Aww, so many new reviews! And I'm so sorry, I wasn't picking on you (you know who you are) about complaining! I promise, I love my readers haha, I was just teasing all of you!

I also got a few comments on the fight...I know, I know it's too short a scene. I typed it up really fast and didn't do too much looking back, I'll consider editing it a little bit. Thanks for the comments, though, I always appreciate anything you have to say about the story!

Also, I'm SO SORRY this chapter took so long...but it's gonna be a little while before I can get them up as regularly as I did before. Exam week and all, and graduation coming up. I sorry!

It was like something from her dreams, riding with Jaime. They looked the part, she knew at least. Her hair had come undone as they galloped, and was flying behind her in ripples of rich, earthy red. Her dress was something like that of a forest fairy, all green and gold and buttoned with dark red ruby roses. Even the gold and red leaves of autumn were like from a fantasy, swirling in the crisp breeze. Lady was decked out to match, with a long, green blanket vivid against her black haunches. Her bridle and reins were long, green, and tasseled.

Jaime was no less awesome, in black and gold chain mail. The cape he had elected to wear was a buttery gold, and it flew out behind him as he rode. His hair flew back from his face, as gleaming bright as the sun above them. His charger was a tall stallion, his hair a fantastic shade of dark, burnished gold. The flaxen mane and tail wafted behind him like banners.

They rode through the forest, along a dirt path pounded smooth by hundreds of years' worth of courtly rides. They didn't speak; the loveliness of the setting was too much to spoil with words.

"She's fast, isn't she?" burst Jaime suddenly, smiling. Sansa scowled.

"You're ruining it!" she yelled back, her horse starting a little. The jolt dislodged Sansa, who wobbled precariously before recovering her seat. Well, now it was ruined.

"What? What am I ruining?" he asked her, clearly trying not to smile. She huffed, her chin high and proud.

"Nothing! Never mind it!" she said irritably, wishing he wouldn't tease her so. But he didn't let up, spurring his horse closer to hers. Lady tossed her head and tried to move away, but there wasn't very much space on her side. "Jaime! Stop! She's going to-"

A low hanging branch smacked Jaime Lannister in the face, and he went flying backwards off of his horse. Sansa heard the thump of his landing, and gave a low cry before yanking Lady's head around and galloping back. Once she reached the supine figure, she slid from her horse's back and ran to him.

She was stunned to find him still laughing, albeit in short, pained bursts. Sighing, she folded her arms.

"There's something wrong with you," she informed him, as he alternated between groans and chuckles. "No, really, ser. I'm absolutely positive that you're mad."

"Ohh, ow, ha ha!" he moaned, smiling. "I haven't been knocked from my horse like that since I jousted with Prince Rhaegar...oh gods, that was awful, ha ha! Behold, world, Jaime Lannister versus the trees!"

She smiled despite herself, kneeling beside him. Touching his chest gently, she began to laugh.

"How did you ever become a legend for your swordplay?" she asked him, "I feel your relentless humor should have been what spread like wildfire to your enemies. It's enough to drive anyone absolutely wild."

"Wild with lust," he corrected solemnly, a grin threatening to break through. "If you're any sort of example, anyhow." She blushed and nearly smacked him, but he grimaced before she could, touching his side. Her hands moved over his, trying to soothe him but not knowing how.

"Are you alright?" she asked him anxiously. He left on the morrow for battle, and she was scared to think that he might be wounded before he went. "Jaime, how can I help you?"

"You could unlace that dress a little, that would probably help me," he said seriously, recoiling when she raised her fist. "Don't! Don't! Don't you dare! If I die because of you, I'm absolutely not leaving you anything!"

"I could just make up a story," she thought aloud, her hand on her chin. "Something ridiculous, like the Lion of Lannister getting his in the face with a branch, falling from his horse, and dying alone and sad in the forest." Jaime burst out laughing at that.

"Oh, see, you have a little humor in your cold Stark heart, too!" he teased, but was cut off when she abruptly kissed him. He smiled against her mouth, his hand reaching up to touch her hair. Ignoring the dirt accumulating on her skirts, she lay down beside him, tugging at the laces of her dress. He was happy to help her, his fingers brushing hers as he impatiently loosened all of the ribbons.

"Here?" she whispered, her eyes flying up and down the road. "Can't we find somewhere more secluded? What if someone sees?" The court considered her wanton enough, thanks to the flying rumors, and the last thing she needed was someone riding down the road.

"No, here," he insisted, giving up on the laces. There were simply too many of them for his one hand. He hiked up her skirts and jerked down his breeches. Sansa blushed darkly, but didn't fight him. "If someone dishonors you with his eyes, I'll cut them out for you, is that alright?" Sansa laughed, but his expression was much too serious before he joined her. Equal parts horrified and touched, she didn't quite know how to react.

"Really?" was all she could manage as he began to pull her onto his lap. He stopped then, looking up at her in surprise.

"Of course," he said as if it were the simplest fact in the world. "You're my wife. No other man is allowed to look at you." That said, he moved his attention back to her dress. Pulling down the bodice gently, he freed her milky white breasts and kissed them generously. Sansa had to hold back both a moan and a laugh.

"Well this isn't fair," gasped Sansa, pulling away slightly. He gave her a disgruntled look before pulling her closer. "Not if I'm not decent in the middle of a road!" She pushed his head back, trying to stand. He hooked her foot and she tumbled, but his arms were there to break her fall. He laughed and rolled them until she was squashed beneath him. With him on top, his long cape spread like a blanket around them.

"There, is that better?" he purred, trying to hike her skirt up again. She wanted to push him off of her, but then his hot hardness was between her sensitive thighs, and her toes curled deliciously when he returned to her breasts. But she couldn't stand the constant terror of being caught.

"Please, Jaime," she begged him, fingers digging into his golden cape. His eyes met hers finally and he sighed; he'd never been patient, but something about her made him want to be. Perhaps it was her innocence; she was still so green to the art of lovemaking. But then, he'd never been with anyone besides Cersei before her, and he was quite new to her too.

Pulling her up, he lifted her off of her feet, her green skirts flared and bunched at her knees. Kicking off his breeches, he carried her into the forest.

He didn't stop immediately; the horses would wait on the road for them, he knew, and were safe from thieves in the forest so close to the palace. No bed of pine needles and dust would do for Sansa, he could tell. With bright eyes and leaves in her long auburn hair, her green dress nearly touching the ground even as he carried her, she looked for all the world an ethereal creature; a forest spirit, young and airy. And dressed in gold, he may as well play her knight.

He found the perfect area, one that he remembered from times past. It was a place Robert had often stopped to sup and rest during his hunts, a lovely grassy field in the sun, surrounded by the deep forest and filled with the scent of wildflowers. It was a romantic place, one that he'd taken Cersei to before. But he brushed that memory from his mind uncomfortably. Though his intentions had been slow and loving, what had actually happened had been fierce and fast. And he knew how that would unnerve Sansa.

Her eyes were large when he laid her down in the meadow, and he could nearly see the maiden's dream playing out in her mind. And so, he unclasped his cape with one hand and lifted her onto it; she lay back on the gleaming gold, waiting for him. He pulled the mail over his head, kicked off his boots. His sword he lay down carefully beside her.

She was unlacing her own dress, to make it easy on him. Blushing, she slowly pulled the silks from herself until all that was left were her fine brown calfskin boots, with delicate ruby roses at the top. He hesitated over her, hardly able to keep himself from joining her. She blushed at the odd look he gave her.

"You liked my boots on last time," she said shyly, fighting not to cover herself. Being exposed still brought back vivid memories of Joffrey's cruel stripping of her in front of the entire court, but the way Jaime looked at her was in no way the same. It was as if he could have ignored her body all day to look at her face. But the desire was there; his gaze slipped occasionally.

With a burst of delighted laughter, he leaned forward and kissed her nose. There was something so endearing in the gesture that it almost scared her.

"As long as everything else is off," he informed her, smiling widely. But then he chastised himself; that was not gallant of him to say. He knew she'd like something romantic, but his mind drew blanks. He didn't know if he could be romantic; everything with Cersei had been lust and humor. But, looking at her, with her rich tangled hair and her enormous blue eyes, the words came almost too easily to him. "I could look at you forever..."

Sansa's breath caught, her heart stuttering a little bit. With the halo of the sun behind him, spotted through the red autumn leaves, he looked like a young god. She couldn't tear her eyes from his soft, curling golden hair, his kind smile, his mischievous, catlike green eyes that glittered like emeralds. Her hands rested on the hard muscles of his arms, and though he lay between her bare thighs, there was no rush to this.

She tried to squash the familiar feeling rising in her, tried hopelessly to drive it away again. She knew the pain of having it ripped from her, and she wanted to forget that pain. But it rose, it rose from her like the loveliest of spring flowers, and it touched Jaime Lannister.

Sansa cried, then. She didn't mean to, but a few tears leaked through, and he couldn't have understood them but he kissed her anyways. She cried because she could not bring herself to crush this last feeling in her. She had lost all of the love she had ever had, her father first, her mother, her sister and her brothers. Though she was amongst the house of lions, she was like a starving child who had been handed a bounty, a feast. And, instead of rejecting a feast given by the hand that struck her, she couldn't help but to accept it.

She let him kiss her, let him touch her, and reluctantly she handed him her heart.

She gave in. She moved with him, her hands on his arms and her legs around his waist, her head thrown back. She kissed him, let herself open to him. His pace changed from slow and sensual to hard and needy much too soon. She let him though he hurt her a little bit, his hand too tight on her waist and hips striking hers painfully.

There was little satisfaction in it for her, but that was okay. He fell beside her, breathless, when he finished, and she moved closer when he put his arms around her.

They lay together for a long time before anything happened.

Looking up, Sansa noticed his deep frown. She reached up and touched his mouth gently. "What's wrong?" she asked him, trying to make him smile again. He managed a half smile, but his heart wasn't in it.

"I'm sorry, that was supposed to go better..." he sighed, his expression sad. She laughed and rubbed his chest with her hand, surprising him and herself.

"Life isn't a song," she told him quietly, not entirely agreeing with herself. But he was smiling again, this time wide and true.

"Really? I find that if you're singing, then whatever you're doing becomes a song," he laughed, bright and golden once more. Sansa laughed with him; despite her previous annoyances, she was finding herself becoming rather fond of his atrocious brand of humor. She enjoyed seeing him smile.

They lay quietly again, listening to the bird calls above them. Despite their efforts, it seemed that they couldn't manage to fight off the sobriety.

"Are you afraid?" she finally asked him, thinking about Stannis and his ever advancing troops. It hadn't left her mind since he'd told her he was leaving. But he scoffed.

"The Lion of Lannister is never afraid," he said arrogantly, his hand tightening on her shoulder. His right hand though, the golden one, he lifted until they were both staring at it. "Jaime, however, is a little nervous," he confided, almost ashamedly. "Let's hope there's a kitten in you, or they're just going to sell you to someone else; probably tell them you're a maiden, too, I'd wager. The Kingslayer was much too busy to deflower his little winter rose."

"Stop," she said suddenly, a chill going through her. He had clearly thought this through. "Don't talk like that. You're coming back. Don't say such things." He looked down at her, an eyebrow raised slightly.

"Why, Sansa, little wife, is that the sweet sound of concern? Is it possible you're worried for your dear, darling husband?" he asked, seemingly shocked. She didn't indulge his humor this time, though. Her expression was deadly serious. He laughed lightly and touched her chin with his left hand. "Careful, my silly little wolf. Men might think that the women of the north are terribly cold."

"I'm serious, Jaime," she said, brushing his hand away. He sighed and returned his hand to her face, placing it more firmly on her jaw.

"Don't be. Everything is going to be fine," he told her, his eyes meeting hers. "I promise I won't speak of that anymore. By the gods, I know you're serious; you're awfully serious for such a sweet girl." He managed to pull a reluctant smile from her. Moving closer to her, he pulled a few tender kisses from her mouth. "Come, let's see if we can't get some more smiles out of you..."

Sansa sat on her bed, examining the scraps of cloth before her.

One was white with a dark grey direwolf racing across the front, and laced with black. One was blue, with delicate scarlet tendrils creeping across the fabric. The third was silver, with elegant white 'S's at each corner. She picked up the third one and stroked the silky fabric.

Jaime had asked for her favor to wear to battle, to 'serve as his inspiration' he had said. She didn't know if he was serious or teasing her, but he had seemed serious. And though she had remembered when Joffrey had made her kiss his sword, this somehow didn't seem to be the same. He wasn't riding off to kill her brother, and she did not bless his sword with the swiftness to murder. Instead, the favor was to symbolize a wife or lover's protection.

Should I protect him? she wondered to herself, but that tiny thing that should have been dead inside of her cried out in anger. He is my husband. If he dies, then who will the Lannisters give me to next, to snatch my birthright? And yet, she couldn't help but feel that she would have grieved at news of his death, and not because of her birthright.

He is good, and kind. Mother, what would you have done?

"My lady, miss Sansa Stark," said a mild voice from her doorway, and Sansa whipped around. A finely dressed man stood there, not very tall but with bright, intelligent eyes and a pointed beard. Sansa curtseyed deeply, having seen him around the castle for a long while, but hardly ever speaking with him.

"Lord Baelish," she greeted him, rising from her curtsy. "How good of you to visit me. But I am Sansa Lannister now, as you might have forgotten." She never did forget her courtesies. The man stepped into her room, looking around. She felt a bit nervous, with him here, but he gave her a kind smile.

"Yes, young lady, but you are the very image of your dear mother," he laughed lightly, stepping forward and taking her hand. He lifted it and kissed her knuckles briefly. "I quite nearly called you a Tully!" She couldn't help but smile; she knew how much like her mother she looked, and treasured that last piece of herself dearly.

"Well, I have traded my mother's blues for golds, I fear," she replied, before touching her mouth with her hand. It wasn't smart to speak so loosely of her own disdain for the marriage, but Littlefinger did not look aghast. Instead, he laughed again and patted her cheek.

"Yes, you're quite right. I must admit, I stopped by because I was terribly curious to see how Catelyn's eldest daughter was faring. You're rather absent in the court, and it's growing terribly cold and dull in there." Sansa remembered how she had once dined with the queen, ridden with Joffrey and toured the city at his side. She did not miss those days in the least, preferring to spend her time lounging in the Maidenvault with Margaery or by herself, singing and drawing and dreaming of Winterfell.

"I have been well, my lord," she was able to say truthfully. "I find myself with much to do, despite my time away from the court." He glanced around the room, at the scattered papers and cloths, at the silver instruments across her bed.

"Yes, I can see that," he said impassively. "How goes your marriage, my lady? That is, if you don't mind my prying." Sansa couldn't imagine why he wanted to know how her marriage was going, since most of the court already knew of her personal opinions on it, but something told her that she could trust this man. Besides, she had little to say that he could use against her.

"Of course not, good ser," she assured him. "If you'd like to have a seat, we can continue to converse in a more comfortable manner." She gestured to the comfy armchairs around her small table, and he followed her to them. "I'm sorry, I have no refreshments. I can send my maids, if you'll allow me."

She turned and gestured to Alisoun, who nodded and disappeared from the room.

"You're quite the hostess," he complimented her, leaning back in his chair. "I could only imagine what you would do with a full castle at your beckoning, lady Sansa!" She smiled, thinking about her castle in the snow, the one held by Theon Greyjoy.

"As could I," she agreed wistfully. "I do so long to see Winterfell again. But Jaime is bringing me back, once I am for certain with child." She blushed, forgetting herself again. It was not very proper to discuss such things with a lord, but his gentle, green-grey eyes pursuaded her easily into slipping.

"And what a pretty lady you will be," he interrupted, chuckling. "Wrapped in furs in your snowy castle, a baby in your hands." He sighed, accepting a cup of sweetmilk brought by her maid. "You make me feel so old, my lady. It seems only yesterday I was wooing your mother, and now here you sit, dreaming of your own household and children. Dear Sansa, I wish you all of the happiness that has been so absent in this world. I am so sorry for the news of your family, as late as I give it. That was the other thing I came here for. Sansa, if you need to speak with anyone, my door is always open to you."

The way he said that gave her an odd chill, but she ignored it and smiled. It felt good, as little as she trusted anybody, to have someone sympathize with her.

"Thank you, my lord," she said quietly, breaking a small cake into half and lifting a bite to her mouth. She chewed the piece thoughtfully. Why would he come here and blatantly declare his allegiance to her? He was a man of quick and clever words, and she could read easily through his lines. "I will remember that."

"But, you did not answer my question," he chided her playfully. "How is life with the infamous Lion of Lannister?" She noticed both that he did not call Jaime the Kingslayer, and also that he referred to him as 'infamous.' This tricky man was secretly giving her his loyalties, and at the same time covering his tracks. She wondered to herself where she had learned to read the unspoken language of the court, but remembered the tournies with Joffrey; she had once done the very same.

"It goes well," she confessed to him. "He is amiable and does make me smile. I enjoy his company." She could not bring herself to let Lord Baelish know of Jaime's violent and often aggressive moods; she also could not reveal to him how deeply her feelings were becoming. And so she chose her words carefully; but the look in Petyr's eye hinted that he was aware of her raised shields. He, too, could read between lines, and he read her neutral words as easily as she his.

"I'm sure you do," said Lord Baelish shortly. "Ser Jaime is very good with his jokes, very quick to laugh. But I fear to say that he is not a very good conversationalist, like you, my lady. He is bound to go gallivanting off onto different subjects."

"Yes, I quite know what you mean," laughed Sansa, trying to figure out what he meant by that. She didn't like this game, but didn't know how to end it. "It is difficult to coax a serious conversation from him."

"Yes," agreed Petyr, not laughing with her. "I had expected him to sober up with his wife, though. How much do you know, Sansa, about Jaime Lannister?" His voice had gone softer now, and a little more sinister. She could not figure out what he was implying, or what his end goal was. What did this man have to say about her marriage?

"I know of his victories in battle," she said defensively, not knowing what she was being defensive of. "I know of his love for his sister, his family. I know of his hard head and rash decisions." Lord Baelish was no longer smiling, but leaning forward, his hands folded under his chin in a pensive manner. His kind eyes had turned rather cold.

"Yes, you know of everything that is possible to know by watching Jamie Lannister for more than five minutes," he said curtly, and Sansa felt as though he had slapped her, but couldn't say why. She flushed angrily. "But what do you know of him? Has he told you of his time as a knight of King Aerys' Kingsguard? Has he told you how he lost his hand? Did he tell you the name of his first love?"

"Ser, you go too far," she burst, standing. She felt impossibly rude, but at the same time indignant. Who did this man think he was, to come uninvited to her chambers and question her relationship with her husband? "I have been married into an enemy house against my will," she hissed poisonously. "I apologize if my relationship to my husband does not satisfy you. Please leave my room."

He stood slowly, almost abashedly. She did not allow for remorse, though, and stood firm. He walked towards the door, but before he could leave, stopped and turned.

"I was very close with Kat," he said quietly. "I want very dearly for her only surviving daughter to be happy." His hand tightened on the door handle, and she felt a flicker of fear, not understanding why. "I just wanted you to see that you do not know Jaime Lannister. I believe you should ask him a few questions about his past, Sansa. Ask him about Cersei, and see what the Kingslayer has to tell you."

...

O.O