PLEASE DON'T HIT ME!

haha I'm sooo sorry I haven't written in so long, I PROMISE I haven't abandoned this story! I will complete it! But it's a super difficult and busy summer, on top of the fact that I'm working on another fic, so I heartily apologize but I don't know if I can update again for a while. It depends on my schedule, but I may be without internet for a few weeks :(

But OMG do I love you guys' reviews! I'm just so impressed with the absolute amount of effort you all put into them, and super touched! I actually got some from people who have been directed to this story by friends, and I have to say I was floored! Thank you all for the kind and numerous dissections of the story.

Also, someone mentioned that they haven't finished the books, and I'd like to say that I'd like to prevent spoilers...NEARLY everything I write is NOT canon, that primarily meaning the Jaime/Sansa couple. Most of the events around them, I'm sorry to say, DO happen. I just bounce them off of a different couple. Read the books and find out which events are and aren't!

Also, Cersei is mad at Jaime for not being meaner to Sansa. She's just jealous. She's also not fond of him at approximately this point in the story, too.

The captains were all in the stables, having drawn their armor and weaponry. She passed gently kissing couples, fathers hugging children, and squires assisting their knights with last-minute adjustments. Several young soldiers catcalled, but instantly recovered their courtesies when they recognized her.

She found him saddling his white destrier, decked in red and gold with lions racing across the long dressings. He wore his golden armor, she saw, and he looked breathlessly handsome in the light filtering through the windows. Several young men stood with him, and they all spoke quietly. But when he saw her, he hushed them with a gesture. Her eyes narrowed a little at his easy, convincing smile.

"My lady," he greeted her, bowing slightly and taking her hand. He looked pleased to see her, albeit confused. "What are you doing here? The stables are no place for my pretty little wife. Though I welcome your presence anyways, of course." She took her hand back after he brushed it with his lips.

"Yes, well, I had a sudden urge to speak with you," she said airily, smoothing down her ivory skirts. "Privately," she added, giving him a look. He nodded to the captains and they left the stall, leaving Jaime and Sansa alone. Suddenly, face to face with him, she didn't quite know where to start. He waited for her to speak, but when she said nothing, he turned and began buckling a sheath to his destrier's saddle.

"Did you come here to see me off?" he asked her without turning. "You know we're having ceremonial send-off anyways, we would have had time then."

"No," she began, trying to figure out what she wanted to say. "I wanted to talk about something else."

He turned, then, with that irresistible smile playing about his mouth. His eyes were lazy and sensual as he snatched a fold of her skirts and pulled her closer with his hand. "Oh? Are you sure that was it? We won't have the privacy, you know, during the ceremony for anything risqué." He tugged her close and leaned forward, but she turned away angrily.

"Stop," she huffed, pushing back at him with her hands. "I'm serious, I wanted to talk with you." He drew back and looked confused, but defaulted immediately to humor.

"And what a serious little wolf," he teased her, touching her cheek. But now she could see through his deflections.

"Don't do that," she snapped, her eyes dark with anger. "Don't treat me like a child." He withdrew, startled, his temper rising easily at her provocation.

"Don't touch you, don't talk with you," he said heatedly, turning back to his horse. "What did you come here for, then? If you came to fight, then you can very well leave. I'll have enough fighting to worry about as is without you attacking me too." She grabbed his arm and pulled, but he would not turn to face her.

"I came to speak like adults," she said firmly, her hands on her hips. "Not in jokes, and don't be condescending. I wanted to discuss something with you."

"And what, dare I ask, is that?" came his cold reply. His hands were busy at his horse, adjusting the tasseled red bridle. Upset that he would not give her his full attention, and at the same time giving in to it, she breathed a sigh.

"How did you lose your hand?" she murmured, and she saw him shake his head.

"I don't want to talk about that."

"Why did you kill King Aerys?"

"Not that either."

"What was the name of your first lover?"

"Nor that."

"Tell me about Cersei."

His hand went still on his horse, and she saw every muscle in his back tighten at the same time. His hand went still on his horse, and for a moment it seemed as though he had frozen. Then, slowly, he turned to face her. His expression was heavily guarded, and Sansa felt a thrill of fear at what lay behind the shields.

"What do you want to know?" he asked her quietly, smoothly. She could have believed his calm facade, except for the ringing of the sword that cut her father's neck in her ears. How could I have ignored that? Her breath came in short gasps.

"What are you hiding from me?" she whispered, unable to keep her voice from breaking. Please, convince me. Please make me believe that nothing is wrong. "What is there that you can't tell me? I am your wife." His low laugh broke through her words.

"Did your father ever tell your mother who birthed his bastard son?" he spat arrogantly at her. She reeled back as though he had struck her. "You are my wife. And as such, you are entitled to that which I give you. If I don't give it to you, then it is not your right to ask for it." He did not turn back to his horse, but gestured to the door of the stall. Sansa stood very still for a moment, hurt and confused.

"I...I don't understand," she managed, trying hard not to cry. She searched for her armor, but all courtesies were gone when she faced him. All she could do was pray that he did not draw on her vulnerability. "I thought-"

He caught on to her moment of weakness, and aimed straight for it. His hand snagged hers again, and he pulled her closer. "Go get some rest, Sansa," he said softly, wrapping his arm around her. "You're exhausted. Don't worry so much, everything will be fine."

She nearly agreed with him, but the ringing was still there and it hurt her head terribly. Abruptly she pulled away from him, not allowing him to fool her. They stood an arm's length apart, and she would move no nearer nor farther from him.

"Tell me," she growled. She threw back her thick hair, not compromising. He didn't compromise, either.

"My history is none of your business," he said sharply, not dropping her hard gaze. "My future is your business. My present, yes. If I am so inclined, I may share it with you someday. But not on your demand."

Sansa's fists shook with anger. She had nothing to bargain with, and they both knew it. But if what she suspected was true, his words were as good as a confession. She trembled with hurt and realization. She knew Littlefinger must be right; everything about Jaime's defensiveness was a vivid banner on his guilt.

She hoped against all hope that Jaime could prove her wrong. But he just stood there, drawn tall, his green eyes much too hard. His stiff-legged stance, the breath he held, everything about him was a confession.

"My father was right," she whispered, trying not to cry. "He was right, and you let him die."

"You know nothing," he ejected, his eyes alarmed for only a moment before he recovered himself. But her accusing stare was overpowering. "You know nothing."

"You are a monster," her voice quivered. Her arms wrapped around herself, over her belly. "It's going to be a monster, too." Tears dripped from her long lashes, first one, and then too many to count. Jaime stood as if he were made of stone, staring hard at her, quickly losing his cool facade.

"Sansa, don't be a fool," he said harshly, his fist tightening at his side. "Go back to your room. Refresh yourself, and then come down to the ceremony and behave." He spoke as if she were a young girl again. Sansa would have retched if she were not a lady.

"Joffrey is your -I almost...I would have..." she leaned forward a little, wondering if she was going to tear apart at the seams. "My father is dead...because of you!" She straightened abruptly, and launched herself forward. Her fist caught Jaime by surprise, aimed straight for his face, but he dodged her easily.

"Sansa!" he snarled warningly, blocking her blows relatively easily. Tears blurred her vision as she struck at him, desperate to land just one blow...just one that would be enough to kill him. She could see the anger building behind his fragile courtesies, but she didn't care. Her brothers, her mother...all of the terrible things that had happened to her were rooted in the death of her father.

"You're a monster!" she screamed, causing the white destrier to whinny and stomp nervously. "I'd rather cut my own throat than birth your ugly spawn!" The words poured from her before she could be bothered to think about them, every terrible thing she could think of dripping from her own lips. He didn't strike her, as she had expected him to, but he trapped her two hands in his one; he was shockingly strong, just in one hand. She had no chance of pulling free.

"Why?" she cried brokenly, the fight leaving her much too soon. Her blue eyes drank imploringly in his. They stared at each other, frozen, seeing each other bared. There was no fight in him, only now a shameful, cracked pride. His mouth opened and closed, and he swallowed twice. He let go of her hands, and she rubbed her wrists, but didn't move away from him. She stared at him and still, she prayed that he could make her believe him.

"I love her," he said in the thunderous silence. Sansa couldn't breath, her heart was so stuffed into her throat. But she swallowed, and stepped back. There was a dark, ugly feeling inside of her, and she didn't want to face it yet.

"Fine," she said quietly, her jaw clenched against her tears. She turned and began to flee.

"Sansa, wait!" he called, grabbing her wrist, but she wrenched it from him before he could get a grip.

"I said fine!" she screamed, the tears gone, rage replacing them. They faced off again, but this time it was Sansa in control. "I can't make you love me. I can't make you not love her. But do not dare presume yourself forgiven, and do not dare presume to come to me."

She turned and ran from the stall, ignoring the appalled looks from the knights in the stables, and the boys leading the horses.

Jaime leaned against the wall, his head in his good hand.

Is she going to tell people? Is she going to kill herself? He gestured to one of his servants, who had returned with supplies.

"Please go and tell my wife's guards to keep a close eye on her today, and for the time I'm gone," he said firmly, imagining her cutting her own throat or, possibly worse, running away alone. "Today, especially."

The servant scurried off, and he was alone again.

"Am I a monster?" he asked Isabel, his white mare. She gave him a long look before grabbing for some hay. He sighed and rubbed his face. "Maybe I am..."

He thought about Cersei, and he thought about Sansa. Cersei's golden mane, Sansa's rich, red-brown. Cersei's sexy green eyes, Sansa's lovely blue; Cersei's cold loveliness and Sansa's warm smile. Honestly, he wasn't sure that he loved either of them at the moment, they were so troublesome.

"Catelyn Stark was a good wife!" he grumbled to Isabel, lifting a sword and sheathing it against her saddle. "Didn't say a word about Stark's affair...so devoted, she keeps fighting a war, even without him! See, if I died, Cersei would have Casterly Rock all to herself, and Sansa would be free to marry whomever she pleased." It wasn't entirely true, but he couldn't imagine that she would be crying her pretty blue eyes out.

He mounted his horse, grimly resolving himself to a rather cold send-off. "Honestly, can't seem to get anything right these days."

Sansa lay sprawled across her bed, wishing she wasn't such a foolish creature.

She thought that after her family's death, she would have been wiser to the ways of the court, but never could she have suspected something like this. Once she had loved Joffrey; and now he still won, because she was mooning after his father. She shuddered, feeling unbearably cold and alone inside.

How could she have just trusted him like that? They had been married for so short a time, and yet she couldn't stop herself from falling for his lies, his deceits...she wondered if she had any true friends in the world.

Littlefinger...she remembered that he had told her of Jaime's lies, had told her of his deep love for her mother. Perhaps, if she could find him, he would take her away from here! Sansa leapt, breathless, to her feet and began to pace. What did she need to bring? She grabbed her small jewelry chest; most of it had been given to her by her mother. She grabbed an extra gown and threw open the door.

All four of her guards stood before her with patient, but determined expressions. Sansa squeaked and shut the door again slowly, entirely sure that Jaime had told them to keep and eye on her. Furious, she threw the gown across the room.

Even when he's gone, he ruins my life! she thought despairingly, crumpling to the ground. Her hands shook as they rested on her lap, and her shoulders shook with the effort not to cry.

But he was leaving now, he was going to war, and if she was lucky he might get struck by somebody's sword and die.

Good riddance.

"Hmm...I'd say the artichoke salad dish for the first course, the boiled mushroom soup for the soup course, the roast swan for the main course, with the sides of course being the bread stuffing and peaches, the dessert should be that marzipan castle confection we looked at last week, right my dearest?"

Joffrey smiled and laughed enchantingly to his bride. "And the flowers, my love?"

"The flowers are being brought in from my castle," she reassured him, touching his nose gently. "You're not to see them either, it'll be a surprise for the both of us!"

"And of the seating list?"

"Well, my cousins of course, to my left will be my family at the head table. And yours to your right, naturally. But, love, I wish for dearest Sansa to sit with me, on my left amongst my cousins. She's been such a sister to me, I would so love to dine with her!" Margaery said innocently, biting her lip when Joffrey frowned. He gave her a sideways glare.

"You're not trying to embarrass me, are you? It's not some sort of insult?" he asked suspiciously, and Margaery shook her head. "My mother told me to watch out for your wily female insults, though I did tell her you're the sweetest creature."

"I just believe Sansa has had a difficult time lately, and I want to make her feel special! Even though it's our wedding, my darling!" Margaery won him back to her easily; her adorable smile had always been enough for him. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

"You're the kindest woman on this earth," he told her sweetly. "Of course Sansa can sit at our table. But, she'll have to sit on my side, because she's my uncle's wife. Even if he can't be there, she should to stand in for him." Margaery bit her lip and nodded, compromising though she knew that nothing in the world would make Sansa feel less special than being seated nearby Joffrey. But he was the king, and his commands must be followed. Margaery curtseyed and lowered her eyes, for now.

"How very good of you, my love. How very good and thoughtful."

Jaime had never looked more splendid, armored in plated gold and mounted on his white charger. His helmet under his arm, dazzling blonde curls waved in the lazy sea breeze. A thousand countrymen cheered mightily; even more countrywomen called his name, waving flowers and silks.

It was a fantastic send-off by any proportions and especially considering how unpopular King Joffrey was, but at the same time he watched almost wistfully as his knights were tenderly kissed goodbye by their bravely reassuring wives.

It wasn't that he was dying for Sansa to come running, but just knowing that someone would be a little upset at the thought of his never coming back would be nice. But then there was a rush of golden locks, the billow of a red gown, and to his disbelief Cersei's arms had reached up his charger and were tight around his waist.

"Sister," he murmured, touched. She looked up, and as their eyes met all resentment and bitterness washed away. Her lip trembled a little bit; she knew, when it came right down to it, where she belonged. Jaime leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

"Come back without anything missing this time," she whispered quietly, her hand touching his cheek. He could have laughed, but he felt his ghost hand uselessly near the reins. He sneaked a look around him and tilted her head up, kissing her gently on the lips.

"Have something waiting for me when I get back."

That tone always had the effect he wanted. When she pulled back her eyes were dark with desire. Her smile was as welcoming and coquettish as it had ever been.

"I love you."

Okay this chapter is shorter than I would have liked, buuut...yeah.

Anyways I just wanted to throw something to my faithful readers! And to let you all know I haven't died! And I'm sorry but updates are going to be scattered, but if you saw X-men First Class and thought Erik was hot as shit, you're free to read my other story, A Second Chance ;DD

Also, internet in my house is way shittier than in my dorm, I've been trying to get this chapter loaded for like two days.