Hey, all! This is a really, really short update. I've been throwing this about in my mind, trying to find the bridge into Castlerly Rock. This is what happened. I know it's short and I just ask for your patience. It's written a bit differently, too - as we've been experimenting with writing in my class. So I hope you enjoy it and it tides you over until the next update. Thank you for all your reviews, would love to see more!
It was hot.
She felt like she couldn't breathe. A hundred blankets were smothering her, making her gasp desperately.
She cried out, begging for the heat to leave, wanting nothing more than cool air to reach her lungs again. Her limbs were flailing worthlessly.
She would drown. Drown in the heat that was engulfing her lungs, forcing her to inhale flame after flame. The blood boiled in her very veins, giving her no escape. She would die. She knew.
She would die from the heat surrounding her. Even hotter hands grasped her shoulders, pulling her up. She cried out and pushed angrily, trying to get away from the hot hands. There was a voice somewhere, far away, calling for her. She tried to respond, but only sobbed.
It was so hot.
And then it was cold. And wet.
She gasped in relief, feeling the water drip down her face slowly. Her pulse slowed and she sagged against the arms now engulfing her. Merilyn looked up at Jaime, who was watching her without expression. She was babbling.
"It was so hot," her voice came out in harsh sobs, "I couldn't, the heat, breathing. I tried. I didn't want."
"You can breathe now," Jaime told her. His voice was inflectionless. His expression showed nothing.
She sobbed harder. Then she felt his hand on her back. It was soothing, circling softly. She hiccupped softly, and looked up at him with tear-filled eyes.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean -."
"Enough apologizing. You're in a new home. It's to be expected."
Castlerly Rock was nothing like Merilyn had expected. The lands were grey, grey from the rocks, grey from the sky, the ground – even the grass was grey. There was no colour. Even the people seemed grey to her. They had ridden in late at night, under a blanket of dark, to be greeted by an irate Tywin and a lifeless court. Merilyn had been shown to her new bedroom, an amazingly luxurious room at that, and waited. Her hands fidgeted in her lap and Jaime stormed in, startling her. He looked the angriest she had seen him, his near perfect control gone and in replacement the naked fury that propelled him forward.
The coupling had been harsh in Merilyn's mind. He had taken none of the previous care he had shown before, but had pushed her down on the bed and joined them so fast; she hadn't realized what was happening until it did. It had hurt, far more than the first night had hurt. And it was over far more quickly. But it was part of her new life and she had accepted it. She accepted it when he rolled off of her with no words, and fallen asleep. She had accepted it as she rose carefully from the bed, and undressed. She had accepted the pain and accepted the night. She accepted her place next to him and lay down, feeling his breathing steadily rise and fall. And she accepted the Southern heat, smothering her slowly.
He had used her harshly. Lifting her skirts and shoving into her unprepared body like she was nothing more than a toy for his usage, Jaime Lannister had used his wife the same way Robert Baratheon used his twin. He had been furious at his father's accusations of his weakness and failure. His normal outlet had been forgotten and all he could remember was the feeling of her hips, her thighs. And then he had found her dutifully waiting, so unlike Cersei in every way, and he hadn't thought any further.
Her cries had awakened him later that night. She had been thrashing, crying out about heat. She was burning up to touch, her hair damp and stuck to her forehead. Her cries turned to sobbing and in a moment of inspired desperation he had picked the pitcher of water from the window up and tossed it onto her, bed and all becoming drenched. Her sobbing quieted and she managed to open her eyes to him. Relief flooded him as he saw comprehension in her blue eyes and she breathed more easily again.
Her apologies had only deepened the guilt he felt for his earlier behavior, and he shrugged them off, telling her it was a new place. It was expected.
When he knew - he knew - it was him who had caused the night terror. She had had none after being attacked, after killing a man, after facing blood and broken bodies. But tonight, sitting in a new room, in a new home, she had waited for a familiar body for comfort and had been given none. For that familiar body, her husband who should've come to bed in a gentle manner, who should've reassured her that she was safe in the South, had done to the exact opposite. He had used her harshly.