Okay YES I am aware that, outside of the navy, the rank of captain isn't that high. But I have no idea what ranks knights had in the medieval ages, so I'm trying to give them appropriate-sounding names. And I'm very sure that they didn't have lieutenants and colonels and generals.

Also I'm sorry this is later than usual...not classwork, I just dug up my DS and got kind of distracted..still though, it's been like one day. Y'all can't complain about my posting speed haha

Sansa knew something was wrong when Jaime returned late that night, his mouth tight and his jaw clenched. Fae had been unlacing her gown as Sansa told her about Elinor's hawk when he had burst through the door, causing both girls to jump. They watched in surprise as he began stripping off his mail.

"Fae, get out," he said shortly, and the girl immediately curtseyed and scurried from the room. Sansa felt her heart hammering in her breast; she hated this fear, when he was angry. Her hands trembled slightly as he pulled the boots from his feet.

"My lord?" she asked quietly, her voice cracking a little. She cleared her throat. "Is something amiss?" He didn't answer her, unlacing his breeches and jerking them down. "Jaime, please," she said more softly, hoping to quench his anger before he had a chance to upend it over her.

But she was far too late. He reached her in a few strides, though she backed away quickly, her eyes wide with fright. His hands were on her, hard and fast, and they ripped the bodice of her beautiful red gown open. She vividly recalled Joffrey using his Kingsguard to do the very same thing, and suddenly she was fighting him, pulling back and pushing his hand away. She dodged him, running for the door.

But he caught her before she reached the door, quickly tearing the rest of the dress off of her. Sansa would have screamed, but then he was in front of her, his mouth on hers. She fought him, pushed at him, but her fists were feathers against his arms. He yanked the long pins from her hair, and it tumbled around her like a waterfall.

She was overrun with terror, memories of Joffrey's abuse flooding her until she was struggling violently to get away. But he would not let her go, and this time her fingers curled into a fist. Half crazed with something she couldn't understand, he never saw it coming.

Sansa had never hit anything so hard. She cried out, clutching her hand to her chest. Jaime had stumbled two steps back; she hadn't exactly floored him, but if his pained expression and his hand over his face said anything, he'd have a handsome black eye in the morning. But when he lowered his hand, the pained expression left, and the she saw a glint of the murderous rage constantly boiling beneath the surface of Jaime Lannister. His good hand curled into a fist, and she lost her breath when he began advancing on her.

"Stop! Stop!" she screamed, raising her hands fearfully. When he did not slow, she turned and ran into the far left door of his room. Dashing inside, she cast her eyes around Jaime's personal armory. She did not bother to close it, she knew there was no bar; but running up to the wall, she tore down the smallest sword.

It was still too heavy for her to hold in one hand. But she grasped it tightly in both fists and turned to face him. When he walked in and saw her, his brows raised in surprise and with a dark chuckle, he drew his own sword. He did not attack her, though, but stayed between her and the door.

"Are you insane?" he snarled, and Sansa nearly laughed. There they stood, she entirely naked but for her white boots and he not even that, holding swords to each other. "What is wrong with you?"

Suddenly filled with rage, Sansa rushed towards him and swung her sword at his stupid, fat head. He deflected it easily, and then another strike from the side.

"Me!" she screamed, swinging it again. The clashing sound of the metal, the off chance of wounding him mortally, was positively delightful. "What's wrong with you! I never know if you're going to kiss or hit me! I feel like a damned dog, just hoping you come back feeling like being the gallant! It's like being with Joffrey again!" It felt good to finally yell that at him, like she'd been longing to do for days.

"And if I am gallant?" he barked, blocking another two blows. "You're terrible to me! I haven't even done anything! For gods' sake, I fought alongside your father!"

"And tried to kill my brother!" She felt viciously gleeful when her comment distracted him enough to leave him open. Her sword cut a long gash in his arm. He hissed and raised his defense, eyes narrow. She was half afraid he'd get aggressive, half wanting him to.

"It's war, girl, I don't get to choose where I go. But yes, I would have killed him if the chance arose." He was trying to disarm her without striking her, she could tell, but she kept a firm grip on her sword.

"You're a monster," she spat, her eyes full of loathing. Furious, Jaime tested her with a few fierce strikes of his own; she managed to deflect them, but she was breathless and wide-eyed. They circled, swords raised in front of them. Sansa wondered how many people had died like this, touching swords with Jaime Lannister.

"Yes, I'm a monster," he said forcefully, striking again. "How monstrous of me, to defend my country and my king, my men, the unarmed and helpless...how monstrous, for me to do my best to get you home!" He accompanied his angry words with blows of the sword, and by the last one Sansa was sweating hard. But, when he finished, she threw her sword aside. The look in her eyes sent a bolt of sudden fear through him.

"By fucking me?" she shrieked, her hands curling into claws. Before Jaime could think twice, she launched herself at him.

To her credit, she certainly did not bite or scratch. But he found himself slowly being overpowered as she aimed straight for the bruises gifted on him by Ser Payne. Her tiny fists concentrated her weight very effectively, and his mouth opened in a silent scream as she hit her large, violet targets dead on. His hands flew up as he attempted to pacify her, all thoughts of his own anger gone.

"You're going to make me think," she bit out, her fist shooting into his side, "that you're doing me a favor," Jaime was backed into a wall, "by fucking me?"

With no options left, he threw his arms around her, pinning hers to her sides so he could catch his breath. He gasped as she kicked and struggled, still cursing and snarling.

"Get off of me! Get off, hee hee, oh get off of me! Ah-hahaha!" her yelling was suddenly punctuated with bursts of laughter. Jaime, too, found himself smiling, and then unable to contain his own laughter. She jerked herself back, and he was knocked off balance, and then they were both on the ground in his personal armory, laughing too hard to get up.

"Oh, I know I'm doing you a favor, fucking you," teased Jaime, his eyes bright. He rolled onto his side, his head propped up on his hand. "By the way, my little lady, when did your language get so very charming?" He was still shaking with laughter. Sansa's eyes closed as she tried to stifle her own giggling.

"Oh, I picked up a few pretty little phrases here and there. Sometimes from our sweet-mouthed Queen, sometimes from good King Joffrey. Not Margaery, though. She thinks ladies should all have the loveliest mouths," smiled Sansa, mimicking Margaery's lilting tone a little bit. "She'd have loved to meet Arya..."

"Most holy Saint Margaery, you mean?" corrected Jaime, unable to hold back his mirth. "You know I braided her hair for her once. I lost a lock, said 'butternuggets,' and she exiled me for a week." Sansa burst into laughter and smacked his arm.

"Don't! Oh, don't!" she gasped, trying not to laugh. "That's mean, don't tease like that! She's the sweetest girl!" But neither could stop their laughter for a long time. Finally, when they were sore from it and laying nearly quietly, Sansa sighed and smiled. "You're funny, you know. My brother Jon was funny too, kind of like you." Though she'd never referred to Jon as her brother, she did now; perhaps because he was the closest thing to a brother she had left.

"Oh, good, I was afraid you were immune for a while," admitted Jaime, grinning widely. Sansa noticed two small gaps between his front teeth and his incisors; she was startled to find how much it charmed her, this little flaw. Perhaps because it was the only natural flaw she'd ever seen on Jaime Lannister's person (not including his missing hand, of course). "I must admit, my feelings were hurt a little when you compared me to Joffrey. Surely I'm not that bad, am I?" He looked very sad at that, but Sansa couldn't lie to him. She took a deep, calm breath and sighed again. Reaching forward, she touched the golden fingers of his right hand.

"Sometimes," she said quietly, her eyes flitting up to catch his reaction. He looked down, but didn't look particularly angry, and so she felt brave enough to go on. "I was serious, Jaime. You really frighten me sometimes. It's...it's as bad as Joffrey, when you're mad." Her hand touched his arm though, trying to comfort him. "But when you're kind, you're so wonderful. When you're being kind, I can't imagine how you're related to-" she stopped suddenly, realizing that she was coming very close to insulting his family. She bowed her head before she could say anything else.

"You know, the singers love stories about great war heroes who kill their own wives," said Jaime slowly, a sad smile pulling at his lips. "They say often the passion of the battlefield overpowers the passion of the bed. I've defended women from rapers...but it's harder, when it's you," he said quietly. "When I was young, with C-the first girl I loved, I was sweet. I believed in romance and gallantry. But after I left for war...how do you stay the same, when you see children and grandmothers being raped, you watch as a captain sets fire to living babes, and then stomping them out?" he asked her desperately. She saw the haunted look, the suffering of his dreams. She touched his face, but he turned it towards the ceiling. "How do you not turn inside and let a little part of yourself die?

"So I died a little. My love of the world, my faith in chivalry and nobility, all of it was gone. I became selfish, because I was terrified to lose everything, as I'd seen everyone else do in the world. I lost the girl I loved. She turned from me, slowly, but more every day. I'm not meant for wives and babies; I've been meant for the battlefield since the first day I picked up a sword."

"Well then," said Sansa, smiling a little. "I guess she didn't love you so very truly, after all."

He turned and gave her a very sharp glare. Sansa jumped a little, but it was his quiet tone that startled her the most.

"There was no love like that in the world," he said, with such conviction that Sansa had little to do but believe him. She lowered her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean that. I'm sure she was wonderful." She could see this mystery woman of her husband's past, tall and buxom.

"No, you're right, in a way," he sighed, his expression wistful. "There was no love like that anywhere else...but love dies, just like any person. It died, and something beautiful turned into something ugly. Not her, though, of course. She's has lovely as ever."

"You still see her?" asked Sansa, bursting with curiosity. But Jaime had elected to share a piece of himself with her, broken bits of dreams, and she didn't want to ask too much of him. He humored her, though, and shrugged.

"Yes and no," he said, thinking about it. "I see her every night, in my dreams. I see what she became every day."

"So," struggled Sansa, trying not to feel anything, "you still love her, then?"

He didn't answer her right away. His eyes met hers, and he was gauging something from what he saw. His expression was serious, troubled. But then, abruptly, he smiled.

"No," he lied. Standing and lifting her, he carried her lithe form to the bed. She laughed as he dumped her unceremoniously onto the thick blankets before diving after her. In some ways, it was more of their first time than the actual night of their wedding; Sansa was all parts the shy, sweet maid, and Jaime felt a lazy warmth about him.

"We should have had a swordfight days ago," he groaned into her mouth as she kissed him. She giggled, her hand coming up to smack his arm. "Oh ow, ow, mind the bruises!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," gasped Sansa, remembering how viciously she had punched them. Feeling guilty, she lifted his arm and kissed it gently. Her eyes flitted back to his face mischievously. "Better?"

"Yes, that's perfect. But see, here, you're neglecting the bruises all over my face and neck," he complained with half a smile. "I must demand you get back up here immediately." She blushed shyly before meeting his lips again.

His kiss deepened, and she could feel him beginning to move against her. Suddenly, she broke off and wiggled back. "Wait, wait, my boots are still on!" she panted, reaching down to unlace them. He pushed her back, his mouth moving to her breasts.

"No, leave them on," he mumbled into her, kissing and biting them gently. She laughed at the ridiculousness, but gave in easily enough. His arms wrapped around her tightly, half lifting her off the bed. His mouth moved over her breasts, to her slender neck, and back to her mouth. His hunger excited her now, rather than making her fearful. Her legs wrapped around his waist tightly.

He'd never understood the appeal of slow, romantic sex. Anything he'd ever done with Cersei had been fast and fierce, and he had never been interested in the babbling of the married men who had described nights with their wives. As a warrior, everything he'd ever done had been fast and fierce.

But now, as he thrust himself in her, he felt no rush whatsoever. He felt as if he had all the time in the world. And so he filled it with soft, slow kisses, his eyes closed so he could experience the feel and smell and taste of her to its fullest. His hand played in her hair, bathed in the silky sea of mahogany.

They moved together for what felt like an eternity, and her sweet purring drove him wild with desire. He couldn't hold himself back for very long, and neither could she. They lit the night with the sounds of their lovemaking. Again and again, he returned to her, until it was so dark they couldn't see anymore.

Afterwards, he lay quiet, enjoying the warmth of the girl at his side and the soft songs of the heightening evening. He was sore all over, but not in such a bad way. They waited together for the approach of sleep.

"Why were you angry, Jaime?" asked Sansa suddenly, her voice sleepy. "From before, I mean. When you'd first come in."

"...I'm leaving in three days for the Kingsroad."

"We'll leave Kings Landing and cut Stannis off at the border, between the Kings Road and the Neck," said Jaime, dragging his finger down the map. The minor captains crowded around him, nodding or commenting quietly to each other. "It's a wide border to hold, to be sure, but if we funnel them between the rivers, it should be easier to control. Captain Erris and Captain Morde, your companies will border the wide flange of the river, there. You'll funnel them to me, in the center. Captain Silverstalk, your battalion will be behind mine, in the very nook of the river, to provide support to whichever side needs it."

The captains did a good job of pretending not to notice the dark bruise under Jaime's eye, as well as the bruises on his arms. Which was just as well, of course, as he'd rather they would pay attention to the map.

"And what of me?" asked the youngest Captain, a fresh young man of House Tyrell. Their lord had praised his leadership constantly, and Jaime only hoped that they hadn't been empty words. Still, he had given the man a relatively easy job.

"Backup," said Jaime firmly, pointing to the root of the river, where the two rivers joined together. "You'll be down here, maybe a little farther. If we need help, we'll send a fast boat down the river, and you'll be ready to go." The young captain looked as if he didn't know whether to be offended or not, but he settled on compliant. To be fair, it was his first time fighting as a captain, and so he backed down to the more experienced soldiers.

"It's a fair plan, albeit almost predictable," said Captain Morde, scratching his curling black beard. "That may be a problem."

"It's predictable, but there isn't much Stannis can do about it," explained Jaimie, tapping the rivers. "Stannis needs the rivers if he wants to get to King's landing while it's unprepared, and the only way he'd beat us downriver is by slipping through the Cape of the Eagles on the west coast, and that will only funnel his entire force."

"Oh, good knights, how very brave you all are!" called a high, musical voice. Jaime looked up to see his sister sauntering in, her smile generous and irresistible all at once. They all stared, transfixed by the beauty of the queen.

"Your Grace," said Jaime quietly, his eyes burning as she touched the young Tyrell captain's arm. Jaime seethed with resentment; the Tyrell pup was shorter than he, less comely, and nowhere near as well muscled. But, then again, he did have two hands, and could probably knock Jaime out quite easily in a fight for that. Jaime let out his breath and turned away. "How good of you to attend our meeting."

"Yes, well, what is the duty of the queen if not to ensure her people are safe in times of chaos?" she laughed, a lovely sound. The Tyrell boy looked nearly overwhelmed by her, his eyes large and glossy. "Now, tell me, which of my court are you taking with you?"

"These four here, Morde, Silverstalk, Erris, and Tyrell," he said, gesturing to them. He'd fought with Morde and Silverstalk before, Morde was a Lannister man who had been fighting since the war of the Nine Penny kings, and Silverstalk had been one of Stark's men until his loyalty was called to question, and he stayed with the Baratheons. Erris he didn't know well personally, but his prowess as a leader was legendary among the men; he was also a tall, almost frightfully strong man. The Tyrell had been an adamant suggestion of his House, probably to give the Tyrells a chance to prove themselves in battle.

"I also want Loras, at least one of the Osfreys, Clegane, and Payne," he listed. She was already shaking her head.

"No, no, no! You're taking away half of my son's Kingsguard!" she said adamantly, her hands on her hips. Jaime dragged his eyes back to her angry face, stifling memories of when his hands had once been there. "Not the Osfreys, Clegane, or Payne! You can have the Tyrell pup," she said carelessly. The young captain's eyes narrowed resentfully, but he didn't dare pull away from his queen. Jaime pressed a hand to his brow.

"Your son won't need a Kingsguard when Stannis cuts off his head," he said pointedly, knowing how to hit her where it hurt. And, as predictably as ever, she shook with fear, anger, and shock. She quite removed herself from the young man, trembling with emotion.

"Fine. But not Clegane," she said firmly, her long hair swinging behind her. He couldn't tear his gaze from the sway of her body as she walked away. But she turned back, smirking when she caught his stare. "Oh, and you should take care of those unsightly bruises," she said scathingly. "You're starting to look common."

Sansa lay on a rose-colored cushion in Margaery's maidenvault, twirling a ribbon in her hand. Her dress was new, a deep green dress with ruby roses at her waist. Since her marriage, Sansa had found herself in the possession of significantly more clothes; Jaime was under the belief that his wife should not be bereft, and so had provided generously for her own tailor and seamstress, as well as any materials they needed. Sansa highly enjoyed being able to help design her own clothes, and had taken to sketching some of her preferences out.

Her newest one was a deep Tully blue, with many cream ribbons on the sleeves, back, and sides. The sleeves were gossamer, and of the most fragile baby blue.

"I see you've taken up a new hobby," said Redrick, tuning his lyre. He plucked at the strings, each wavering note hitting the air like a drop of rain. "One besides riding, I mean."

"Yes, well, I find myself with little to do on these long days," she said mildly, smiling a little. The queen had stopped inviting her to rides and tournaments with her, and so she was free to do what she liked, or attend the events with Elinor and Megga. Joffrey had left her alone for a long time; not since her wedding had he laid a hand on her, though she could do little against the dirty things he'd hiss at her as he passed.

"You could come spend them with me," he smiled, strumming at the lyre. He picked out a dark, romantic tune. "It's much easier to write songs about your eyes when I can see them you know." Sansa laughed, sketching out a lace design for her gloves.

"How is your family, in the Vale?" she asked him, and his expression brightened.

"One of my sisters is to be wed," he said, strumming a happy gait. "I'm leaving King's Landing, eventually, to give her husband her hand. He's quite poor though, so we're waiting until he finishes his apprenticeship and sets up a shop of his own. My other sister is quite set against getting married. She loves her hawks more than she's ever loved a boy."

"Reminds me of my little sister," laughed Sansa, thinking about Arya's stubborn, grubby face. "Except Arya loved horses. Riding does remind me of her." It was true; Sansa hardly felt closer to Arya than when she rode Lady. But she had already given up on her little sister. So many people were dying that unattended girls had no chance whatsoever, and it had been ages since Sansa had heard of her. "Are you playing at Margaery's wedding, then?"

"Yes, I wanted to stay for that," said Redrick, leaning back into the chair. "I came to Margaery because I had heard of her sweetness and generosity, and it's why I stayed, too, though not for money anymore. I love singing for her and her cousins, they're a wonderful audience. I could never resist sweet girls." Then suddenly he leaned forward again, his elbows on his knees. "Especially you, Lady Sansa. Your voice is awfully cold, but I can tell you're sweet inside. I see it, too."

Sansa smiled, but did not reply. She didn't like to encourage Redrick's flirting anymore, having lost her infatuation with singers and performers. They were sweet of tongue, but she knew what they pursued, and she was sure that his songs were not of her eyes.

"Oh, what they've done to you, my winter rose," he sighed, reaching to touch her hand. "You were meant to be free, to belong to no man, I can see it now. You should be running wild with your hair loose about you, with the arms of nature at your breast."

"Not yours?" she couldn't help shooting back, almost coldly. "My, how very virtuous of you." He smiled sheepishly.

"Sansa, darling, you know I'll always love you," he cooed to her, squeezing her hand between his. "You shouldn't believe me so impure, it makes me sad. I love you like Jonquil loved Florent, like the knight who loves the maid, like the burning sun loves the moon."

"You're not a knight," she teased, removing her hand from his. He laughed at that.

"Neither are you a maid, my lady!" he retorted, and she couldn't help but to smile.

"Yes, I don't know why she hangs about the Maidenvault," called Elinor, who had just woken up. She giggled when Sansa threw a pillow at her.

"Someone has to keep you wanton girls under control!" replied Sansa, throwing another cushion.

"Oh, so we're wanton?" cried another voice, Alla who had just returned arm-in-arm with Megga. "I seem to recall some minor event that happened nigh half a fortnight ago. It went something like...Jaime! Jaime! Jaimeee!" Alla mimicked Sansa quite well, and blushing from head to toe, Sansa held a third cushion threateningly high.

"As if you're one to talk!" called Elinor laughingly, coming to Sansa's aid. "And those strawberry tarts, they're just walking themselves to your room? Is your little lover getting some sweetness for his sweets?"

"Speaking of sweets," said Sansa, "what are they serving at Margaery's wedding?" The royal wedding was approaching fast, since Queen Cersei wanted to hammer down the alliance before Stannis could make it to King's Landing. She was sad that Jaime would be leaving for the Neck before, as she had been looking forward to dancing with him again.

"I hate to interrupt," called a voice from the door. "But I'd like to steal my lady wife away for a moment."

Sansa turned and saw Jaime standing, in his black and gold mail and cape, looking for all the world like a warrior angel. His golden hair curled lazily around his neck and ears, and his smile was only for her. Sansa wondered how she'd ever thought him old.

"O-of course, Ser Jaime," sighed Alla, touching her hair self-consciously. "She's all yours!"

Sansa ignored the looks she knew would be flying about behind her, and rose to take his hand. "Where are we going?" she whispered to him as he led her away. "Don't you have work to do?" She knew he was leaving very soon, and a lot of planning had to be done before then.

"I'm skipping, I've been working all day," he complained. "I'm uncle to the king, it's my right to blow off 'things.'" She laughed at that, her hand tucked neatly in his arm. She was glad she'd worn her lovely new dress that day. "We're going for a ride, goddamn it."

No. That was not an innuendo. Pervs...

till next time, then! Maybe tomorrow!