Previously on POTG: Alessandra leads the battle with the wights. Steffon and Jaime return to King's Landing.

DISCLAIMER: I am not George R.R. Martin. What makes you think I wrote the masterpieces?

Chapter 24: Reunited

*Jaime Lannister*

It is good to be back in King's Landing. No matter how many horrors he has faced in the miserable city, Jaime has always considered it his home. He hasn't been back in Casterly Rock in years and would rather end his life rather than stay put in his childhood home pretending to be safe in time of war. He is a soldier, not a politician.

He and Steffon dried themselves in a small inn. A cloak that Nathalia packed for him kept his noticeable Lannister looks hidden from suspecting people. Both of them are thankful that no questions were raised by the innkeeper when they showed up with a pouch of gold looking for a place to stay. It is twilight and Jaime is beginning to have a hard time containing himself from the excitement of going back into the field. It is a bit sadistic for him but the glory of war is always a feeling that he wants to have his whole life. Cersei would be protecting herself inside the queen's chambers with her chosen ladies. No doubt Sansa would be there with her to keep the pretence of accepting her as Joffrey's betrothed. He is surprised to discern that he is more worried for the young wolf's safety rather than his sister's.

The soldiers are taking their places in the keeps. There seems to be quite a few stationed than before when they were preparing for war. It would take an effort for him and Steffon to sneak inside the palace. If they do not move now, the guards might think that they are Stannis' men—regardless of when they recognize him. They plan on letting people know of his return the day after the war to make sure that no suspicions will be raised of his sudden return with a skilled companion. They have been waiting in a compact, dark room all day and would like nothing more than to defeat Stannis and feast on roasted pig and ale.

"You planning on moving, Lannister?" It takes a lot of concentration not to ridicule the guardian. After drying, Steffon's hair seems to become curlier than normal making the impression of a nest beginning to form on his top of his head.

Nodding, the handsome knight finishes the last of his ale and stands up. He takes his cloak from the sturdy rack, along with his sword, and follows the helper out of the room. "I'll bet you thirty gold coins that birds would start nesting in your hair tomorrow."

"Fuck you."

Their hooded cloaks hide their armours, clanking small noises as they walk as quietly as they could in the streets towards the Red Keep. The guards are too occupied with patrolling to prod them with stupid questions. It is a perfect disguise in their part since half of the population are wearing cloaks. The air is colder in the nights—especially in the threats of an upcoming winter.

The dragon gate is fast approaching. Jaime hopes that Steffon has some excuse or else they would have to kill to get in.

"What's your business?" Normally, the kingsguard would not ask questions when nobles enter the Keep. However, these are different circumstances. His palms itch to remove his hood but he knows that Steffon would most likely transport his detached head to Cersei before he could even introduce himself as Jaime Lannister.

The helper removes his hood, "We've been ordered by Cersei Lannister to guard outside the Queen's chambers."

The guard reaches for his sword resulting in Jaime doing the same. Must his first kill be a member of the Kingsguard?

How can Steffon remain calm when they both know what his excuse is pathetic? He watches as the helper appears to stare at the guard's eyes, hypnotizing the large man until his eyes glow into the color of the sun. "Let us in," Steffon's voice has changed into a soft, inviting hymn. Jaime recalls the stories of his Lady Mother about sirens swimming across the seven seas and hypnotizing the sailors until they disappear in their expeditions. He will never say this to anyone but the fact that Steffon reminds him of the sirens shows how powerful and dominating helpers are. It pleases him that he has chosen to aid the Starks—may his father forgive him—rather than fight a losing battle with his power-thirsty family.

The guard nods slowly, as if his mind is weighing in the command. "OPEN THE GATES!" He turns to the other guard stationed at the other end of the gate and nods his head. Soon enough, the large wooden door has been opened for them.

Steffon clasps the back of the guard's shoulders, "Thanks mate."

"How in seven hells did you do that?" Jaime's surprised tone did not go amiss to the helper.

"The gods have more control of your decisions as you think, Lannister."

A scowl presents itself in Jaime's face. Apparently the gods have more control of anything than anyone ever really thought of.

Nobody stops them as they quickly move towards the Great Hall. The last time Jaime was here, he was bidding farewell to his cock of a nephew before heading to his father's camp. It doesn't seem to appear changed. Still the same large marbled hall housing the most uncomfortable throne that Jaime has ever sat on. He could still laugh at the disgruntled reaction of Ned Stark when the honourable Lord found him 'warming' the seat for Robert Baratheon.

"Shh shh," His back hits the nearest corridor after Steffon shoved him. Jaime kneels slightly to peek at the scene unravelling in front of them. Whoever the helper saw, he figured that they both not be seen in case of untimely movement of plans.

The Kingslayer quickly recognizes his brother—who seems to be dressed in his finest armour. Tyrion has never liked wars and would rather read about one rather than join since his height can easily prove to be his utmost weakness. When they were young boys, they have talked about their ambitions. Whilst Jaime's is to become the greatest knight that ever lived, Tyrion joked about being to write about his brother's glory—of course, this was before Cersei found out that they were enjoying each other's presence without her and begged their Lord Father to place Tyrion in the farthest room of the castle. How could he not realize how selfish his twin was even before he fell in love with her? Shaking his head back to the present, he focused on finding out why the Hand and the King were inside the Great Hall and not outside to prepare for the attack. From his concealed position, he could not see who his brother is talking to. From the look on Tyrion's face, he is amused by whatever the person says.

The person appears, making Jaime catch his breath. Sansa Stark is more beautiful that she was the day he left Kings Landing. Her hair is no longer styled the same way Cersei does—he guesses this means that she no longer aims for the queen's approval—so it is flowing like fire down her back. The dress balances the normally pale hue of her skin. Fucking hell. Why is he thinking about her skin? He feels his cock twitching on his trousers when she kisses Cersei's spawn's sword.

"She's an enchanting young lady, isn't she?"

"She certainly is," Jaime mutters darkly before pushing him aside and making his way towards their position. He and Steffon would be hiding in plain sight along with the other soldiers in the Vanguard. The boring helmet that the helper gave him would suffice in hiding his true identity.

It's very confusing how these helpers of the realm work. If they swear to help Robb Stark, why would they send one of them to help the kingsguard to save Joffrey Baratheon's claim to the throne?

*Sansa Stark*

"Why would she want me here?" Sansa leans closer to Shae and Natasha as she whispers to them her doubts. "She hates me!" If possible, the air seems colder inside Maeger's Holdfast once the Queen Regent arrived sipping naughtily on her glass of wine.

Her handmaiden shrugs in answer. "Maybe she hates you less than she hates everyone else."

This makes Sansa laugh slightly, lessening her fear of getting clawed to death by Cersei Lannister. Even though she would be inside with the other noble women, she could not help but contemplate that she would be safer inside her own chambers with Natasha guarding her.

The older woman has become more of an older sister than what she really is. Natasha became the confidant that Sansa has always longed for. With Lady Catelyn Stark, she could never reveal her true feelings in the fear of losing her favour. With Arya...may the gods prevent whatever will happen next when her little sister discovers Sansa's hidden thoughts. She finds herself confessing almost everything to Natasha...from her hidden affections for her half-brother, Jon, to her slight euphoria with Jaime Lannister in the gardens. It almost made her wish that the war wouldn't end because, for sure, her companionship with Natasha will also end.

"Lady Sansa," Cersei ruins her short distraction with her fake loving voice. "I was wondering where our little dove has flown to."

The queen's pointed look tells her that the sentence was not a jest. Sansa stands up, walking as quiet as she could towards the queen. "I was wishing my love good luck," was her reply, widening her eyes the way an innocent young girl would probably would.

A smirk overtakes the bitch's face and Sansa readies herself for the insult. "I didn't know my twin was there in the battlefield,"

"I was talking about King Joffrey, your Grace. He is my betrothed and I—"

"Oh shut up, you little fool!"

The young lady grits her teeth, silently hoping that Natasha knows that she is about to pounce on the queen.

Cersei purses her lips, saying nothing of the girl's unfazed figure. "Is your red flower still blooming?"

"Yes, your grace." From the corner of her eyes, she sees Ser Illyn Payne grunting at a few ladies beside him whispering nervously. She leans closer to Cersei, afraid that she might die before the men outside could bleed for their country. "Why is he here?"

The queen regent points her cup of wine towards the assassin, "He's here to make sure that we won't die in the hands of Stannis Baratheon's men." Which practically means that he'll kill us when the raid succeeds before we become sex slaves. "When Stannis raids the city, the men will be beheaded and the women in front of you—" her cold eyes roam the room, commanding every attention to be on her "—will be experiencing forceful rape." They all gasp in shock at the crass words but says nothing in the fear of offending the queen. "You'll be glad of your red flower then." With a wink, she finishes the glass of wine. "More wine for me and pour one glass for Lady Sansa," She orders her handmaidens.

Sansa is quick to refuse. "Oh, I'm not thirsty your Grace."

"So?" A small raise of a brow. "I didn't offer you water."

She accepts the small glass, taking a curious sip. Her mouth immediately heats in the warm flavour, sending a rush of fire-like air inside of her. A small smirk enters her lips and she drowns the glass in one go.

"Very good, little dove!" Even Cersei seems impressed with her. "Looks like Nathalia's sister has been teaching you very well."

A quick panic evolves in her head. They have to get out of here.

"Oh I am not a fool like you are," The queen rolls her eyes when she catches the panic in the younger girl's emotions. "Nathalia favoured me when I was a child. I will never forget her face. They almost look like twins, except for the eyes."

It is then that a guard comes rushing in, disrupting Sansa's poor excuse. "Your grace, a servant has been caught stealing the silverware and some bread."

She can swear that she heard the queen groan in annoyance. "Have Ser Illyn see to them and have their heads up in spikes as a warning to all." Then her Lannister green eyes settles on Sansa. "The first traitor of the battle."

Sansa might as well give up. She will never be anything but a traitor to the retched queen.

Cersei makes her sit at her side. The battle should have started and, for once, she is thankful that the walls of Maegor's Holdfast are thick. "It's pretty ironic, isn't it, little dove? Those men would be bleeding out there...whilst you're bleeding here."

It sends shiver down Sansa's spine. The queen can say the most terrifying lines. She doesn't know how long she's been sitting there, listening to the soft chants of some girls who are praying while trying to ignore the queen's mission to drink herself to her death. Then Cersei shushes the girls, muttering how much of an idiot they all are. The young boy Tommen is currently playing with his cats, ignoring everything around him as he sits comfortably on his mother's feet. Sansa excuses herself, not waiting for Cersei's consent, and plops herself on the floor beside the sweet boy. They've grown closer in the course of days. She is usually the only one to play with him willingly. Sensing her presence, the boy raises his green eyes and gives her a large grin. Ser Pounce-a-lot is on her lap in an instant, purring once she caresses his soft fur. Tommen told her that the cat is hers to take if she leaves King's Landing. Instead of telling him that she might probably be trapped in the central city, she thanked him and pinched his round cheeks.

"Do you think Joffrey's doing well, Sansa?" The child's green eyes remind her so much of Jaime's that she could not find the will to look away.

"Your brother is the king, little one. He's brave and I don't doubt that she is an expert swordsman." As much as she hates Joffrey, she could not just tell the boy that his brother is a coward. "You'll be as great as him one day—perhaps even better."

The doors fly open, startling every lady inside the room. The queen's cousin, Lancel Lannister, rushes in looking haggard—spots of blood on his face and neck. Gasps escape the frightened ladies. His appearance, alone, reports to them that the battle is currently happening only a few feet of concrete from them. Tommen begins to whimper beside her and Sansa could not help but envelop him in her arms. After all, he is the closest that she could get to a brother.

"Your Grace," Lancel exclaimed, his green eyes widened in…fear, perhaps?

Cersei sighs, seeing no threat to his sudden barging and purses her lips distastefully. "What is it?"

"Stannis' men managed to sack the city. Every soldier is in the vanguard as we speak." Why was he telling Cersei this? Why doesn't he fight alongside the other men?

"Where is Joffrey?"

Sansa is pulled away from her current position by a sneaky Natasha. No doubt she managed to walk towards the other side of the room when the commotion began. "Get out of here, young wolf. Lock yourself in your chambers and do not let anyone in."

"What about Tommen?" She expresses her concerns for the young prince. If they manage to be successful in their raid, everyone in line for the throne would most likely be killed. She cannot even imagine the child getting hurt let alone dying.

The small woman looks at the boy with a pained expression but manages to shake her head. "His disappearance would raise suspicions. Go, little wolf, go!"

With a soft push, Sansa manoeuvres as quietly as she could out of the room. The hallways are quiet, surprising her. The eeriness of the deserted castle only adds panic to her paces. A soft curse erupted from her mouth and she quickly looks around to see if anybody heard her. Natasha's crass mouth has been rubbing off on her lately and has been the entertainment of Lord Tyrion, Shae, and the lady herself. She only hopes that she can get rid of the nasty cycle of releasing foul words whenever something goes wrong in her life. Her moss-colored dress is making whishing sounds as she runs quickly. The colours of spring are in fashion at court nowadays since they all anticipate the incoming winter and wanted to make the most out of the hot seasons. Her hair is falling like soft waves, pinned from her beautiful face. Cersei has been giving her more of glares everytime she watches the young lady become the center of attention at court. This is Sansa's quiet acclimation that she does not anymore want to imitate Cersei's own style. Joffrey has been cruel to her lately after the stunt she pulled when her brother won another battle. However, she makes sure that he catches her surrounded by many nobles whenever he wants to 'speak' to her. That way he cannot abuse her for the sake of his reputation. She never told anybody about Lord Baelish either. He still watches her creepily during her morning prayers but makes no other move.

A heavy feeling is released from her chest as soon as she sees the entrance to her chambers. Finally! She can lock herself in and wait for Natasha to arrive and protect her.

Her footsteps fade as she stops, noticing how the entrance to her chambers is opened. She is a smart enough girl to realize somebody might have tried to intrude in her absence. Sansa tiptoes quietly, holding her arm out to softly open the door. It squeaks softly when she pushes it. The person on the other side startles her. She does not know if he's a friend or foe at this moment.

She is about to turn away and flee to another room when he finally notices her. "Hello little bird," He greets her like there's not a battle he should be fighting.

Having no other option, Sansa shakily enters the room. "Ser Sandor, what are you going here?"

The frightful man takes a seat on one of her plush chairs, taking a large swig from a large bottle of, from what she could tell, ale. "I'm leaving King's Landing."

She gasps at the man's selfishness. Never mind what side he fights for! It is simply dishonourable to abandon one's post of allegiance. "What about the battle?"

The small light that he managed to fire illuminates his face. Despite his monstrous appearance, he is still one of the very few people Sansa would honestly say treated her well. She still has his handkerchief from when he gave it to her to wipe out Joffrey's order of abuse. However, she could not help but feel slightly disgusted by the burnt skin. How that must have hurt! "Fuck the king!"

She jumps a little in his exclamation. "That still does not explain why you're here," Her voice is firm but inside she is trembling in fear. He can kill her with his bare hands.

The small twitch of what begins to be a smile surprises her. "I could take you with me. I'll drop you off to yer brother's camp—might as well make some gold on the way to nowhere."

Her mouth drops open in shock. Did he just offer her refuge? She resists the urge to run to Natasha and Shae and tell them that he can bring them to her brother. "Ser...I—"

"Don't fucking call me 'ser'" He growls.

She takes a step back when he stands up. He's dangerous, Sansa, you cannot trust him. "I cannot," She lowers her head in shame. Here he is offering her salvation and she does not jump at the opportunity. "Joffrey is my king and I am his bride. I cannot leave him."

A yelp escapes her when his large hands roughly grab her arm. "Listen here little bird—!"

"Unhand her, dog."

That voice! Sansa turns around, blinks, and blinks again. That cannot be Jaime. Last she heard of him was news of his capture by her brother. She closes her eyes again, and opens them. He's still there.

"Jaime!" She cries, ignoring the pain that goes through her arm when she disentangles herself from Ser Sandor.

She throws herself at his opened arms, wrapping her arms around his body. His sword hangs loosely behind her, making some small droplets of blood drip on her dress. The overwhelming surge of emotions surprises her. She was aware of the tension between them before he left but she has never really deeply pondered upon her true feelings for him—especially when Natasha warned her of the repercussions if she and the golden Lannister knight would ever enter a relationship. She pulls back, looking into his green eyes. His face is covered in dirt and blood but she can easily tell from his stature that the blood does not belong to him.

"You're back," The huskiness in her voice betrays her. Tears of relief fall down her cheeks. Gods, she has definitely missed him.

He pushes the foreheads together, both of the unaware of the watching gaze of the hound. "I am, my lady."

"I could vomit,"

Jaime immediately pushes her behind him, shielding her away from the large man. "I can't say I'm relieved to see you again, dog. You must have seen the amount of fire in the battlefield. No doubt you came crying in here like the scared female you truly are." He raises her sword with both hands, ready to strike if Ser Sandor lost his temper. Sansa's eyes are wide with fear, not wanting anything to happen to Jaime just moments after their reunion. Sandor Clegane is seething, releasing heavy breaths as he stared menacingly at the couple.

"Fuck you, Lannister!" He advanced forward but Jaime keeps his stance. "I was going to drop the lady off to her brother's camp."

"After raping her?"

Sansa grabs Jaime's arm, warning him of the depth of his words. How could not have considered the emotional scars that Ser Sandor could inflict on her if she ever accepted his invitation? "I said no, Ser."

"You did," He stares at her as if he wants to say something more but decides against it.

He circles around them, spitting on her bedroom floor before walking off. It surprised her how easy it was for him to back off. A small sting of hurt crosses her face. Guess he really wasn't serious about escorting her to her brother after all. What could he have done to her once he realizes that she would just be an intrusion? Images of her almost rape flashes in her mind. No no no no no. She closes her eyes from the horrifying images.

"Are you all right?"

She opens her eyes when she feels Jaime's touch on her cheeks. "I—"

"Lannister," They both turn to the door.

Sansa blushes, taking a step back from the knight. Natasha and another man stand in the doorway, staring at them curiously. Her cheeks turn hotter once she examines the stranger. Despite her more open mind, she has never gotten over her slight giddiness with seeing handsome men. The man beside Natasha is definitely very handsome and she bites her lower lip to stop her hand from unconsciously gripping his curly, golden hair.

"Lady Sansa, my name is Steffon." He takes a step forward and takes her hand, bestowing a small kiss upon it. "I'm a friend of Natasha."

This new information turns her gaze to the stone-faced lady standing at her door. "Is he—?"

Her nod is all it takes to confirm her suspicion.

"We need to go, Lannister." She notices how Steffon's voice is youthful compared to Jaime's and immediately wonders of his age. Natasha told her once that helpers do not age in Westeros. This only strengthens her curiosity.

"If you let go of her hand, we will." The helper did not have time to retract her hand from his before Jaime's body does the action for them.

She and Natasha watch as the men run towards battle.

"Care to elaborate, sweetling?"

The young lady can only look at the ground as she blushes furiously.

*Nathalia*

"What shall we name it?" Her husband asks her, letting go of her hand and placing his on her growing belly. The air is warm in King's Landing and Nathalia is thankful for it. It gives her time to appreciate the view Jon's strong arms which became impossibly bigger since he's been training in their gardens every day.

She encircles her arm around his neck, playing with the tied ends of his long locks. He has become more carefree and cheerful once the arrangements for the new king and queen have been made. The people seemed to accept the new rulers so it was quite easy for them to establish a new realm. "If it's a girl, I want to name her Alessandra," She studies his reaction—which remained stoic. "If that's alright with you?"

Jon places a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Anything you want, my love. And if it's a boy?" He has never learned how to disagree with her.

"You get to name it if it's a boy. It's only fair since I named the girl," Besides, it will only make her guilty that she has all the privileges when it comes to their child. They have gotten married as soon as the war was over and have been living in King's Landing, Alessandra went back to their kingdom to finally retire and live in peace. To say that Nathalia misses her best friend every second would be an understatement. This is the reason why she is hoping that the babe she is carrying would be a girl in order to honour her friend.

"I think I married you because of your practicality," Jon always teased her about the way she always has an alternative for every decision. It is a trait that she never let go off even though she has been living normally. Never before has she thought that she would be the one who stays in Westeros. Every retired guardian watching would think her insane since they know of the horrors each guardian faced in the mortal lands. Why she chose to stay and live the results of wars that she has fought with is beyond their understanding.

Her beloved husband traces her face using his calloused hands, drawing her to him while being careful of their unborn babe. He kisses her like he has done since they first made love—his lips barely moving but enough to result in a deep want she feels on her thighs. There is only one way they could be together now that her belly is quite large. They prospect itself arouses her.

She pulls away, breathing heavily. Her brows furrow in realization. "This is a dream."

A dark look crosses Jon's handsome features. "But it can be the reality."

She moved away from him, eyes widening at the change of his voice. Her belly starts to irritate her, twisting and turning. Her husband looks down on the dirty ground and she follows his gaze. A strangled cry escapes her. The blood from her insides is spilling on the ground, taking her unborn child with it. The pain in her belly increases no matter how hard she clasps the swelling skin. No no no no no.

She is shaking and sweating when she sits upright to assure herself that the events were nothing but a dream. She runs a hand through her wet locks before she clutches her firm stomach, thankful that it's her moon blood and she does not have to worry about carrying Jon's sprouted seed inside of her. She will not bring a child into Westeros until she knows that the games are over.

"What is it?" A sleepy Jon wakes up, running a hand through his thick mane while looking at her concernedly. He hasn't been sleeping very peacefully and she hates for him to worry about her future decision that would definitely affect them both.

"I felt it," The words are spilling from her mouth while she's clutching her stomach. "I felt the babe."

Awake and suddenly alert, Jon covers her hand with his. "Are you—?" The night has fallen and she could not see his reaction. Is he frightened? His hands say otherwise since they are not shaking. May the gods bless this wonderful man. He seems more than willing to take care of this nonexistent child.

"No no," She shakes her head vigorously and a sigh escapes him. "It was just a dream."

He kisses the exposed flesh of her shoulder before wrapping his strong arms around her waist and laying them both back on the bed. She hates to keep him in the dark. He has always been loyal and lovely and she would hate for him to be angry with her for hiding the truth behind, not only her dreams, but also for his true identity. She has been there when Rhaegar Targaryen chose Lyanna Stark instead of his wife and knows the truth behind the 'kidnapping'. In fact, she was with Eddard Stark when they found Lyanna Stark lying in a pool of her own blood. How could she just simply blurt out the truth without changing his beliefs of what kind of man Ned Stark was.

The confession would just wait a little longer. Tonight, she would just let him hold her.

She wakes up alone. The sun is peeking from her curtains, which gives the impression that Jon had let her sleep longer than she should have. Her dreams have become more frequent and more vivid that he had to wake her up a lot of times. He must have figured that she needed more sleep.

She notices the tub full of water at the side of their tent. Jon must have ordered it for her. A smile escapes her drowsy face at his sweetness. She sheds herself of the white dressing gown before submerging herself in the water—not before throwing her bloodcloth on a nearby basin. Her red flower just finished judging from the lack of stain on it. She can order some women to clean those for her later. Goosebumps rise on her skin at the coldness of the freshwater. She closes her eyes, willing herself to relax for a few moments in the bath before she walks out and continue her duties.

Steffon has sent her whispers of their safe arrival at King's Landing. A couple of unknown guardians have reported no signs of Robb Stark's sister, Arya. This bothers her since the girl has managed to slip from the radar—even to the more experienced guardians. What worries her more is Alessandra's lack of report. She wonders how things are doing in the wall and how many more moons before she could order the sent guardians to help with getting the rightful heir on the throne.

"Are you well, my love?" Soft lips descend on her soft spot as Jon managed to sneak up behind her once more.

"Hmmm," She hums in contentment as she felt him tug on her earlobe. "Good morning,"

His fingers trace the outline of her arm, disappearing in the cold water as he caresses her submerged waist, sending hot trails of lust in her belly. She tilts her head, allowing him more access to a particular soft spot between her shoulders and neck. His lips make a lustful pattern from her collarbone, to her jaw line, to her eyelids, to her nose. Her eyes close when he finally brings her mouth to hers. Their tongues dance together in a familiar rhythm that their relationship has made them comfortable with. Jon has never had problems with pleasuring her—and what fine job he has been doing lately. Adding that to his caring gestures, Nathalia has a hard time denying her growing affections for him. His facial hair scratches her lips, making her laugh quietly at their blissful morning greetings.

He teasingly bites her bottom lip as he pulls away. He crosses both his arms at the edges of the tub and leans his cheek on them. With his swollen lips and mischievous eyes, Nathalia could not help but break a grin. He looks endearingly youthful and euphoric.

"I love you," The words slip from her mouth before she could stop them. They sound foreign, even sounding trembling as they get out mumbled from her tongue. From her dreams to Jon's constant doting, she could not keep the realization inside of her anymore. Seven hells. The gods even noticed it before she did or else they would not be pushing her to choose.

They both still at the unexpected confession. Nathalia avoids his eyes, ready to fully submerge herself in the water—and drowning herself—before he brings her eyes back by grabbing her chin softly.

"Truly?" The happiness in her eyes startles her. His grey eyes have always been piercing and she finds the almost pale orbs comforting. He is so handsome. The gods have certainly given him so much physical gifts.

She nods, not really trusting her traitor mouth to belt out any more words.

The soft kiss that she received lessens her panic. "I love you, Nathalia."

Small drops of tears fall on the water as she throws her arms around him. Never has she felt more confused in her life. Could she really be ready to give up her whole life just for one man?

I know i know i know...i suck at updating. Everything was inside my mind but I just can't find the key to unlock the words to use on my locked metaphorical box of imaginations.

So things are looking pretty climactic, don't you guys think so?

Any comments? Suggestions?

Up next: Catelyn and Nathalia have a conversation. Jaime adjusts to sudden realizations in King's Landing. The battle at the wall continues.