Rosennis Stark was a strange girl, Jaime often thought. It had been over a month since they rode into King's Landing side by side, two people of the same age in a similar situation, and yet he barely knew her at all.

He'd tried to brush her off as dull when they met on the road from Harrenal. Her long, sharp face, stiffness and reserved manner did little to disprove that, and she seemed entirely unimpressed by anything and everything she came across, especially him. That in itself was rather entertaining, however; he had amused himself on the journey to King's Landing by finding the best ways to get under her skin. Jaime had been in a foul mood since leaving Harrenhal, understanding the moment Aerys spoke that he was as big a fool as his father claimed, having not realised until that point that the king hadn't made him a Kingsguard for anything he'd done, merely to spite his Tywin Lannister. The Stark girl's blunt replies and sharp tongue, to him and others she took a dislike to, at least managed to make him laugh. Strange, considering the girl herself was dour and lifeless.

She was a good rider, though, he'd give her that. Her horse appeared little more than a sturdy northern beast at a first glance, however when Jaime had taken the chance to look it over properly he'd seen plenty of evidence of fine breeding. It was evident in the way the animal moved that it was powerful, more so than any ladies horse had the need to be; more spirited too, proved when one of the more foolish squires had tried to mount it when they made camp for the night, thinking its mistress to be asleep. The horse had taken off with the boy with a steely stubbornness that matched its owner, refusing to slow down despite the fact the boy was a decent rider. It had taken a furious Rosennis Stark - commandeering Jaime's own horse for herself - galloping up beside the idiot squire and grabbing the reins of her mare for the horse to finally come to a halt. That was the most life Jaime had seen in the girl then, as she was merciless in tearing the boy apart, without even raising her voice. He was only a year or so younger than her, yet she near reduced him to tears with her barbed tongue, to the hilarity of the other squires. Even the men had taken to mocking him, one old soldier chuckling darkly and saying Lady Stark had given him the tongue-lashing his mother should have years ago.

Despite amusing moments like that, however, Jaime had remained angry and miserable at the fact he had thrown his life away joining the Kingsguard. He wasn't too bothered about losing Casterly Rock, Tyrion would make a better lord than he ever would. But he had lost his sister, and Cersei was irreplaceable. Judging from her usual bitter expression, he suspected Rosennis felt much like he did.

When they made it to King's Landing, things weren't much better. He didn't see as much of the Stark girl. He spent his days guarding the queen and young Prince Viserys - a rather dull task no matter how pleasant Rhaella was to him - and she spent her days doing... whatever girls did. He occasionally saw her with the queen, practicing embroidery and the like, though it was clear that she held Rhaella partly to blame for the whole mess with her sister and the queen's son, judging from her rather cold manner towards the older woman. But then Aerys returned, and Jaime's boredom turned into something else entirely.

The first burning - a thief and serial rapist sentenced to beheading - had been bad enough. Bile had risen in Jaime's throat at the smell, and he had struggled not to flinch at the inhuman screams of the burning man on the pyre. Even if he knew the man deserved to die, seeing his blackening body twisting and writhing as the flames consumed him was far worse than the quick, clean fall of a headsman's axe.

The second burning was nothing short of horrific. The only thing keeping his eyes forward had been the harsh stare of Ser Gerold opposite him, daring him to look away. Jaime didn't like to think of what he'd seen that day. They had said the King was mad, but gods, it was only a little boy who stole a cake. He was the same age as Tyrion, and everyone had just stood at watched, all those people, all those knights. He still hadn't had a good night's sleep since. The boy had pleaded with anyone he could as he was dragged towards the pyre, imploring the brave knights of the Kingsguard to come and save him. No one did a fucking thing, himself included.

Burned sharply into his memories of that day, along with the dancing glow of the flames and the high pitched screams and pitiful sobs, was the image of two glazed grey eyes from across the hall. For some reason, Rosennis Stark had been there, the only one present who wasn't a guard or gaoler, certainly the only woman there. The King seemed to delight in trying to make the girl uncomfortable, hence why she too had to witness such horrific acts as his guardsmen. But Stark hadn't taken her eyes off the flames, off the dying child. Her face was grim, her mouth set in a line, and her expression didn't change at all. Jaime resented this at first; was she so cold that she didn't care? Then he realised that of course that wasn't true, but was still resentful as he doubted he was doing nearly as thorough a job at keeping his face straight. Upon peering at her closer, he saw that she didn't look... all there.

Afterwards, as the dozen or so other witnesses left in a cowed silence, ashamed at themselves, buried in duty or scared for their own lives, he felt a bony hand grab his elbow from behind as he reached the end of the corridor. He hadn't heard anyone behind him, but looked to see the Stark girl there, long thin fingers curled tightly around his arm. She had looked straight at him with that sharp face of hers, not bothering with introductions at all, and spoke with her usual bluntness.

"I go away inside," She'd said. "You should too," He saw his own haunted eyes reflected in hers. Without a word, she'd turned on her heel and left in the other direction in a swirl of dark skirts and clicking boots on stone.

That had been a week ago, and she hadn't spoken to him since. But there had been another burning that morning. Jaime had been on duty, and it had been awful. An old man, who'd begged for his life and insisted he was nothing but a loyal citizen, innocent of whatever crime they'd pinned on him. He most likely was - innocent, that is. Not that that meant a fucking thing here. Rosennis had been there too, but had vanished as everyone left. Jaime had had to stand two more hours afterwards guarding Princess Elia and her daughter. It was surreal, going from that awful scene to watching little Princess Rhaenys giggling as she played with dolls in silk dresses and painted toy dragons. If anyone had indeed tried to attack the royals under his watch, he wouldn't have been much use, being in too much of a shocked daze to react quickly to anything. Elia had eyed him with concern, but had seemed to understand after asking where he had come from, giving him a regretful smile and kindly pat on the arm that made him feel rather pathetic.

Now he was off duty, he still couldn't unsee the way that man's skin melted perversely, the way he screamed that he had a young granddaughter to look after, that he was all she had, that she'd die on her own. Feeling like he'd go mad just sat in his room in the White Sword Tower - and Ser Gerold had forbidden him from training even more excessively than he currently was, lest he overtire or injure himself - Jaime found himself wandering aimlessly around the castle. All these lords and ladies, so beautifully mannered, so beautifully dressed, the picture of civilisation. All these knights, shining examples of chivalry and honour... It was ironic, really, the real world.

He was just passing the stables when he heard a commotion, the unmistakable sounds of a horse out of control. Crashing, cursing, shod hooves clacking on cobbles, squealing whinnies. Jaime jogged the rest of the distance there, wondering if he could help in any way. He'd spent plenty of time in the stables of Casterly Rock as a boy, despite his father saying it was beneath him, and a reminder of home (or anywhere that wasn't here) would be a small comfort. However, when he rounded the corner he was met with a rather surprising sight.

The stable hands were all standing in the yard, surrounding a huge black destrier. The animal was wild, snorting and dancing around. A snapped rope hung uselessly from its halter from where it had broken free as it spun and reared defensively, threatening to kick anyone who went near it. The grooms had all backed off, giving it space, yet a thin figure was approaching it, Rosennis Stark. What was she doing here? Not seeming at all scared by the huge animal, though clearly wary, she grabbed its halter on both sides, forcing its head in front of her own and holding on, planting her feet into the ground even as it tried to rear again, her bony wrists looking ready to snap. She wasn't gentle, but wasn't rough either, and her lips muttered fast words too quiet for Jaime to hear, breathing into the horse's large, flaring nostrils. And after a tense few moments, the animal began to calm.

She carefully lead it over to the wall, walking at its shoulder so as to give it it's head, and tied it up very loosely with a fresh rope before wordlessly taking the bridle off a nearby boy and, after loosening every strap as far as it would go, eased the bit into its mouth. The horse snorted and stamped a little, but the girl remained calm, hand holding its face steady even as she had to stand on tiptoes to pull the headband over its ears, murmuring to it all the while, and the big horse submitted. This surprised Jaime, not only because she'd managed to tame an animal that weighed over half a ton, but also the fact that most highborn girls couldn't tell one end of a horse's tack from the other. Yet here she was, fastening the noseband with deft fingers, carefully adjusting the cheekstraps, double checking the tightness with a brisk efficiency. Perhaps it was different in the North, he thought, as she turned, catching sight of him. He saw the look in her eyes for a split second - she was considering if she could get away with pretending not to have seen him - but his raised eyebrow of acknowledgment ruined any chances of that.

"Ser," She nodded a greeting, offering no more words, and every eye in the yard suddenly looked at him, startled at his appearance. He ignored them, stepping closer to the stallion and noticing the girl wore a riding habit; did she mean to ride that monster? Not that Jaime wouldn't - he'd get on anything - he'd just never met a woman who rode a destrier, let alone a wild, half-broken one like that.

"Lady Rosennis," He said, following her example of not bothering with niceties. There was a pause. "You're good with horses. Less so with conversation," His tone was slightly mocking, as usual. People either appreciated it, or were irritated by it. Usually he could tell which way it would go; with the Stark girl, he could not, not even after he spoke.

"I know," She said. Her expression barely changed. She seemed slightly annoyed, slightly amused. "My sister is better," With horses or people? The latter, he supposed.

"Beg pardons, milady, but you're more than good," One of the more senior grooms stepped forward, grinning. "That one arrived three days ago, Ser," He addressed Jaime, pointing at the horse. "A gift for the King, but he ain't even seen it, doubt he'll ever ride it. Named Black Dread. A fine beast, strong as an ox and fast as anything, but surely a nastier temper than the dragon it's named for. None of us boys could get near it with a saddle. Was all we could do to get it in the stable. Came down morning after, though, to see Lady Ross had the brute bridled and was all ready to go off bareback because she couldn't lift the big old saddle that high!" The man laughed and Jaime grinned, but was also quite impressed. The way the man addressed her, using a nickname, spoke of familiarity. She must spend a lot of time here.

"What happened just now?" He asked. "When it tried to trample half of you?"

"Tried to tack it up without her, Ser," The groom smiled ruefully.

"I told you," Rosennis said, not unkindly, taking the heavy saddle in her skinny arms. "Half of you are too rough with him, whilst the other half jump out of their skins the moment he turns his head. It's easy if you stay calm," Jaime smirked as the groom chuckled.

"All due respects, Milady, but none of us can talk magic to it like you can,"

"I don't talk to horses," Her lips twitched in amusement. "It's not magic, just words in the Old Tongue. They don't understand it, it just calms them a little because of the way I say it,"

"They did say you northerners were all half-Wildling," Jaime said. "Didn't know you were a woodswitch as well," The girl rolled her eyes. "Are you going to ride today?"

"Yes," She said. "Here," It was only then that Jaime realised she still held the heavy saddle, as she thrust it in his direction. He blinked at it. "Do you know what to do?" He was about to deliver a biting retort to that, but then realised that a faint smile played at her thin lips.

"Of course," He shot her a dazzling smile, which made most girls (excluding his sisters) swoon, taking the saddle and swinging it onto the stallion's back, though set it down carefully, not willing to be the one to set the beast off again. "I'd be more than happy to instruct you, my lady," Rosennis had ducked around the other side to do up the girth, and he saw her arch an imperious eyebrow, making him laugh again at her completely unimpressed expression, as the groom watched, shaking his head.

"There's a sight I never thought I'd see, Lady Stark and Lord Lannister tacking up one of my horses for me," He said with a grin. Rosennis actually laughed at that, the first proper one Jaime had ever heard from her; it was short and rough, no charming giggle. Despite being unable to lift the saddle that high, she put her foot in the stirrup and pulled herself up easily from the ground to sit astride the horse's back, taking the reins as Black Dread wheeled around and tossed his head, giving a few rears before she collected the horse with a clearly well practised hand. She wasn't a short woman by any means, but looked like a child sat on that giant beast.

"Where do you ride today?" Jaime asked her. He didn't know why. She wasn't exactly exciting conversation.

"Around the keep," She said, frowning slightly. She probably wasn't allowed out, Jaime realised. "The horse needs exercising," He caught the ghost of that smile on her face. "No one else will do it," He was beginning to understand her now. A sister who was more beautiful, more confident, with a stronger personality. But Rosennis had her horses, and she was happy with that. She looked away as he grinned, nodding in farewell to the people in the yard as she prepared to leave, but Jaime spoke again.

"It worked," He said, and she reined the horse in, looking down at him and ignoring the stallion's impatience. He beckoned her to lean down, and she obliged after a moment's consideration, letting him talk quietly to her alone. "What you said last week. That one today. It didn't help much, but it was... better," Her face grew grimmer.

"Ser Jaime," She nodded in farewell, something more in her stare, before releasing her hold on the reins - all it took to spur the horse into leaping into canter - and leaving through the gate in a clatter of hooves the size of dinner plates.


They walked together in the cold winter morning, the air misty and frost on the ground, the golden young Kingsguard in his white cloak and the tall, thin lady in a grey gown so dark it looked black. An odd pair, he'd admit it himself. Since the morning in the yard, Jaime had been seeing more and more of the Stark girl. He still didn't know why he was bothering with her, but he supposed there wasn't any better company in this wretched place.

She suited this weather, and looked more at home out here in the frozen Godswood than she ever had anywhere in the Red Keep. He thought she'd like it out here today; they both needed it after her audience with the king earlier. She'd been dragged out of bed early to witness yet another burning - for Jaime, it had just been a shit end to a shit night standing outside the queen's chambers whilst the king brutally raped her - then insulted and belittled in front of half the court. Her mask had remained the whole time, stony cold. A living statue. He'd seen the dread in her eyes as he escorted her from her room, though, and as he led her out again afterwards he had felt her shaking under his arm ever so slightly. She was only fifteen, after all. It was easy to forget. He himself was only a year her senior. He felt decades older than sixteen.

"No," She said flatly to his question. "Not a chance,"

"I saw you dance with your brother and sister at Harrenhal," Jaime said with a grin, catching her eye.

"They dragged me up there," She said, a note of wariness in her voice, and her eyes as she looked at him. She looked calmer already, he saw; she was a hard one to read, but he was learning. The bitingly cold air felt fresh and cleansing after the stifling heat, choking smoke and putrid stench of burning flesh, which still lingered in the throne room even when there wasn't a pyre burning. Jaime himself was suddenly in a much lighter mood.

"Oh, is that all it takes?" He made a lunge for her, laughing as she dodged out the way.

"I'm not dancing for you," She insisted, though had to smile grudgingly as he prowled towards her, despite backing away.

"With me, Ross, with me," He continued to advance, and she backed away. "Many a beautiful maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would kill for me to ask them to dance," He didn't think she was used to men like him asking her to dance. Or anyone, really; she wasn't exactly the type to inspire any admirers, with her stiff manner and sharp tongue. At her now-familiar unimpressed stare, he had to laugh. "Come on. I'm sure you're not awful. And even if you are, I'm good enough for both of us,"

"Arrogant southron flower," She muttered. He bared his teeth in a sharper smile at that, lunging at her mockingly, laughing as she leapt back. "No, don't you dare," She tried to escape again, but this time he grabbed her easily by both forearms, as she half-heartedly struggled. "Jaime!" His name sounded strangely endearing in her northern accent.

"Let yourself go for once," He said, spinning her round in a circle several times, made clumsy by her unwillingness to move. "Gods, you're stubborn," He got a wicked glint in his eye, and suddenly grabbed her around the waist, hoisting her in the air and spinning her round. He got the pleasure of hearing her give a highly uncharacteristic surprised shriek as her feet left the ground, and after three full turns set her down, grinning as she stumbled against him from dizziness. "Steady there, Lady Stark,"

"Don't do that," He wasn't expecting her to turn right around and shove him so hard he staggered, catching him off guard before another shove pushed him clean over. Before he fell, he instinctively grabbed at her again and pulled her down with him into an ungainly heap. They both lay there for a moment in a stunned silence, before Jaime started laughing. "Do you laugh at everything?" She sounded very disgruntled, sitting up and rubbing her sharp elbow, which had dug into his side. Jaime made no move to get up.

"I used to," Now I only laugh with you. He stopped laughing abruptly. Where had that thought come from? Jaime had never particularly enjoyed the company of women who weren't his relatives - all others tended to pale in comparison to the forces of nature that were Aunt Genna, Giana and especially Cersei - and had only ever found himself attracted to his twin sister. He had laughed less and less the longer he spent in the Red Keep, the more time he spent around Mad Aerys; now he was finding that his most common expression was a cynical sort of smirk, enough to keep some bravado up, and his smile now cut like a knife. But around Ross he felt more like his old self. Both of them knew the horror that lived in this castle, and called himself King. Somehow it made it better, having someone who knew that like he did. Still, though... It's only because I've been away from Cersei so long, he thought. The Stark girl amuses me, that's all. "Your elbows are like spears," He lifted his tunic to peer at the fast-forming bruise on his ribs. "And where did you learn to push so hard? I'm surprised those skinny arms of yours didn't snap,"

"I've got three brothers," Was her explanation as she got to her feet and brushed the snow off her dress with the dignity she had left.


The letter reached him unopened; all Lannister letters were, Grand Maester Pycelle was loyal to Tywin to a fault. Jaime instantly recognised his sister's writing; not Cersei's elegant, flowing hand, but Giana's loopy letters. He opened it, always glad to hear news of home, however was in for a nasty shock.

Dear Jaime, It read.

Brother, I have done a stupid, stupid thing. I have no one to turn to but you. I am with child.

He reread that part several times, thinking he'd mistaken the letters. No, he had read it correctly. It didn't get better with each read; worse, if anything. Gods Giana... His sweet, innocent little sister, pregnant. Heart sinking, furiously imagining killing the man who did it, he read on.

Please don't be angry. I am begging you, before you do anything rash or reckless, just hear me out. I don't want anyone else to find out.

She knew him too well. Right now he wanted the head of whoever dared to lay a hand on her. But he forced himself to read on.

Father would force tansy tea down my throat no matter how far along I was and would watch to make sure every bit of my child bled out onto the floor. Please, Jaime, for my sake and my baby's, your niece or nephew, don't say a word. I know when it happened and who the father is. I'm not a whore, there's only been one man, once, ever. I'm five months pregnant - I waited to tell you, to be completely sure. At the Harrenhal tourney I spent the night with Robert Baratheon.

Fuck. Oh Giana you stupid, foolish... Of all people, all people it could've been, it was Robert Baratheon. Notorious womaniser, betrothed to Lyanna Stark, the list went on.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. Save me your criticisms brother, I hear them in my head every waking moment. I was stupid. Father will be absolutely furious, his blasted Lannister legacy ruined for his whore of a daughter. Baratheon doesn't care for any girl he fucks. I didn't care that he didn't care at first, but now, for obvious reasons, I'm starting to reconsider.
Jaime, I'm scared.

He gritted his teeth at that. His sister never admitted weakness. She was much like Cersei in that regard. A Lannister, no matter how different he was to the rest of them. For her to admit that, she must truly be terrified.

I'm so scared I can't keep my hand from shaking as I write this. I'm four and ten. That's too young to birth a healthy child and live, everyone agrees. What if the birth goes wrong? I can't tell anyone, the Maester would go straight to father, and anyone in Lannisport would recognise me. Mother died birthing Tyrion, and she was a woman grown, with the finest Maesters and midwives in the land to attend her. I'm all on my own. And Tyrion was a dwarf - I don't know if you've noticed but the Baratheons are huge. I'm sorry, I know this is doing nothing but worry you, but I've got to tell someone even if it won't do any use.

Father's going to notice at some point. I'm showing, but it's not obvious yet unless you look closely. I've been pretending to be getting fat, using more padding everywhere else. Cersei will love that. If I can keep it hidden until the babe is actually born then it won't matter. Father can't kill a newborn. Even if he sends it away somewhere, at least it'll live. Maybe it can be a servant here, or go to the Citadel to be a maester. Then I'll deal with whatever consequences, or I'll be dead, and it won't matter.

If his sister died from this, gods help Robert Baratheon. Nothing on this earth would stop Jaime from hunting the man down and putting a sword through his heart.

Your loving sister,
Giana

The letter looked unfinished. It wasn't like her to end one so bluntly. Jaime sank down onto his bed with his head in his hands. Giana, what have you done? This was bad, very bad, and he couldn't tell a soul.

Moon tea? Why didn't she find some moon tea straight after? Cersei had been using it since they were twelve. But Giana wouldn't have thought of that, she was like him, too caught up in the moment to worry. Or perhaps she did remember, but was too kind. Was the thought of killing even the trace of a child something she was unwilling to face doing? He wouldn't put it past her, no matter what she said. Sometimes he himself wondered how many of his and Cersei's children had been killed over the last few years, but shook the thought off. The idea of a child that was half him and half his sister wasn't something he wanted to think about.


Jaime wasn't there the first time it happened. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

It was the day after Brandon Stark had arrived at the Red Keep, yelling up at the castle for Rhaegar to come out and die. Stark had been imprisoned almost immediately, along with his friends he'd brought along to suffer with him, but Ross had come running out just in time to see her brother being dragged to the cells. She had been furious ever since hearing the prince had kidnapped her sister. But in that moment, the look in the two siblings' eyes had been identical, bloodthirsty, vicious and wild. Ross could say she and her second brother were alike all she liked, but Jaime saw more of Brandon in her than Eddard, despite all her quietness.

Jaime was still loathed - an understatement, really - standing outside the queen's door, guarding her husband as he raped and brutalised her, but he did it nonetheless, for all the months he'd been here, no matter how much he wanted to burst through those doors and tear that vile old man off his mother's former friend. We protect the king, Jonothor Darry had told him sternly, looking down with those disapproving eyes even though Jaime was an inch taller. We do not judge him. And that was said by a man who was meant to be one of the truest knights in the realm.

He had been leaving the White Sword Tower when he had seen Barristan Selmy trudge into the tower, face twisted in a rare moment of what looked like self-loathing. Jaime had raised an eyebrow, and though the moment Selmy saw him he schooled his face back to its normal dutiful expression, both of them knew he had noticed. Neither said a word, continuing on their ways, but it raised Jaime's suspicions. He became even more convinced something was wrong when he noticed Darry and Lord Commander Hightower muttering to each other in a hallway, stopping abruptly as he approached. It was only when he came across Oswell Whent and Lewyn Martell talking on the staircase that he discovered the truth.

"... have you seen the look in the boy's eyes when the king visits the queen?" Whent was saying darkly. Neither man had noticed him there. "There's something unsettling there. He's young, reckless and one straw away from snapping, no matter what grins and smirks he plasters on his face, and we trust him with keeping it together through this?"

"You shouldn't call him boy," Martell said absently, sounding as mild-mannered as ever. "Not after what he's seen, or what he's stood through,"

"Hm. Perhaps," Whent gave a grunt of grim amusement. "Hardly the point though, Lew. The girl's his friend, and you know what boys - alright, men his age are like when it comes to women, even ones like the Stark girl," Jaime froze. "Do you really think he'll stand outside that door and say 'yes, Your Grace, a pleasure to serve' if it happens again?" A nasty, cold feeling was growing in the pit Jaime's stomach, though his head was roaring.

"I think you underestimate Jaime Lannister," Martell said thoughtfully. "He's done better than any other his age would, no matter what look you think you see in his eye," He paused. "Although I think we should be sure to put him on duty with you, Ser Arthur or myself if this happens again. For all I'm sure he respects our fellow sworn brothers, he isn't a man who responds well to simple blank-faced duty and expectations without reason,"

"Well that evident from the fact that he's here, and not Casterly Rock," Whent snorted, then held up his hands. "Fine, fine. I trust your judgement, I'll not say anything to our dear Lord Commander," There was a moment's silence. "Though maybe it would be worth it just so the boy doesn't have to hear - "

"He's not a boy," Martell said again, voice equal parts hard and sad. "He will do his duty. He'll have to, at some point, regardless of what we do now. And besides," He sighed. "It's not like Rhaella. The poor girl barely made a sound," Jaime, in an uncharacteristic display of clumsiness, dropped the plate he was carrying. The pewter clashed and clattered down the staircase, ending up at Whent's feet, who had a hand on his sword hilt at the sudden noise. Both knights looked up, as Jaime walked down to join them, expression oddly calm.

"Did I hear that correctly?" His voice seemed rather far-off, distant, as did the smirk he felt his lips twist into. "Aerys has got bored with his queen?" It was a credit to all of them that no one mentioned his clear show of eavesdropping.

"His Grace," Martell said, as a warning not a reproach. "I am... sorry, Ser Jaime, I really am - "

"But you stood outside the door regardless?" There was a slight mocking note to his tone now, and he knew he should shut his mouth before he said something stupid. He didn't, of course.

"It's our duty," Whent said, rather harshly, but Jaime knew it was meant, like Martell's, as a warning not to let any of the other Kingsguard hear him talking like that. Perhaps it was a hint defensive, too, he noted. Interesting, but ultimately useless.

"Of all the ladies in court, he chose the one with a tongue like acid and a face like vinegar," It started out as a jape, to serve what purpose he didn't know, but embarrassingly his voice caught on the last few words, and its true intention - why her? - came through loud and clear. There was a short silence. Fuck it. Fuck it all. "Did she look - Was she - were there any injuries?" He sounded like a fool, and almost winced at his words, but Martell just eyed him rather sadly. Even Whent was devoid of his usual dark humour.

"You've seen the queen," Was all the knight said, blunt as ever, but at least he was honest. Jaime stared at him for a moment, then at Martell. He couldn't think of anything to say.

"Excuse me," He said finally, shouldering through them both, astonished that he hadn't lost his temper yet. Why, I'm practically dead inside.


She was in the godswood, as he had suspected, on her knees before the heart tree. As was her usual custom, she wore a dark coloured gown, but this one was higher-cut than normal, up to her neck. That didn't conceal the set of fingernail scrapes down the side of her face, and her swollen lips. Her hair was loose, however, dark and glossy. She'd cleaned up, he realised. There were no traces of dried blood anywhere, her hair was brushed, and when she got to her feet he saw her nails were - though cracked and torn - tidied up as well as they could be.

"Do you think it would be treason to let your wolfblooded brother out and give him free run of the keep?" Jaime said. "Perhaps not. It's a big place, he'd get himself lost," She shrugged, bleakly.

"I'd give him directions to the king's rooms," There was a silence. "Promise me," He looked at her, and she was staring right at him, eyes grey and intense. Icy and burning at the same time. Steel. He nodded slowly. "Promise me that when it's your turn to stand outside that door, you'll just stand there. That you'll just bite your tongue, keep your sword where it should be and do your duty," She spat the word out, but her resolve didn't waver.

"I - " He broke off. "Ross, surely - "

"No," The steel gaze was still there. "I want a promise, now," She glanced away for the briefest of seconds. "If he burns you too, who else have I got?" That was a good point he hadn't considered.

"Well if my very presence keeps you from throwing yourself off Maegor's," He started, and she rolled her eyes, the faint hint of a smile playing at her lips. "Fine. I promise," She nodded, once. They both stood there, unsure of what to do. If she'd been Cersei or Giana or even Tyrion, he would've embraced her then, but surely that was the last thing she wanted after... He stopped that train of thought before it started.

"Are you alright?" He nearly winced at how pathetic that sounded. Of course she wasn't - if he was a woman, he'd rather die that go through what she had - and he sounded like a fool for asking.

"I will be," She said, not quite smiling, but the look in her eyes and the set of her mouth told him that she would be alright the day Aerys died a long and painful death. One day that wish - Aerys dying, at least - would surely become a reality. It was whether either of them would be around to see it that was in question.