Disclaimer: I don't own Song of Ice and Fire :)

WOAH UPDATE!

So...is it weird that the longer I take to update, the less I want to look at my new reviews? It doesn't make sense, they usually motivate me to write more, but for some reason I feel like you're all going to start getting hostile one day heh...heheh...

O-O

Jaime tried hard not to look at Cersei. She was still struggling to stay on her feet, one hand over her mouth and the other clasped tightly around one of her personal guards. It was one of the dirty dark-haired ones, with a hooked nose and eyes Jaime didn't quite like. He struggled to stare bravely at the council, and to ignore the muffled, agonized sounds coming from his twin.

The High Priest looked patiently to Cersei, but it appeared that the queen was too torn to speak. They waited uncomfortably for much too long before Jaime saw Loras Tyrell run quickly to his sister, who sat red-eyed beside Tommen, the rising young king, her brother-in-law. His brow furrowed as they had a quick but fierce dispute, their voices much too low and their mouths barely moving. He saw young Margaery's shoulders shake with silent tears as she pulled her brother to her and kissed his chestnut curls. Jaime's mouth turned down. There was too much grief here.

Margaery stood, her eyes cold and distant. She showed Jaime no signs of familiarity, nor kindness. He wondered if she had indeed sent for him.

"As the queen is indisposed, I will accept the terrible mantle. My brother Loras is willing to prove to the world that my husband was brutally murdered by one who once sought refuge in the king's own castle." Her expression did not change as Sansa gasped in hurt disbelief, as Jaime flushed darkly.

Jaime's fair skin burned red with resignation and embarrassment. If it had been the Hound, he would have died quickly, yes, but it would have been at the hand of a giant of a man. True, Jaime had often used a greatsword; his left hand had played a supporting role at a sword, and he had been dutifully practicing with Ilyn Payne, but he doubted that his short time fighting left handed could possibly compete with Loras, a callow boy but one who had been fighting with his strong hand for over twelve years. Now Jaime would suffer the humiliation of dying quickly at the hands of a wet-eared youth, a boy nearly young enough to be his son.

He, the Lion of Lannister, slayed by a Rose. Jaime shivered and glanced towards his wife. Sansa stood at the corner of the yard where he'd told her to go, her hands clasped tightly and her lips set in a grim line. He was glad to see that her eyes were dry; as young as she was, she was a strong woman indeed. And he had a duty to her.

Sighing, Jaime stepped forward and bowed. But, to his surprise, Cersei's voice burst around him.

"High Priest, please! Please let me speak with my brother! I have already lost so much..." her voice was ripe with panic and loss, but Jaime's hackles raised nonetheless. So much for believing in her own brother...

"I will allow a moment, your Majesty," said the Priest generously to the Queen Regent. Cersei did not run to her brother. She lifted her skirt slightly and walked slowly towards him, her head bowed and her hands trembling. When she reached him though, her hands flew to his face, her eyes lifting to meet his. Green on green, they stood together.

"Don't," she pleaded quietly, tears forming in her red eyes. The corners of her mouth quivered as she stroked his cheeks, his hair, ran her thumbs over the soft lids of his eyes. "Please, Jaime, please don't do this. I couldn't lose you too."

"I find that very difficult to believe," he murmured, feeling no pity for her. She really should have foreseen this, if she wasn't such a hotheaded fool. Her face crumpled slightly, but she managed to maintain what little composure she had left.

"I love you," she hissed with quiet passion. Her grasp tightened in his golden curls. "You know that! You're my brother, my knight, my lover!" Her voice grew low, and for some reason Jaime felt bitterness filling his throat.

"You're ashamed of me, you've always been ashamed of me," he replied tersely. "Even here, where I might die, you can't let anybody know you love me. You never could." His voice grew louder as he got angrier. Cersei drew away slightly, her anxious eyes darting left and right. His left hand reached forward to tighten on her cheeks, to pull her face mere inches from his. She started in fright, but he held her carefully as he spoke to her. "Do you want to know why I protect Sansa, my love, my Cersei?"

Abruptly he turned from her and strode to his wife. The guards' hands flew to their swords, but they glanced uneasily at each other as they were faced with the possibility of striking down their beloved captain. They hadn't needed to worry; Jaime strode smoothly to Sansa and cupped her face gently in his hand.

"Sansa, do you love me?" he asked her quietly, his eyes intense. Sansa's lips quivered as she teared for the first time. He stroked her skin with his thumb, tightened his fingers in her long mahogany hair. "Sansa, tell me." His voice grew soft, gentle. Her hand raised to rest on top of his. He felt her brother shifting irritably beside her, but she didn't move her eyes from his. He could have drowned in the rich depths of her blue eyes.

"I love you," she whispered, her brow furrowed. One hand clasped his wrist, as though dreading his departure. Another dipped down to touch her stomacher. He grimaced and leaned forward to kiss her deeply. Jon was snarling beside her, but Sansa was lost. Her hands flew to his hair, pulling him to her. She was wild with fright and confusion, holding him to her as if he was her lifeline.

"Louder," he groaned against her lips. Her teeth bared in what could have been a smile, and he could feel her words reverberating against his mouth, against his skin.

"I love you," she cried, a few tears trickling now. "I love you, I love you!" He kissed her once more, firmly on her sweet mouth, before turning back to face his sister. Cersei's face was crumpled in fury, grief, shame...and inexplicably, envy. Jaime didn't have the time anymore to dissect her emotions; he strode towards the very center of the courtyard, where he would be put out of his misery by a callow boy.

Drawing his sword with his left hand, he entered the center of the small arena. Court officials and guests alike gathered tightly around the edges of the ring, the most dangerous and yet the most desired of views. He wondered if Sansa was going to watch.

He smiled grimly as Loras, seeing his opponent unable to carry a shield, threw his own aside. His eyes glinted bold as he threw back his brown locks, acknowledging Jaime. The Lion's head bowed very slightly as he prepared to fight.

Jaime's senses quickened as the bloodlust took him. Loras moved as though in slow motion, heavy through thick water. He knew the positioning of the boy's sword, the motion of his feet; Loras aimed for a strong blow from above, after which he could only move to Jaime's right in hopes to surpass the sword. The muscles of Jaime's left arm tightened grudgingly, and he wondered if they would be strong enough.

The sing of metal brought the music back to his soul. A joyful breath blew from his throat as he countered both strikes, but he immediately felt the price; fatigue would come quickly to his less practiced arm. Sharp pain from the contact already laced all the way to his shoulder.

Loras was fast, but Jaime's senses were faster, trained through battle. Unfortunately, Jaime's left arm was not up to the challenge of keeping pace with his eyes and reflexes; he found himself dodging a whirling takedown, instead of aiming for the easy strike of moving closer.

His breath grew ragged, but he could not fail. Loras's sword skimmed his right shoulder as Jaime blocked too short, and searing pain burst Jaime's concentration. He struggled, now, to deflect the blows.

Red-brown hair against the stark green of the meadow, her laughter, the music of her smile, the innocence she had saved for so long.

Big freckles, a broad face, build like a stack of blocks. He promised her...

Sweat dripped into his eyes as Jaime felt his strength begin to fail. Is this what if felt like, to be the men I've killed? How terrible. He drew lungfuls of throaty gasps, felt it expel in bursts of fatigue as he used his short reservoir of energy.

Jaime drew himself together for the final plunge of effort. His trembling muscles tightened, his adrenaline spiked, and he knew that this would be the moment of truth.

'This isn't right,' thought Jon as he watched the tall but crippled man walk to his death. 'It should be me walking out there. Loras is going to chop him to pieces.' Jon was sure that his own training would have at least put him on an equal plane with this youth, but once the swordfight began, he suddenly knew that he had been wrong.

"This...this is insane!" he murmured in a low voice. His hand was around his sister, but he had forgotten her role in the trial. "Loras's talent is incredible, I've never seen anyone so fast!" Sansa was a wolf, and she had hidden her tears again, but he felt the tremor shake her body when he spoke. Suddenly remembering that Loras faced her husband, he pulled her tight to him again.

"Jaime will win," whispered Sansa fiercely, her grip tightening on her brother. "He has to." Jon was startled by the cold strength in his most sensitive sibling. He had left Sansa as an air-headed, slightly snotty sister and returned to find her as hard and beautiful as any woman of the Stark breed. He felt sad; her dreams and fantasies had clearly died a long time ago.

John could barely tear his eyes from the fight. Sansa could be right; though Jaime was clearly not as skilled with his left hand as Loras was with his right, he was incredibly agile and seemed to be able to predict which moves the younger man was choosing. The fluidity of his motion was unparalleled. But the Lannister was clearly losing strength, while Loras seemed to be grasping his second wind.

Sansa was very still; she jolted once as Loras's swing shaved the mail from Jamie's arm. It would be over much too quickly; Jon glanced around the room and prepared himself for the worse.

"Jaime's going to win," whispered Sansa, her grip tightening. Jon huffed in irritation; had he been wrong about his naive young sister after all? He grasped her hand impatiently in his.

"Sansa, we need to figure out how to get out of here," he hissed back beneath his breath. The guards, he could probably take out with ease. They were very involved in the fight, concerned for their commander. The others though...but Sansa jerked his arm suddenly.

"No Jon, he's going to win!" she cried breathlessly. Jon turned, startled. What on earth had he missed?

But the young flower of Tyrell was slowing; his strikes were considerably more labored, his motion slowed. Jon was confused. He had been running so strong only moments before, the older man showing clear signs of inevitable defeat. It struck Jon a moment late. 'He's letting the Lannister win!'

Jon saw it then; the cool confidence in the young queen Margaery, the smoothly defensive position her brother began to take. They were master players in this game, as silently in sync as any pair on earth. Margaery had changed her plans suddenly, and Loras had without communication known what she wanted. Jon was amazed with their connection.

"I see now," he murmured to Sansa quietly, excitedly. "Loras lets Jaime win, making it look like a legitimate defeat. Jaime will know too; he's fought enough before to recognize his opponents like this. Jaime will allow Loras to live out of the goodness of his heart, and the court will be so touched that they will pardon you both and allow you to leave." He was stunned with the elegance of the operation, the absolute unorchestrated perfection of it. Sansa saw now, too; Loras appeared to be breathing with difficulty, and his escapes were convincing, but he was extremely light on his feet for one so seemingly exhausted.

"Yes," she gasped, relaxing into Jon's side. "Thank the gods!" He felt the tension ease from her body as she realized that she would not lose anybody tonight. Jon struggled not too appear too overjoyed.

The battle was culminating. Loras appeared to be on his last threads, and Jaime's strikes were surer and surer against Loras's blade. Finally, with a ringing blow, the golden Lion struck the very sword from the flower's hand; Loras's steel went flying across the courtyard, leaving the young lad unarmed.

Jon's eyes flew to Margaery; though still calm, she had flinched visibly at the sound.

All was silent, and it was as though Jaime moved in slow motion. Jon could see his face perfectly; humility, pride, passion, disdain...they all contorted across his fine features into a monstrous grimace. There was the slightest hesitation as Jaime approached his fallen foe and his fallen comrade.

A heartbeat passed with Loras powerful and helpless at Jaime's feet. In that heartbeat, Jon's breath caught in his throat as he realized one fatal flaw in Margaery's plan. Nobody controlled the Lion.

Jaime's left hand drew back and he raked his steel claw across Loras Tyrell's neck.

"Jaime!" a scream tore from Sansa's throat as she fell to her knees, shaking with horror. Nothing, though, compared to the scream that ripped from Margaery as though she had been gutted. Jon had never seen anything so terrible as Margaery's face, not as he held his retching sister. Cheeks flushed, hair undone, tears dripped from her eyes and mouth. Her hands clawed the floor, even as her handmaidens tried to pull her to her feet.

"Monster! Monster!" she shrieked, even as Jaime walked away from her. "Somebody kill him!" Her guards did not move, and Jon felt himself look to Cersei; the old queen had a queer expression of contempt, of smug despair. She had known, too, then.

"He won, little fool," snapped Cersei, forcefully pulling the young queen to her feet. "There's nothing you can do."

Jon had to work hard to refrain from attacking Jaime as he strode towards them. Once they were beyond the gates, once they were on their way to Winterfell...then, he would be free to cut the Lannister's throat in his sleep.

"Let's go," said Jaime brusquely, not touching either of them. Sansa rushed after him, not saying a word. Jon followed, drawing his sword just in case they were followed. Lannister could be taken care of later; right now he had to get Sansa safely out of the palace.

They could still hear the screams of the queen behind them.

It seemed a dream, that she was riding from the nightmare that had been her life for so long. Jaime had taken his golden mare, she her black, and Jon rode a swift bay beside them both. None spoke a word.

Loras Tyrell's lovely curls, spinning about his head as Jaime took it from his slender shoulders. Sansa shuddered violently. It was so similar, so very similar to that day so long ago...

He was a Lannister, why had she expected anything different from him? Flakes of snow swirled about them as they rode, Jaime's six personal guards galloping behind them. Lannister red flew from their banners. Sansa wanted to vomit at the sight of them. She would have to change Lady's trappings when they returned.

It seemed an eternity, flying across the plains. But finally they slowed; horses tired and the path too dark, they had to make camp. And then she would have to deal with Jaime.

Their horses slowed to a stop, and all three dismounted resentfully. Sansa's feet barely touched the ground when Jon attacked Jaime. No swords, no shields, just one man's fists against another's. Well, fist.

"You bastard," expelled Jon forcefully, landing a hard strike to Jaime's cheek. He was straddling the older man, his fists landing with hard determination. He pounded Jaime rhythmically. "You killed a good man back there! Loras Tyrell did nothing to you!"

Jaime didn't even fight back. He covered his face after the first blow, allowing Jon to absolutely pummel his chest and stomach. He glowered like a wicked cat, but otherwise had no retort. Jon jerked him up by the collar and struck his face again. By this time his guard had dismounted, but they appeared unsure as to whose side they were on. Some moved forward until Sansa shot them a warning look. When Jon was done, she was mightily tempted to have her turn too.

"Just tell me!" snarled Jon. "Tell me exactly why you're such an evil bastard!" Jon spat viciously in Jaime's face. Sansa saw her husband's eyes flare bright green before he struck Jon with his hard gold hand. The force of it knocked her brother off of him, but he didn't pursue his prone rival. Instead, he coolly wiped his face and stood.

"I don't owe you an explanation," he growled, dusting the cold mud from his shoulders. He began to turn, but Sansa stepped forward. He hand raised to stay her furious brother.

"No, but I believe you owe me one," she said quietly. Jaime froze, the sneer melting from his handsome features. He stared at her with mixed emotion; there was too much contempt there still, but underneath...

"The fight isn't over," said Jaime instead. He wasn't ignoring her, but he wasn't willing to speak with her either. Sansa gritted her teeth but listened. "Bolton's bastard is holding your castle now. Winterfell is in ruins, along with the Northmen. There is little to return to, but I will take you back. I promised."

"Why did you kill Loras Tyrell?" she ground out, following him when he turned to lift the saddle from his horse. "Why?" He ignored her now, forcing her to hound him. She knew that he was well aware of how much that bothered her. She grabbed his arm, but he jerked it sharply from her grasp. She stumbled back, hurt and furious.

"Tell me, husband, or I swear we will leave you tonight. Enjoy life as a rogue, because you will have nowhere to run." She stood, all of her cards thrown down. All except for one...one card she held near and dear, for she longed to keep it. But they seemed to be enough. Jaime turned to face her, quiet rage etched across his tight lips.

"I saved your life tonight, wife," he spat as spitefully as did she. "You might pay me back with kindness." Sansa barked a laugh, so loud that it echoed in the forest. A wolf howled far away.

"Kindness? Since when have you paid back with kindness?" she scoffed, throwing up her hands. "It appears that your currency runs on black deceit; according to you, I should pay you back for saving my life with a knife in your sleep."

"Why are you so concerned with Loras Tyrell?" asked Jaime bitterly, turning from her to set up camp. He loosed his roll of blankets from his horse's side, to busy his hands.

"He was Margaery's brother!" said Sansa softly. "Margaery, my only friend there! He was as kind to me as any other, as good as any man I'd ever-"

"Ever what? Met? Fancied? Don't preach to me of Loras's dreamy eyes, dear wife, because I would quench life of that parasite again if I could." Sansa stepped around Jaime and met him with a loud slap.

She saw the fire again, but Jaime did not raise a hand to her. Instead he set down his load and opened his arms to her. His mouth was curled in a hateful smile.

"You're welcome to join the horde, my lady," he said, his voice chilly. "It seems everybody wants a piece of Jaime Lannister these days. More men than my usual gathering, but my arms are always welcome to the caresses of a lovely woman. Go on, beat me until you feel better. I'm sorry that I could not be your lapdog."

Sansa felt her anger melting away, though she knew better. She could not help but pity him. His bruises looked terrible, but she knew they would be worse by morning. She knew he had suffered through their long ride, barely able to keep his seat. She knew how he suffered. But she could not love him now.

"Go to sleep, my lord," she said coolly but not with hostility. It was dark, and perhaps he would feel more willing to talk in the morning. "I will break my fast with you, and we will discuss what to do next."

"You will not be sleeping with me, then, my wife?" he called as she turned away. She could hear the metallic breath of Jon drawing his sword in rage, but her hand stopped his. She looked deep into her brother's eyes.

"Do not let him aggravate you," she said firmly. "He is very much like his brother Tyrion. Sometimes his mouth speaks before his mind is finished." Jon bared his teeth and reluctantly sheathed his blade.

"I cannot abide his humor," said Jon in a low, fierce voice. "I don't have the temper for it." Jon, her calm, most collected brother, turned to his own horse and began to unpack. Sansa sighed and seated herself by the crackling fire built by Jaime's guardsmen.

It was going to be a long ride back to Winterfell.

Okay, so I'm SO SORRY these updates are taking so long D:

I'm going to try to bust out another chapter over Thanksgiving break, then we'll see about finals week...I'll either be studying or procrastinating...but on the plus side, you guys have Christmas to look forward to! Plenty of free time then haha

ALSO, I'm trying to decide if Jaime/Sansa's kid (yeah, you're kind of retarded if you haven't guessed by now) will be a boy or a girl, so if you want to throw your two cents in, I'd love to hear it! Though it won't be for a while..still, it might help my decision.

But this chapter is kind of short, I know. I'm really looking forward to the next few, so stay in tune! I'll try to make them longer!