Hey, if you're bothered by super mature material, you should have stopped reading like one chapter ago...just saying. This is rated M for a reason. You knew what you were getting into.
Sansa woke alone, the sun beaming through the giant windows, in the Kingslayer's bed. She looked around, but she was definitely by herself; not even a maid was in the room.
She rolled from the bed, realized she was naked, and stifled a squeak of surprise. Looking around, she found nothing suitable for her to wear; the only clothes of hers in the room were her wedding dress and the scandalously small slip Cersei had forced over her head.
Since neither was appropriate to be running around the palace in, she began to shuffle through Jaime's large wooden wardrobe. If she found something decent, she might make it to her room unnoticed and be able to dig up some clothes there.
She found a light cream tunic, likely to be worn with breeches, but long enough to fall low on her thighs. She fastened a brown belt around her waist and tiptoed to the door. No guards stood outside of Jaime Lannister's door, she knew; a knight of the Kingsguard had very little need for guards.
She could make it to her room…and then what? Gather her things and run away? It made no difference, the fact that she was left without guards. She was wedded and bedded, and even if she made it to Winterfell and under the protection of her brother, Jaime Lannister could walk up to the castle door, knock, and be handed his wife, as was his right.
Besides, Jaime had been right that first night she'd seen him. If she rode out alone, she'd likely be captured, killed, or raped.
But, with no guards, she could easily find Redrick, and leave with him for the Vale. No one would know she'd go there, and she could live her life as a faceless woman, the wife of a handsome singer.
Before she could make her choice, the door swung open in her face, nearly hitting her. She gasped and stumbled backwards a few steps.
"Ah, my little wife is up and about," came the mocking voice of her husband. "It's a little late for cold feet, isn't it my lady?" She hated how he teased her, hated his jovial morning mood when all she wanted was to go to her room.
"My lord, if I could just get my clothes," she managed, trying to move around him. He leaned against the doorframe, effectively blocking her path. She stopped and looked up into his bright green eyes. He wasn't quite smiling, but his expression was one of definite amusement.
"Oh, my absent-minded wife, you forget your wedding customs already? What a terrible time to misremember," he sighed, picking a cherry from the bowl of fruit he held and popping it in his mouth. She stared at him, and then shook her head.
"I don't…I…oh, oh no," she nearly wailed in despair. It was more of a joke than a true wedding custom, but it was one enforced all the same. She was to stay in her husband's bed for three days and nights before being released to return to her own rooms if she wanted, where if he wished to take his rights, he would come to her from then on.
"Yes, try not to be so excited, my dear wife," he said in a bored tone, licking a smear of cream from his thumb. "The way you just throw yourself at me, it's really not proper." Sansa flushed pink and regained her composure almost immediately.
"I...I apologize, my lord," she said, inclining her head slightly. "I forget myself." He moved past her into the room, seating himself on the edge of the rather disheveled bed.
"Yes, well, if you'd care to forget yourself again," he said, patting the space next to him. Sansa took in a quick breath, not sure what he was implying, but his expression seemed innocent enough. She approached him hesitantly, as if he'd spring at her. But he sat patiently until she eased herself down beside him. He held out the bowl of fruit and cream, and she plucked a fresh strawberry from the offering. She tried to ignore his intense gaze as he watched her eat his food, legs crossed beneath her on his bed. "Why are you wearing my tunic?"
"Oh, I um...I," she tried to begin, but she could not lie to her husband. "I wanted to go back to my room, my lord. I don't have anything decent."
"I'm pretty sure that's the point of the three days," he scoffed, looking away. "But I'm glad you found something suitable." He acted as if it was better than nothing, but Sansa could hear it in his voice; he could have controlled his desire better if she were naked rather than when she wore his clothes.
She waited for him to move towards her; the desire was rolling off of him in waves, they could both feel it. But he rose, and walked towards the door. "I have some things to take care of. Feel free to make a break for your room, but don't be surprised if they bring you back here. Everything in here is yours now, feel free to look around."
And without a second glance, he was gone.
She sat in surprise for a moment, but then recovered. If he wanted to leave her alone, fine, all the better for her. She stood and began to walk around the room, examining the surroundings of this place where she was being held captive. She was glad he'd left the bowl of fruit behind, the creamy dish was perfect for breaking her fast. She nibbled on orange slices as she tinkered with all of the interesting things in the room, and those connected to it.
One door led to a personal weaponry room, where she shuddered as she examined sharp-edged swords, daggers, axes, and spears. One sword was of sharp Valyrian steel, black with red ripples in the metal, like none she'd ever seen. There were two enormous greatswords, and several longbows strung on the walls. She touched the edge of a hooked dagger and made a tiny cut in her finger. The room was well-lit with several small windows, not large enough for a thief to slip through but there were many of them letting in light.
Another door led to a small, personal library, with what looked like many worn and well cared for books. She wondered how long he'd spent collecting these, how many he'd read, and what they all were. But, not sure she really wanted to know, she quickly left the room.
The last door lead to a large, lavish bathroom, complete with a bathing pool sunken into the stonework floor. She touched her scalp briefly, then her face and the back of her neck. The insides of her thighs still had a traces of their romp from the night before, the liquids dried into a sticky, translucent crust. She tried not to think too hard about it, and stepped forward to run herself bath.
The pipes in the walls ran across the kitchens, and she knew the water would be hot. Pulling the lever, she watched as the water ran into the shallow pool, taking the time to undo the belt and pull the tunic over her head. She would have to find something suitable to wear later.
Stepping into the bath, she sighed when the heat ran through her toes and sent a delicious chill up her spine. Sinking into the hot water, she left only her face at the surface. Her long, luxurious hair spilled out in ripples around her body, catching the soft glow of the morning light.
Finally, she sat up and began to scrub herself with a rough cloth beside the pool. The dirt from the day before sloughed off, and she self-consciously cleaned the insides of her thighs. Then, gingerly, she probed herself with two fingers and cleaned herself inside, too. The motion brought a faint blush to her cheeks, but she continued scrubbing up her body in slow, satisfying strokes.
Steam from the bath rose, cleaning out her lungs as well as she breathed in the fragrance of the honey soaps. She breathed slowly, contemplating her situation. She was married, she was no longer a maiden, and her husband was tall and handsome, albeit too old for her tastes and an enemy of her House. When they returned to Winterfell, she might be able to bring him to her side, as he did not seem quite so tainted as the rest of her family.
But he was her husband now, by the laws of gods and men, and there was no changing that.
And so she took deep breaths of the warm, delicious air, and thought about what it meant to be a wife. She thought about her mother, and wished she were here to show her. But she remembered how her mother had been with father; warm, supportive, filled with light and laughter. Catelyn had been there for her father's darkest moments, and vice versa. They had been partners in life, standing as equals.
Could she be the same with Jaime?
Mother, is this about the pride of Houses, or my basic duties as a wife? she asked in her head. You always told me what a good wife I'd make. I could be a good wife, still. But his family killed my father, he has played his part against my own brother. So easily, his could have been the hand to kill him. Where do my loyalties lie?
But to be a good wife did not mean to be loyal to one's husband. If I bear him sons, I could easily hold them ransom to myself. They'd mean nothing to me, Lannister babes. I could give them to my brother, to throw into the sea. We could control the Lion with what lies between my legs. She remembered Cersei telling her once that a woman's greatest weapon lay there.
I will bear him sons, she decided, but I will never be a Lannister.
Rising from the tub, she grabbed a towel and draped it around her waist. Stepping out of the cooling water, she shook out her long auburn waves, droplets of water scattering over the stone floor. Picking up the discarded tunic, she began to walk out of the bathing room.
"Good afternoon, Lady Sansa!" chirped two pleasant-faced maids. Sansa jumped, pulling the towel up to cover her breasts. She stared at the two as they curtseyed prettily in their matching red dresses. "I am Alisoun, and this is Fae," said the one with short gold hair and a million freckles. She gestured to the other one, who was thicker of hip and breast, with long, straight brown hair and rather lovely blue eyes.
"Good afternoon," returned Sansa, curtsying back at them. "Might I ask why you're...here?" She didn't know if they were assigned to clean Jaime's room by the palace staff, or if they were personal servants. That would determine how often she'd see these two, and how well she'd be able to know them.
"We're your personal handmaids, from Ser Jaime's own household," said Fae brightly. "He's assigned you two handmaids, four guards, and four pages, my lady!"
"The guards are outside now, and the pages will come when you send for them," added Alisoun. "We're here to help you dress, and bathe and such!" her amber eyes lit on Sansa's dripping hair. "Well, we see you already have the bathing part done..."
"You're mine?" she asked, her mouth dry. Sansa had never had servants of her own before; her father's servants, and her mother's, but never her own.
"Yes, we're here for anything you need, of course." Alisoun had a heart-shaped, innocent face, but Fae had a mischievous glimmer in her eyes that Sansa had seen in girls before. She turned to Alisoun.
"Can you go to my room and bring me some clothes? Light clothes of course, just...anything I can wear that is my own. And my lute, please!" The girl curtseyed and darted from the room like a bird. She turned to Fae, her cheeks flushing just a little. "Fae...would a personal question offend you?" she asked slowly.
"Of course not, my lady," said Fae, smiling shyly, but Sansa suspected that she knew what her lady would ask.
"Are you a maiden?" she forced herself to say, blushing hotly, but the girl merely laughed.
"M'lady, I haven't been a maiden for three years, not since my first time with m'lord's squire!" she giggled, her cheeks not a whit closer to pink. She seemed to have an odd pride about that. Sansa cleared her throat and tried not to wring her hands together.
"Do...do you know the best way...to...to...to get a baby?" she tried to form the right words, but they wouldn't come to her. Fae laughed impishly.
"Why, doing the same as what you did last night, my lady," she teased, clearly as aware of the goings on as the rest of the palace staff must be. Sansa sighed, but she supposed it couldn't be helped. Everyone knew everything in this god forsaken palace.
"No, I mean, to make certain, to have one as quickly as possible," she clarified, burning even more brightly. The maid pursed her lips and nodded.
"Well, if you want to be sure," she said thoughtfully, "then do it every day, for at least two or three weeks. Maybe more than once a day, if you want to be sure." Sansa's heart fell. Two or three weeks? Why did it take so long to make children? She knew women who got big with child after a single encounter! But she didn't bother arguing with Fae, who clearly knew more of this than she did.
"What if...what if he doesn't want me, Fae?" she asked her quietly, ashamed. She remembered how he had left her that morning, rushing from the room as if he couldn't stand to be there with her. She hadn't minded at the time, as she enjoyed time alone and hated being reminded of her marriage into House Lannister, but it was a definite cripple in Fae's suggestion at to how she could bear children. But, to her surprise, the easily cheered maid just laughed again.
"My lady, he might not admit it to you, but he wants you. You've got a woman's curves and a woman's smile; that's all you'll need to convince him."
"And...how else might I convince him?"
She was waiting for him in the queen's chambers.
He closed the door behind him quietly, then stalked towards her. His eyes were locked on hers, green on green, glittering with desire. She wore a silk dress that clung to her ample curves, her firm, proud breasts thrust upwards in the clinging fabric. It was a deep scarlet, his favorite color on her.
Her golden hair was loose about her shoulders, a waterfall of gold, with the loveliest crown tucked in her curls.
"Oh, Jaime," she sighed as he wrapped his arms around her. "Jaime, I've missed you." He hushed her with his mouth, kissing her into silence. She allowed him to kiss her, caress her arms, hold her tight against him, for only a few moments.
"Cersei, let me stay with you tonight," he groaned into her neck, lavishing it with hot kisses. His desire for her pumped hot into his veins, setting him ablaze. Her scent, her soft hair, her wicked smile, everything about her turned him on. He pressed his hand into the small of her back and ground her against him.
"Are you sure, Jaime? You seemed rather engrossed in that Stark girl last night," she said icily, withdrawing from him. He gritted his teeth; he hated when she invited him to his room only to fight, pretending she was hot for him. "I thought you'd still come to me when you'd bedded her."
"I'm here, aren't I?" he said huskily, trying to win her back to him. "Don't be foolish, you have nothing to fear from that girl." True, he had bedded her, but it had been difficult indeed to do it without feeling ugly and lecherous inside. Oddly enough, that was something he had never felt with Cersei, because he loved her truly.
"I'm not sure I believe you," she sniffed. Her fingers tickled erotically at the nape of his neck, at his earlobes, and he tingled all over. "I heard her last night, Jaime, calling your name. Did you enjoy that? Do you want me to do that? I don't like you with another woman."
"Cersei, you're the one who encouraged me to do it!" he said heatedly. "We both knew I wouldn't be more attracted to her than you, we'd both agreed that it would be alright! For gods' sake, woman, she's a passionate young girl, I can't help what she chooses to do in bed!"
"Well, it looks like you can't help what I do in bed either," she said coldly, drawing tall and distant. "Goodnight, ser."
"Cersei, you're the one I want, it's always been you-"
"Goodnight! Please remove yourself from my quarters!"
Angry and flooded with unresolved desire, he turned and left fuming. His cock throbbed hard, still fixed on the image of her waiting for him, clad in red or nothing at all. He rubbed it absently through his breeches, only growing angrier at the thought of having to take care if it himself because of her.
With Cersei's golden hair burning bright in his mind, he flung open the door, where Sansa Stark was lying completely naked in his bed.
He stared at her for a full ten seconds, burning with lust and his cock still rock hard, before turning and very nearly running for his bathroom. Gods be good, I forgot about the damned girl! He shut the door behind him, and began to run himself a cold bath.
"My lord," said a hard, determined voice behind him. "Would you like some help with that?" He nearly jumped out of his skin.
"I've always run my own baths, little wife," he said, in a voice slightly higher pitched than he'd intended. Clearing his throat, he shut off the lever and began to lower himself into the freezing water. Without the heat of the kitchens for the hot lever, the water was run straight off of the mountains and was tortuously cold. He flinched as it touched his bare thighs. "Privately," he added.
"I wasn't talking about the bath." Suddenly two small feet dipped into the water beside him, from which emerged two long, smooth calves. He had always loved a woman's legs...
"No, don't, just-" he stumbled over his words, unable to find them in the cold, his lust, and his confusion at the sudden attack. When had she grown so bold? Her feet straddled him, and she knelt in the water, where despite the cold he was still as hard as ever.
"I can take care of it," she whispered, and suddenly laughter burst from him. She withdrew, confused, until he slowed it enough to speak.
"Have you been speaking with Fae?" he gasped, unable to stop laughing. Sansa blushed bright pink all over, from her cheeks to her shoulders. It was rather charming, how often and how brightly she blushed. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she bowed her head a little.
"I...some...how did you know?" she admitted, her blue eyes large and embarrassed. She could be so endearing sometimes.
"She had quite an affair with my squire, as well as some of my servants and once a knight under my command. I've heard all of her seductive little phrases, she's even practiced a few on me. Luckily I've never had the need for her, so she's let it go." He brushed her hair back with his left hand, feeling almost won by her innocent attempts to seduce him.
She caught his hand in hers, brushing her lips across it. He froze when she pulled a finger into her mouth, letting her teeth drag gently on the skin. Her eyes were locked on his, but he saw no desire in them. All he saw was the cold Stark determination. He withdrew his hand from her, his brow furrowing. "What else did Fae tell you?"
She plunged her hand into the water and grasped his cock, and he gasped. The cold, the sudden contact, abruptly what had been a waning pleasure sharpened into something so intense that it nearly blinded him for a moment. She moved her hips forward until her abdomen rested against his.
"I'm going home, my Lord, and if I have to go with you, then I'm taking you," she all but snarled, and true to her word, she took him. Though she was still clearly in pain from the night before, she buried him inside her, sinking into his lap until the soft skin on the backs of her thighs touched his legs. A ragged sound escaped his throat, and his hand was tight on her thigh. He looked up at her; in the darkness of the waning evening, her eyes could have been green.
That was all he needed. Standing, he held her tight to him with his left hand while he stepped from the cold water. Her arms were slung around his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist. She trembled, from desire or pain he did not know, but he cared little. He set her down against the wall, turned her so her front was pressed against it. She had a long back, a beautiful figure; her skin was soft and pale in the darkness. If her hair was gold, she would have been a younger Cersei. From behind, she could be.
His hand pushed her hard into the wall as he thrust himself back into her. She was soft and warm and fragrant, and as willing as he needed. She cried out, but he hardly heard her.
He leaned over her, burying his face in the hair at her neck. He wished he had his two hands again, one simply wasn't enough. It roamed her thighs, her abdomen, her back, her shoulders, until he tangled it in her hair and pulled her head back, baring that long, slender neck. He bit into the side, the smell of her overpowering his senses.
He remembered when he and Cersei were young, and their passion had overpowered all obstacles. He would go to her, and she would open her arms to him. She would welcome his kisses, his gentle caresses, until they were both lusting unbearably and she would welcome his ferocity.
"Cersei," he groaned, so softly that Sansa could not have heard him. He twisted the hand that was in her hair, and began pounding her fiercely against the wall. Her hands scrabbled at the wall, her shoulders flexed over and over, and a small whimper escaped her lips, but he could not stop himself.
He went on and on, hard and angry and overflowing with desire, his hips smacking against her wet skin more and more powerfully. He did not see the trickle of blood that escaped from inside her and dripped down her thigh. He did not see the blood that caked at her fingers, from where she scratched desperately against the unyielding stone. All he saw was the white hot burning in his blood, the flash of green eyes and golden hair.
He could not finish, not standing there with her. He stepped back, pulling her with him, and dropped her to the stone floor. She crumpled beneath him, still connected at the joint between their legs, and arched over her with one hand between her shoulderblades, he pumped faster and faster, teeth bared and eyes nearly closed.
A sound, part snarl and part joy, escaped his throat as he hilted himself in her and paradise washed over him. He gave a few more shallow thrusts before withdrawing. He stood, one hand against his brow, and left the bathing room. Sansa didn't move from the floor.
Breathing hard, he lowered himself onto the edge of his bed. Shuddering, he recovered from his rage, the frustration that had coursed through him. I shouldn't have done that, I shouldn't have done that...none if this is her fault, she's so innocent. That was wrong, that was absolutely monstrous of me. No wonder Joff is the way he is...I'd always thought he got it from Cersei, she's so wicked sometimes...but that was terrible. I shouldn't have done that.
He heard the sound of water running; she was pouring herself a fresh bath, probably a hot one. He remembered seeing the blood, seeing it and not caring at all. Oh gods...
He'd wait for her, then. He'd wait for her to bathe herself, perhaps to cry to herself, to recover from the hurts he'd given her, before sitting her down and apologizing gently. He'd make it up to her, somehow. She doesn't deserve this. You fucked her like an animal, you monster.
Someone knocked at the door, and Jaime stood and yanked it open. "What?" A page stood before him, young and finely dressed. His face was ashen.
"Ser Jaime, we've just gotten the news. Robb Stark was killed by the Freys, and Winterfell has fallen to the Greyjoys. Sansa Stark's brothers are dead."
Okay, so I forgot when her little brothers 'die' too, but I think it's actually sometime before her wedding. I just know they 'die' sometime around here, but I think before Robb does...so I just combined the two events to make up for my mistake earlier. Sorry. Please don't comment on it, I KNOW it's not at the same time!