Hey, everyone! Sorry about the delay. Holidays have been insane. Thank you all for your support and reviews. I cannot tell you how much I love them and each and every one of you! Please keep them up. The reviews motivate me. And the more I get, the faster I will post the next chapter.

Note: this chapter has some sensitive subject and is a little graphic. It deals with Merilyn's pregnancy. I wouldn't really call it a trigger, but it could for some people and I'd rather just be safe than sorry. Hope you guys enjoy the drama!

xoxo Lady F

He was different. Two months of being handled so gently, she might as well have been glass to him. He was attentive and caring. Every wish she could've ever had was fulfilled before she even knew she wanted it. And she hated it. She felt like he was caring for a child, not his wife. She gladly would've preferred the angry storm that had come to her bed not too long ago to this new parental figure Jaime had morphed into. He was just no longer Jaime.

She coughed again futilely, feeling the acid burn her throat and her eyes tear up. Willas was standing discreetly off to the side, looking anywhere but directly at her. She moaned and retched again. She whispered prayers to the Seven and to the Old Gods begging for mercy of any kind. After she had thoroughly emptied the contents of her stomach onto the grass of the courtyard, she straightened slowly and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

She took a deep breath, savouring the feel of nighttime on her throat.

"Milady?" Willas stepped towards her cautiously.

She smiled wanly, "I think I'm fine for now."

She continued walking forward to the Hall, straightening her shoulders habitually and touching her hair softly.

It sometimes bothered her that she wasn't as pretty as the Southern women and she knew they all looked at her in distaste with her Northern countenance. But the sicker she got, the less she began to care.

"I'm really fine, Willas." She'd noticed him looking at her uncertainly, as their footsteps echoed in the stone hallway.

"You look sad, Lady." His voice was quiet but strong.

Her steps faltered and she glanced at him, "what makes you say that?"

"You've looked sad since we've gotten here." He didn't look back at her, but instead look out over the courtyard, "Maybe we should leave soon, go home? Before your condition makes it impossible."

She forced a cheerfulness into her response, "I'm not sad, Willas. Kings Landing is beautiful."

He looked up sharply and stepped in front of her, "No one is around, Lady. You don't need to perform for them."

She began walking again, ignoring his presence now. She knew she should berate him; tell him he was out of line. His disrespectful behavior should be checked. But as she walked towards the Great Hall, she realised she just didn't have the energy.

If this were Winterfell, she'd be with her sisters now. Arya would've said something biting to Sansa and a fight created. Merilyn wouldn't be sick every few minutes, she wouldn't be married to a stranger who was so watchful yet so distant to her, and she wouldn't be performing happiness for anyone.

Never had she felt more alone than she did in the Great Hall of Kings Landing.

Jaime rarely ate with them, but the Queen never failed to ask after her presence. Merilyn had missed dinner one night and had been treated to an actual visit from the Queen and her court. She never failed to sit at the table again.

She sighed heavily and nodded to Jarent who stood at the entrance. He winked and nodded his own head in return. Merilyn walked past him and into the hall, smiling widely. No one would know the new Lady Lannister was desperately homesick and hopelessly depressed. The entire Court thought her happy and thriving. And she was, at least, proud of that.

Cersei looked as beautiful as usual and Merilyn swallowed back annoyance. She, herself, was showing her condition and her dresses stayed unlaced now, letting the stomach fill out the dress. She knew her hair was boring and Northern-styled. And she knew she looked pale and wan. She kept smiling.

To her surprise, her husband actually sat at the table, next to his brother, conversing quietly with Tywin. She walked up to her seat next to him and sat down slowly. Jaime nodded at her and then stood, turning and leaving the hall. She looked to Tyrion in surprise and he only responded with a shrug.

The Hall was only partially full and many eyes were watching her. She whispered a greeting to the remaining people around her and looked down at her plate, trying hard not to acknowledge the rolling of her stomach. Instead of getting better, the sickness stopped for a few weeks and then returned with a hefty vengeance, making it impossible for Merilyn to feel at all like her normal self. She felt constantly tired and ill.

"Ned Stark is failing the duties given to the supposed 'guardian of the North'," Tywin's voice was loud and full of contempt, "These raids have only gotten worse. The Wildlings are practically running loose up there and he is doing nothing."

"Lord Stark has sent word to the Wall and they are trying to figure out how and why the Wildlings are going further South." Tyrion's voice was matter-of-fact.

"Since the older boy's injury, Stark has lost the ability to lead. He's done nothing of use, besides to cower at the bed of his son." Tywin gulped down wine and gave the empty glass to his cupbearer for more.

Merilyn looked at him in shock. She tried hard to process. They couldn't be talking about Robb. Her mother would've sent word. The spoon she'd been holding dropped from her hand with a clatter. She glanced over at Tyrion who was watching her carefully. Something in his gaze made her pause, hold onto the question that had been on the tip of her tongue.

Tyrion looked away from her and back to his father, "I know not what rumors you are privy to, Father, but Lord Stark hasn't been back to Winterfell since the last raid. Don't worry though. You shall be able to bring up these… concerns with the man himself."

Tywin glanced sharply at his youngest son, "Do you know something I don't?"

"He will be here soon. The King wishes to hold council with him and Arryn about the matter of the Wildlings. The eldest boy will take over the guard vigil while Stark travels here." A brief look her way and Merilyn felt the tension dissipate. Robb was well. And then she understood what Tyrion had just said. Her father was coming to King's Landing. For the first time in what felt like years, Merilyn smiled without thought about acting.

Her screams were piercing him to his very bones. Merilyn was lying in agony on the wooden bedding, both crying, screaming, and praying at different intervals. Maester Pycell stood at the foot of the bed, his hand on her small stomach, feeling for the child he said.

Jaime had failed again to protect her. She had been leaving the Hall, furiously escaping whatever was behind her. Something had angered her. He saw the flaming eyes and taut lips, even from down in the courtyard. He had called up to her, startling her, and in that one moment, that one second, she had fallen, slipped on the stone steps. The sound of her body hitting the stairs, one after the other, was haunting him more than her screaming now. Willas had gotten to his wife first. In a brief moment, Jaime wondered why Willas was so often around Merilyn. But then he saw the blood, he saw her face, and he forgot the very thought.

He was carrying her to Pycell when the screaming had started. She begged him to make it stop. She knew her body was trying to rid her of her child and it terrified her.

"Too soon! Too soon!" She shrieked over and over, in between cries of pain. Her hand gripped his agonizingly, but he whispered soothingly, stroking her hair back from her forehead. He felt a horrible feeling of déjà vu, remembering the cries of his own mother years ago, the labor that birthed his brother and killed her in the same moment. He swallowed his own fear, looking down at his young wife who had quieted for a moment and was looking at Pycell in terror. He hadn't realized Pycell was talking. Pulling himself from his thoughts, he listened with growing dread.

"The baby has to come out," he was talking to the midwife next to him in low tones, "Her body is too damaged to carry it."

Merilyn shook her head fiercely, "No, he's my baby."

Jaime interrupted her, "Maester Pycell is a healer."

"You cannot!" Her voice screamed out, "No, I just need to lie down. He'll be fine if I rest. Please," her words were cut off by a low moan of pain wrenched from her. The pressure increased on his hand and the perspiration dripped down her face. She stared at Jaime, a tear slipping out of the corner of her eye, silently begging him to intervene.

"Merilyn, we can have more children," his tone was almost beseeching, trying to persuade her to see reason. He flinched as she began to cry. Her soft sobs were worse than the screams of pain from earlier and he stroked her hand helplessly.

Pycell acted before Jaime realized what was happening, putting a cloth to Merilyn's face, covering her mouth and nose. He saw her eyes darken and she slipped into unconsciousness. The hold on his hand slipped away.

"You should leave, Ser," the midwife murmured softly, handing a knife of sorts to Pycell.

Jaime stood up suddenly, "What are you doing?"

Pycell looked up in surprise, "The babe must come out. There's no movement and more than likely it is dead inside her. She will die if we do not remove it."

His stomach turned as he looked down at the small, protruding stomach of the still woman on the bed. He sat back down slowly and took her loose hand again, staring at her face. He prayed more intensely in that moment than he had in many years.

"I'm not leaving her." Hadn't he just sworn only two months ago that he would put her first? Hadn't he forsaken Cersei's warmth and bed just so the guilt he felt every time he looked at Merilyn would dissipate? He'd made the decision to keep her from harm, even if that meant treating her like glass. He'd made the decision to make her happy, not to push her. He'd let her be the docile wife she wanted to be. He'd left her alone in bed, though his desperation to take her against a wall had reached dangerous heights. Jaime knew he had done everything right. He made the right decision.

But he had failed to uphold that decision. She came to harm and Jaime let it happen. He stared harder at his wife's face as Pycell cut the red stripe and the blood dripped slowly down the side of her.