"I want to go home," she repeated again, not caring that Tyrion and Tywin were both staring as she stood in front of her husband.
"Winterfell is a long –" Jaime started.
"I said nothing about Winterfell, Ser. I said I wanted to go home. We've been here over four moons now. The ships from Essos have both come and gone. Your men are restless and Castlerly Rock has been without guidance long enough."
"I've trusted Maester Culwin with the keeping of-," Tywin's annoyed voice broke in.
Merilyn threw him a haughty look, which surprisingly stopped him midsentence. She looked back at her husband, "If you have no objections, I wish to go as soon as possible."
Jaime smiled slightly and Merilyn felt her chest expand for a brief moment. It was the first smile she had seen from him in a long time.
Tyrion interjected before Jaime could respond, "Lord Stark arrives within two days. I would've thought you were looking forward to seeing him."
She barely managed to keep from shooting him a contemptuous glance as well and had the fact that she liked Tyrion to thank. Instead, she ignored him and continued waiting for Jaime's own answer.
He, however, seemed to understand that she was trying to ignore Tyrion and decided to align himself with the cad.
"I had thought Tyrion was right, my wife?"
"My father will be consumed with Court affairs and I've no wish to trouble him." She tossed her braid over her shoulder and resisted putting her hands on her hips.
"The King has requested a Lannister Lord stay to discuss the movement of men going North to help. I understand you wish to leave and we will… by the end of the week. Is that acceptable for you, my lady Lannister?" His tone was mocking her.
She took a deep breath and clenched her fists slowly. Nodding, she turned and left the room, careful not to slam the door - as much as she wished she could. She walked down the steps from the room, leading her to another hallway. Her steps were careful and hesitant at some moments.
The healing wasn't complete yet, but she was doing much better than she had been. The first week had been excruciating, as both her body and her mind were extremely damaged.
She'd awoken after two days, or so Leila had told her in a subdued voice. The maid had also said that the sleeping form in the chair beside her bed hadn't moved once since Pycell left Merilyn's room. Jaime woke shortly after she. He repeated the instructions Pycell had given him, stay in bed for a week, try and eat light things, the list went on and then he had left. He returned briefly and infrequently throughout the next week, but Merilyn hadn't noticed really.
All she knew was her anger. She snapped at the littlest things until even Willas began to avoid stepping into her room. She was angry with everyone, the Seven and the Olde, Jaime, Maester Pycell, the midwife, but mostly herself. Her body couldn't care for a baby and she had failed at something so natural, so normal. Her baby had died because of her. She still imagined him, for she had been so sure it would be a boy with his father's hair and mother's eyes. And it hurt, like a fresh cut that was swollen and hot to touch. It hurt so very much.
She had no memory of the last Winter, for she had been but a small child. But if she ever had to describe Winter in her own words, she would use that month as an example. The grey cold and the misery mixing together to weigh her down constantly was her very own Winter. Anger fueled the biting cold of her surroundings and misery robbed her of the very air in her lungs.
But Summer crept back into her world. Slowly, in the form of little things, sunshine pushed away Winter's cloud and cold. When she watched Tommen play with his kittens, when Leila scolded Willas like an old mother hen and when he made grotesque faces behind her back, when Tyrion delivered letters to her from Winterfell, the grey colour of her world was replaced with the greens and blues and yellows of life in Summer. And the fresh cut became a scar. She accepted it. It didn't mean she forgot, but it meant she healed.
She walked into her own rooms and sat down gingerly on the edge of her wooden chair next to the fire. She knew she should try and finish the blanket she had started for her babe. She changed the colour scheme and replaced the red and gold that she had originally planned with red and grey – the house colours of Lady Adeline Hightower whose child would be born within a fortnight. It was now a gift Merilyn would give.
The Lady Stark sighed and picked up the stitching, looking out of her window at the blue sky as she did. As she was daydreaming about the colour of the sky at Winterfell, the door slammed shut so loudly, she started and pricked herself hard.
Gasping with surprise and pain, she looked up to see an angry Jaime staring down at her. She sucked the tip of her finger and made an expectant face.
"Just what were you trying to accomplish by accosting me with your demands in front of my father?"
Irritation flooded her. She took her finger out of her mouth and set her needlework down, "It would be easier to accost you with my supposed demands alone if you were ever actually alone, my lord."
"Quit exaggerating." His voice was terse and she knew, with some grim satisfaction, that Tywin had no doubt berated his son for his wife's lack of manners.
"You have your own quarters now. I never see you in the Hall. You rise earlier than anyone in the castle and you go to rest later than anyone. When you're not fighting the very demons of the dark in the Yard, you're constantly at the beck and call of your father. It was only by happy chance that Lord Tyrion was in attendance today. Exactly what am I exaggerating, Ser?"
"Why do you want to leave? As touching as your little home comment was, we both know you have little love for Castlerly Rock." He took a step closer to her.
"Is it not possible that I just wish to be away from here?" Her tone was sharper than she meant and to cover it she picked up her embroidery again, giving her hands something to do.
His face remained emotionless, "I thought you were getting on well."
"Well, I'm not," she stabbed the needle through the fabric angrily, "I'm tired of it here. I'm sick of the people. I'm sick of the whispers. And I'm sick of having to walk past those damned steps every damned day!" She threw down her thread and looked up at him angrily. The face she met made her stop full force.
Jaime looked as if Merilyn had actually struck him. The blood drained from his face and he had a horrified expression. She stood, gazing up at him uncertainly.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, backtracking quickly. "I didn't mean to upset you. I didn't realise it would upset you."
His gaze snapped to her face, "What does that mean?"
She shifted, "I… don't know? I just figured…"
"You didn't think the steps I saw you fall down would bother me? That I wouldn't see the blood at the bottom every time I walked past? That you were the only one this affected?" His tone wasn't angry, but it wasn't his normal, controlled tone either. There was an undercurrent, something making his voice thicker – filled with actual emotion.
She breathed sharply, processing this. She had written off Jaime so easily as someone who didn't care. She watched him with his own family, his father especially, and had realised that that was how her husband had survived all those years. He simply buried it all. He simply didn't care. The name Kingslayer was no longer an insult because it no longer registered. But this admittance, right here and now, made her think differently about her assumptions.
"You never spoke to me of this." She said, staring at the ground, unsure of what to really say.
"You were angry." The emotion was gone was from his voice now and his statement rang very matter-of-factly.
She sat down, all the fury seeping out of her, "I never meant to say that none of this affected you. It wasn't just my child. But I thought since you didn't come to see me after Pycell said my body was ready for another…" she trailed off, blushing trying hard to remind herself that she was no longer a child but a woman and women handle these things with dignity, "I just want to be home. My home, where I don't have to be reminded every day that I'm a stranger here, that I am not a Southern lady. I don't want to play their games anymore."
Jaime's voice was like ice, "You aren't playing their games anymore. You've already lost their game. You lost the game the minute you started believing them better than you just because they were raised in Kings Landing and are Southern ladies. Do you think Southern ladies could've defended themselves when their husbands failed to in a Wildlings raid? Could they have healed men's broken bones and gashes when their husbands asked them too? You honestly believe they would've stood up to a Maester of sixty namedays to protect a pregnant maid? Do you think they would've had the audacity to walk into their husband's chambers and demand to go home? I don't know when you started comparing yourself to them," he spat the word like a curse, "but I've had enough."
She sputtered angrily, "I didn't demand, the Seven damn you! I said I wanted to and asked your permission!"
"Gods, woman! I give you every example of your superiority to them and you fixate on the fact that I used the word demand?" He ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly.
"I beg your pardon if I don't feel superior. My husband treats me like a child, the Queen mocks my failure to carry a child, ladies whisper about my looks, and my Goodfather thinks I am the worst choice in the entire kingdom for his son – that he doesn't even like!"
"I don't treat you like a child, though you are certainly acting like one now." Merilyn's voice had risen to a yell, but his tone, though the dry detachment was still present, remained cool.
"At Castlerly Rock, you pushed me against a wall and we were caught by a Septa, but here, you've not once touched me, nor have you given any indication -."
He interrupted her, "So your pride is hurt because I haven't come to you in bed?"
"Wha-, no? I, my, I – my pride isn't hurt!" She thought about his question in confusion, was her pride hurt? No, that made no sense. Her pride was hurt when Lady Hestia mocked her dress one of the first nights here. Her feelings about Jaime not coming to her were completely different from that.
"Then what, you miss sex?" He said it harshly, falling back on vulgarity.
She stared at him coldly, "I never understood sex. I couldn't possibly miss it."
He blinked twice and then threw his head back with laughter. The sound echoing loudly throughout the room, he sat down in the chair across from her. The laughter faded though his amusement still lit his face.
"Truce?"
She felt like agreeing with him, if only to keep the amused look on his face. It made her heart ache slightly to see and hear his laughter. A thought struck her suddenly, "You don't think, I mean you couldn't possibly believe you failed me, can you?"
The amusement left his face and back was his emotionless front she'd grown to know so well, "Of course I have. You've lived some sixteen namedays without much harm coming to you. But in the course of six moons with me, you've been both attacked by Wildlings and fell down stone stairs. You've come to more harm in my care than anywhere else in your life."
He felt guilty. Merilyn wanted to shout and dance all over the room. He wasn't angry or bored with her. He didn't avoid her company and bed because he was sick of her. He did it because he thought himself harmful. She felt like a weight had been lifted.
"Well, that's foolish." She kept her tone cool, instead of filled with the relief she was experiencing.
He cocked an eyebrow at her, "Oh?"
"You didn't invite Wildlings into our tents and you certainly didn't ask them to attack me, did you?"
He didn't answer and she prodded again, "well, did you?"
"'Course not, but that's not the -."
"And you didn't push me down the stairs, did you?"
He rolled his eyes, "Don't talk nonsense -."
"My lord, I fail to see how exactly my misfortune has to do with your failing at anything. And I don't want to hear anymore about it."
He let out an exasperated sigh and put his face in both hands. He looked tired to her and she felt an odd urge to wrap her arms around him in comfort. How long had it been since someone comforted Jaime the way Catelyn had comforted Merilyn? He looked back up at her a moment later with a familiar smirk on his face.
"Well, as long as I'm here in your rooms again, we could begin lessons in a certain area so you're understanding will be increased," his voice was lower, huskier and she recognized the familiar warmth in her stomach return.
She was surprised at the sudden turn in the conversation, but she'd wanted this hadn't she? Since Cersei had remarked, loudly enough for the court to hear, how Jaime must not have found Merilyn attractive, Merilyn had wanted to feel otherwise. Maybe that was why she had gone to his rooms, to provoke him into a fight, to make him notice her once again.
Jaime stood above her, one arm resting on the head of the chair, his eyes looking into hers. She tried to look certain, to look appealing.
She couldn't help the question from bursting out though, "In the middle of the day, my lord?"
He chuckled lowly and dipped his mouth to her throat, kissing it softly, "yes, my little wolf, in the middle of the day."