Point two because this poem is effing perfect for Jaime.

Two chapters in one month, this has got to be some kind of a record! (or covid19 and being unemployed haha)

Warning: There's maybe a tad too much inner-monologuing, probably too many metaphors, and a gratuitous use of italics, but I really got into this chapter. I considered adding more world-building, scenes with other characters like Podrick, but I decided to focus on the Jaimsa. I indulged AF. So this is almost entirely slow burn fluff, with very little plot, until the end.

Speaking of which, try not to hate me.

Would he at last, grown faithful in his station,
Kindle a little hope in hopeless Hell,
And sow among the damned doubts of damnation,
Since here someone could live, and live well?

One doubt of evil would bring down such a grace,
Open such a gate, and Eden could enter in,
Hell be a place like any other place,
And love and hate and life and death begin.

from The Good Man In Hell by Edwin Muir

Jaime

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When it came to her request, he couldn't bring himself to refute her, since it was not truly up to him.

"When the Night King comes, I don't want anyone to think I need protection," Sansa said, likely taking his silence as refusal.

Jaime smiled lightly, oddly touched by this consideration. A few strands had fallen from her loose braid, and he felt suddenly, the strange urge to tuck them back. He did not do it of course.

"I doubt anyone would ever think that of you, Sansa," He answered tone light.

She beamed a little at that, recognizing the compliment, her expression suddenly soft and warm. It didn't last long though as she turned serious once more.

"I'll never be some great fighter, but I should like to be able to defend myself should anyone, or anything, seek to harm me."

Jaime wanted to tell her that he'd never let anyone hurt her, knowing he would do whatever it took to keep his word, but he said nothing. He knew all too well that it was a promise he might not be able to keep. Jon would most likely be sending him North to the wall. Sansa would stay in Winterfell of course.

"So you shall," He said instead, knowing there was a better chance for her survival if she could.

A few days later, Jaime found her a Master of Arms, and he started with the basics in self-defense, such as escaping a hold or where to pierce a body to make the most damage, since survival was the ultimate goal. Sansa also learned the bow, and though she'd had a rough start, she was growing more comfortable with it every day.

Jaime wasn't her teacher of course, he didn't think he could handle being the one to show her. His own training sometimes overlapped hers, so on occasion he stole looks her way, and caught some of her progress.

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As the men slowly began to arrive, Jaime's days settled into a steady rhythm of daily obligation. With no shortage of tasks and even less time in which to accomplish them, Jaime spent his time with Sansa preparing the castle and kingdom for winter. Together they fortified the castle, though mainly for the cold. With Casterly Rock's back to the sea and its entrance like the mouth of a lion, it was mostly a fortress in and of itself.

From the first day, it'd been clear Sansa knew more than him about what needed to be done, so mostly he had little to offer.

As she had accurately predicted, Podrick's assistance also continuously proved useful. Not only did his knowledge of the Westerlands make preparations easier, Jaime could send Podrick in his stead, to attend to anything that required his presence beyond Casterly Rock. If Sansa sensed his reticence to leave, she said nothing about it. Even when the matter seemed almost dire—though none yet had proven to be—she never questioned him.

It wasn't that Jaime didn't want to deal with it himself. Only, ever since he'd been back, he was always conscious that this might be for the last time. Once they returned North, nothing was certain. He had precious little time left within these walls, to be leaving every other week to deal with the matters outside of them.

It was strange and new, this feeling of attachment for a place he had never called home before. Yet that was exactly what it felt like. Jaime had never been called smart, not to his face anyway, but he was not stupid enough to think it was the castle itself that made him feel this way.

Jaime had realized long ago, that Sansa was unlike anyone he'd ever met. The more time he spent at her side, as their marriage grew into that steady ebb, familiarity replaced civility. The veneer of polite courtesy Sansa protected herself with, slipped away slowly until Jaime began to see all that she was.

There was so much more to her than just resilience and strength. Even though Sansa and him were learning each other, there were still things they never spoke of that seemed to linger in the spaces between their words.

Cersei. Ramsey. Brienne. Bran. His family. Hers.

So much of both their lives were entwined around one or another, it made any mention of the past impossible. They lived in the moment, preparing for an uncertain future, and they were good at it, as it turned out. The idea of even beginning to attempt to unravel any of the rest of it, felt insurmountable. To speak of one meant speaking of all the others, and Jaimed didn't want to risk what they had. Not for a past they both wanted to put behind them. So he didn't.

But then everything they didn't say, all the things Jaime had buried in his subconscious, began to surface.

There were many moments in his life that could be said to have defined him—his first kill, becoming a knight, slaying the king he vowed to protect—though none so thoroughly did as the loss of his hand.

Before that moment, his life had been little more than a series of inconstancies, people and places trickling in and out of his life with no kind of reason at all.

After, when he lost the only sense of self he had, even in the turmoil of redefining himself, some things didn't change. Jaime clinging to a woman for purpose, and his name to carry him through the rest of retrospect, he understood why he'd held on so desperately to Cersei—and then Brienne—for so long. What he felt for them had been the only constants in his life.

But now, it was the opposite. His path was fixed, and he'd all but given up the Lannister name, but though he felt drawn to Sansa's quiet presence, it wasn't the same. Jaime didn't need her the way he'd needed them, only he couldn't figure out how.

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A short time later, Jaime startled awake one night, not from a nightmare as he used to when he was a boy, in fact he couldn't remember dreaming at all. The room was quiet and Sansa asleep, but he was tense. He felt his heart racing, and didn't know why.

He took a deep breath and let it out, hoping to ease his anxiety. He glanced over at Sansa undisturbed. Her hair was mussed but loosely plaited down her back, lips parted in slumber, her breath steady. Her serenity seemed to loosen something in him, and he let out another deep breath and with it, the rest of his tension.

It wasn't until she stirred lightly, though thankfully didn't wake, that Jaime realized he was openly staring at her. Since he wasn't exactly sure how long he'd been doing it, tension of another kind forced him out of bed.

Pouring himself a cup of wine, Jaime stared out at the sea, letting the sound of the crashing waves lull his mind instead.

It happened a few more times throughout the next few weeks before Jaime finally resolved to address it, since it was not as if he didn't know where this anxiety was coming from. Despite all the things they were dealing with, little of it caused him any actual concern, not even the future, which only felt half real, more a distant uncertainty at best.

And the past couldn't be left to fester between them like an infection any longer.

They were in one of the castle's courtyards, enjoying a short respite between duties, snacking on the array of finger foods brought for them, lemon cakes ever present.

That was something he'd noticed early on, how quickly the household had taken to her. Naturally, there'd been some apprehenson at first, but he could plainly see their obvious affection for her since there was never a shortage of the cakes Sansa loved, even though the citrus was not native to the Westerlands.

Sansa reached for one, picking the candied wedge from the frost and setting it aside on her plate, saving it for last as she always did.

"So…" He trailed off, unsure how to start.

The cupcake was at Sansa's mouth when he spoke, but she set it back down before she turned to him. He felt bad suddenly, for interrupting her.

"Yes Jaime?" Sansa asked when he didn't continue. She didn't sound bothered, only looked at him attentively, as if she knew already that there was something serious he needed to say.

He fiddled with his cup on the table, turning his gaze to the wine swirling inside for a moment, trying to find his words. Where to start? He thought.

"There's something I've been meaning to speak of," Jaime finally said, looking over at her once more.

Her eyes were piercing now, trying to read him, and he tried not to wilt under the intensity of it.

He failed of course.

"There's a market coming soon to Lannisport, from the East."

It wasn't a lie in fact. Jaime had been meaning to mention it, ever since Podrick had brought it up a few days ago, asking if he planned on taking Lady Sansa. Jaime had not of course, having long forgotten about the yearly occurence. It was something the city's inhabitants looked forward to, though he hadn't, not since he was a boy. Aside from the many stalls with their dozens of wares, from everyday items to the extravagant, there were performances, and food and music, and more. He could see why Podrick had asked, Sansa would surely enjoy something like that.

"Essos?" She asked, her voice perking up, and the intensity of her gaze shifiting into something more curious.

Jaime couldn't help the grin that accompanied his words as he nodded, "From the Free Cities. It travels up the coast from the Summer Sea, starting in Dorne, on through to the Reach. Lannisport is the last stop."

Sansa smiled lightly at him, but otherwise said nothing. Jaime realized he hadn't actually invited her to go yet. He cleared his throat, both trying to seem casual and to shrug off the tension he felt.

"It's a bit of a spectacle really," He said as he raised the cup still grasped between his fingers, and took a sip.

She said nothing, only waited for him to continue. He suddenly felt foolish by his fumbling fingers, so he set his glass down.

"There are performances, music, and food, that sort of thing. I thought, we've been working hard, we've earned a break. A short one at least. Would you like to go?"

Her expression brightened, "That would be—"

She hesitated a moment, her cheeks turning pink before finally speaking. "Yes, I'd like that very much."

"Perfect," Jaime answered, his mouth turning up into another grin he made no effort to stop. Though by the way he felt it down to the center of his being, he didn't think he'd have been capable of stopping it even if he'd tried.

"Was there something else?" Sansa said then, interrupting his reverie.

Jaime sobered up a little when he remembered what he'd really wanted to speak of. It seemed Sansa hadn't forgotten, and though lessened, there was still warmth in her features. Somehow it made the words come out, a little easier at least.

"There's something, that is—" He stopped. What was he even going to say? Jaime suddenly couldn't remember.

Oh, right, Brienne.

"I was hoping we could speak of—" Again, he stopped. Why couldn't he say her name?

And, Sansa, perfect and waiting. Patiently.

"I wondered if you would tell me—" He paused, but he wouldn't let himself stop again.

At this, Sansa finally tensed, suddenly wary of whatever he intended to ask.

"—about Brienne. How it happened." Jaime finished. The words were vague, but he didn't think Sansa needed any more clarification.

The tension in her shoulders bled out, and he found himself suddenly curious. What did she think he was going to ask?

"Of course," She answered gently, as if she were worried about him.

"Not now," He answered quickly. Gods, Jaime couldn't remember a time he'd ever been less eloquent.

"Later?"

He was absentmindedly tapping on the table with his fingers, when he felt Sansa's hand settle over his. His gazed snapped to hers.

"Whenever you're ready," She said in a soothing tone.

She moved her hand away after a moment, fingers trailing before she settled back into her seat, and reached for her cake. They sat in companionable silence as she enjoyed it. Jaime took a few sips of his wine, trying to keep his eyes off her, but only half succeeded.

After supper, he invited Sansa for a walk through the Stone Garden, he thought it might be better—easier, out in the open. As if the stars in the night sky might lessen the weight of it somehow. It was stupid of course, but he'd try whatever he could.

"Would you tell me how it happened?" He asked, deciding to delve right into it.

She let out a deep sigh, and brought her hand to the crook of his elbow. He didn't startle, considering it was far from the first time.

"The night before—" She trailed off, but Jaime knew what she meant.

"She told me something about you."

Jaime turned to her, surprised. There were alot of things Brienne knew about him, both good and bad. Although he couldn't imagine a word of it being anything meant to dishonour him, he braced himself, knowing it would hurt either way.

Sansa looked away, and focused on the path for a moment.

"She told me what truly happened, during Robert's Rebellion. Before my father reached the Red Keep. Why you did what you did."

Jaime stilled, prompting her to do the same, though she didn't let go of his arm. He wanted to explain himself, but there wasn't anything left to say. She seemed to know this, since she didn't let him speak.

"She was afraid it would die with her."

For a moment, Sansa didn't say anything more, but the weight of her silence hung heavy between them. Jaime simply waited for her to continue, once she was ready.

"I told her we wouldn't fail. But I did. Because I thought I was clever enough to defeat Littlefinger."

"You were. He's dead."

She scoffed, and the sound of it was bitter, before finally letting go of his arm.

"And a man whose name I don't even know, stabbed Brienne in the back, because of me."

Jaime felt the admission of how Brienne had died like a whip to the skin, bright and searing. The bitter irony of it was not lost on him, and Jaime understood what Sansa was trying to say, only a moment before she actually said it.

"I gambled with her life, not to save anyone. I wanted revenge for my family. For myself."

Conflicted by his feelings, in that he wanted to tell her that she deserved it, both her guilt and her revenge, he didn't let himself speak. Afraid of which side of himself would win out.

Almost as if she sensed his inner turmoil, Sansa spoke on.

"I'm sorry Jaime. For what I stole from you and her. If not for me, she might—"

"When Renly died, she blamed herself," He interrupted, the side that wanted to comfort her finally prevailing.

"It's why she never let anyone call her a knight. She didn't think she deserved it."

He wanted to take her hand, even raised his arm a bit, before it fell back to his side.

"Title or not, Brienne made a vow to protect you. She never could have lived with herself if she hadn't. Wherever she is, I think she's glad she didn't fail you. No matter how it happened."

Sansa's gaze was focused on her hands, but she finally looked up at him when he finished. Her eyes were glassy, but she didn't cry. Instead her hand came up again, and settled back into the crook of his arm. She pulled lightly, and they were walking once more.

Her touch felt like permission, or maybe it gave him courage, he wasn't sure, but Jaime reached out finally. His left hand curled over hers, and squeezed gently. He didn't let go.

A moment later, Sansa's other hand landed over his, forcing him to look over. Her thumb soothed a line across his knuckles, and her face softened into something that could almost be called joy, if not for the way her eyes flickered wetly, tears still looming, unshed.

"When Brienne and Podrick found me, I wasn't sure what was happening, at first. I didn't know who they were, or what their intentions were. I was—not myself. Even after, when I knew I wasn't going back, I didn't know how to trust her. Not until Theon helped me see I could."

Sansa looked away then, but Jaime didn't, couldn't.

"After, with Brienne, it was the first time I felt safe since—"

She hesitated, long enough Jaime thought he knew what she meant to say, even when she didn't. Since before her father died.

"In a very long time."

The confession suprised him, but what really shook him was that she didn't remove her hand from over his. Instead she leaned over, and rested her head on his shoulder.

For a moment, Jaime didn't react. It was comfort she was seeking, and though he longed to give it, he wasn't sure how. Sansa didn't seem to notice though, her fingers still sliding idly along his knuckles, her head a steady weight as she leaned into him. They'd never done this, but a long sigh slipped from his mouth as he relaxed.

He leaned in too, and pressed his nose to her hair for a moment, breathing her in. They stayed close like that until they finally headed back inside, his hand cradled in her own.

Things changed after that.

For one, they began to speak of the other things that hung between them, though they hadn't yet broached Cersei nor Ramsey.

For another, enough men had arrived by that point that Jaime's time alongside Sansa had dwindled significantly; they only spent their mornings together and reunited in the hall for supper. Occasionally they'd run into one another thoughtout the day, like when their practices overlapped in the yard, or if they managed to find time to share a meal together.

Jaime wasn't sure if he noticed it because he saw her less, and his time with her felt more pronounced, or if he was right, but Sansa's hands began to touch. A slide of fingers along his back when she passed him, or a gentle press to his forearm at supper to catch his attention, and never shying away to fix a wrinkle in his tunic, or remove a fluff in his hair, casual touches she hardly noticed but which shocked him.

Jaime never said anything, and did his best to pretend it didn't affect him, and though he thought of returning the gestures, he never actually touched back.

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When it came time for the market, they left the day before in an effort to make the most of their time, and spent the night in an Inn on the outskirts of Lannisport. They arrived early enough to break their fast there instead, enjoying fresh kippers and eggs.

There was a perpetual turn to her lips, and a brightness in her eyes, as they strolled along the stalls. Sansa kept her hand tucked into the curve of his arm, even as she touched things, and pointed with her other hand when she couldn't reach.

After they'd purchased the few things they needed, fabrics, furs and leather for winter, and some other items, Podrick and the rest of their men went to explore for themselves, free until the evening, to return to the same Inn they had the previous night.

So they were on their own when something caught Sansa's eye enough that she finally let go of him. With the hand that had been hooked around his arm, she reached out to touch a pendant.

May I?" Sansa asked the old man sitting behind the stall.

The man smiled in return, and nodded.

She lifted it for closer inspection, unconsciously leaning towards him so he could see it too. It was an opaque white stone, with flecks of opalescent blues and silvers when turned in the light. The setting and chain was silver and delicate.

"What type of stone is it?" Sansa asked, looking over at the man.

"It's a moonstone, my lady. It absorbs the sun's rays and burns as fierce at night. Offering a light in the dark."

"It's beautiful," Sansa replied, putting it down once more.

"How much?" Jaime asked, grabbing his coin purse, even though the price didn't really matter.

"No Jaime, you don't have to," Sansa tugged at his arm, as if it would stop him from paying the man.

"I don't," He conceded, voice teasing.

"Unlike most men, I don't need a reason to buy jewelry for my wife."

Sansa's cheeks flushed prettily, and she didn't argue further.

"Two silver stags," The man answered with a grin.

Jaime paid him, smirking himself. Thankfully, Sansa was already clasping it around her neck when he looked over at her again, and he realized he wouldn't be able to help. It stung less, and neither had to address it.

"Thank you Jaime," She said smiling at him, fiddling with the stone as her right hand slipped into his left, lacing their fingers together.

It wasn't exactly the first time she'd reached out deliberately. Sansa took his arm all the time and occasionally pressed a hand to his shoulder whenever his were strained and he didn't notice it.

She'd held his hand that one night, when they'd spoken of Brienne, but that was solace. This was something else, something he couldn't define, but made him feel young again.

As ridiculous as it sounded, it was the closest that came to discribing how he felt. A world of possibility opened for him with just the touch of her hand.

A little while later, they caught a performance of 'The Mermaid's Lament', which was more bitter than sweet, and supped in one of the pavilions before retiring for the night.

"I had a lovely time today," Sansa said to him, once they'd settled, and the candles had been blown out.

Jaimed smiled even though, or perhaps because, she couldn't see it.

"I'm glad," He answered.

His vision hadn't adjusted yet, so he couldn't see much, but he stared resolutely at the ceiling over his head. As he always did, Jaime waited for the familiar sound of her settling to sleep, so he could close his own eyes and attempt to do the same. But then he felt her lean in.

"Thank you," She said, close enough that he could feel the words on the side of his face.

"You're welcome," His voice trembled back.

He felt frozen then, as she brushed her warm mouth to his cheek, in a light kiss. She didn't react as she laid down again, close enough that her templed pressed lightly to his shoulder.

"Goodnight," Sansa whispered.

"G'night," He mumbled back, sighing shakily.

He didn't sleep for a long time.

They left early the next morning, so they could make it back to Casterly Rock before nightfall.

When he saw the turn that would take them closer to the coast and the sea, that led to the spot he once frequented as a boy, it almost seemed meant to be. So they packed a basket with some food and sweet wine to wash it down, for Sansa and him, and ventured to his alcove on foot. The rest, including Podrick, set up camp nearby.

They shared the carrying of their lunch and amenities, since there were moments when Jaime needed the one hand he had for balance. It was awkward but only at first.

They were pretty high up, so it was breezy and cool despite the blaring sun. A jut of the ground overhead leading further up the hill offered just enough shade, and blocked enough wind to make the spot comfortable enough to sit and enjoy their meal.

"This is lovely," Sansa said, looking out at the view of the sea and open sky.

"I used to come here as a boy, whenever I needed a moment to breathe."

He hoped she understood the implication, that it was where he went to escape— his family, his duties, his life.

"I've never brought anyone here," He wanted to make sure that was clear.

There was something tender in the way she looked at him after this admission, a turn to her lips that made it clear she knew what he was trying to say.

"Thank you for sharing it with me," She answered.

After Sansa laid out the cloth she thought to bring, they sat side by side, splitting the food and sharing the bottle of sweet wine when they realized they'd forgotten to pack cups. They didn't speak much as they ate, but it was nice, the wind and sea a steady and peaceful lull filling the silence.

"We're almost ready to return North," Sansa said, shortly after they'd finished eating.

Jaime wasn't ready to deal with all that just yet, he wanted to enjoy this escape a little while longer. They had needed a respite that was true, him as much as her, and they'd had but a day at most.

"We have to return to Casterly Rock first," He said, tone light.

"You think they're waiting on us?"

It took a moment for Jaime to catch on to whom she meant.

"Would you be?" He thought of Podrick who was likely 'resting his eyes' as they spoke.

Sansa smiled, but genuinely considered it.

"Definitely not," She finally answered.

"Then I wouldn't worry about it just yet."

He turned away from her, and closed his eyes a moment to enjoy the sun on his face, and the way the wind felt sweeping through his hair. This little excursion had been for Sansa's benefit mostly, up to and including this stop. But he didn't see why he couldn't take advantage of the fact.

Jaime hadn't thought about it too deeply when he'd suggested the location. But now that they were here, in this place that had always been an escape from his family and their expectations, he couldn't think of anything else. Jaime wanted to share it with her because he no longer needed it like he once had. He didn't want to run from his life anymore.

And now, if he ever tried again, she'd know where to find him, he thought with a smile.

He heard Sansa shuffling then, and turned to her, both surprised that she'd shifted closer to him and by her gaze already on him. He relaxed when she reached up, likely to remove something that had settled in his hair, but instead she smoothed it back, and angled further towards him.

Jaime couldn't move, couldn't tear his eyes away from her face, watching her as she watched her own hand slide back down, her fingers skimming the shell of his ear before tracing the line of his jaw, looking at his lips for a moment before finally turning her gaze back to his.

Her thumb found the corner of his mouth and with the rest of her hand she leaned in and pulled him in to close the last bit of space and pressed her lips to his.

Sansa kissed him softly but without hesitation. At the last moment, he let himself kiss her back, but it must have made her realize what she was doing, since she pulled back and dropped her hand but didn't move away. Their gaze caught for a moment and Jaime noticed the flush on her cheeks as her eyes turned down.

"I'm sorry Jaime I should—"

"Don't—" He tried to interrupt, not wanting to hear her apology, her regret.

"—have asked," Sansa carried on, not noticing.

Since it was not what he'd expected her to say, a suprised but relieved chuckle burst of out him.

"I'm sorry?" He needed her to clarify. Surely what she meant to say was that she shouldn't have done it.

"Consent is important," She answered lightly, still embarrased, though her lips turned up in a smile too.

Jaime laughed again. "It is," He agreed.

Her expression straightened once more, and she leaned in like she had, though her hands remained locked firmly in her own lap. Jaime lifted his good hand to smooth her hair back. He'd wanted to do that for so long it would have been impossible to wait a moment longer. Indulging, he let his hand slide down the length of it, until his fingers settled at the nape of her neck.

"Can I kiss you Jaime?" She whispered, raising her chin, inching them closer still.

Jaime could feel the warmth of her—she was so close, only a breath away, waiting for his answer. He said nothing though, only leaned in, closing the space between them, and kissed her.

Her hand came in to grip his collar, deepening the kiss, her mouth opening under his as he reached his other arm around her waist, careful not to hurt her with his gold hand.

When they parted a moment later, her hands slid up to wrap around his neck and pulled him into a hug, though Jaime suspected she was trying to escape the moment. He let her, not ready to address it himself, and wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her closer. It was impossible not to notice how good it felt to hold her like this.

They stayed like that until Sansa found the courage to pull away and finally look at him. She wasn't smiling exactly, but there was still something easy in her expression.

"We ought to head back," She said gently.

It was all shy looks once they rejoined the rest of their party, Jaime trying to seem unaffected, since he couldn't get a read on Sansa. Her familiar veneer of politeness made a reappearance, and it was so good, Jaime began to wonder if it was for the others, or for himself. Perhaps she was beginning to realize what she'd done, and wanted to take it back.

Whenever his eyes caught hers though, she smiled at him, soft and genuine, and Jaime knew he was overreacting, but couldn't bring himself to stop. So once they finally made it back, he let her rest and wash up and made himself busy with their steward.

In an old habit, Jaime took supper in his solar, and waited for Sansa to fall asleep before going to bed himself.

He'd only entered their room and taken off his sword belt, when there was a gentle tap at his door. Rollam entered a moment later, quietly enough so as not to disturb Sansa, though the sound wouldn't reach the room where they slept.

"Someone's come to see you My lord," He said then, without pleasantries.

Jaime frowned, but said nothing, only moved to set his weapon down on the table beside him.

"Bring it with you Lord Jaime."

It was then that he picked up on the boy's gravity. He was pale and tense, eyes wide as if something had deeply disturbed him. Jaime didn't press, only reattached the belt to his waist, and followed his squire out.

Rollam lead him to the small courtyard near the main castle entrance. They didn't use it much anymore; with the thick stone wall and single iron gate leading into the castle interior, it made the perfect place to lead strangers, or hostile intruders, as it was little more than an outdoor prison cell, though larger.

This didn't bode well, but nothing could have prepared Jaime for the sight that welcomed him.

There was no mistaking the Mountain, even though Jaime hadn't seen him since before Cersei died. His hand found the pommel of his blade, but he didn't slide it out, afraid it would push Gregor to react. So far, the thing, for he was no man, seemed idle, as if he were simply waiting for Jaime to join him.

It was then that he finally noticed the other person standing beside Gregor. It was a woman, though it was hard to tell, since she was crumpled and pulled in, and heavily bundled. It was her eyes that startled him most. They were broken and hollow, there in body, but not in mind.

It wasn't hard to guess how she'd gotten that way, not with the monster standing steadfast beside her.

"Open it," Jaime said to his steward, who'd been waiting with a retinue of Lannister soldiers.

The man did as asked, but spoke as he began to unlock the gate.

"You should not go in alone, my Lord."

"Probably not," Jaime conceded playfully, in his usual way, trying to belie the fear he felt.

"But i've never been that smart."

Jaime knew he had to go alone, as he did not want to risk the lives of his men. The Mountain had never harmed him in King's Landing, and he was here for a reason.

Yes, to kill you, answered a little voice in his head.

Jaime shook off the thought, if he were here for that, why bring the woman? There was more to it, he told himself, stepping inside.

"Lock it behind me, and post some men on the surrounding turrets."

"Already done my Lord."

Jaime looked up, and noted the men above him, bows drawn. He took a deep breath.

It was quiet as he approached them. He hadn't seen it earlier, but now, but as he drew closer, Jaime realized the woman had something in her arms. She opened her cloak further, and he could tell she'd once been a Sparrow by the tatters of her clothes. But it was the bundle in her arms that stole his breath.

Because now, standing before them, Jaime had a clear view.

"It's yours," The woman said, extending her arms to him.

There was movement behind her, and then all around them, but Jaime couldn't focus on it. He could only watch, as if outside himself, as his arms reached out and took her offering, careful and delicate, though he only had one hand to do it.

He vaguely noted the sound of something cracking, but that was when the cradle of his arms stirred, and piercing green eyes looked up at him. For a moment his world went still.

A child. And she was his.

It all came back as the Mountain stepped closer. Jaime looked up finally, the scene unravelling before him in a whirl—the sparrow dead on the ground, her head twisted at an odd angle, bows drawn and aimed towards the center of the yard and Gregor looking behind him.

Then a familiar voice interrupted the stillness.

"Jaime."

a/n: Finally! am I right? Did I do their first kiss justice?

As for the other part, I have been planning it for some time. Low-key like. And it's not far from tv canon anyway, though I chose to spare the kid. It's more that I had to go there, I couldn't resist the poetic irony of it (Catelyn with Jon, another secret child of a fallen king), history repeating itself, that whole shebang.

Will Sansa follow in her mother's footsteps? or will she make another choice? You'll find out next chapter!

Thanks for reading, and I hope to hear what you guys thought.