SANSA
"Left!"
"Right High!"
"Left High!"
"Left Low!"
Pain erupted from her hand as Sansa failed to block properly, and Arya had managed to tap it with the wooden sword.
"Ugh!" called out Sansa, throwing her sword in frustration. "This is hopeless, I'll never get it!"
"You will," said arya determinedly. "You just have to keep trying!"
"What is even the point of this? I'll always have you to protect me anyw-"
Her sass was rewarded with a sharp rap to her side.
"I didn't even have my sword!" she said indignitely.
Arya shrugged.
"People don't fight fair. You shouldn't, either."
She swung her sword clumsily at Arya in anger. The smaller girl easily sidestepped.
Sansa snarled in frustration. Arya pursed her lips.
"Sansa, this is important," said Arya seriously, lowering her sword. She still wore Needle and Catspaw on her hips, always prepared for real battle. She handled the wooden stick easily, where Sansa still struggled to lift it.
"The sword is part of your arm," she'd said when she'd first thrown it to Sansa, who had dropped it. "Can you drop part of your arm?"
"I'm might not always be there to protect you," said Arya. Her sister said it with confidence, but Sansa saw the worry behind her eyes. "You have to learn to protect yourself. It's the only way."
Sansa sighed.
"This was never something I would ever be good at," said Sansa hopelessly. "This has always been your area."
Arya swung the stick at her, hard. Sansa missed blocking it and the wood hit her elbow. Sprouts of pain erupted through her arm and through her fingers. But Arya did not let up. She swung at her other side. Sansa missed again, and earned a whack to her shoulder. And again, Arya swung, this time low, aiming for her knees. Sansa managed to stop it this time, but Arya twirled, and hit her on the side of the head.
"Arya!" she cried out in anger.
"Dead," said Arya, stick hovering over her neck. "Again!"
She stabbed at her front, and Sansa knocked the stick aside. Arya stabbed again, and Sansa got a blow to the stomach. Winded, she stepped back, clutching her stomach.
"You think it matters now?" said Arya, and her voice was angry. She swung at her left side. Sansa blocked, but only barely. "You think it matters whether you enjoy fighting or not?" Arya swiped at her feet, and Sansa jumped over it. Arya grinned, but her eyes flashed with anger. "You think your needle and thread will save you from the White Walkers?"
Sansa felt herself flush with anger. Goaded, she swung at Arya. Blocked. She jabbed at her head. Thrown aside. Sansa gripped the stick tighter and twirled, aiming for Arya's side.
She gasped as the sensation of wood hitting flesh resonated up her arm. She'd never landed a blow before.
Arya smiled, eyes flashing.
"Good!" she shouted, hand clutching her side. "Good!"
Sansa stood in shock, and her stick lowered.
Arya laughed.
"Well done!" she said, and threw herself at her sister. Sansa flinched, raising her stick, but her sister threw her arms around her before she could raise it half a foot. Sansa stood in shock for a moment, but then returned the hug, and she felt pride well in herself and fill her up like a warm soup.
"Good job, Sansa. I knew we'd get there."
The two girls broke apart, and Arya rubbed her side.
"That hurt."
Sansa smiled, and she felt a laugh bubble up within her.
Arya grinned, and began to giggle with her.
A slow clapping sound rang through the courtyard, and Sansa looked up, startled.
Jaime Lannister stood on the balcony. Sansa wondered how long he'd been watching. Beside him stood Brienne of Tarth, who looked genuinely proud, but gave Jaime a dirty look.
"Well done, Sansa," he called. "You're improving."
Sansa scowled. She was never sure if the man mocked her or not.
She exchanged a look with Arya.
"We're done for the day," said her sister, who eyed Jaime warily.
"Already?" she said, disappointed. "But I was just starting to get good."
Arya laughed.
"'Good' is a word I would use loosely."
Sansa gave her sister a dirty look.
"Train with Brienne," said Arya, gesturing at the large woman, who was making her way down the steps. "I'm sure she'd love to teach you something different."
"But I've never..." said Sansa, I've never trained with anyone but you.
"I need to prepare my men for the raid," said Arya. "You'll be fine."
Sansa's stomach twisted and she felt her throat tighten. Every time her sister went on a raid she would worry, anxiously awaiting her return, sick with anxiety swirling in her like a poison.
"Be careful," said Sansa worriedly as Arya turned away.
Arya turned back and gave her sister a gentle look.
"Don't worry about me," she said, winking. "I'm always careful."
Sansa's eyebrows furrowed.
"Nevertheless-" she started.
"I'll be fine," the girl reassured her, walking to her and placing a hand on her arm. She stood on her tiptoes to give the taller girl a reassuring hug. "Everything will be alright, I promise. I'll come see you first thing when I get back."
"I'll be waiting right here," said Sansa, hugging her sister tight.
If she lost her, she'd lose everything.
"You always are," said Arya with a chuckle, letting her sister go. She gave her a reassuring smile, and turned and walked away.
"Oh!" she called out. "I almost forgot."
And she threw her wooden sword at Sansa, who fumbled to catch it when she already had the other in her hands. Arya grinned, bowed sarcastically, and then disappeared into the shadows. Sansa felt her heart twist with worry.
"I must say," said a voice behind her. She turned to be face-to-face with Jaime Lannister. "I'm saddened I don't engender this amount of concern whenever I go on raids."
Sansa pursed her lips.
Brienne glared at Jaime.
"Maybe you would if you earned it," said Sansa. A weak clapback, at best.
"You can do better than that," said Jaime, knowing it every bit as much as she did.
"Oh, leave her alone, you idiot," said Brienne, glaring at Jaime.
The two were unusually close, Sansa had noticed. Since they'd both returned to Winterfell they'd barely parted. She'd seen them once, soon after they'd arrived, sitting under the Weirwood tree, huddled close together and talking quietly. Jaime had seemed distraught, and Brienne had appeared to be comforting him. When Sansa had approached, they'd quickly jumped apart and Jaime had turned away from her. Brienne had nodded at her.
"Forgive us, mi'lady, we will give you some privacy," she'd said.
They'd quickly left, leaving Sansa wondering...
"Did I hear right?" said the woman now. "Arya wanted me to train with you?"
Sansa swallowed hard.
Arya was quick, and she'd known she'd beaten Brienne, had watched it with her own two eyes, but she was not afraid of her sister. She didn't fear Brienne, either, but then again, she'd never been faced on the wrong end of the woman's sword.
"I wouldn't want to bother you with-"
"Oh come now," said Jaime. "Don't insult the Lady Brienne, she's a pleasure to spar with. I'm sure she'll..." Jaime chuckled. "Go easy on you."
Sansa glared. Brienne narrowed her eyes at the insufferable man.
"Easier than I would go on you," said Brienne. "You prat."
Jaime threw his hands up in surrender and backed away.
"Be my guest, then, ladies," he said, leaning on a haybale at some distance.
Sansa eyed the woman warily.
"Don't worry, my lady," said Brienne. "I will not hurt you."
Sansa handed out Arya's wooden sword. Brienne nodded, taking it.
"I'm not quite ready for steel, I think," said Sansa.
Brienne held the wooden stick as naturally as Arya, while Sansa held hers awkwardly. She was getting used to it, but it was such an unnatural, builky, heavy thing for her to carry.
Sansa gripped it tightly in both hands, and raised it at Brienne, who did the same.
The girls circled one another.
Sansa was grateful that she'd ditched her dresses, instead favoring a split style like Daenerys and Missandei wore, with pants and steady boots underneath. She'd quickly learned her first day of training that one cannot fight well in a dress.
Sansa eyed her as they sized each other up.
"My mouth said left, my eyes said right. The truth is in the eyes, Sansa," Arya had told her after Sansa had yelled at her for lying and swinging the opposite way she had said.
"Did your dancing master teach you all of this?" Sansa had asked her.
"Not all of it. But the fundamentals, yes."
Brienne faked a move at her left, and Sansa flinched, raising her stick in defense. The woman was strong. Ten times stronger than Ayra, at least. Where Arya had agility, Brienne had brute force. Sansa would have to be quick to even have a hope of beating her.
She'll go the other way next time, thought Sansa, looking at her trusted friend's face, go the opposite direction.
And indeed, Brienne glanced to the Sansa's right, and the wooden sword arched down. Sansa twirled the opposite way, wool and fur swirling around her legs, and aimed for the woman's side, but she was too slow, and was met with wood. She pushed away, and Brienne backed off.
"Clever," she said. "Arya's teaching you well."
"She's trying to, anyway," said Sansa.
Brienne raised her sword. Sansa took a jab at her knees, fumbled, and Brienne easily swiped her sword away.
"Clumsy," she said. "But it took me nearly a year when I was much younger than you to learn to be agile. You'll get there."
"I haven't time for a year to learn!"
Brienne softened.
"No, you don't," she said.
Sansa swung again with a new fierceness. Brinne blocked, but she swung again, and again, and on and on, the faces and fear of the White Walkers burning in her mind, until the sun was high in the sky, and, panting, both girls decided to stop.
Brienne was frowning, and Sansa was disappointed in herself.
She hadn't managed to land a single hit, not one, and she was covered in bruises.
Jaime walked up to them. He was frowning, too.
"Have you considered...not doing swordplay?"
Sansa glared at him.
"I wouldn't be doing this if I weren't sure the dead could march up to that gate any day now!" she said angrily. She was exhausted now, and not in any mood for Jaime Lannister's needling.
Jaime frowned.
"I only meant...perhaps a different weapon?"
Sansa was caught off guard. She frowned at him.
"Here," he said, and drew them towards the racks of weapons that sat underneath the balconey. The smith was hard at work a few feet away, and a pile of dragonglass lay at his feet.
There were swords, dozens of them, and maces and hammers and spears, and a dozen other types of weapons that Sansa didn't know the names of. She felt a bit intimidated. She didn't think she could have lifted half of them.
Jaime spent a moment purusing them, chin in his left hand, his golden one dangling at his side. Sansa stared at it. She'd never seen it this close before.
It disturbed her, just a bit. Like Tyrion had disturbed her when she'd first laid eyes on him, on the Hound, who was so big and terrifying to her. She couldn't imagine losing her right hand. She would never sew or write or embroider ever again. She closed her hand in a fist, running her thumb over her fingers.
"Ah," said Jaime, and from the depths he pulled out a simple bow. "Yes."
He handled it easily, though he would never be able to shoot it, he could easily hold it in one hand. He handed it to her.
It was heavy, but not too much so. The wood was smooth and the leather was supple. The bowstring twanged as she plucked at it, like she was strumming a one-stringed harp.
"Arrows?" asked Jaime of the smith, who gestured to the wall. There Jaime pulled off a dozen headless arrows and a quiver meant to go around the waist. He loaded it, and handed it to Sansa, who held it awkwardly in her hand.
"I've never shot a bow before," said Sansa. "I wouldn't know how."
"Not to worry," said Jaime, who led them over to the range. Two men that wore Lannister colors and a small woman that wore Bear Island colors were already practicing. "Everything is teachable. Go on, stand there."
Sansa stood where he directed. The target seemed a long way away.
"You're not going to hit many targets with your quiver in your hand," he said sardonically.
Sansa blushed, swung her bow over her shoulder like she'd seen men do before, and tied the belt around her waist. It was a comfortable weight at her side, but she worried she would spill her arrows should she bend over.
"No, not like that," he said, and moved to fix it, but he fumbled with the belt with his golden hand. Brienne took pity on them and stepped forward to fix it properly so that the arrows hung snug in their quiver at her side.
"Thank you," said Jaime, and Brienne placed a hand on his arm before backing away to watch. Jaime stood close in front of her.
"Stand side face. Feet apart. Like that. Yes. Hold your bow firmly but loosely in your hand. yes, just like that. Perfect. Nock an arrow. No, no no," he said in frustration when the arrow fell away. "Angle your bow slightly, so it doesn't fall. Hold it with your pointer finger while you get settled."
Sansa did as she was told, though she felt uncomfortable with him standing so close.
"You're gripping the string too much. Hold it with just the tips of your fingers, like this."
Jaime awkwardly touched the string above her hand with his left hand, but only the tips of his fingers touched the string. Sansa loosened her grip, imitating him, and the arrow nestled gently between her fingers, the feathers tickling at her skin.
"Well done," said Jaime. "Now pull back, keep your elbow bent, and aim for the target. When you're ready, take a deep breath, let it out slowly, slide your fingers off the string, and release."
Sansa tok a deep breath. Her heart was pounding with nervousness. She felt like he would make fun of her if she missed, so she didn't want to miss.
She aimed for the blue center. She hesitated. It was hard to hold, though, and her muscles were already straining. She flicked her fingers off in her nervousness and her eyes flickered shut out of instinct. She felt the bowstring bruise her arm with a sharp thwack! and recoiled in pain. She opened her eyes to realise she'd missed spectaularly, the arrow not even hitting the target but had skidded off the ground.
"Try keeping your eyes open next time, dear," he said, amusement dripping from his voice. Sansa let out a huff.
"Remember to keep your left elbow bent slightly, too," said Brienne, who watched anxiously.
"Fine!" said Sansa shortly. She nocked another arrow, and aimed it at the target angrily. She kept her eyes open and her elbow bent. This time, the arrow hit the board, but only at the very bottom, missing the center.
"That's alright, it's better," said Jaime, and she was surprised by the kindness and patience in his voice. "Once more."
Sansa nocked another arrow.
"This time aim slightly above where you want your arrow to hit. Remember, it will arch down."
"Oh," said Sansa, suddenly understanding why she'd missed so spectacularly.
"Try again."
Sansa aimed, this time for two rings above the center.
She fired, and gasped as it hit dead center.
"Well done," said Jaime. "I'm impressed. When I was a boy it took me days to hit center. Try again."
Sansa aimed again, exactly for where she had before. Released. There was a sudden gust of wind, and it hit wildly to the left.
"Damn," she cursed.
"Always account for wind," said Jaime. "Once more."
Sansa aimed again, this time feeling the breeze on her face, and aiming above and to the right.
Thunk!
Dead center.
"Again!"
Sansa did it again. And again, and again, until her quiver was empty.
"I think we've found a natural talent," said Jaime proudly. "Well done, Sansa."
Every arrow but her first and second sat within the second and center ring. Sansa beamed with pride.
Sansa let herself smile broadly as she went to fetch her arrows. She was shaking all over with excitement.
She repeated the process five times, and by the time she was done, each arrow hit dead center.
And more importantly, she was not frustrated but happy by the end of it. She was having fun.
Sansa had finally found something she enjoyed, that made her feel powerful and strong. With this, she could defeat a hundred White Walkers. She could kill any man that tried to touch her.
As she went to fetch her arrows a sixth time, movement caught her eye, and she looked up in the balcony. She gasped, because for a second she could have sworn she'd seen father there, but no, it was just Jon, obscured by shadows, watching, just as father had always done with the boys. She was shocked to see him out and about, but overjoyed.
Sansa's heart warmed to see him. Perhaps he had finally lifted out of his sadness. It was good to see him out of his room. Beside him stood Daenerys, would looked just as beautiful as ever as she watched, smiling. They looked magnificent standing next to each other, like King and Queen.
Jon spotted her eyeing him, and he grinned, and started to clap. Just as father would have done. Sansa's heart began to ache. She missed him. She knew he would have been proud of her at that moment.
"Well done!" he called, and Sansa beamed at him. "This is a sight I never expected to see," he said with a chuckle. "My sister who always prefered to sit indoors and sew, out here with the toughest of the men, learning how to fight. Well done."
He appeared to have his smile back, and it warmed Sansa's heart.
"How long have you been there?"
Jon grinned.
"Since Arya left."
Sansa was surprised she hadn't noticed him, but then, she hadn't really been looking.
"Go on, keep practicing," he called.
So Sansa did, until her arms and back ached and her arrows and the target's cloth had been torn to shreds. And Jon stood there the whole time, watching, just as father would have. It gave her an ache in her heart for her father.
When it finally became to dark to see, Jon joined them on gorund level. Tyrion had joined them at some point, and now he walked besides Daenerys. He smiled at his brother, who grinned back. Jon nodded his head at Jaime, but the look he gave him was much less welcoming than Tyrion's.
"It's good to see you out and about, your Grace," said Jaime mockingly. "We'd thought you'd decided to quit being King and had decided to stay indoors shivering with the cooks and the wenches."
Daenerys stepped in front of Jon protectively, and her eyes blazed with fire.
"Insult him again, I dare you," she said. Fire blazed in her eyes. Sansa would not have liked to see what would have happened.
Jaime looked at Tyrion, who shook his head warningly.
Jaime backed down, taking a step away from the Queen
"My apologies," he said. Then he looked at Jon, whose jaw was tight. And it seemed Ser Jaime could not hold his tongue. "Though, were it me being insulted, I would find it difficult to hide behind the skirts of women."
Jon stepped forward angrily, got right up in the man's face. Stared unflichingly, mouth curled in a snarl.
Jaime eyed Jon up and down, eyes mocking. His face was a mask of contempt, but Sansa saw a hint of fear behind his narrowed eyes. "Though apparantly... it's not so hard for you. You have had a month's worth of practice."
Before Sansa could even blink, Jon had grabbed the older man round the throat and slammed him against a nearby pole. Jaime's eyes widened, though he didn't seem to be afraid. Jon did not strangle him, and Ser Jaime could still breathe, but Jon did hold him firm. Tyrion took a step forward, as did Brienne, but both backed down quickly, thinking better of it.
"My father would be alive right now if it weren't for your nephew...or was it son?" said Jon quietly, seriously. Sansa heard the anger behind his voice. Jaime's face twisted in a rage at the taunt. "My brother would be alive right now if it weren't for your father. It would be Bran, here, practicing shooting, too, if it weren't for you."
He's right, thought Sansa, and suddenly she wanted to strangle Jaime, too, and was disgusted she'd let the man near her all day.
Jaime closed his eyes tightly, swallowing with difficulty. Was that...shame...that Sansa saw on the man's face?
Bran had told her and Arya, of course, who is was who had pushed him out the window all those years ago, when he told them of Littlefinger. She had not told Jon, had not seen him in a month, so she only could have assumed Arya or perhaps Bran himself had told him while they shared their vision.
Sansa was suddenly afraid.
Jaime looked down.
"I know," he said softly, voice hoarse.
Jon hit him against the wall. Sansa knew he was hoping for Jaime to taunt him again. He did not expect remorse, and Sansa knew he was angry about it. Jaime looked into Jon's eyes.
"I know," he said. "But I've faced my demons, boy, have you?"
Jon got right up in his face, snarled.
"Have you now?" he said softly. "Because you've never even visited Bran. Haven't seen him since you pushed him of the North Tower. Oh...and you haven't faced me yet."
Jaime's lip twitched, face pulling up in a snarl.
"Big talk, boy," said Jaime. "Why don't you fight me like a man."
"Call me boy again," said Jon, softly, dangerously. "I've been through more hell than you could ever even imagine, Kingslayer. I've been training since we last met. Been through a lot of battles. And you've only got one hand. So don't test me."
Jaime threw up his hands, bowing down. Jon released him roughly. Jaime looked aside, shoulders tense.
Daenerys stepped forward, looking at Jaime with narrowed eyes.
The two had never set foot in the same room, as far as Sansa knew, and she had known, but had never really thought about it, not until now, but ...
"You killed my father," said Daenerys, voice calm, but dangerous.
Jaime looked at her. Sansa saw the demons really set into his eyes then. He looked a long way away, and all he could see was the dragon queen.
A muscle in Jaime's jaw worked hard.
"I did," he said quietly. Daenerys took another step forward, and Jaime stood tall, proud. He seemed as if he had known this was coming for a very long time.
"You tried to kill me," she said.
Jaime's face twitched, eyes narrowed.
"But we were enemies on the battlefield," said Daenerys, voice no less dangerous, "and you were sworn to a different Queen. That I can forgive, though I will never forget it."
She took another step forward. Daenerys was calm, too calm. Jaime stood his ground.
"But what I can't ever forget, or forgive, is how you were sworn to protect my father, your King, and you betrayed him. You broke every oath you ever swore to him."
Jaime held his chin high. His eyes were dark and hateful as he looked at the Dragon Queen.
"And I would do it again. Without hesitation."
Daenerys raised her eyebrows.
"No offense, your Grace," said Jaime, a slip of the sarcasm returning. "But you weren't there. You never even knew your father. He was dead before you were born."
Jaime took a step forward. They were only a short foot apart. Jon stepped forward angrily, prepared to intervene. Sansa stood in shock. Tyrion had one hand up, as if he could reach out and stop the scene before him.
"I was there," said Jaime, and ghosts haunted at his eyes, and his voice was terse. "And I did know your father. I spent every waking moment with him. You didn't have to watch as proud King Aerys Targaryen descended into madness. You didn't have to watch as he slaughtered people who didn't deserve to be slaughtered. You didn't have to protect his sister-wife from him. You didn't have to send his wife away to Dragonstone with her son so he wouldn't hurt them as she feared he might. Lucky for her, she happened to escape Robert as well, and gave birth to a daughter there eight months later."
Dany's lips parted in shock.
"That's right," said Jaime, eyes stoney and cold. "You'd never have even been born if I hadn't intervened."
But Jaime didn't stop there.
"You didn't have to listen to him, every day, it got worse and worse. 'Burn them all,' he kept saying, always. I can still hear it, clear as day. It's more real than you are standing before me, looking at me with his eyes, judging me guilty when you don't even know why. 'Burn them all,' he said, 'Burn them all.' Right up to the moment I stabbed my sword in his back and he kept saying it, 'Burn them all.' So I slit his throat, and he never said another word. He could never hurt anyone else ever again."
Daenerys stood strong, eyes wide and fiery.
Jaime shoved his face inches from hers.
"Would you have stood by, and let him give the order to burn all of King's Landing with Wildfire? Would you have? Hm? Considering you could have done it already, but haven't, I'm going to guess you wouldn't've. I saved one million lives that day at the cost of one." He held up a single finger to the Queen's face. "That was a very good bargain. One I would take again, no matter the cost."
Sansa had never seen Daenerys look so angry. It frightened her.
"So if you're going to kill me or have me executed, just do it already," spat Jaime. "Burn me like your father would've, and people will call you the Mad Queen for the rest of your days."
Daenerys looked at Jaime coldly.
There was a moment, half a heartbeat, where Sansa thought Daenerys would have just let it all slide, would have just let it all go, but then...
"Greyworm," she said softly, and the man emerged from the shadows of his post, where he had been watching protectively. She looked at Jaime unflichingly. "Seize him."
There was a flurry of movement, and Sansa's jaw dropped. Jaime's eyes widened in fear, and she heard gasps echo around her. Greyworm and another unsullied seized Jaime, who struggled, and forced him to his knees in the muddy snow, knives an inch from his throat. Even Jon looked shocked.
Brienne stepped forward in a panic. Tyrion, too, had jumped forward towards his brother.
"No!" said Brienne, voice desperate. "Please, your Grace, don't. He's not-"
"I know what he is," said Daenerys angrily, "He's a vile man, a pathetic man who thinks his sharp tongue and clever words will protect him from people thinking he cares."
"I don't care," said Jaime obstinately.
"You do care," said Daenerys sharply. "You care so much you feel as if you will bleed to death from the pain of it."
Jaime looked at her with a curled lip.
"Stop it, just get it over with already, just KILL ME!"
Tyrion stepped forward, edging his way between the Queen and his brother desperately, hands out in a gesture of peace towards Daenerys, his face twisted in a barely-contained panic.
"Please, Daenerys," he begged quietly. "Don't do this. Please don't do this."
Daenerys ignored him.
"Stand aside," she said.
Tyrion fell to his knees, begging, hands clasped tightly together.
"Please, Daenerys, please don't do this...please don't do this to me, I beg you. Do not test my loyalty like this, I can't...he's my brother...he's the only family I have left that I love, please..."
"You will, stand aside, Tyrion," she said forcefully.
Tears were edging from his mismatched eyes. He looked like he was being torn apart.
"Daenerys, I have stood beside you, I have counseled you, I have trusted you with...everything that I am. I believed in you," his face was twisted in agony. "I stood aside when you burned the Tarlys against my better judgement, I won't stand aside now. Please, just for once, listen to me."
"Tyrion," said Jaime gently. Tyrion stood and spun around. The brothers looked at each other. Tyrion shook his head rapidly.
"Please, Jaime, don't. I won't let you-"
"Tyrion," he said again, gently, and his eyes were strong for his brother. He reminded Sansa of Jon in that moment, or Robb, being the big brother, protective of his younger siblings. "It's alright."
Tyrion lifted his hands in the air towards his brother, then balled them into fists.
"Jaime, no..."
"It's alright, Tyrion," he said gently, again. "You've got more to do here, and this is no less than I deserve. I've known this was coming for a long time."
Tyrion's face balled up. He walked forward and grabbed Jaime by his collar.
"What about your child," he said angrily, quietly, so only Jaime could hear him, though from where Sansa was standing she could still hear him. She wondered if anyone else could. Tyrion was shaking him. "You can't-"
"Tyrion!" he said angrily, swiftly. His eyes looked around at everyone present, unsure of who had heard. Closed them quickly, then looked back at his brother, face serious, and tight. "It'll have you. Save it from her. Save it from Cersei. If you can."
Tyrion's head drew to the left, taking adeep, heavy, shaking breath, and his fists balled tightly on Jaime's collar. Then he shared a long look with Jaime, and placed a hand on his cheek, and turned away roughly, leaving Jaime open to Daenerys. Jaime looked up at her now, ready.
Sansa's heart was racing. Had everyone heard what she had, or was it just her? Was Cersei-?
"I know what my father was," said Daenerys, continuing, looking down at the man who had killed him. She appeared unaffected by the scene that they had just witnessed. Tyrion walked away, face in his hands. "I know what he would have done, I know what he did." Daenerys shook her head, drew a deep breath. "He deserved to die."
Jaime's brows furrowed in confusion.
Tyrion's shoulders were stiff, and he couldn't look at the scene. Sansa had an overwhelming desire to go to him, though she resisted, confused by the urge. Just because she had been married to the man didn't mean she owed him anything. And he was still a Lannister, and had stood by while everything that had happened to her in King's Landing...happened.
"I am grateful to you for saving those million lives, and I would only hope...that should I ever fall as deep as him, that someone would stop me as you did."
Jaime's mouth fell open wide and he blinked at Daenerys. Tyrion spun around and stared. Daenerys' face grew gentle.
"You do not die today, Ser Jaime Lannister."
Jamie was, for once in his life, speechless.
"Release him."
The Unsullied let go of him, but he did not stand, only kneeled where he was in shock.
Tyrion was staring at Daenerys, breathing heavily, confused. She turned to look at him. Her face was unreadable.
"Was this..." his features began to pull into lines of disgust. "Was this a test?"
"No," said Daenerys firmly. Tyrion scowled in confusion and anger. Daenerys looked at him, face falling into lines of worry. "But if it had, you would have passed. Thank you for trying to stop me."
Tyrion's features twisted into an angry scowl, and he stood there, breathing heavily. Angrily.
"How dare you," he said, infuriated. "How dare you play with my brother's life like that."
Daenerys looked confused.
"I have every right-"
"No," said Tyrion. He shook his head, and turned angrily, knocking a stand full of arrows aside. They scattered into the mud like blood. He stalked away angrily. Daenerys sighed heavily, and she looked older than her age at that moment...years older.
"Guess I'm going to have to pay for that later," she said to herself.
Jaime stood, hesitant.
"Please, your Grace," he said softly. "If I may...don't judge him too harshly. He was only trying to protect his family. I'm sure you would have done the same."
Daenerys looked at him gently. Then looked at Jon. The two shared a long, knowing look. Sansa suddenly felt like she was intruding.
"I know," she said softly. She heaved a heavy sigh, and then looked at Greyworm questioningly. Greyworm looked at Jaime, eyeing him up and down, almost as if he was appraising him, then back to Daenerys. He gave a short, quick nod. Daenerys nodded back, then looked at Jaime.
"I would be honored, Jaime Lannister," she said, and her voice was filled with a Queenly authority now. "If you would take your rightful place on my Queensguard."
Jaime looked up at her, shocked. His mouth moved, but no words came out. He looked taken aback.
"You would...trust me with your life?" he said slowly. "After everything I've done?"
"Daenerys," said Jon from behind her, stepping forward. His tone of voice was of a warning one, "I don't think this is a good i-"
Daenerys gave Jon a very sharp look over her shoulder. He withdrew, but a muscle in his jaw worked angrily.
"I'm...honored, your Grace," said Jaime, who still seemed a little confused. He looked at her like he saw a whole different person than he had five minutes ago, but then he looked down, face twisted in pain. "But I...I can't."
Daenerys drew herself up then, face hard, eyebrows raised.
"You would dare refuse a Queen?"
Jaime smiled, a humorless, painful grin.
"I've already killed one monach, lied to a second, neglected a third-" his voice waivered in pain. He heaved a great sigh. Sansa wondered if he was referring to Joffery or Tommen. Perhaps it was both. "-and walked away a forth when she needed me the most. What would one refusal to another be, compared to all that?"
Daenerys softened, looking at him for a long moment.
"The spot will always be there for you," she said gently. "Should the time come for you to take it without betraying your sister."
Jaime looked at her hard. Brows burrowed deep. There was a newfound respect in his eyes.
"Thank you, your Grace."
Daenerys nodded at him.
Sansa stood in shock as attention turned elsewhere and the courtyard began to clear.
Jon came up to her, then, and grabbed her on the arm. She looked up at him, slightly dazed.
"I need to speak with you. Alone."
Sansa nodded.
She thought she knew what it was about.
A/N: that was...unexpected. But I realized I couldn't have Jon OR Daenerys see Jaime without having a confrontation. Also, I love the image of Sansa with a bow. It seemed way more right than a sword for some reason, and I knew she'd have to learn to fight. If Lyanna Mormont say girls shouldn't be knitting by the fire when the men march off to fight the dead, then by god every woman in the known world will do just that. You don't fuck with Lyanna Mormont.
Poor Jaime Lannister. It's really fucking with him what he did to Cersei, even though he knows he did the right thing. At least he's got Brienne now ;D
And yeah, I seriously considered killing him off there, but he got a reprieve, considering that would probably REALLY turned Tyrion away from Daenerys and destroyed whatever friendship they have left.
Sansa KNOWS SHIT NOW. UH HUH THAT HAPPENED.
Hope you caught my Harry Potter quote :D