A/N: Hey all! First of all...I am beyond sorry for the long hiatus. I've just not had the time (or honestly the inspiration) to keep going...this whole Game of Thrones dry spell has really gotten to me! DROP THE BOOK GEORGE! ...Jesus. Anyway, if any of you are still reading I would like to THANK YOU for your patience and I really hope I can pick this up again because I owe it to the story and also I really need something to do!

I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter. I feel like I should explain it from my perspective to give you some insight. I really wanted to show that they both have doubts about what's happening and that it's pretty much a natural thing to wonder if you've done the right thing. I wanted this to be rocky for them and this will be something they have to get through regardless if they remain together physically or not. But Jaime talking about Tyrion was his way of giving back to Lorraine because he's finally realising that giving and fighting for this doesn't include brawn or warfare or gold -it involves how much of yourself you give to the person you're with and Lorraine -though still reluctant to give everything over, has shared more than he had with her. I hope this clears things up for you all!

I would like to thank "Guest" for his/her's nice words when reviewing my story. Thank you so much and I hope I don't disappoint you with these updates all over the place! And i've also gotten the comment that Jaime seems a little OOC -if you could please message me and explain how exactly he seems OOC to you I will try my best to fix it (please).

Jaime

It had been that way night after night now. They had stayed up. He would speak, and sometimes she would throw in a few stray words. And after comforting each other their bodies would eventually melt into one and they would fall asleep together, fully dressed, on their bed.

But today was the day Daven would be leaving to King's Landing with the Tully's and Jaime was dreading it for Lorraine's sake. It made him wonder, what moment exactly had it been, what moment had he chosen? What day had the Gods deemed it appropriate for him to unwittingly put someone else's comforts, thoughts and fears before his? When had the Gods exactly chosen to curse him? And somehow, in some sick twisted way, he knew he had been done for since Ashemark.

There was something he could not resist in Lorraine -and not strictly in a lustful way, but in the way he cared to know how Myrcella was feeling under the hot sun or whether Tommen wasn't being terrorised by his brother -he cared. He thought of her sitting by a fountain in need of a chess partner, reaching for heavy and forgotten volumes in a dusty library, chasing cats, whatever it was he would think of it and anticipate her needs and analyse her state of mind. If he did not know any better Jaime would think he was being a more or less adequate husband if he were qualified to say so.

Looking about from where he lay in the middle of the bed he carefully wrapped his fingers around his wife's delicate shoulders, subsequently kissing it tenderly when a slight squeeze would not rouse her. Briefly, as her eyelids fluttered open and a light whine escaped her lips, he thought about how tender he had become and who would be proud of him for that feat.

The woman lying next to him scrunched up her brow like she could already tell the day was going to be foul -not that Jaime doubted she was right. He wished the day had never come, he wished for the slightest of moments that he was not who he was and that him and Lorraine only existed in a constant hoop of the moments they shared in this room, in this bed, together. His mind circled back not for the first or second time in that very morning of how different he was to himself and to everyone he had known before. When was I such a wish-er? Surely they would laugh at me now. He thought before being snapped back to the dreaded reality of what they would come to face by his wife's hardened expression.

"I see you're not going to bother wishing me a good morning." He tried to say in a reprimand to somehow make her smile -which he succeeded to do for only the briefest moment.

Her lips curled back into one another and she focused her eyes onto his, wrapping a hand around his neck and the other around the arm keeping him propped up by her side. She spoke to him with her eyes, without a word he knew what she had meant.

"I'm not looking forward to it either" He narrowed his eyes at her. Though his spoken sentiment was meant to make her feel like he understood that this entire situation was less than savoury he also knew that it had to be him to stern up and drag her to the task. Just as she would silently scold him to be kinder to the staff or the way she would prod him to take a tighter hold on neighbouring village matters he knew that in some way he had to help. Not that she would ever admit to wanting or needing it. At least that was another thing they had in common.

Nodding in remorseful understanding Lorraine sat up, stopping momentarily to shake last night's dreariness off of her. After making sure she was fully up to the task -he himself could not figure out at what point he had become so...attentive, they wasted no more time in preparing -at least physically, for the day.

They left their rooms, followed closely by the well awaiting Benedict Broom trailing along to the far left side of his wife. He could not say the man was not diligent, that was for sure.

Benedict Broom was everything a good knight should be -everything that Jaime had once prided himself on being. He was quiet, reserved and kept to his own but it was not to say that he was not sharp. A lesser knight would have scoffed at Jaime's attempt to have him reduced to a sworn shield - a glorified bodyguard some would say, but although it had not been explicitly expressed he knew that Ser Benedict must be aware that circumstances have shifted and that the surrounding atmosphere was not safe enough. And he would like to think that he would not assign such a guard to his headstrong wife had it not ben absolutely necessary. He truly would like to believe that.

Breakfast commenced in silence on the terrace, even Marla Frey was more willing to indulge in idle chit chat than they seemed to be. He asked them casually about their journey and the exact logistics of it and was in turn awarded with the information by a yawning Daven.

"I see your visit has ended just in time, growing bored of us already?" He witnessed the small smile engraving itself in Lorraine's features at his comment and he could not suppress a twitch of his own mouth at the thought.

Daven, eyes open now and awake enough to retort, answered Jaime's jab,

"Oh you know me, cousin, always eager to get back to work." To which a small giggle escaped his wife.

Daven turned to look at her then, and if Jaime had not been so bored he would have probably missed the change in his cousin's expression from boredom to something akin to pride. It did not last long though, and Daven looked back to Jaime's direction, focusing his eyes on Lorraine and sharing a knowing look with her that even without checking Jaime knew she returned.

"For the sake of the kingdom then I hope your diligence is not fickle."

Benedict

The sky seemed awfully dark for such an early morning. Perhaps it would rain, he thought to himself. He worried for a moment what the implication of rain would for the outgoing party's journey.

It seemed like that was almost entirely what his thoughts and subsequent deliberations consisted of in more recent days; a list of sequential worries that very rarely directly included or affected him.

But that what was his job, or at least that was his job now, he supposed. He did not have a lot to complain about. He was an esteemed knight under the employ of one of the most revered house names in all of Westeros. He was head of the armoury and styles as the sworn sword to the lady of the Rock. That in itself was a curious matter.

He had been a guard to many a lady in his time, but never had he been reluctant to cause offence by merely doing his duty. For some reason -thought it was a reason he was sure of, he could not help but sense that his presence as her protector was a stab at her ability to take care of herself. And to be frank, Benedict had never before found himself caring what his guard meant to those he was guarding until now.

He supposed it was because of this position felt so...final. Or at least that was the way Lord Lannister had made it sound to him. He would serve their house as fully as he could and his own name would be rewarded for it.

"The Brooms have served the Lannisters well and with loyalty, and it is your duty as well as mine to ensure that that legacy continues" he vividly recalls his employer saying to him -even though he could almost feel Lord Lannister's strong want to roll his eyes at the sound of those words leaving him. Which frankly, Benedict understood fully. It was part of the reason he was so willing to follow Lord Lannister's orders so diligently -because he knew that he and him were the same.

He knew Lord Lannister when he was Ser Jaime, and he knew he was still Ser Jaime. He knew that they both strove for and worked to maintain callous indifference as their best state of being. He knew it was his business not to care. He knew they both valued efficiency over camaraderie, at least these days it was true. He understood Lord Lannister, both past and present, and so he found nothing that could sway him from his service. And somehow, some way, Lord Lannister knew it too.

He stood dutifully once more, to the far diagonal left of the object of his sworn oath, staring at anything but the back of her head -which the sky seemed to be striving for. The air was cold, but not because Benedict thought that it was definitely going to rain now. No, the bite in the air had amplified itself once the Tully's walked out of the open stairway and into the awaiting courtyard, formally standing to face their hospitable keepers.

Benedict tried not to think of how this was probably the first time Edmure Tully had left his rooms since his arrival. He tried not to think of how the angry tears were held in Roslin Tully's eyes. He tried not to think of how the little babe would howl in the carriage with the thunderous rain attacking from the heavens. These were all things his job did not entail him to think of, but as he noticed his Lady's breath held inside her tightly by her inflated back it was hard not to match his thoughts to hers.

Someone should start talking before it starts raining.

"Lord Tully, it is with my cousin's charge that I trust you will arrive in King's Landing safely and serve the King to the best of your abilities. My wife and I wish you an easy journey."

Even someone not as careful as Benedict would notice the tiredness in the rehearsed speech. Lord Lannister knew it had no meaning to its recipient, he knew it would not fix anything that was broken. But they all knew it had to be said, it had to be heard. They all knew it, and that's why it was no surprise when Lord Edmure merely nodded with something Benedict could only describe as disdain, and not even he could bother to want to straighten him out for it.

And suddenly, it seemed, with a flurry of nodding heads the party seemed ready to make its way out. But then his Lady took a step forward, and it was all he could do not to grab her arm -if it weren't for the warning look from Lord Lannister he did not know if he could have held himself, so instead he ghosted behind her slightly. Like he always did.

And he did nothing as he watched her kiss Lady Marla on the cheek, as she also did with Ser Daven who also kissed her hand fiercely. He did nothing as she approached Lord Edmure with a hesitation he could see. He just stood by and watched as she awkwardly bowed deeply to him -dipping her head up only slightly to look at Lord Edmure. It was then that Benedict finally caught on to what she was doing -or what she was trying to do. She was apologising. And Benedict knew full well now that this entire display was directed for one person in particular. The one person he had had to physically restrain from attacking her.

It was like everyone in attendance's breath was sucked in as they all watched the exchange in horror. Lady Lannister now stood facing Lady Roslin, reaching out with her hands -which Benedict did not miss the slight tremble of, approached Roslin's shoulder tentatively. It was in that moment that his attention finally shifted to the receiver of the gesture in anticipation, and she did not seem at all receptive to whatever advance his Lady was making. Her lips were tight, her knuckles white and wrapped around her son's waist, he could almost hear her hiss as she aggressively shrugged her shoulder away and her eyes remained focused on something far away.

Something broke inside him for the Lady, whose back he had come to know unquestionably. He watched it slouch in defeat and her head drop to the ground momentarily before she turned back. Her eyes were sad, they always were these days. But still, his expression remained unchanged and he resumed his position as she resumed hers.

Without another word, the whole party shuffled into their carriages and it seemed like mere minutes that they were gone. Like they had never even been there to begin with. The dust that followed their hasty departure was reprimanded back down to the ground as the first showering of rain came upon them and they all swiftly moved back to the very mouth of the lion.

He stood farther away from her then, careful not to linger and watch as her husband placed his hand on her left arm and spoke to her in a tone Benedict could never recognise whenever he heard it. She did not reply, obviously, with more than a few curt nods and a tight smile to counteract any of his worry. Before removing his hand from her Jaime shared a look with him then, and they both knew that she most certainly, was not alright. But they also knew that she most certainly would not admit or show that to anyone watching. No, Benedict could not claim to have his Lady's confidence -or his Lady's anything really, but he knew her well enough to know that at least.

His shared look with Lord Lannister told him that his service was still required, and he resumed his place behind her just as Lord Lannister placed a placid kiss on her head, cutting himself away from her for the day.

Wordlessly, he followed his Lady as she made her way to her chambers, stopping midway with her as she obviously decided to reroute to someplace else, he never asked. As they made their way to the unknown location of her choice, Gods know there are far too many of them here at the Rock, he could not ignore the change in her breath and the slight shudderings of her shoulders. He could not ignore them, but he could not say anything either. And he couldn't say anything when she stopped walking altogether and leaned into an alcove. And still, silence invaded him as he watched her rest her hands on the damp walls as she sobbed silently, her spasms masked by the occasional thunder. She gasped slightly every once in a while, and still he stood dumbfounded by her side, watching. He did not know what to do in these situations, it was always easy not to do anything. But he had not anticipated this every happening, and certainly not so freely in his presence.

He watched with horror as his hand overrode his control and reached out to the Lady in distress. His eyes widened and his mouth went dry as his hand came to rest on her shoulder in a way he hoped was comforting as she shuddered uncontrollably. And to his surprise her own hand snaked up to his and squeezed it -not in confirmation or thanks, but with pure need for support. And he just stood there, Benedict of House Broom, knighted by Lord Tywin Lannister himself, the pride of his name, with his hand on a crying girl in distress. He stared at the offending hand, wrapped up tightly in her slender fingers, and though he felt embarrassed and at a loss by the whole situation in itself, he had simultaneously never felt more useful to someone before in his life. And for that, Benedict Broom knew he would not leave this Lady, no matter how hard she cried or how loud the thunder roared.

Lorraine

It is dinner time and I am drunk and sad.

It may not be befitting of such an esteemed lady, but what's the point of life if we can't surprise each other every once in a while, eh? Besides, with barely anyone left here at Casterly Rock who else is left to surprise me but myself? It won't be long until Jaime's gone too. Is this how my descent to madness begins? I'm sure those who talk about me would not be so shocked to learn that. I wonder what will come of my madness, if I were in fact mad. Should I throw myself from the cliffs? That seems to be in fashion. Lysa Tully did it -as did Ashara Dayne, and look at them! Infamous and unforgettable! I can see it already, the Lannister curse they'll call it, maybe it'll stop Jaime from remarrying. Perhaps it might be worth the trouble. Oh but then Jaime would get sad and Addam would get sad and angry and he'd fight him and there'd be all this ugliness and the people that don't like me would be all too happy to gossip about it and i'm sorry but I just refuse to give anyone the satisfaction. I guess that's off the table now.

Or perhaps I am just being bitter. Does it suit me? Jaime would not think so. Do I care? Not at the moment, no. Though, judging by the looks i'm getting I should probably slow down if I wish to avoid a lecture. Gods, that was probably the most annoying thing about being a mute -everyone in your life had to talk enough for the both of you.

And though our new minstrel was in my eye-line I could hear him far better than I could see him. Was music always this obvious and jarring? Whitesmile Watt, is Whitesmile Watt the summary of Jaime's Aunt's tastes? I am so close to having an unsavoury thought about my Aunt-in-law. What has become of me. When did I stoop so low?

I am, as Roslin Tully would probably tell you, a child snatcher.

Actually, who gives a toss what she thinks? Certainly not I. Which is a lie. I care a lot. But she is probably leagues away from me by now and should not, nor will she ever, know.

Maybe it was just the initial shock of her public jilting that has me so tense. When has anyone ever backed away from me, ever? I am amiable. I am plenty amiable. People do not shirk away from me, I shirk away from people.

But then again, i've never really been responsible for taking someone's child from them, have I? And it wasn't just that she thought so, it was that I genuinely was responsible. It was my idea. If I hadn't said it, it would not have happened. Or not have been planned. But what else could I have done? Would she have preferred Jaime separate them? Would she have wanted her son growing up with strangers in turbulent and unknown political atmospheres? I suppose she would have bloody well wanted to keep him with her. Mothers. Even i'm not that naïve, Roslin. But I also suppose i'm not a mother either, so could I really blame her?

Who was I trying to fool, anyway? I couldn't blame her. I don't. I did what I had to do. And she did the only thing she could do in response. It was impossible. And instead of accepting it like the Lady of Casterly Rock, the wife of one of the most formidable men in the Seven Kingdoms, I have resorted to get drunk at dinner and indulge myself in an excruciatingly awful drunken inner monologue. Delightful.

Though I could do without the painfully sharp melody, Whitesmile Watt. His name is too long. Whitesmile. His smile is anything but white. More orange than anything else, really. Did Jaime think I could be fooled by his transparent attempts at compensation? What is a minstrel to me? Did he think a simple singer could replace the place he'd taken somewhere near my heart? I hadn't pegged my husband was someone to sell himself short.

He couldn't even look at me. He just continued to miserably stab at his food as I stared him down. And as hard as I tried, as hard as I could with the Arbor fogging my mind, I tried to forget that I still wasn't sure what kind of time I had left with my husband.

Was all of this in preparation of a life without him? He might as well not be here, it was so silent -and that's coming from a mute too. It's like the alcohol's unleashing all the potential for the untold mute jokes i've had stored in me -there are so many of them!

It was then that I decided to lift my foot onto the table, my eyes anticipating Jaime's. When he looked up in shock my sense could not even answer him with a sly smile, I could imagine I looked quite challenging from where he sat.

"Whitesmile-" He interrupted. Finally, someone was talking.

"M'Lord?"

"Leave us"

"M'Lord." He left, closing the door with him wearing something of a leer -it could have been the alcohol, though.

Here we were now, alone at last. At dinner. It is dinner time and I am drunk and sad. And my husband is staring at me like he knows not what to do with me.

It is at this point that i'll admit that I had not exactly thought my actions through. We were alone, completely now, and that left me wondering whether I had unintentionally walked into an early scolding.

Benedict had been excused long ago, and I was uncharacteristically torn at seeing him leave. He had been kind to me when I had thought him incapable of it -to be fair, I had also thought myself incapable of falling apart so readily in front of someone who was essentially a stranger. I had wanted to thank him, but in this inebriated state it's a wonder I could even form thoughts.

Hmm. What are my thoughts now, as Jaime approaches me, eventually leaning on the end of the table on my side.

"What is it you're trying to accomplish, my lady?" Gods, he has his stern voice on.

I wanted to say that this is all a sham. I wanted to yell. I wanted him to know that it feels like everything is falling apart. But instead I moved my hand to his upper thigh and avoid his eyes, surely hungry by now, burning holes in my head.

I moved my hand up, reaching the centre of his passions and stroked him slowly, teasing him like I had never had the patience for.

His eyes have lost their colour to me as I watched, their envious green darkening into an oblivion of nothing. I was staring into the abyss, and there was nothing I wanted more than to drown in it.

I moved myself up to kiss his neck, his low grown torturing me in the process. Suddenly, his hand grasped at the arm I had slung around his neck and the famous green had returned to him.

"What are you getting at?" He was hard in my hand. I could feel him clearly through his breeches. I wanted him to take me here. I wanted him to take me everywhere.

I all but leapt up to lay claim to his lips once more before his strong grip stopped me once more.

"Lorraine."

Lorraine. Lorraine, he said. He said it the way he spoke to Daemon when his patience had run low with him. Had he run out of patience with me as well? What was he even waiting for?

I huffed audibly in his face before pushing myself off of my heavy seat, effectively bringing a chill to the heat that had grown between us. I tried to walk off, I really did. But my head and my feet failed me all too quickly thanks to my sudden movement and I felt the room spin before I felt the familiarly offending hand grip my arm tightly.

Was he going to yell at me? Was he going to scold me for acting like a child? I knew he could see through me. And yet he did nothing but hold me close to him, like we did to one another every night before we eventually fell asleep. I had been dried of all the tears I had to cry, did I even want to cry? No, I wanted to be held by my husband. My beautiful, golden, stupid, gentle husband.

His touch, though once intoxicating, in that moment was far too sobering. And I, quickly realising the churlishness of my actions, grew red and feasibly embarrassed as his hands washed through my hair calmingly.

As I finally braved to look up at the man whose arms were currently acting as my brace I was almost stunned to see a small smile. His small smile. The one I knew was only mine. Perhaps it was someone else's at some point -I would never ask, but now, it was all mine.

"If you wanted to make love so badly you could have just asked."

I may almost be in love with you, Jaime Lannister. Almost.

Damn I felt like I needed this more than it needed me. Hope you enjoyed a drunk Lorraine, a wildly different narrator when she's intoxicated, eh?

Stay tuned...for torture.

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