Author's Note: Sequel to my King!Jaime AU; titled freedom comes from the call, which you can find on my account. This one will be four chapters in total.

For the fifteenth morning in a row, Ned Stark finds himself woken up by shouting.

It's not that he doesn't understand how rowdy children can be, really. He has several wonderful children of his own. No, the real mystery – the one that inevitably haunts him at night, literally, since his sleeping routine had been irreversibly changed with the arrival of the royal family – is how the Lannisters manage to keep their good spirits at all times considering their offspring's— well, considering their offspring. A part of him supposes it might be a facade, but it doesn't seem so –numerous as they are, they all seem to bring them genuine joy, despite—

"Look, Joff, it snowed overnight!" The one currently trying to get his brother's attention is the loudest of them all, it seems, though the heir to the Iron Throne is a strong second contender. The youngest girl is surprisingly quiet despite her hectic nature, Myrcella is a princess to the bone and therefore rather well-behaved, and the two boys that he cannot for the life of him tell apart are timid enough, but this particular pair had been the source of many a headache in the fortnight since their arrival. "It's so cold." The boy clears his throat and Ned's eyes clench shut. "Mother! It's snowed!"

Somewhere a floor above, in the bedroom they'd prepared specifically for the royal couple, a window creaks open. For a moment, he hopes that the Queen will chastise him and everyone will promptly go back to their chambers and leave Winterfell's occupants be. The sun is barely up; there's no reason for anyone highborn in the castle to be up just yet.

Instead, a delighted gasp floats down into the room. "Jaime, there's snow!"

By the time Cat is awake, startled by the noise outside, all the Lannisters have poured into the yard and Ned watches with grim fascination as the King shoves a snowball the size of his fist down the back of his sister's dress with enough force that it makes her let out a blood-curdling scream. The Kingsguard are around, he can see, wandering by the walls, but none of them seem particularly moved by the display and, sure enough, a moment later the Queen turns around and her smile is as bright as the rising sun. Distantly, Ned wonders why anything about them still surprises him at all.

It's by no means the first snow of the year – as far as summer snows go, it's rather mild, really – but it might well be the first for the Lannister children and Ned sighs as he realises that it'd perhaps be best if they come out, too. Once the royal family arrives anywhere, it's the responsibility of a castle's inhabitants to start living on their schedule instead of the other way around. If the Lannisters are awake, then everyone should be.

The Lannisters. Given how rarely he'd seen them in the years since they'd ascended to the Throne, it's still difficult to think of them as the King and the Queen rather than Lord Tywin's twins. He'd sided with the crown during the Greyjoy rebellion against the crown – hadn't really had the option not to, even though it hadn't been his war – but even then, Lannister had led the offence with the air of a knight rather than a king and, when Ned had been coerced into staying in the capital for a while after their victory, the man's sister-wife had left him with a similar impression – she's certainly comfortable in a position of power, but nothing about their relationship had struck him as particularly official; she'd ran across the entrance to the Red Keep and had ended up directly in her husband's arms, her embrace so tight that he'd let out a startled laugh and had held her in turn, oblivious to the rest of the world around them or the various nobility marching up right behind him. It had been such a stark contrast from their previous ruling family that he hadn't been quite sure what to make of them, and the sight of it now, all those years later, hadn't changed one bit. It's sincere enough that it had managed to be endearing rather than sickening in the eyes of most and the story of their love had travelled the seven kingdoms through the mouths of singers and poets, growing more epic with each twist it would get. The new king had had the world in his hands, the stories say, but he had loved none but one, and he had laid seven kingdoms at her feet to get her on the Iron Throne alongside himself. Luckily, she had loved him just the same, and rumour has it that the seat in question is far better suited to her than it is to her brother; that she rules through his mouth and hand and he's happy to let her, considering her affinity for it.

He can't quite forget his first impression of them back in the Red Keep – Aerys murdered at Lannister's feet while he'd occupied the Throne and his sister's offhanded presumption that he would keep it shortly after that – and still, it's difficult, trying to keep them at bay even though he's distantly aware of why they're here and what they're going to ask of him. There had rarely been a queen as happy as Cersei Lannister. If her husband is here to ask for one of his children hands in marriage, he would have a hard time turning him away for too many reasons to count.

And still, who is it going to be? Wandering around the courtyard provides him with at least one possible answer as he watches them all, Lannisters and Starks, mingle with one another. He takes another examining look at the princes and princesses swarming Winterfell for yet another day, and the likely match that the royal couple must have come up with shines through rather easily.

It couldn't be Bran or Rickon and it certainly couldn't be Arya – potential suitors for Princess Myrcella's hand had started appearing as soon as she had been old enough to be shown to the populace along with her parents and older brother and word had had it that the Queen had turned them all away at least for the time being, unwilling to promise her daughter away at such a young age. You will have to ask her when she's old enough to give you an answer, she had said, and it had sent a ripple through Westeros. The Lannisters mean to let their children choose and – more importantly – that choice would be given to them at an older age, when they would be able to make it themselves.

So no, it couldn't be Arya. A year ago, it might have been Robb, but he'd found himself a rather unfortunate, alliances-wise, match in his new Volantene bride, so it couldn't have been him for their eldest daughter, either. Lann, one of the twins, clearly has his eyes elsewhere, and Tommen and Tybolt – the ones Ned could have sworn were the twins in question but who apparently have a year between them – seem thoroughly uninterested in anything of the sort. Their youngest is, by Queen Cersei's own standards, too young. Really, it all leaves him with one option.

When the King brings it up, he'd already known how it would go.

"Our children get along rather well, don't they?"

"They do, Your Grace." He motions towards Jon and the younger princess, his instructions pouring over her as she holds the bow and arrow in uncertain hands. "I wasn't sure you would approve."

Catelyn would have preferred if they'd kept the boy out of sight and out of mind for the duration of the royal visit, he remembers, but he'd refused to keep any of his children, perceived as baseborn or otherwise, from the eyes of an usurper that had taken his own sister to the marriage bed, and he'd told his wife as much. It had all worked out just fine in the end – those among the Lannister children not quite as involved in their own self-importance had liked him more than he'd expected.

Lannister laughs as soon as he follows his line of sight. "Neither I nor Cersei had any lessons on propriety left in us by the time Tya was born, I'm afraid. We might have saved some for her if we had known that they would be quite so wasted on Lann." Ned eyes the boy in question, all golden curls and gleaming swords as he and Theon Greyjoy dance their way through the training grounds. He'd been aptly named, he thinks, or at least he had grown into it – one could easily believe that he'd stolen the gold from the sun and had then cheated his way into an impregnable fortress. He certainly doesn't have a smidge of propriety about him. "But it wasn't those children I meant. My eldest has been fascinated by your daughter since he first laid his eyes on her."

He doesn't have to ask which daughter he means. "He has? That's a fortunate coincidence. Sansa seems to have taken a liking to him, too." He chances a glance up at the balcony and sees the pair of them in the spot that his daughter has apparently assigned as the best place to entertain her favourite guest. He cannot fathom what is it that they have to say to each other – that they haven't said yet, since they sit there day after day – and how they haven't run out of topics by now, but here they are, and, "They have a lot in common, she says."

"Yes, they do. My sister likes her plenty, and as I'm sure you've heard, it's not particularly easy to have her agree to a match – or me, for that matter. This time, however—" He hesitates, as if unsure how to make his offer now that he's got this far. In a way, Ned can understand – the twins had had to fight for the love that clearly binds them and they had given their own children as much freedom as a prince or princess would ever have. "It's what Joff wants; I can see it. If your daughter shares that sentiment, we could proceed with a betrothal. You're unlikely to find her a better match than this."

"As far as hierarchy goes, I'm sure I couldn't." The last thing he wants for Sansa is a Lannister for a husband, but he knows all too well that she'll beg for this particular one as soon as they find themselves alone. "Such a marriage would make her the Queen one day."

"She certainly has the potential for it," the King nods, pensive eyes still focused on the pair above them. "She's beautiful and clever and there's a little ruthlessness about her; just like him." A smile steals across his features, fascinatingly insufferable given the fondness that it's infused with. "She reminds me of my sister."

Out of anyone else's mouth, that might have sounded more than a little sinister, given his relationship with the sister he'd likened her to, but when Ned focuses his attention on Lannister again, he's staring at his queen where she's sitting near the glass gardens, playing some seemingly complicated game with Rickon – Rickon, who is altogether too young to understand much at all. The King's eyes shine with a fervent sort of adoration, though, as if she's the one who hauls the world around for each new day. "She's the best queen anyone could have asked for," he declares, terribly serious, and Ned suspects that it doesn't occur to him that he might be somewhat biased in his assessment. "Your daughter has a chance to be much the same."

"I'll have to bring up the matter to her," Ned says in lieu of an answer, as if he has no clue what Sansa would say to him the moment he asks. "If she does agree, I would have her remain here at first. Let them know each other better before they take that step. Let them do it over ravens, if they must."

"That's a fair deal," Lannister allows after a moment of contemplation. "She is destined for greatness, Cersei says, and I'll have you know that she has an eye for this sort of thing."

That, Ned thinks, is precisely the sort of thing that he should be worried about. "I'll keep that in mind, Your Grace."

Up on the balcony, he hears Sansa laugh, and the princeling's smug, pleased smile is one he's really getting rather sick of seeing in every corner of his household.

~.~

The farther from Winterfell they move, the warmer it gets, Jaime can't help but notice yet again, and while it makes perfect sense, it's a more abrupt change than he had anticipated. The huge wheelhouse trudged along by forty horses had serves as their temporary home ever since they'd left King's Landing and, with Greywater Watch well behind them, it's unlikely that they'll be stopping anywhere else for the foreseeable future. There's not much point in it – it's easier to stop for rest on some lush meadow during the day and travel by night rather than try and arrange for another stay. Noble families are ever so fussy around royals and he'd barely been able to bear the Starks for as long as they had had to play at guests there, the tension that had reigned in the castle almost thick enough to cut through. How does that old saying go? Heavy is the head that wears the crown. It certainly feels like it on some days.

Today, oddly enough, hadn't been one of those days. He'd spent the morning sorting through the correspondence that they'd neglected during their stay in Winterfell with Cersei, he'd sparred with Lann in the afternoon and, shortly after the sun had set, he'd found himself leaning onto the railing of the wheelhouse's rooftop, gripping the edge precariously as he settles in place next to his – evidently troubled – eldest son.

"Dinner will be served soon."

It's as good of an opening as any and Joffrey gives him a nod in response, but doesn't otherwise react. There's a scroll clutched in one hand; a scroll, more specifically, that Cersei had extracted from their pile this morning, with the Starks's direwolf seal, smelling of some sweet perfume and decorated with a single wild flower. It hadn't taken much guessing to figure out who had sent it.

"I'm not sure I'm hungry."

Ah, young love.

"You'd better make sure before you lose the chance and have to eat with the servants." Being members of the richest family in Westeros – that also happens to be in charge of the continent – doesn't particularly help on such occasions, Jaime had found. There's only so much food that can be prepared at once on the road, and between him, Cersei, and the children, all of it disappears rather rapidly. "Did she say anything important?"

"Not much." He turns the letter over in his hands once again. "I keep wondering—" His mouth straightens into a thin line, the way Cersei's does when she's conflicted. It's fascinating; how easily he can read his children's faces only through the knowledge he has of his sister. "It doesn't matter."

"Well, clearly, it does." Carefully, Jaime seats himself down and gestures at his son to do the same so that they aren't quite so close to the edge. It's rare that he has the time to speak to him as much as he'd like to, and sometimes he remembers him when he had been too young to do anything about it but lay there in his cradle and listen to anything his parents had had to say to him. It's a good life that they'd built here and it's greedy to keep wanting more, but inevitably, he does – he wants to be with Cersei always so that they can lean on each other through each decision they make, he wants to watch the family they'd made grow together; he wants to teach his son what he knows of being a King. He wants to see him fall in love. Truly, he wants it all. "What is it?"

"How did you know? With Mother— there must have been a time when you knew."

He doesn't have to ask him what he means. "I've always known. Ever since we were little; it was only ever her." Joffrey scoffs, and Jaime does his best not to laugh. They might not spend as much time together as he would have likes them, to, but he knows his son well enough to know that he hates nothing more than he does being laughed at. "I know this doesn't help much, but you're unlikely to get a better answer from anyone else here. The Kingsguard are sworn to celibacy and none of your siblings are married."

"I could always ask Lann." Joffrey's thoughtful expression turns sly, the way it always does when he's up to something nefarious. "If I felt like listening to him wax poetic for the rest of the day, that is, and he would give me the same answer as you. He would have been married at seven if you'd allowed it."

"There's a reason we haven't allowed it. Even when you think you know, making sure you're making the right choice can take years." It hadn't for him and Cersei, but even when compared with their children, he thinks, the two of them are the exception rather than the rule. Letting the next generation make similar decisions with much more freedom had seemed awfully reckless since the start. "And it should be the right choice for you. Not the Seven Kingdoms, not me, not your mother, not whatever union you think you should make to keep your crown secure. Only you." He falls quiet for a moment to let him contemplate it for a moment and then goes in for the kill. "Do you love her?"

"I don't know her that well yet. Her family is—" He grimaces in that awfully snobby way he has and Jaime has to look down yet again or risk displaying a reaction that might derail his son's careful line of thought.

"I know."

"They're obnoxious – all of them, other than Sansa. Even after I marry her," and it doesn't escape Jaime how easily the prospect slips out, "I don't think I ever want to go north again, even though Lann wants to return and abduct that boy they have and bring him back to the capital with us."

"Give him time. He'll give up on it eventually." That had taken another conversation, shortly before they'd left Winterfell, as Jaime had had to introduce the idea of a ward to his disturbed twins. Tybolt, their little Maester in the making, had already been aware of it and had accepted it with the same quiet calm that he welcomes most new things in his life with, but the explanation had only made Lann beg all the more, impassioned in his efforts to convince him. He wouldn't rebel, Father, he had said with the same smile that melts Cersei's heart on a daily basis and that makes him get his way with every little thing he wants from every person in the Red Keep. His sister had always said that out of all their children, Lann takes after him the most, but Jaime can't ever remember being quite this charming even with his looks in mind. There's something conniving about him that's all Cersei, carefully hidden behind his honey-sweet facade. I know he wouldn't, he's not like that. Let him come. At sixteen, he should know better than to needle his parents for things he knows he isn't going to get, but Jaime can't quite blame him – his twin brother, far quieter and more subdued than him, had always been closer with Tommen than he has been with him, Joffrey is way too busy to be his partner in crime no matter how much he wants to be, Myrcella is too refined for the sort of pastimes he enjoys, and Tya— well, Tya is another matter entirely where Lann is concerned.

"He never gives up on anything that easily." Joffrey gets to his feet, the matter of his heart seemingly put away for the time being in the light of more pressing issues. "You mentioned dinner?"

~.~

The matter of the Starks and Stark-adjacent potential additions to the royal family is, inevitably, brought up the moment everyone takes their place around the table. There's another round of complaining from Lann's side, which Jaime does his best to shut down swiftly, and it's soon followed by an even stranger suggestion, this time coming from Tommen.

"And what about Jon Snow?"

There's a look on Myrcella's face that Jaime can't quite read. "What about him?"

Tommen shrugs, as if everyone had been expected to follow his contemplation on some matter that he'd only just sprung up on them. "He says that he's not quite sure what he wants to do in the future, but he was thinking of joining the Night's Watch. If Sansa Stark really is going to marry Joffrey, she could bring him along and we could make him a member of the Kingsguard."

Now there's a thought. It had been some time since his and Cersei's plan on expanding the Kingsguard had been put into action, but they hadn't made much progress on it, having added only two knights since the initial idea. There had been a fight against it, both from their Small Council and from their father, coincidentally also their Hand, citing all the changes already made around the Red Keep, the certainty of tradition when it comes to the smallfolk, and a number of other similarly insignificant protests, but they had been resolute. It had first occurred to Cersei when they'd watched Tommen and Tybolt skip stones in one of the ponds in the gardens, carefree as ever, and she had told him, There's seven of them and eight of us. Tya had still been at her mother's breast back then, but she would grow up to be more independent – and she had, really – and the realisation that they might not be adequately protected had stuck.

"He seemed capable enough," his eldest daughter says now, voice still airy with supposed indifference. "But they both require a vow for celibacy, don't they?"

There's an expression on Cersei's face that he doesn't like in the slightest. "They do. They must remain focused on their duties no matter what, be it the manning of the Wall or the ruling family."

When Joffrey offers a sort of smile similar enough to his mother's to be uncanny – there's a mocking edge to it, though it's mainly provocation – Jaime begins to realise that he might not be in on the joke. "There are more ways than one to be focused on the ruling family."

Lann frowns and suddenly, from having looked at the reflection of his own face in contemplation, he can see it – they do look rather alike when confused. "I'm not sure I'm following. Night's Watch, Kingsguard, it's all the same where the law is concerned, isn't it?"

"What I was implying," Myrcella says with the sort of exaggerated innocence that Jaime knows so well from years spent with his own sister, "is that it would be a pity if he joins the Kingsguard. He would never be allowed to marry then. That would certainly be a waste, wouldn't it, Tya?"

"What does it matter either way?" His son's eyebrows raise almost to his hairline as Tya's eyes stay locked onto her plate, for once unwilling to face him. "You're joking. Him?"

"Mother says I can marry whomever I please," she counters and Jaime watches with increasing fascination as she looks up and meets her brother's gaze, determined.

"Well, surely not a bastard."

"Thank you, Tommen." Lann still seems too scandalised for words, but goes on anyway. "Surely not a bastard."

Tya's smile turns sardonic. "I hadn't realised you were this interested in my prospects. Did you have someone better in mind?"

Silence falls over the table. Cersei delicately covers her laugh with a cough when an indignant flush crawls over Lann's cheeks and he opens his mouth to speak and promptly closes it again. Finally, he manages, "Anyone else would be infinitely better. Father?"

"We've had offers."

"More than one," Cersei chimes in and Jaime stifles a smile of his own as he watches Lann's face fall. "It's a little early for us to be discussing this, isn't it? We've only just swayed the Starks to part with their daughter. It'll be some time before we have to think of another match."

The matter isn't closed, Jaime knows, but he's happy enough to shut it down for tonight - and ignore Lann's further attempts at instigating conflict.

"Your mother's right, Tya. This can wait another day." He puts his fork down decisively. "There are other things, however, that cannot. Cersei?"

His sister sighs, clearly displeased with the need to always be the one delivering new assignments of any kind, but it only makes sense – they rarely listen to him as closely as they do to her.

"As you all know, we will be taking a detour for Casterly Rock before we go back home." The announcement, though it had first been made before they'd even left, is met with excitement from everyone – enough of it to make Jaime smile. The Rock had never been their children's home, but it's a close enough thing, and they seem to like it all the more for how rare of an occasion it is. "We won't be the only visitors there, however. Prince Doran of House Martell and his son Trystane will be there first. We will need to walk a delicate balance of being fully prepared to meet them and pretending that we haven't been informed that they were there at all."

"So we're going to lie."

"Yes, Tommen."

For a Lannister, Tommen is appallingly bad at lies, much to their collective misfortune. "Any particular reason as to why?"

"There's a complicated matter your father and I need to discuss with them and it would be greatly preferable if it happens in a setting of our choosing without making it official enough to scare them away. In the event that we're successful, I'll explain it all to you." Cersei's voice is as admirably calm as always, but there's an undercurrent of tension to it that Jaime knows only he will be able to hear – him, and perhaps Joffrey. As self-involved as their firstborn is, he's closer to his mother than the rest of them and all the more sensitive to her intention when compared to the things she's saying for it. "How does that sound?"

There's a murmur of agreement, somewhat reluctant considering their curiosity, but eventually, the children relent, and Jaime does his best to keep his composure as they go through the rest of dinner. There's something wrong, a part of him knows, and it's only a matter of time before he finds out what it is.

~.~

He finds Cersei in their temporary bedroom as soon as he's certain that everyone else is asleep, and she's still wrapped up in carefully sealing parchment scrolls when he enters, but it's not enough to deter him. "Something's happened."

It's not a question. "News from our dear brother." For a moment, he thinks about the plans they have for the brother in question – the ones Tyrion doesn't know about – and fleetingly wonders if he hadn't rejected them pre-emptively, but, "Doran is feeling too weak to travel this month, apparently. His son will still be there, accompanied by his uncle."

"Oberyn?"

"That's the one."

And just like that, the idea of civil negotiations had swiftly fallen apart. Oberyn had kept his peace after the coronation, but he hadn't been the one they'd signed treaties with; he hadn't been the one they'd spoke to before. "Fuck."

"Indeed."

Even with his mind racing a mile a minute, Jaime grabs her by the shoulders and turns her around, gentle and grounding at the same time. "We'll figure something out. It couldn't possibly be that bad."

"Jaime, he wants us dead. After what Father did— How well do you think his stay in our ancestral home is going to go?"

"His brother must trust him if he's sent him there."

"That, or he wants him to decimate half of our House in their beds, the way Gregor Clegane did to his. Do you imagine he'll want to work with anything we offer?"

"He has to; he doesn't have a choice. We'll be on our territory. If he tries anything, he'll be dead before he's as much as managed to swing at someone with that spear of his. If we could handle Balon Greyjoy, we can certainly handle this."

Cersei doesn't relax entirely, but she does slump under his touch just enough for him to try and steer her away from her piles of unsent and unread letters and towards their bed. She's already dressed for it, thankfully, and it takes no effort at all to unlace her uncomplicated nightgown and coax her out of it, pressing idle kisses over her eyelids, her lips and jawline and then down the line of her throat, made even easier when she tilts her head back to let him, a temporary defeat in a war that he knows he's not going to win. Each day is a battle between having to be the King and the Queen and getting to be Jaime and Cersei and he'll never stop trying, no matter how futile it is. Only for a night. If he says this every night, then perhaps they can keep finding that balance.

"We'll worry about Oberyn Martell when we get to Casterly Rock," he says between kisses, one hand sliding down the side of her body while the other strokes her cheek. "We are a long way away from Casterly Rock now. The children already know what they need to. There's nothing more to be done about it until then."

Cersei sends one more wistful look towards her desk. "I still have to write to Tyrion."

"That would have to wait until tomorrow, I'm afraid. For now, you have a promise to keep."

"Oh, do I?" But she is calmer now and something in Jaime's chest uncoils until he can breathe more easily again, content in the knowledge that he can still bring her this sort of peace. "How do you intend on making me follow through?"

"Oh, that one's easy." He looks down at her and feels everything click into place once again, just like it does every other time. Unlike Tyrion and all the dragon tales that had plagued his childhood, he had never believed in anything magical beneath the surface of the world, but there's always Cersei to convince him otherwise, time after time. She smiles back at him, challenging and amused all at once. "See, sweet sister, you simply have to. After all, I'm the King."