiar rage overtook him, and he almost staggered under the weight of it. In the blink of an eye, he could see her small body in front of his father's feet… about right where Jaime was standing now her body would have lay. Jaime suddenly felt nauseous.
The moment passed, and he put the sword on the desk. His hand shook, he was unsurprised to see.
But his voice was steady.
"It's very nice," he said as he turned and strode from the room. "Why don't you give it to Joffrey? He needs something to kill cats with."
His father's answer about two swords was lost on Jaime. There was an odd ringing in his ears. He left the room quickly.
Without thought, his feet turned to his brother's chambers. He was in the room before he could think better of it, running on instinct and half thought through vague plans.
"Where's your wife?" he asked Tyrion urgently when he found him. His brother, as their father, sat at his desk. A heavy book lay before him, and he was flanked by his sellsword and squire. Even in his own rooms, Tyrion was careful to have them close.
Tyrion looked at him in confusion, a hand still on the book. "My wife?"
"Yes. Sansa. I need to speak to her urgently. I… I have a message from her mother for her," he invented wildly.
Tyrion couldn't know the truth of what he meant to do; it would only put him in danger from their father. He'd been able to lie successfully only a few times to Tyrion, but he must do so now. Tyrion couldn't know the truth; it would only end in blood if he did. Jaime kept his face straight, and didn't look away under Tyrion's stare. All the same, he couldn't help but stalk around the room.
Tyrion, predictably, looked unimpressed. "You've been here for almost a fortnight," he said. "Why are you just getting around to it now?"
Jaime grimaced and forced himself to stop pacing and face his brother. He tried to look abashed. "It's not exactly cheerful news," he said. "And I hardly wanted to speak to the girl. But now she's my sister-in-law and I suppose I don't have a choice to delay for much longer."
"And why is that? What's changed?"
"Only me, Tyrion. Please, may I speak to her?"
Tyrion shrugged. "If you wish. We aren't a very close married couple, I fear. Bronn, fetch Lady Sansa. She's praying in the godswood. Bring her here. Pod, leave us."
Bronn exited. The squire, looking uneasy, was quick to follow.
Tyrion rounded on Jaime, looking at him carefully. "Whatever it is you have to tell her, you're ashamed of it," he said with interest. "Else wise you'd have not delayed for so long." His face softened slightly as he said, "If this is about sending her home, I know you argued long and hard for it with Father, Jaime, you have nothing to be ashamed of."
Jaime didn't want platitudes, and he didn't respond. Instead, Jaime studied his feet, hand gripping his sword as he struggled to keep a hold of his emotions.
Tyrion sighed but didn't say anything else until Sansa entered the room.
The girl was younger than Jaime had thought. He'd avoided seeing her since he arrived in King's Landing, and Tyrion was right: it had been shame that drove him from her. But now, well…
"Lady Sansa," Tyrion said, getting to his feet. "Thank you for coming. It is not I who wished to speak with you but my brother, Ser Jaime. I'll take my leave now."
He smiled at Sansa but avoided looking her in the eyes. Despite himself, Jaime wondered at his brother's second marriage.
Jaime didn't look at her until Tyrion left.
Sansa Stark had long red hair that trailed down her back and over a shoulder. Her dress was emerald green, and she looked every bit the lady she was. Sansa's skin was pale, and her eyes were blue… and bloodshot. And there, on the edge of her jaw there was a large, yellowing bruise. Sansa didn't look at him, but at the ground.
"My lord." Her voice was hardly a whisper. She curtsied.
"My lady," Jaime said, barely remembering his curtesy. "What happened to your face?"
She looked at him, startled, and forgot that she didn't want to meet his eyes. "My lord?"
He motioned to his own jaw, and then to her's. "You have a bruise. How?"
Understanding flitted across her face and her wide eyes found the floor again. Her mouth opened a few times, but she didn't say anything. There was a sinking feeling in Jaime's stomach, and he thought he knew what had happened.
"My brother hit you, did he?" he accused, knowing full well Tyrion wasn't capable of hitting his wife. No matter how strained their marriage was, Tyrion had too much patience.
Sansa looked shocked. "Oh, oh no, my lord! Lord Tyrion would never—"
"Then who hit you, Lady Sansa?" he asked in as much a gentle voice as he could summon.
"I, my lord… it, it isn't proper-"
He cut off her stammering answer. "Lady Sansa, you needn't answer. I know very well the kind of king Joff is."
She gaped at him for a moment then looked at the ground.
"But I doubt he's strong enough to leave a bruise. If it was one of my fellow Kingsguard, tell me now, Lady Sansa. No trouble will come back to you, I promise."
"It was Ser Meryn," she murmured, since he had all but known. Her eyes studied the ground, and with her chin ducked he could no longer see the bruise.
"I see," said Jaime. "Putting him on the kingsguard was my sweet sister's idea. The man's a brute… but well, the days of Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Duncan the Tall are over. All we're left with is the Ser Meryns of the worlds."
"Why did you wish to speak with me, my lord?"
"What do you know of the recent going-ons of the war, Lady Sansa?" He wondered if anyone bothered to tell her anything and felt a pang of sympathy for her.
"Lord Tyrion tells me that my brother and mother are not dead, my lord. He also told me Bran and Rickon were killed by Theon Greyjoy when he took Winterfell." Her voice was hardly a whisper as she said this, but her voice did not tremble.
Jaime wanted to enquire on her and Tyrion's relationship but thought better of it. Instead, he said, "It's true Robb Stark and Lady Catelyn are not dead. Your lord grandfather, Hoster Tully died a few weeks ago. Did you know this?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry for your losses, Lady Sansa."
"My family are traitors, my lord," said Sansa. She was still studying the ground.
"I'm still sorry… Did you know your brother Robb sent for Jon Snow to join him? He released him of his vows of the Night's Watch."
Sansa raised her eyes to his, but only for a moment. "No, I didn't know, my lord."
"Yes, Jon Snow's joined him on the field as well… and beat my uncle's army quite soundly less than a week ago. He's taken Ser Kevan captive… and killed the Mountain himself. He seems to be as much a match as Robb Stark is, and at least an equal battle commander."
Sansa seemed less than surprised. She didn't say anything.
"What can you tell me about Jon Snow, Lady Sansa?" Jaime stared at her intently.
Stealing Lady Sansa away and joining up with King Jaeherys had been the reason at the front of his mind for speaking to her now… but he needed to know what kind of king he was first. Aerys—the boy's grandfather— flashed in his mind for a moment, and goosebumps broke out on his arms.
He wouldn't be the Kingslayer two times over. That would be too much, far too much.
"Jon Snow is only my half-brother, my lord," Sansa said.
"But you grew up together, didn't you?"
"I suppose, my lord. But Jon and I were never close."
From her tone and wide eyes, Jaime figured she was lying, or at least, stretching the truth. But of course, she was, he could hardly expect her to willingly tell him information about her brother. Him, who was a Lannister and fighting against her family.
Of course she wouldn't.
Jaime nodded. "Very well, Lady Sansa. Do you know why your mother released me?"
She looked startled and stared at him for a moment, but answered all the same. "My mother released you on the condition that you would return me and my sister to her at Riverrun."
"Correct." He couldn't look her in the eye now. "Do you know what became of your sister, Arya?"
Her voice was barely a whisper as she answered. "No, my lord."
Jaime hadn't expected any other reply. "Are you content in marriage to my brother, my lady?"
"I… Lord Tyrion is very kind to me, my lord."
"But you would rather be with your family, am I correct?"
"My… my family are traitors. Lord Tyrion is my husband and the only family I have now."
Jaime smiled. She was at least decent at lies, but he could see through them easily. It was all over her face that she was wary… and worried. "Of course, my lady."
They were silent for a few long seconds. Jaime's mind had cast itself to a long-ago time when he'd hardly been more than a teenager… well, the same age Jon Snow and Robb Stark were now, he supposed. Perhaps not so young…
"Have you heard of Prince Rhaegar, Lady Sansa?"
"Prince Rhaegar?" she asked, blinking owlishly at him. She said slowly, "I… I have heard the story, my lord."
"Did your father ever speak of him?"
"My father? I… don't believe so, my lord."
"Did he ever speak of any of the Targaryens to you?"
"No, my lord. Not that I recall."
Jaime nodded slowly. That too was to be expected. Eddard Stark had hardly been stupid enough to speak of his secret while he lived, else it would not have remained his secret for very long.
"I served on the kingsguard when he lived, and his father was king… I'm sure you've heard that story, as well," Jaime said. All the energy he'd felt only minutes ago had drained out of him, leaving him tired and staring at the wall of Sansa's head. His voice took on a distant quality as he continued, "It was Prince Rhaegar's daughter I was most commonly assigned to protect. Have you heard of her?"
He didn't look at her as she answered, "The princess Rhaenys, my lord. Yes, I've heard of her."
"Do you know how she died?"
"Y-Yes, my lord."
Jaime nodded again, his face still. He did not enjoy thinking on her much. "Did you know she was stabbed half a hundred times after they dragged her from under her father's bed… all on my father's orders. I promised her father I would keep his children safe… and she—" His voice grew strangled, and he cut himself off.
"I… I did know, my lord." Sansa was very quiet now. He could feel her watching him closely, most likely bewildered.
Jaime stood and shook off the sorrows of yesterday. He didn't want to dwell on that, only make amends.
"Did you know your brother has crowned himself and makes claims of the Iron Throne, Sansa?"
"No, my lord, you're mistaken, Robb is only king in the north. He wants nothing to do with the Iron Throne. Not that that negates his traitorous rebellion, my lord."
Jaime smiled at her but did not meet her eyes. "You're mistaken, Lady Sansa. I did not mean Robb."
She looked at him, confused. "I—I don't understand. My lord."
He met her eyes. "Jon Snow claims that he is the son of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. He claims his parents were married, and that his name is truly Jaeherys Targaryen, not Jon Snow. As he tells it… your father, Lord Eddard, hid him and claimed his as his own bastard son out of fear for his life. He feared that Robert and my father would kill him if they knew he was the son of Prince Rhaegar… and the heir to the Iron Throne."
Sansa was staring at him, shocked. She was clearly at a loss for words. Jaime thought her face had paled but wasn't sure.
"Your father was an honorable man," Jaime said in her silence. Stupid, but honorable. "Do you think he would lie to save his nephew's life?"
"M-my lord… I... I do-don't know anything of this, my lord. If it's true no one told me anything of it. Jon Snow was raised as my brother, and that's all I ever thought he was. My half-brother."
He interrupted her frantic explanation. "Did your father ever tell you anything about Jon Snow's mother?"
"N-No, my lord."
"Does Jon Snow look much like your father?"
She nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes, my lord. He is his spitting image, everyone says so."
Jaime nodded with her. But that could be from his mother's side just as well, if his mother was Ned's sister. "Has your father told you much about Lyanna?"
"No, my lord. But he often visits her statue in the crypts."
"Was he close with her then?"
"I—I think so, my lord."
"Close enough to lie to save her son's life?"
Sansa gaped at him. She recovered quickly though and stammered, "I—I couldn't say, my lord."
"Never mind, Lady Sansa. But tell me about Jon Snow. Would be make a good king, in your opinion?"
"My brothers are both traitors, my lord. King Joffrey is my king, and he's very gallant—"
Jaime's lips twitched. "Yes, my nephew manages to be very gallant, doesn't he? But I asked you of Jon Snow, Sansa. Nothing you tell me will leave the room, I promise."
Sansa stared at him for a moment, something like anger growing in her eyes and on her face. "Yes, Ser," she snapped. "Jon would make a brilliant king. Better than Joffrey."
Jaime stared at her, a smile growing on his face. Under his stare she wilted, and her gaze found her feet.
"I can't imagine him using the name Jaeherys though, my lord. He's always been Jon," she continued in a softer voice, clearly hoping to brush past the treason she'd just said.
Jaime was happy to move past it as well. "Were you close growing up?"
"Not really, my lord. I was always closest to…" she trailed off and looked again at the ground. Jaime knew she'd been going to say Robb.
"Do you want to go home, Lady Sansa?"
She looked at him sharply, startled and wary of a trap. "Home to traitors, my lord?"
Jaime laughed. "Yes, but home all the same."
Sansa's anger was revived when she answered, "It doesn't really matter what I want, does it? I couldn't go home even if I wanted to."
He grinned at her. "This time it does, Lady Sansa."
I think Jaime is a bit OOC, but oh well lol.
