Previously on POTG: Nathalia and Jon finally confess their feelings. Sansa and Jaime reunite.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. The brilliant George R. R. Martin does.
Chapter 25 You and I, Always on the Same Side
*Nathalia*
She steps out of the tub, her wanton gaze not leaving Jon's. The cold air bites at her wet skin but she cannot feel the pain because Jon's warm hand covers her shivering body. A gasp of delight escapes her lips, making her eyes flutter in response when his mouth follows—devouring every inch of her neck in passionate nips. His tunic falls on the floor at the same time Jon turns them around until she falls laughing on their small bed. Her amusement ceases once she sees the raw hunger present in her beloved's eyes. Jon has always stared at her this way before making love. Lately, she has found herself more eager to become the receiving end of his stare. No man has ever made her felt like she is the only beautiful woman in Westeros until Jon.
"Beautiful," His low murmur is enough to send her into frenzy. Gods, he is perfect. They have certainly carved him well. His muscles are more prominent from his daily training…and his stamina…she could never control the heat in her cheeks when she thinks about his stamina. You would think he's trying to set a record to the longest orgasm a woman has in one night. His skin is a shade darker than before, making him more attractive in her sights. She has never been one for pale men.
"It's your turn to say it," She teases, fumbling to remove his trousers. They are acting like young lovers, eager for one another to declare their love for each other as many times as possible.
"I love you,"
She ripped his trousers apart, shrugging slightly at her messy work. "I'll get you new ones." She tells him before pulling him down for a hard kiss. She opens her mouth for him, letting their tongues dance like fire. He lets out a short cry when she pulls on his hair too hard. It's his fault for biting her bottom lip. He knows how much it drives her crazy. Soon, air is needed. Nathalia takes a deep breath before flipping them and kissing her way down his manhood. He's big—that she can confirm. She gives him a wink before taking him in her mouth.
"Fuck," Jon groans in pleasure.
She continues sucking him, licking the tip before bobbing her head back down. His comes fast—and plenty—and she smugly pulls away before many gets in her mouth. She can never understand women who swallow semen. It's disgusting. She straddles him, positioning her entrance and sliding down to take him all in one go. They both moan at the contact. After recovering himself quite quickly, Jon takes her waist roughly and spins her so her back is on the mattress.
"You have no idea how much I desire you right now," He whispers seductively in her ear, tracing a path down her collarbone using his nose. The beard beginning to grow on his face makes her skin tingle—Nathalia has always secretly liked beards. He is still buried inside her. Their kisses are chaste this time, enjoying the feeling of them becoming one. A sudden mischievous look crosses Jon's face. Nathalia narrows her eyes, knowing too well what that look means. She opens her mouth to admonish him when he pulls out and thrusts back in—taking a nipple inside his mouth to strengthen the pleasure.
"Jon!" In their euphoria, Nathalia forgets to place a silencing chant in their tent. Sure enough, everyone can probably hear her whimpered cry.
It was by the height of the afternoon that Nathalia decided that she has neglected her duties long enough. She shooed Jon from their tent to take a quick dip in the cold water of the tub. The men congratulated him on his way to his brother. Men. Bedding a woman like her seems like such a prize to be given to the best soldier. For humility's sake, she puts on her most modest dress which consisted of the dull color grey with a very high neckline. Everyone seems to stop and pause as she walks with her chin high. Her every move is watched by the people present in the camp. Nearby, Catelyn Stark is watching with interest as Robb Stark and Jon Snow practice their fencing skills as each other's opponent.
"Lady Stark," She greets, bowing slightly before taking a seat in the log beside the woman. "They're very good swordsman,"
"Enjoy your morning, Nathalia?" Lady Stark barely spares her a glance as she dives straight into the scandal.
"It has been very…satisfying," She settles for the obvious answer. Damn Jon and his ability to control her senses. She could have taken a second off to dull the sounds emitted by them but, in a haze, she forgot. Anyone who could hear her cries could know what was going on inside the confines of their makeshift chambers. "Your son seems to be very fine with the sword,"
Either Catelyn hasn't heard her remark or wanted to talk about another subject with her. "Do you know?"
"Know what?" She's not a fool. She can only hope that her current confusion can add some justice to her lie.
"Who the bastard's mother is?"
Of course. I also know who the father is. "No," but she won't tell that to Catelyn. The whispers about her abduction of Tyrion Lannister can only prove that she is reckless when blinded by rage. Besides, there is no proof that the imp is really the one who pushed her son off the wall.
Lady Stark grabs her arm suddenly, nails painfully digging on the olive-toned skin. "You lie."
She pulls her hand away, silently chanting a small healing spell in her head to stop the painful beats on her arm. There is a dark glare on her face that is only reserved for people who annoy her the most. "You forget your place, Catelyn. If I have any knowledge of Jon's real parentage, wouldn't you have heard the truth from him by now? You are a lady—a powerful one, I will give you that—but you have subjected yourself as a breeding horse when you could have done better with your younger years apart from worrying who your husband was bedding. Your son needs my help—not the other way around. I suggest you stop annoying me and act civilized instead of obsessing with the past faults of your deceased husband." And here she thought she was having a good morning.
"My apologies," She admits that she triumphs over the hidden fright of Catelyn. The first time she ever saw the woman was the Tournament at Harrenhal. She been betrothed to the eldest Stark, Brandon, and was the picture of a dutiful bride to be. They were never introduced to each other. Besides, Nathalia had other pressing matters to attend to other than worry about Catelyn's impending nuptials. Even then she wasn't very fond of the stoic and too serious expression on the young woman's face.
Nathalia gives her a sweet smile before standing up and walking towards Jon and Robb. They've finished their first set and both are sweaty from the exercise. During her short observance she discovered that—in her unbiased opinion—Jon was the better swordsman. He moved more swiftly and his endurance is far stronger than his brother's. He has inherited his father's talents.
"Your grace," She curtsies, smiling at the young king before addressing them both. "You fought very well."
He beams at her compliment. "Thank you, Lady Nathalia!"
She raises her hands to disagree with the name given to her, "Just Nathalia—please. Steffon sends me word that they have driven out Stannis from King's Landing. Tywin's army aided them just in time. He will be returning in the next few days seeing as his sudden disappearance would confuse the council—especially since he arrived with Jaime Lannister."
"And the Lannister? Would he be returning here as well?"
Better now than never. "Gossip spreads fast, your grace. If there is even a small word of Jaime returning in your camp, they will never trust information—that might be useful for us—to him again."
"So you're saying that he will be staying in King's Landing?"
She nods as a way of answer. Robb Stark remains calm, exhaling more loudly than necessary but does not appear to be surprised. Nathalia smiles at his presumption. He is learning as a king. If he was as unwise as his mother, he would have thrown a fit by now.
"I assumed he would be," He says, rolling his eyes slightly. His attention on her disappears completely once the woman healer approaches behind him. Nathalia does not miss the brightening on Robb Stark's eyes and the casual gesture of his hand running down her arms. The woman beams at him, looking down to hide her blush. He might be a king but he is still a boy. If her guesses are true, she would have to remind the young king of his agreement with Walder Frey. The old fart would never take it kindly if he is betrayed—especially if it is in line with his lineage with a king.
A sudden hand on her back tenses her. She looks up to see Jon staring at her worriedly. When she threw an annoyed glance at the king and healer, he immediately clears his throat loud enough to get their attention. For a moment, the four of them stared at each other. The brothers exchange a small glance of amusement while the women studied each other curiously. Nathalia admits that the girl is quite pretty. She can see why Robb Stark would be captivated by her. Her dark skin is a giveaway that she is not from Westeros.
Jon breaks the silence, bowing politely to the lady. "Jon Snow, my lady—the king's half brother."
"I am Talisa," The woman offers them a small smile—one that is not often practiced by crude women on the streets. She must be highborn. Her clothes are an indication otherwise but all the travelling must be too much of a hassle for her to worry about petty things other than stitching up wounded soldiers.
Seeing no harm from the girl, Nathalia rewards her with an honest grin. "Pleased to meet you, I'm Nathalia."
"I know. I've heard so many tales and hymns about you," The woman's hazel eyes are childlike with enthusiasm of meeting one of the characters from the stories read to her when she was a mere babe. It dawns on Nathalia that she is older than most of the people in the camp. She wonders why Jon does not comment on her age. Perhaps he feels to awkward to discuss it with her?
Feeling a bit mischievous, a smirk makes its way in her cool face. Old people can have their fun too, right? "All good I hope?" A mysterious smile is a giveaway for her less-than-acceptable behavior in some years.
"Of course!" She looks shocked that it would even be suggested that Nathalia be anything but honorable and heroic. Singers. Always exaggerating when it comes to her accomplishments. She has them to thank for people fearing her.
She and Talisa retreat in the sidelines when Robb and Jon continued their practice. Nathalia could not help but admire the fluidity of the movements of the young king. He has learned from his previous battles that she heard of a hymn when Robb Stark would position himself where the fighting is the thickest—beating every single one of his opponents. A risky but bold move.
"Where are you from, Talisa?" She makes conversation as they watch.
The woman seems surprised that Nathalia would even volunteer to talk to her. A wide smile overcomes her face. "The free city of Volantis,"
The icy air is a harmless animal biting at her skin as she draws her breath. "I've been there before," She continues when she realizes that she has the woman's full attention. "A beautiful country, yes, but also very hot. I've never been one for sweaty climates." She keeps it short and simple. She and her coven arrived in Volantis right after they left Daenerys and her Viserys. Their time spent relaxing has been to cheer Alessandra. "Why did you choose to live in Westeros? It is far more peaceful there than here—despite Volantis' knack for slaves."
Talisa's face becomes melancholy, her dark eyes settling on the young king a moment too long before turning her face towards Nathalia. Was that love in her eyes? How could she fall in love with him with only a few months together? Nathalia feels hypocritical thinking these thoughts since she, herself, has fallen for Jon only in a few short weeks. Still, she always pondered about it seriously before concluding that she has in fact fallen in love. "I just couldn't bear living in a free city that has slaves as a fourth of the population,"
"Argh!" Nathalia, trying to stay still as a vision of the wall attacked by white walkers filled her mind, catches Talisa's arm. She exhales her relief of finding Alessandra as one of the survivors of the battle. In fact, she is the one who sent the whisper. The number of walkers was stronger than imagined, but they were able to withstand the attack with the help of the wildlings. She has seen them up close and could only shudder in fear at the thought of being in the middle of a war against them. She feels pride for her best friend—who was able to achieve the impossible scenario of making an army out of the Brothers of the Watch and the Wildlings. There were several casualties, including Jeor Mormont who had killed himself when subjected to an ambush outside the wall. Alistair Thorne is now the Commander of the Night's Watch after the Maester led the election. The coven of twelve sent is reduced to ten when two of them sacrificed themselves to save more men. The wounded men are being treated by—no…she's seen that face. She knows that face. She will never forget it.
All she can remember is clutching her chest as she hyperventilates before everything went black.
*Alessandra*
"You need to rest,"
She ignores Sam's suggestion and proceeds to the nearest man who needs her help in healing. The wildling is badly injured on the leg but assures them that it was just a missed arrow from one of the free folk. He hisses in pain as she removes the makeshift bandage to be able to clean it. The wights have retreated after their leader has been impaled by her. It cost them two guardians before they could surround the monster mercilessly. Her last stab through his body is what finally turned it into dust. Not long after that they ran like hell beyond the wall. Also, since then, Alessandra has been devoting her time helping those men who are badly hurt and needed medical attention.
She pours wine on the old wildling's wound and ignores him when he banged his head on the near wall to dull the ache. She has been thrown around by some more violent men and would love nothing more than to retire to her chambers and sleep. There is a re-election to be done later after the tragic death of their Lord Commander. She never saw him die and only got information from Ygritte. The wildling woman has proven to be a very useful healer and agreed to keep the men in check in case any of them turns into wights. Alessandra grabs the wire and needle pinched in the middle of her mouth and sews the wound close. She mutters a small chant to numb the skin.
"I've rested enough. I can help, you know." Apparently Sam has other plans to make sure that she gets some rest.
She waved him off annoyingly as she helps the wildling back to a laying position. "I'm well, Sam. If you want to help then great!-but that doesn't mean that I will rest if you add another pair of hands to speed the process."
"We can heal them with the help of the gods,"
She doesn't look up to guess whom the voice belonged to. Besides helping save lives, all she wants to do is ignore the man until he gets the fact that she doesn't want to speak to him about their little moment on the battlefield. "The guardians need rest before performing a chant at a great length of time."
His hand lands on her shoulder making her tense. "You are a guardian, Alessandra. You need to rest."
"I'll rest when everyone has been treated," She dismisses him curtly and walks to the nearest makeshift table bed. She never got to ask the wildling woman what the matter was before she was thrown over a man's shoulder. "What are you doing? Put me down!" The cold air nips at her skin when Dyllon exited the dining hall to walk her—or carry her—to her chambers. The remaining men who have taken refuge in the hotness of the bonfires laugh amusedly at them. It is nice to know that humor can still be brought in the wall after such a traumatic experience—even if it is in her expense. How could Dyllon still have such energy to carry her all the way to the other side of the wall? She may be a bit on the thin side but she is not that little. Nathalia is the small one in their friendship and she has never been handled in such way. Another first for her.
"Thorne's the new Lord Commander," The bastard still tries to make conversation even though she is obviously infuriated by him.
That does not mean that she is not interested by the sudden turn of events. "So soon?"
He gives out a short grunt to adjust her position. Alessandra is thankful that he is currently out of her face's view since she could not explain the blush on her frozen cheeks when his hand grazes her bottom. "They didn't want to waste any time. They're still deciding on what to do with the wildlings."
She groans. Of course the alliance would be temporary! What was she thinking? The long hatred between the men of the night's watch and the wildlings could not be broken even after they've fought a battle together. Besides, Mance Rayder's declaration of becoming 'King Beyond the Wall' does not help the situation. Maybe it is time to take a short nap after all.
Ygritte is sleeping when they arrive inside her chambers. Dyllon carefully puts her down. When she finally gets enough wits to balance herself, she slaps him hard across the face. The stinging sound echoes inside the room—thankfully, it did not wake the sleeping wilding.
"Seven hells—!"
"That was for kissing me out of the blue in the middle of a battle!" She whispers-shouts.
He rubs the aching part of his jaw while looking at her curiously. "It was at the heat of the moment, forgive me."
Her arms are crossed across her chest when she gives a sigh of reluctance. "I forgive you," Not like she regretted it anyway. "You know it is highly hypocritical to order me to rest when you also haven't in the first place,"
"I can't," There is silence after his confession. Alessandra often wonders how people easily fall asleep after a war. It is true that their bodies are exhausted but would not seeing their comrades bleeding their final breaths enough for them to become restless.
"What makes you think I can?"
He wastes no time in taking her outstretched hand. They are a pile of shivering warriors huddling closely for comfort near a pathetic excuse for a fireplace. He is a silent solider grasping her hand for physical confirmation of her fluttering breath and she is an experienced knight too womanly for anyone to figure out the amounts of death that she has seen in her lifetime. They are very different people, and yet they make it work because no one else closer to them is near to replace the other.
"I don't know how you do it," The small boy inside him is appearing. "You've been here longer than I have. How could you stand seeing your friends wither to old age without being disgusted with the place?" He curls in a small ball in her lap. Must be some sort of comfort his mother gave to him when he was young.
Used to being the one comforted, Alessandra awkwardly runs her long fingers through his dark hair. "It helps to have someone with you," Nathalia is the huge reason on why she is still here. She never told her friend of her longing for children of her own and waking up to see the markings of old age on her face. The guardians age slower than the mortals but that doesn't mean that they're immune to imperfections in appearances. "Did you come here alone?"
"Yes,"
The answer surprises her. There are stories of guardians who do not wait to be placed in a coven before going to Westeros. It is not in the guardians' nature to judge one of their own for their rash decisions. It worries most of the elders that the said guardian would have no allies and no knowledge of the modern land they would be visiting. Only the stories of the guardians of before are their only knowledge. How much has changed since then is for them to experience on their own.
"My parents' marriage was of convenience," She lets him keep talking. Maybe his own musings could lull him to sleep. "Their hearts were elsewhere but they wanted to keep their family line secure." Elsewhere. Nathalia was bittersweet in the few moons after Gabriel fled back to the Kingdom. "They tolerated each other's presence but they fooled no one—especially the elders. They spoiled me and my three younger siblings with anything we wanted to cover the fact that they only lived together for our sake. At nights I often wondered whom father and mother was thinking about at night—after they sleep in their separate chambers. Imagine my surprise when the great guardian Nathalia was mentioned. I pictured her as a wanton trollop, eager to ruin my parents' marri—alliance."
"You're quite a romantic, aren't you?" She had to chuckle softly at the description built up in his head, "Well she is most definitely alluring, I'll give you that." Their fingers entwined in the most perfect way during the most imperfect circumstances. "But she is also the kindest, most loyal soul you will ever have the fortune to meet."
"I dreaded to hear that," He has fooled himself to think of her closest friend as an antagonist instead of a righteous woman. "Of course she's perfect," As if his father would even settle for less.
"She is not perfect," Ygritte shifts at the unexpected sharpness of her tone. Alessandra could not help herself. She has developed a habit of defending Nathalia when insulted. "She lets her emotions guide her more than she could admit and the only reason we've succeeded so far is that she is far too pushy for such a small person,"
"Are you defending her or insulting her?" He is amused, that much she could tell with his tone.
"I'm describing my best friend," She answers honestly. No one knew Nathalia more than she did. Even Jon Snow would have a hard time ripping the walls of defenses the legendary 'helper' has built up over the years. "If we make out of here alive, I might just introduce you to her,"
"I'll hold on to that," Was his reply.
It is only in the late hours of their nestled position did she realize what she's proposed. Nathalia will surely have a heart attack when introduced to the male doppelganger of her former flame.
*Jaime Lannister*
"How convenient of you to show up exactly when Stannis was about to sack the city," His younger brother looks pitiful sporting that bandage on his face but his sarcasm can amount multiple times his size.
Jaime, rubbing his hand on his bruised jaw, grins. A soldier got him good squarely in the face before he ran a blade through his abdomen. "It's good to see you too, brother." He sits on the edge of the bed and pats Tyrion's legs roughly.
"Careful!" His younger brother warns, "I'm too delicate right now."
Jaime laughs and it seems like it is the first real laugh he's had in a long time. When he was a young boy, he would often question why his twin and father treat a family member with such disinterest. It took a long discussion with Cersei to realize that they both blamed him for the death of their mother. He wonders: if Tyrion wasn't born a dwarf, would have father and Cersei treated him differently? All his life, he watched from the spotlight as Tyrion was judged and laughed at by other noble families. They don't know him as much as Jaime does and would surely be surprised that he can beat them at almost everything. "The wildfire was a nice touch in the battlefield,"
"Still didn't stop Stannis from almost gaining that ugly throne,"
"At least father came to the rescue," Jaime, noticing how the subject made his younger brother tense, comments lightly.
"I suppose I'm not Hand of the King now?"
"Did you actually like being the Hand?"
"Fuck no," They both chuckle at the explicit language. "The only thing I liked about it was that I can put Joffrey in his place without getting my balls chopped off."
At the mention of this, Jaime brings out the dreaded subject. "How was everything when I was gone?"
Tyrion looks at him pointedly as best as he could using only one of his eyes, "You mean: how was she when you were gone?" He doesn't wait for Jaime to answer before continuing, "Bad. I had to stop that foolish king from stripping her in front of the noblemen when he found out that Robb Stark has managed to beat him again. She never faltered though, and carried herself with a quiet rebellion. Suppose her 'handmaiden' has been teaching her well,"
Handmaiden? The night after the battle, the first thing Jaime had done was check to see if Sansa was alright and unharmed. He had stopped short in shock once he finally caught a good look at Sansa's companion. Nathalia could have very well been in King's Landing if it not had been for the difference in height and the color of the eyes. She must be the sister Nathalia was telling him about. "I have been informed about your allegiance,"
"Doesn't it make you feel great about fighting at a good side?" He hopes that the terms they are using are not too conspicuous. They have to address the elephant in the room sooner or later. "Always on the same side, you and I."
A smile makes its way in his handsome Lannister features. Without showing it, Jaime has been and always will be beside his brother.
~*~*~*~*~* Potg~*~*~*~*~*
"How fortunate you have come in such a needed time, uncle."
Jaime almost rolls his eyes at his bastard's patronizing tone.
He stands in the middle of the throne room with Steffon beside him. It seems like his companion is trying his best to repress the amused smile from his face. How silly is it to feel honored when the praise comes from an abomination? It makes him want to ask Steffon whom Nathalia and he want as a ruler of Westeros? He secretly hopes that it won't be the Targaryen woman. He loves his head far too much to lose it.
"Glad to be of service, your grace." He manages to get out without sounding sarcastic.
Joffrey's green eyes turned to Steffon, "And who is your companion? Tell me his name so I can thank him,"
This time, he does roll his eyes slightly before waving his hands as a form of introduction. "His name is Steffon Storm," They've talked about this and thought it probably best to introduce him as a bastard.
The women chatter excitedly when the helper steps forward. It brings him back to last night when Sansa could not seem to remove her hands from Steffon's grip. A wave of jealousy fills him as well as guilt. He shouldn't be feeling too possessive of her.
"Storm? A bastard, then?"
Steffon nods his head, "Unfortunately so, your Grace, but I am glad to be of service."
"And what are you doing with my uncle, bastard?" Jaime fights back the urge to strangle Joffrey. How dare he judge men born out of infidelity when he and his siblings also are? He reminds himself that the foolish king has no idea of the circumstances.
"I've helped him sneak out of Robb Stark's camp, your Grace. He has offered me gold if I continue to aide him until we've reached King's Landing." Jaime has to admit, Nathalia's story is impenetrable. No one wants to learn Steffon's true parentage because they would be busy inquiring about how they both escaped. He listens to the helper explaining why he was also imprisoned for taking down more than a dozen of Stark's men to steal food. How he was caged with Jaime and how they came up with a plan to move out in the middle of the night when everyone is most likely asleep. The council could only be baffled on why Jaime wasn't as heavily guarded as they expected. More so, they marveled when Jaime admitted of Steffon being as great as a swordsman as he is.
"You must be really great to have achieved such high praise from my uncle, the kingslayer!" Joffrey exclaims delightfully, eager for Steffon to join his band of spineless knights. "Do you plan on staying in King's Landing?"
Everyone is quiet to hear Steffon's answer. "I'm leaving in three days as much as it regrets me to say so, your grace."
There is a malice hidden in the king's frown. "Shame. Happy travels, then?"
They bow before stepping aside to make way for Tywin Lannister. The king praises his grandfather before naming him as the new Hand of the King. The crowd cheers for the fine and handsome Lannister taking the reins in running Westeros. While Tyrion is embarrassed and healing, his father is basking in the glory. To be honest, if Tyrion had not slowed the ambush, Tywin's army would not have been much use anyway.
House Tyrell is also thanked for their soldiers. Everyone is surprised when Joffrey announces of his new betrothal with the Lady Margaery after telling some poorly constructed story on how she is still a maiden even though she has been married to Renly. Of course. Renly would have preferred her brother, Loras Tyrell, every maiden's wet dream, over her anyway. This effectively ends the king's engagement with Sansa. Since the start of the ceremony, it is the first real smile Jaime has given to the king. He looks up in the balcony where he has been spying on the lady wolf to see her smiling to herself. He almost warned her not to show too much emotions but he couldn't really blame her. Who wouldn't be relieved to escape a haunted marriage?
After Joffrey's annoying babbling, the noblemen exit with a feeling of smugness. They would not be pleading for their lives and are still held highly by the Baratheon reign. Tywin saunters in his direction and orders him to come talk later in the afternoon. They would be discussing tactics no doubt. This will be the first time that he betrays his father. Jaime numbly nods his head, wanting to speak with a certain redhead. She must be a bit afraid once she realizes that the only reason why she's being treated nicely has thrown her in a den of wolves—in this case, lions.
Steffon excuses himself for a moment to send a whisper so Jaime takes this time to reach Sansa before she manages to retreat to her bedchamber. Cersei is scanning the crowd, no doubt looking for him. Not feeling in the mood to entertain her romantic notions about them, he quickly flees upwards the hidden staircase. He finds Sansa talking with Baelish, appearing to be afraid. Nathalia's sister, looking angry, is behind her. Not wanting to add more drama to the day by exposing a helper, Jaime strides confidently.
When he clears his throat, he notices Littlefinger freeze before turning around and smiling mischievously at him. "Lannister, good to see you alive and well."
He smirks, "I can't say the same thing about you, Littlefinger." Sansa is biting her lip when he turns to look at her. His groin tightens when she wets her lips. Without turning away, he addresses the disturbance. "Please leave,"
"How rude, Lannister." Petyr Baelish is not amused to receive such treatment. Jaime knows better than to anger him. Littlefinger has always been cunning and eager to get rid of anyone in his way.
"I did say 'please'," He doesn't wait for his reply before grabbing Sansa's hand and leading her to the nearest corner. Nathalia's sister and another handmaiden hover behind Sansa. It's a good thing that they're eager to protect the little wolf. "Nathalia's sister, correct?" She nods at him. Hmm this one doesn't like me very much. "I only need to speak with Lady Sansa for a short moment," When she didn't move, he adds "Your sister says 'hello' by the way,"
"Make it fast." He notes that this woman's voice is more youthful than Nathalia's.
Once they're far enough, Jaime leans closer. He rejoices in the slight hitch of breath from her at their close position. "Are you alright?"
She's a lot taller than she was. Now she reaches past his nose so it doesn't pain him much to look down. Her features are more mature and her face is angling for her to become a temptress. Perhaps this is also one of the reasons why Cersei hates her. She's maturing beautifully. "Y—yes, I am." But she is still the blushing maiden he left. "You're too close, people might see."
When her hand is on his chest to push him away, he traps it there with his. Her hands are freezing, possibly from feeling nervous of anyone thinking wrongly of their closeness. "I don't care,"
"Are you leaving again?"
He quickly shakes his head, "No, I'm not. I'm not leaving your side anytime soon,"
"What do you mean—Joffrey will keep me here, won't he?" Was she seriously thinking that Cersei will allow her to walk safely out of King's Landing? Poor young wolf. It pains him to see her hope for something that is never happening.
He nods his head, not knowing what to say. The tears are already pooling in her eyes. She's lost her only protection from taunting snobs. "Tears are good. It only makes it seem like you're sorry that Joffrey put you aside from Lady Margaery,"
He smiles when she laughs. Her right hand wipes the tears on her face. She looks much more beautiful when she's smiling. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"
Is she testing me? "I prefer redheads if that's what you're implying,"
She frowns as if she doesn't know what he's implying. "What are you trying to say?"
He doesn't get more time to reply because the worst person that could possibly walk in that moment stops him from doing so.
"Jaime,"
He turns around, sighing when he sees his beautiful other half standing with snake-like eyes. "Hello Cersei,"
Gods, if he's handsome, she is fucking beautiful.
I cut it short because I have other plans for the next chapter. It has been a month since my last update and my writing has become too robotic.
Don't be mad. I know what I kept on writing Jaime as a romantic knight who likes—and may possibly love—Sansa. Think about it. He has been in love with his twin all his life. For Gandalf's sake, they even had three bastards together. Those deep feelings don't go away very fast—even if it is for as sweet a girl as Sansa.
I want everyone reading this to know that this story is a bit lighter than what you're expecting. I am a romantic and I prefer to include pairings in every story that I write—hopefully, I will grow out of that soon.
Tyrion and Jaime are fighting on Nathalia's side. Be warned though. Nathalie vouches for Daenerys to become queen so it will not be all smooth sailing from here on. Jaime did kill the mad king a.k.a Dany's father.
Review Replies (my favorite part)
Bfireworks5: Thank you thank you thank you for being so patient with me even though I update very poorly! Hope that the turn of events wasn't disappointing.
Master of Dragons God: Weeeell, what did you think?
Anonymous: Thank you for the compliment. Here's the update you've been waiting for.
Kaisergirl88: That's so sweet! I was a bit apprehensive writing Jon a bit more playful and Jaime a bit softer than he is. From your review, I'm guessing that they're quite acceptable?
Theresa5155: Thank you! I'm glad Nathalia's been getting great reviews. Don't worry! I like Arya far too much to only write about her in the last chapter.
Mokoloco: Jon Snow thanks you for the compliment. He's always thought of himself as the most amusing son of Ned Stark.
Story fact: I picture Toby Regbo as Steffon bec…who doesn't love him?