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***Important Note: I posted this chapter yesterday, but I don't think it actually loaded. I got an error message, but it showed up in the chapter count under manage stories. But did not change the date for when the story was last updated. Anyway ... posting again today, fingers crossed that it works.***

My name is Chloe Jane and it's been a while since I've given you a sex scene...

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Only You

Jaime

She had sent him a flagon of wine. It had been a strange sight to him when the turnkey brought it in. He was only fed one meal a day and only given water. This gift was highly suspect. So he did not touch it for fear that someone meant to kill him.

She came to him sometime in the night. His cell had no windows. It was buried so far underground that no light ever shone on him. But he had been down here long enough that he knew they switched guards in the morning, at midday, and at midnight. The morning guard never spoke to him. The midday guard brought him food. And the midnight guard answered his questions, though all of his answers were lies no doubt. She came to him shortly after the midnight guard came on duty.

He must have been a sight for her, he was sure of it. His ankles and his wrists were chained together, then the chains on his wrists were chained to the chains on his ankles, making it impossible for him to stand or lay down straight. His ankle chains were bolted to the wall. He had not been allowed a razor since the last time that Lenora had been to see him. The hair on the top of his head was growing long and his beard had grown in. The lice were back again. In the corner of the cell, as far as he could walk while chained to the wall there was a pail overflowing with his own shit.

He should have been embarrassed. He should have felt some sort of shame at his conditions, that a Lady such as Catelyn Stark should seem him in these circumstances. But he felt no shame, not for her. If Lenora had visited him he would have felt shamed. He would have ordered her to leave him, he would have told her that he did not want her to see him like this. But it was Catelyn who came to see him, instead of Lenora, so he tried to make himself look as comfortable and unconcerned as her could.

She came with a torch, his gaolers did not bring torches with them when they came this deep. The light was too bright for him, brighter than anything he could have imagined. He lifted his hands quickly, shielding his face from the light, "Lady Stark," he greeted her, his jaw clenching at the sound of his voice, it was hoarse. He had used it so little as of late. "I fear I am in no condition to receive you." He did not care about his condition, but he was a knight. Even knights had their courtesies.

"Look at me, Ser," the woman ordered him.

He sighed, "The light hurt my eyes," he told her honestly. "A moment, if you would."

He slowly lowered his hands and blinked at the light. Once his eyes had adjusted to the light he waved his hands around the cell, "I would invite you to sit, but your brother has neglected to provide me a chair," he told her, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

"I can stand well enough," she told him.

"Can you?" he asked, squinting at her. She was around his age, perhaps a year or so older than him. But the woman looked so old now. Her face was pale and drawn, the lines in her skin deeper than the last time he had seen her. The war had been going on for almost a year and it had already aged the woman in front of him several times over. "You look terrible," he told her, being honest. "I must say. Though perhaps it's just the light in here."

She was staring at the chains on his wrists and ankles. He moved his wrists, allowing the chains to jingle against each other, "Are my bracelets heavy enough for you, or did you come to add a few more?" he asked her, still teasing.

"You brought this on yourself," she reminded him, feeling no pity for him, though he had not expected any. "When we brought you to Riverrun you were given a better cell. You repaid us by trying to escape."

Jaime shrugged his shoulders, if she had come looking for an apology she would not get one from him. "A cell is a cell," he told her. He wanted to act as if this cell did not bother him, as if he were content down here in the dark. "Some under Casterly Rock make this one seem a sunlit garden. One day perhaps I'll show them to you."

She bristled at his words, "I did not come here to be threatened," she told him.

No, Jaime thought. You came here to threaten me. And now you're afraid because it does not seem to be working. He did not tell her that though, instead he joked, hoping to make her angrier. "No? Then surely it was to have your pleasure of me? It's said that widows grow weary of their empty beds. We of the Kingsguard vow never to wed, but I suppose I could still service you if that's what you need. Pour us some of that wine and slip out of that gown and we'll see if I'm up to it."

She stared down at him horrified and Jaime smirked back at her. He had heard the jokes. After Stannis had told everyone in the Seven Kingdoms about him and Cersei everyone had been ready to paint his as a vile, disgusting monster. If that was how Lady Catelyn Stark wanted to see him he would play the part. It did not matter to him. The only opinion he cared about was Lenora's and she had made it clear that he disgusted her.

"If you said that in my son's hearing, he would kill you for it."

He shook his head, "Only so long as I was wearing these," he rattled his chains. "We both know the boy is afraid to face me in single combat."

Her shoulders tensed and she stood a little straighter, "My son may be young, but if you take him for a fool, you are sadly mistaken. And it seems to me that you were not so quick to make challenges when you had an army at your back."

Jaime chuckled, low and dark, "Tell me," he ordered, "did the old Kings of Winter hide behind their mother's skirts as well?"

That struck a nerve, her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched, "I grow weary of this, Ser. There are things I must know."

"Why should I tell you anything?" he asked her, a bit more defensive than he would have liked.

"To save your life," she told him.

He shook his head, his lips twitching up in a smile, "You think I fear death?" he asked her. That was a lie of course, a ploy. He did fear death. He did not fear the pain or the nothingness that he was sure came after it. He did not fear the Gods, Old or New. But he feared dying before he could apologize to his niece. He feared leaving the girl alone in the world with no one to defend her. He feared leaving this world without ever seeing her smile, so much like her mother's, again.

Lady Catelyn bought his trick because she shook her head. "If you will not speak with me, so be it," she told him. "Drink the wine or piss in it, Ser, it makes no matter to me."

She turned to leave, her hand was on the door to pull it closed when he stopped her. "Lady Stark," he called out, waiting for her to turn to look at him. "Things go to rust in this damp. Even a man's courtesies. Stay, and you shall have your answers ... for a price."

She was not the only one who needed to know things. He had questions too. As much as he wanted to anger this woman, as much as he wanted to take her questions and spit in her face. There were things that he desperately needed to know. Things that only she could tell him.

"Captives do not set prices," she told him.

But he already knew that he had won. Whatever it was that she wanted to know was so important that she would give him what he wanted in return. "Oh," he told her, "you will find mine modest enough. Your turnkey tells me nothing but vile lies, and he cannot even keep them straight. One day he says Cersei has been flayed and the next it's my father. Answer my questions and I will answer yours."

"Truthfully?" the woman asked, taking another step back into his cell.

"Oh, it's truth you want? Be careful, My Lady. Tyrion says that people often claim to hunger for truth, but seldom like the taste when it's served up."

Lady Catelyn assured him that she would be able to handle whatever truth he gave her. And then she poured him some of the wine. He drank the first glass in one long pull. It was sour, but it was better than the water he had grown accustomed to. He placed the glass on the floor and leaned his head against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest to get as comfortable as possible before he looked up at the woman. "Your first question, Lady Catelyn?" he asked her.

She was quiet for a moment, thinking for just a moment. "Are you Joffrey's father?" she asked him, the question bursting from her lips as if she had not control over her tongue.

Jaime rolled his eyes, bored with the game already, "You would never ask unless you knew the answer," he told her.

"I want it from your own lips."

"Joffrey is mine," he told her with a shrug. "As are the rest of Cersei's brood. The young ones, at least. Lenora is the only one I cannot claim, though I did raise that one."

"You admit to being your sister's lover?" she asked.

That question was tougher to answer. He had not been her lover since she had conceived Tommen. And even then, it had been unwilling. He had not willingly touched his sister since before Lenora was born. That little baby had changed everything. But that was not what Catelyn had asked. She was looking for proof that he was a monster, and he would give it to her. "I have always loved my sister," he told her. It was not a lie. "And you owe me two answers. Do all my kin still live?"

"Ser Stafford Lannister was slain at Oxcross, I am told," she answered.

Jaime rolled his eyes, "Uncle Dolt, my sister called him. It's Tyrion and my father who concern me. As well as Cersei."

"They live, all three," she told him as she refilled his wine glass and handed it back to him. "I am surprised that you do not ask about Lenora, you raised her after all."

Jaime waved her off as he took another sip of wine, this time he did not empty the glass. "Your son is in love with the girl," he told her. "Neither he nor his men would harm her. No Lannister man would kill her. She is the safest person in the entire Seven Kingdoms." He took another sip of wine. "Ask your next."

Her eyes sparkled in the dark, "How did my son Bran come to fall?" she asked.

"I flung him from a window." Jaime told her, as simple as if they were discussing the weather. "He was spying on us." She argued, she swore up and down that Bran would never spy. Jaime took another sip of his wine, "Then blame the Gods," he told her. "The Gods who brought the boy to our window and gave him ears to hear something he was never meant to hear."

"Blame the Gods?" Catelyn echoed back. "Yours was the hand that threw him. You meant for him to die."

"I seldom fling children from towers to improve their health. Yes, I meant for him to die." He paused for a moment, signaling that it was time for him to ask her a question. "How is Lenora?" he asked. He could not be sure, but it must have been months since she had come to see him and he had realized that she was with child. He could imagine her now, her stomach round with the child she was carrying. Instead of making him happy the thought terrified him. All he could think about was what had happened to his mother when she birthed Tyrion. He wondered if Lenora thought about it too, if she was as frightened for herself as he was for her. Lady Catelyn did not seem to understand his concern, her eyebrows were raised silently. "With her condition?" he specified.

"Her condition?" Catelyn echoed. "I don't understand, Ser."

"Her child," Jaime explained, wondering at the fact that Lady Catelyn Stark did not seem at all concerned about her future grandchild. "You son is not expecting too much of her, I hope," he added. "They will need to find a castle for her soon, I expect, unless he expects her to have her lying in in a tent on a battlefield."

"Lying in?" Catelyn murmured before she shook her head. "You are mistaken, Ser," she told him. "Lenora is not with child."

Jaime moaned, low and deep in his throat. He was not mistaken, she was. But if after so many moons Lady Catelyn did not know about Lenora's pregnancy that could only mean one thing. The girl had lost her child. She would be in so much pain. And all alone. She should have had her mother with her, the poor child, and instead she had to deal with the loss on her own. There was a pain in Jaime's chest, a tightening that made it difficult to breathe and his arms felt heavy with the ache to hold her and comfort her.

He cleared his throat, "Forgive me, Lady Stark," he requested. "I must have imagined that." He drained the rest of his wine glass and set it on the floor beside him. "I am suddenly grown tired," he told her. "I am afraid our game has come to an end."

He could tell that there was still so much that she wanted to ask him, but the woman was smart, she could see that she would get no more answers tonight. She nodded, "Enjoy the rest of the wine," she told him. "Perhaps I will send you more on the morrow."

Jaime nodded, already turning away from her so that he could attempt to lie down on the straw covered ground. "Perhaps," he agreed, though they both knew she would. And they both knew that she would be back the next evening with more questions.

Perhaps he would have the answers for her.

-.-.-.-.-

Sansa

They had been at the sept all day, singing. The city folk, poor and rich alike. It seemed the entire city was there, packed in tight, ever since the first report of enemy sails had reached the Red Keep. There were so many people packed inside the sept that if she listened closely Sansa could hear their voices all the way from the yard inside the Red Keep.

Inside the sept the only sound was their singing, but outside one could hear the whicker of horses, the clang of steel, and the groaning hinges of the great bronze gates of the city. It was a fearful noise to be sure.

Inside, the women sang for the Mother's mercy. But outside the soldiers prayed to the Warrior, and they did so in silence. She had once heard that the Mother and the Warrior were two faces of the same God. If that was true she wondered which one would listen to their prayers.

She moved quickly across the yard, hoping not to be seen, but she slowed as she drew near the king. She had been on her way to the sept herself when her handmaiden, Shae, had found her to tell her that Joffrey had sent for her. Ser Meryn Trant was holding his horse steady for him so that the king could mount it. Both the boy and horse wore gilded mail and enameled crimson plate, with matching golden lions on their heads. The evening sunlight flashed off the golds and reds every time Joff moved. It was bright and shining, just like the king. And wicked too.

The Imp was mounted on a red stallion beside his nephew. He was armored more plainly than the king in battle gear that made him look like a little boy dressed up in his father's clothes. It made Sansa want to laugh, but she held it back, she was glad she did because a moment later the little Lord had caught sight of her and turned his horse her way.

"Lady Sansa," he called out to her from the saddle. "Surely my sister, the queen, has asked you to join the other highborn ladies in Maegor's?"

"She has, My Lord," Sansa answered him with a single nod. "But King Joffrey sent for me to see if off. I also meant to visit the sept as well, to pray."

"I won't ask for whom," Tyrion told her with an odd twist of his lips. It seemed that it was almost a smile. His eyes darted behind her for a moment, looking over her shoulder, but when Sansa turned all she could see was Shae. "Perhaps, My Lady, you would oblige me by doing your praying inside the holdfast," he told her. "With a battle so soon to start it would be unwise for you to go to the sept alone."

She didn't want to, but he was Joffrey's uncle and Hand of the King. She could not deny him. So she nodded, "As you will," she conceded quietly.

Tyrion's eyes narrowed at her, for just a moment, as if determining whether or not she was being truthful before he nodded. "This day may change all," he told her. "For you as well as for House Lannister. I imagine that you will be safe enough in Maegor's, so long as -"

He did not get to finish his statement, the king had caught sight of her. "Sansa!" his boyish shout rang out across the yard. "Sansa, here!"

She flinched and gritted her teeth. The boy called her as she would call a dog. What was worse was that he expected her to come. What was worse still, was that she would. The Imp watched her carefully, "His Grace has need of you," he told her, his voice gentle. "We'll talk again after the battle. If the Gods permit."

She nodded, and turned toward Joffrey, though she turned back to Tyrion a moment later, "I will pray for your safe return, My Lord," she told him. A lie, but it was what was required. This little man was to be her uncle by law soon. It was expected that she would wish for his return.

His eyes and his voice was soft and skeptical at the same time when he asked her, "Will you?"

She nodded, "Just as I pray for the king's," she confirmed before she turned away from him to walk to Joffrey. That one had not been a lie. She would pray for the Imp's safety the same amount that she would pray for Joffrey's.

Not at all.

Joffrey had not mounted his horse yet, he was still on the ground. He looked excited as Sansa threaded her way through the gold cloaks to stand in front of him as he beckoned. "It will be battle soon," he told her. "Everyone says so."

"May the Gods have mercy on us all," came her reply. Quick and practiced.

"My uncle is the one who will need mercy," Joffrey told her, smirking. "But I won't give him any." He drew his sword. The pommel was a ruby cut in the shape of a heart, set between a lion's jaws. "My new blade," he told her, unnecessarily. "Hearteater, I've named it."

Sansa nodded, remembering his other sword, Lion's Tooth, the one that Arya had taken from him and thrown in the river. She hoped that Stannis would do the same with Hearteater before he killed Joffrey. "It's beautifully wrought, Your Grace," she told him.

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes darting from her face to his blade and back again. "Kiss it," he ordered her.

She stared at him for a moment, trying to determine if he was serious. When he did not back down she bent over the sword and touched her lips hesitantly to the cool metal. As grotesque as it was, she was sure that she would kiss any number of swords sooner than she would kiss the king. He seemed pleased though and he sheathed the sword. "You'll kiss it again when I return and taste my uncle's blood."

Sansa was skeptical, the only way this sword would return with anyone's blood was if a member of Joffrey's Kingsguard took the blade from him and killed someone for him. "Will you slay him yourself?" Sansa asked him, she knew that he wouldn't, but she wanted to needle at him a bit.

"If Stannis is fool enough to come near me," Joffrey told her, all confidence. His pouty lips drew into a smile. There had been a time when Sansa had loved his lips, but now they made her feel sick to her stomach.

"So you will be outside the gates fighting in the Vanguard?" she asked, hoping against reason that he would give her an affirmative answer.

"I wanted to, but my Uncle, the Imp, says my uncle Stannis's men will never cross the river. I will command the catapults," he stopped. Sansa had felt her lips twitch up at the corners, a small smile. He must have seen it because he shook his head angrily. "A King doesn't discuss battle plans with stupid girls," he told her, his tone irritated.

My brother discusses his battle plans with your sister, Sansa wanted to tell him. But there was a fine line between needling him and making him angry. She did not want him angry at her. "I'm sorry, Your Grace" she conceded, "you're right. I'm stupid. Of course you'll be fighting in the Vanguard." She lifted her eyes to his face, he looked almost ashamed. "They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest," she told him, throwing more caution to the wind. She was not too brave though. With one sharp look from Joffrey she was backtracking again. "Though he's older than Your Grace, to be sure. A man grown. And he's only a pretender."

She turned away from him to walk back to Shae, but Joffrey was not done with her yet. "Your brother's turn will come," he warned her, his voice an angry hiss. "And you can lick his blood off of Hearteater too."

Sansa's eyes narrowed as he turned from her to mount his horse. Or perhaps, she thought, Robb will bring me a sword covered in your blood. She stood as Joffrey and his men rode away from her. Shae came to stand by her side, walking so quietly that Sansa barely noticed her. "Some of those boys will never come back," Shae told her, almost sadly.

Sansa shook her head, "Joffrey will," she told her handmaiden, not bothering to keep her voice down. "The worst ones always live."

Shae shushed her quietly and reached for her hand, "Come, My Lady," she told her before she began to pull her out of the yard and back toward Maegor's Holdfast.

As they moved through the castle Sansa was amazed at how quiet it was. There were a few guards on the battlements, but for the most part the castle seemed empty. Away off she could hear the sounds of battle; the deep moans of war horns, the creak and thud of catapults, the splashes and splinterings, the crackle of burning pitch, the thrum of scorpions loosing their yard-long iron-headed shafts. And beneath it all, the cries of dying men.

She shivered as Shae pulled her across the drawbridge to the holdfast. The castle within a castle where Queen Cersei had promised all the highborn ladies that they would be safe.

The two guards at the door were dressed in red capes with lion crested helms, she was supposed to believe that they belonged to House Lannister, but Sansa knew that they were just sellswords dressed up to look the part. A third guard was sitting on the steps, his sword laying across his knees, a real guard would have been standing. He stood when he saw Sansa and Shae approach though and opened the door to let them inside.

The Queen's Ballroom was not a large room, it could only hold about one hundred people comfortably, and was just a tenth the size of the castle's Great Hall. But it was a pretty room. What it lacked in size it more than made up for in grace. Beaten silver mirrors backed every wall sconce, so that the torches would burn twice as brightly; the walls were paneled in carved wood, and sweet smelling rushes covered the floors. There were pipes and a fiddle being played in the gallery above. And a line of tall, arched windows along the south wall. Tonight they had been closed off with thick drapes. The velvet hangings admitted no light and muffled the sound of the battle beyond them.

Almost every highborn woman in the city sat at the long trestle tables, along with a handful of young boys. The women were wives, daughters, mothers, and sisters. Their men had gone out to fight Lord Stannis. Many would not return. The air was heavy with the knowledge. The worried and depressed looks were too much for Sansa, she could not look at the women without her chest tightening. They were praying for their men to return while Sansa prayed that Joffrey would die.

As Joffrey's betrothed, Sansa had the seat of honor on the queen's right hand, not that she wanted it. It was as she was climbing the steps to the dais that she saw him. He was standing in the shadows by the back wall, he wore a long hauberk of oiled black mail, and held his sword before him.

It was the sword she recognized. Her father's greatsword, Ice, near as tall as he was. Its point rested on the floor, and his hard bony fingers curled around the crossguard on either side of the grip. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at him. Ser Ilyn Payne seemed to sense her gaze, because he turned toward her, staring her down with his pale eyes.

"What is he doing here?" she asked the captain of the queen's new red cloak guard.

The man smiled at her, "Her Grace expects she'll have need of him before the night's done," he told her.

It was a true enough answer, but it made Sansa nervous. Ser Ilyn Payne was the King's Justice. There was only one service that he provided. She wondered whose head did Cersei mean to take off before the end of the night.

She was smart enough not to ask. And a moment later the royal steward had called for everyone to rise as Queen Cersei entered the ballroom.

The queen's gown was snowy white, like the cloaks of the Kingsguard, and the inside of her dagged sleeves was lined in gold satin. Her hair shown bright and gold in the torchlight and fell around her bare shoulders in gentle waves. She looked innocent, like a maiden, though there were points of color on her cheeks. The look made Sansa nervous, she wondered what game the queen might be playing at.

"Be seated," Cersei commanded with an almost soft smile on her lips. "And be welcome." She turned to Sansa once they were both seated. "You look pale, Sansa," she observed. "Is your red flower still blooming?"

Sansa looked down, ashamed, "Yes," she admitted.

The queen smiled, "How apt. The men will bleed out there, and you in here." She signaled for the first course to be served.

"Why is Ser Ilyn here?" Sansa blurted out after a moment. The captain of the guard had already told her, but she would hear the answer from the queen herself.

Cersei barely spared a glance at the mute man before she answered, "To deal with treason, and to defend us if need be. He was a knight before he was a headsman." She waited until a servant had placed a bowl of soup in front of her before she continued. She nodded toward the doors at the end of the hall, they were closed and barred. "When the axes smash down those doors, you may be glad of him."

Sansa would never be glad of Ser Ilyn Payne. She wished the Hound were there instead. The man was harsh, but she was sure that he would never let any harm come to her. She could not say the same for the headsman. "Won't your guards protect us?" she asked.

Cersei laughed, "And who will protect us from my guards?" she asked. "Loyal sellswords are as rare as virgin whores. If the battle is lost they will be the first to run, tripping over their new red cloaks as they tear them from their shoulders. Do you have any notion of what happens when a city is sacked, Little Dove?"

She watched Sansa for a moment, her eyebrows raised, and then shook her head, "No," she answered her own question. "You wouldn't, would you? All you know of life you learned from singers, and there's such a dearth of good sacking songs."

"True knights would never harm women and children," Sansa told her. She flinched at how hollow the words rang, even to her own ears.

"True knights," Cersei repeated with a nod and a smile. "No doubt you're right. So why don't you just eat your broth like a good girl and wait for Symeon Star-Eyes and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight to come rescue you, sweetling. I'm sure it won't be long now."

-.-.-.-.-

Lenora

She was returning to their chambers one morning after breaking her fast when she saw Robb walking down the corridor toward her. He smiled widely when he caught sight of her and his pace quickened to get to her faster. Lenora smiled at him, her smile quickly turning into laughter when he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest.

"Good morning," she told him, still giggling.

"Good morning," he replied, leaning down to press a kiss against her lips. "I woke up and you weren't in bed."

"Did you think you had lost me?" Lenora teased him, trying to pull away from him.

He shook his head, "I just missed you," he told her, refusing to loosen his hold on her waist. "Have you already broken your fast?" he asked her.

She nodded, "I tried to wake you up," she told him. "But you were sleeping so deeply and you looked so comfortable. I refused to be the one that woke you from that slumber. You need your rest besides."

Robb nodded, glancing over her shoulder and smirking at something. He bent down, burying his head in her hair, she thought he was simply hugging her, but a moment later his teeth scraped against the shell of her ear, "I'd rather have you," he whispered.

Her laughter died on her lips and she lifted a restraining hand against his chest. She recognized that whisper, low and full of desire, she had heard it many times before. And while she felt her lower stomach warm with desire she could not help but notice how inappropriate this would be. They were in a corridor of a castle that was not theirs. Anyone could come upon them. She shook her head, biting her lip despite herself as Robb's lips moved from her ear to kiss and bite their way down her neck.

"Nora," he whispered against her skin, biting gently on her collar bone. She felt the skin on her cheeks warm and she was sure she was blushing when she heard him whisper, "I must have you."

His hands were on her waist and he was slowly, carefully walking her backwards. After a few steps he gently shoved her into a small alcove, partially hidden by a column. The alcove was empty, a small space really with nothing but a window overlooking the sea.

Once they were behind the column his hands fell back to her waist and he moved his lips up from her neck to kiss along her jaw line before finally landing on hers. It was not the best hiding spot, but Lenora allowed her reservations to melt away as she kissed him back, her lips moving against his just as desperately as his own. He tried to slip his tongue into her mouth, but Lenora pulled away, panting slightly.

"Here?" she asked, desperately trying to regain control of her breath.

"Here," he confirmed, leaning forward, trying to capture her lips again.

She shook her head slightly, "Someone could see," she argued.

Since she wasn't going to let him kiss her Robb moved his hands from her waist to the laces of her dress. She regretted choosing this dress this morning as he began to pull at the laces, almost lazily untying them. It was more of a southern style, it laced up the front and had a plunging neckline. Nothing inappropriate, but deep enough that she did not wear a shift, only a corset underneath. "That makes it more fun," he whispered to her as he loosened the laces enough that the dress opened, revealing the corset underneath.

He smiled and bent slightly, lowering his lips to the tops of her breasts that peeked out of the tight corset, kissing his way across one breast and then the other. The warmth of desire that had filled her stomach moved lower, pooling between her thighs. She gasped, her chest heaving slightly against him as he began to suck a love mark into her skin. "You are horrible, Robb Stark," she whispered, even as her hands moved down to the laces of his breeches so that she could begin to untie them.

"And you are irresistible, Lenora Stark," he told her, his hands making quick work of the laces on her corset and quickly pulling her breasts free, ducking his head even further to pull one of her nipples into his mouth.

Lenora's hips bucked forward and she pressed her chest closer to him, searching for more. She did not know if she was irresistible, but she did know that what he was doing was making it very hard for her to tell him no. She finished unlacing his breeches easily and pushed them down just enough that she was able to wrap her hand around his hardness. He lifted his lips to her mouth and kissed her, his tongue slipping into her own mouth and groan escaping his lips as she began to stroke him, up and down.

He pulled away slightly, less than an inch, "If you don't want this truly, you had better tell me now," he told her, panting slightly. Even as he told her that his hands had begun to gather her skirts, lifting them from around her legs so that it would be easier for her to move. "I will not be able to stop myself if we go further."

Lenora smiled at him and pressed another kiss against his lips, this time letting her tongue slip into his mouth as she very deliberately lifted one of her legs to wrap it around Robb's hips. He smiled against her lips as his hands found their way to the backs of her thighs, boosting her up so that she could wrap both of her legs around his hips and he could hold her up. He groaned again as he shifted slightly, bringing himself to enter her.

Lenora smiled and took a deep breath on that first, deep thrust. It had been a matter of hours since the last time Robb had had her the night before as they were getting ready for bed, and it was only now when they were joined together that she realized how much she had missed the feeling.

Her hands fell to his shoulders, her fingers bending to dig into his doublet as he began to thrust harder and deeper. She nipped at his bottom lip, smiling as he moaned into her mouth. It amazed her, that they were able to have so much fun together, that it felt so good to her. When her septa had first explained the marriage bed to her she had told Lenora that it would not be fun, that it would be a duty that she would have to do for her husband. She had not imagined that she would ever want to do it.

When she was a little older her mother had given her to believe that it could be enjoyable for a woman, though not always. But as Lenora rocked her hips, desperately trying to meet every one of Robb's quick thrusts she could not think of a time when being with Robb had not been a spectacularly breathless exercise.

She pulled away from his lips for a moment, waiting until Robb lifted his blue eyes to meet her own grey ones. Then she smiled softly, "I love you," she told him before lowering her lips back to his.

He bit her lip, sucking it into his mouth for a moment before he released it, "I love you too, Nora," he told her as his right hand slipped away from the bottom of her thigh. She tightened her legs around him to stay where she was as he let his hand slip between them, battling with her skirts for a moment before he found his way underneath them, his thumb coming to press against that special spot of hers.

One day she would ask him how he knew about it. She swore it every time they made love, but she only remembered it during the act. And she would not stop what they were doing to ask him, because she was sure that the answer would be a name of one of the women he had known before they were married. And the last thing she wanted was for him to think about other women when they were connected so intimately.

He must have seen her brow furrow and he must have guessed the direction her mind was traveling because he craned his neck, stretching to be able to press a kiss against her forehead, "Only you, Nora," he whispered to her, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips. "Since the day you came to Winterfell it has only been you. It will be only you from that day to my last day."

That had been what she needed to hear, she could feel herself coming to her end, tightening around him. She leaned forward, sinking her teeth into the fabric of his doublet at his shoulder to muffle her moan as she came undone. She hoped that they had been quiet enough that no one had heard them. However good she felt now she knew she would be embarrassed if someone came upon them.

Her own ending was the end of him. A heartbeat later he was moaning against her own shoulder as he thrust himself once more, as deep inside her as he could go. They stayed as they were for a few minute longer, occasionally rocking their hips, or bringing their lips together, calming their breaths and their own wild heartbeats.

Slowly, almost regretfully he released his hold on her legs and let her slid back down until she was standing on the floor. She smiled to herself as she began to put herself back together again, starting with her corset. Robb's hand slipped underneath her chin and lifted her gaze to his face. He smiled at her for a moment before he lowered his lips to her and pressed a chaste kiss against her lips. She smiled against him, the action was incredibly innocent considering what they had just done. After another moment she pulled away from him so that she could lace her dress up again.

Once both of their laces were put back to rights and her skirts were back around her ankles Robb grabbed her hand with a smile and pulled her back out to the corridor. She giggled as he pulled her, but the laughter quickly disappeared when a moment later her eyes fell on Ser Raynald and Rollam Westerling, no doubt on their way from the hall where they had just broken their own fasts.

Rollam smiled at them happily, "King Robb," he greeted, bowing low to Robb, "Queen Lenora," he turned his bow on her. "What were you two doing?"

Lenora turned toward Robb, her eyes widening when she caught sight of his hair, she could not remember running her fingers through his auburn curls but she must have, because his hair was decidedly mussed now. She turned back to Rollam, "I was showing His Grace the ocean," she told him, her voice squeaking slightly. "Through the window back there," she pointed over her shoulder to the alcove they had just vacated.

Ser Raynald's scanned her face, taking in the blush that burned on her cheeks and her hair that she had no doubt was as unruly as Robb's before he looked at Robb. After a moment he nodded, "I'll bet," he told them before he gently nudged his brother so that the two of them could continue walking. "Have a good morning, Your Graces," he added as they passed Robb and Lenora.

Lenora waited until they had rounded the corner before she turned to Robb and quickly punched him in the chest. He lifted his hand to where she had hit him and pretended to stumble back a few steps, "Ouch," he told her, a smile on his lips. "What was that for?"

"I told you someone would catch us," Lenora hissed at him, though even she could not keep a small smile off her lips.

"They didn't catch us," Robb assured her, moving closer to her so that he could place his hand on the small of her back and guide her further down the hallway.

"Ser Raynald," Lenora started.

"Is merely suspicious," Robb finished.

"And Rollam!"

"Is an innocent child who believes that you were simply showing me the ocean." Lenora struggled to hold onto her irritation for a moment longer before she sighed and allowed herself to lean into Robb's body. He chuckled, pressing a kiss against the top of her head, "I like the boy," he told her. She nodded, she liked the boy too. "I'm thinking about taking him with me when we leave," Robb continued. "As a squire, an attempt to keep his family in line."

Lenora was quiet.

"What do you think?" he pressed her when she did not immediately tell him.

"It would be better to take the heir, Ser Raynald," she told him honestly, "rather than the spare. But Rollam is a sweet boy. I would never say no to him coming with us."

Robb nodded, "Perhaps I should bring them all," he told her, "to Riverrun. We could give Lady Sybell and Ser Raynald tower cells, the two girls could become your ladies and Rollam could squire."

Lenora thought about it for a moment, "Taking them from their home would serve as a better way to hit at their pride," she murmured.

"But?" Robb asked her, he stopped walking so that he could turn to face her, his eyebrows raised.

"But Grey Wind does not like them," Lenora told him, her voice hesitant. She had noticed it during their stay at the Crag, the direwolf would snarl and snap at all of them except Rollam. "And anyone your wolf does not trust is no friend of yours."

Robb chuckled at her and shook his head, "The girls will get tower cells too then," he told her, pressing a kiss against her temple. If you did not like them that was all you needed to say," he added, making a joke of her mistrust.

Lenora allowed it, he could make jokes all he wanted as long as he listened to her and kept the Westerlings at bay.

Author's Note:

Oh I'm really looking forward to the next couple chapters. They're going to be a lot of fun I think. I hope that you had fun with this chapter (Robb and Lenora definitely did).
Thank you for stopping by to read. And thank you to everyone who has added this story to their favorites or alerts lists.
But most of all, thank you to those of you who reviewed the last chapter. And HUGE thanks in advance to everyone who will review on this chapter. You guys are rockstars!
Want to join the rockstar club? All you have to do is got down to that empty box down there and type out a little review. Takes a matter of seconds and it really makes me happy!

DragonGirl: I don't think anyone's ever quoted this story back to me. This may be a first. I'm glad that you're enjoying this story so far and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well. Don't worry too much about the Red Wedding. No matter what happens I promise that this story is a love story at its core. It will get a happy(ish) ending.

DannyBlack70: I love that chapter for what it did for Cersei and Lenora. Despite how this story started and despite Cersei's faults and despite how much Lenora does not want to admit that she's similar in so many ways to her mother ... they have a strong bond. It's not easy to let go of that. As for the Red Wedding ... objectively you guys don't have much longer to worry about it, there's roughly fifteen chapters between this one and the Red Wedding. Fifteen. (I say roughly, but I counted.)

darkwolf76: I love that! The last chapter "really belonged to the mothers." And it did. I've used the phrase a couple of times in this story that the Mother and the Warrior are two faces of the same God, two sides of a coin, etc. The same goes for Cersei and Catelyn. They both love their children, they would both fight for their children, kill for their children, do unspeakable things for their children. And I was really excited to play with that in the last chapter. It originally was not going to work out with the two of them back to back like that, Cersei's point of view was going to be in a completely different chapter but the more I looked at it the more I realized they had to go together.
Plus having her point of view in the last chapter allowed me to transition so easily into the Lenora scene with the moon that it was like too perfect to pass up. :D

RHatch89: Thank you! I hope that you enjoyed this one as well!

Phoenix Crest: You reviewed on chapter two... it might be a while before you get here. But thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the first two chapters and I hope that you continue to enjoy the story as you catch up to us!

Guest: Robb and Nora for the win! Yes!

HPuni101: Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one too!

That's all I've got for now! Thanks friends!
Same place tomorrow?
Chloe Jane.