Chapter 4

Jaime could scarce hold his tongue through the hideous spectacle of Joffrey's betrothal to Margaery Tyrell and his own betrothal to Sansa Stark. He wondered what sort of idiot would not realize that it was a complete farce. As Joffrey addressed his subjects, Jaime couldn't help noticing Sansa Stark's curious looks at him, and her soft blushes when he caught her. It appears young Sansa Stark is not as heartbroken over the loss of her King as she might have everyone believe. And no wonder, given what Jaime had interrupted the night before. Jaime wondered if the girl knew that he would treat her better than Joffrey had. Whatever her thoughts, she studiously avoided meeting his eyes for very long. He wondered if it was the shyness of a young maiden or genuine fear. Given all that his family had done to hers, Jaime included, he owned that she had every reason to fear him. Perhaps she'd realize that there was no reason to be afraid once she was assured that he was not going to beat or humiliate her.

Jaime spoke to his father briefly before turning to escort his future wife to the Tower of the Hand. As he walked over to collect Sansa, Jaime realized that they had not exchanged a word since their brief conversation in her chambers after he stopped Joffrey from having her beaten. I wonder how she feels about marrying the Kingslayer? As Jaime approached her, he saw that Joffrey was speaking to her in a low, menacing voice.

"Don't be disappointed, Sansa. You won't be my queen, but you can still be my whore." He saw Sansa shrink away from Joffrey, her eyes darting around in fear as he grabbed her wrist. "My uncle will bring you to my bed when I want you."

Jaime walked up, resting his hand on the back of Joffrey's neck, and saw that the boy king immediately released Sansa'a arm. "Sweet of you to welcome my intended to the family, Joff. You won't mind if I steal her away." He squeezed Joffrey's neck in warning. "Will you?" Without waiting for a response, Jaime took Sansa by the arm and led her from the throne room. Jaime knew he was one of the few people Joffrey actually feared and obeyed – the other being Tywin Lannister.

Sansa rested her hand on his arm and he could see that she was shaking. Jaime could see that the poor girl thought he was going to share her with Joffrey – that he would allow Joffrey to bed her. He felt Sansa clutch his arm more securely. "Lovely performance in there, my lady," he said with a smirk. "You almost made me believe that you were sad to lose Joffrey as your betrothed."

"I love Joffrey and I will always be loyal to him as my one true king." She stated this in a monotone, as if she were repeating something she'd been forced to memorized, which told him she didn't believe it.

"And what about me? Will you not love your husband," he asked with mock hurt, unable to resist the urge to play with her a little.

She seemed stumped for a moment. Clearly her septa never covered this situation. "I…I am grateful to you for agreeing to marry me, as I am not fit to be queen. I'm sure I will grow to love you, my lord."

Jaime rolled his eyes. Such a proper young lady. Pity she's being married to a decidedly improper man. He feared Sansa was going to try his patience. "We both know that you don't love Joffrey. How could you, after the way he's treated you? Have you forgotten that I've seen his cruelty to you with my own eyes?"

She looked down at the reminder of the scene Jaime had walked in on the night before. "Anything he has done is my fault. My father was a traitor, as are my mother and brother-"

"I don't think you really believe that. Don't say words you don't mean just because you think I'd like to hear them," he said quietly. "I won't harm you. And I won't allow anyone else to harm you, Sansa. There's not much I can promise you, but I promise you that." She met his gaze and it seemed to Jaime that she was trying to determine if he spoke the truth about not harming her. "We'll marry in a few days and then you'll be in my bed," he said with a smirk. "There'll be no room for Joffrey."

He watched her nervously swallow at his mention of them sharing a bed. "You heard what he said to me just now?" she asked quietly.

"I did. And I will not be bringing you to his chamber. King or no."

She looked at him as if she did not dare believe him. "Thank you for moving my chamber to the Tower of the Hand," she said with a shaky voice. "I know now why you did. To protect me from him," she said in a whisper, hesitantly holding his gaze.

Jaime began to feel uncomfortable with her gratitude. He could plainly see in her eyes that she saw him as her savior. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't a good man. She shouldn't think that he is. "I should think you would have learned by now that knights are not romantic heroes."

She looked away from him then. "Yes. I have." His tone was harsher than he intended, but he didn't want her to believe he was something that he wasn't. She'd only be disappointed later.

"You'll dine with Tyrion and myself tonight. The rest of my family will be occupied with the Tyrells. I'm sure you'll be beside yourself with regret at their absence," he said dryly. Tyrion was right. Her courtesy is already wearing on me. Perhaps some wine will ease her courtesy? He looked down at her. Quite a bit of wine.

...

That evening, Jaime reclined on the sofa in his solar, and looked over at his future wife. She sat in a chair near him, sipping at a glass of wine while he and Tyrion made up for the time they had been apart. She didn't participate in their conversation much, mainly listening to their stories. Jaime noticed her repeated glances at him through her lashes. Each time he would look up and meet her eyes, she would blush and look away from him. Tyrion was telling them stories about his trip to the Wall, and his foray into battle with their father. Jaime noticed with amusement that Sansa did shock quite easily, based upon her reaction to his brother's stories.

"Brother, it appears your tales are scandalizing my future bride."

"Not at all," she said, politely.

"You don't honestly expect me to believe that you're enjoying stories about pissing off the Wall." Jaime noticed that she at least had enough spirit to glare at him for what he was certain she would call his "filthy mouth."

"Jaime, give Sansa a few days to get used to our company before you start your teasing. The Lannisters could use a bit of her courtesy. I think I will bid you both good night." He rose and took Sansa's hand. "Good night, my lady," he said, kissing her hand. "You will be a welcome addition to this lion's den."

Jaime watched as Sansa smiled faintly at Tyrion's courtesy. "Good night," she murmured quietly. Once they were alone, Jaime turned and considered his young future bride.

"Come sit beside me, Sansa." She did as he asked, sitting beside him on the sofa, visibly nervous. He wondered if her nervousness was due to them being alone, or their proximity to one another. Perhaps both. Jaime drained his cup of wine and looked over at Sansa, meeting her eyes. "Are you eagerly anticipating our wedding?"

"Of course, Ser Jaime. I can scarce wait to become your bride."

Jaime sighed in annoyance. "You are far too proper for my liking, Sansa. Speak your mind. You won't be beaten." She took a sip of wine, uncertain as to what he wanted. "I'll ask again, my lady. Do you look forward to marrying me?"

"I do, Ser Jaime," she said quietly.

"I've told you there's no need to lie, my lady."

"I'm not lying. I believe I would rather marry you than Joffrey. I don't…I don't think you'll treat me as he did. And I don't think you'll allow him to hurt me." She spoke these last words so quietly he could barely hear her. It struck him as rather tragic that the best this girl could hope for was a husband who wouldn't beat her. It appeared love was no longer something she expected. She'll be happier that way, in the end. Love only brings pain, he thought, recalling Cersei's betrayal and harsh words from only hours earlier.

"I won't harm you, Sansa," he said seriously. "You say you'd rather marry me than Joffrey. But if it were up to you, you'd rather not marry either of us, am I right?"

It appeared her courtesy wouldn't allow her to answer that question truthfully. "Do you look forward to marrying me?" she asked hesitantly.

He couldn't hold back the smirk at her turning the tables on him. "I believe I do."

"Why? Why would you want to marry me?"

How could he tell her that when he'd seen her the other night, Cersei's betrayal had left him just as broken as she was? That he'd been forced to listen as the Mad King raped his own wife, and Jaime had not been allowed to help her because Aerys was king? That saving Sansa from that fate – being raped and beaten by a cruel king - might be his last chance to prove that he did have some honor.

"Because I know that once you are my wife, I'll never have to see the honorable knights of the Kingsguard brutalizing you again."

He sighed as he saw the hero worship in her eyes at his answer. Clearly the girl was eagerly searching for a hero. He hadn't intended to inspire that; but he spoke the truth. Jaime felt her move closer to him and looked down to see her looking at his golden hand. "Did it hurt terribly when this happened?" she asked, lightly touching his golden fingers.

"More than I ever thought possible." He found his mind drifting back to the cruelty he suffered while held captive by the Bloody Mummers. Along with it, he recalled how thoughts of Cersei had pulled him through and what he'd seen when he returned to her. His distress must have shown on his face, because Sansa rested her hand on him, lightly stroking his arm.

"You don't have to talk about it, Ser Jaime. I'm sorry. I see it distresses you."

He looked at Sansa, who was leaning against him, just barely, and absently running her hand over his arm in a comforting way. She was a pretty little thing. He could plainly see that she admired him. Perhaps Cersei was wrong and his little bride would welcome him to her bed, and not recoil in disgust. He expected nothing would anger his sister more than Jaime finding pleasure with Sansa in his bed.

He looked down at her hand on his arm, then back at her face, raising his eyebrow in question. She seemed to realize that she was touching him rather familiarly and removed her hand as if she were touching a flame. Jaime couldn't help smiling at her reaction. "It's getting late. Will you allow me to walk you to your chamber, my lady?"

She nodded, rising from the sofa and walking beside him. As they walked the short distance to her chamber, Jaime wondered if she intended her little touches to be flirtatious or not. She seemed rather innocent to him. She certainly wasn't capable of the calculating use of seduction that Cersei employed.

"Good night, Ser Jaime," she said, a hint of a smile on her lips, as they reached her door.

Jaime wasn't sure what possessed him, but he couldn't resist pushing his courteous little wife-to-be a bit. "I've thought on one other reason why I'm looking forward to marrying you. I won't have to leave you at your door." He leaned forward to whisper near her ear. "As my wife, you'll share my bed." He noticed her shiver at the feel of his breath against her neck. "Are you cold, my lady?" he asked with mock concern, as her reaction to him confirmed her innocence.

She took a step away from him, her back meeting her chamber door, a mixture of fear and wanting in her eyes. "I'm not cold." Jaime could plainly see her interest in him in the way she looked at him, though she was rather skittish. It was that interest which encouraged him to push her a little. It would certainly make it easier when he bedded her on their wedding night.

"You're not cold? Then why are you shivering?" he asked, deliberately making his voice a low, seductive whisper. Her blue eyes were bright and her cheeks had a fetching flush from the alcohol. Jaime rested his hand on the door behind her, effectively trapping her with his body, and leaned very close to her. He watched as she hesitantly met his gaze and reddened further. It had been a long time since Jaime was this close to a blushing maiden.

She will be my wife – and in my bed – in only a couple of days. Jaime supposed he would be within his rights to kiss her. He hadn't been with a woman in nearly a year and the temptation to touch Sansa, just a little, was near overwhelming. Jaime moved closer to her, nuzzling his nose past her fiery hair and against her neck, smiling as he heard her breath catch. She smelled so clean and fresh, and female. He placed a gentle kiss below her ear. He had intended to leave it at that, but being so close to her, Jaime couldn't resist. He kissed her neck again, hearing her gasp.

Jaime moved his mouth from her neck, his lips hovering over hers. She was watching him carefully, though the desire in her eyes was plain to see. He rubbed his nose against hers before moving away from her mouth and innocently kissing her forehead. "Goodnight, my lady," he whispered as he turned her around and sent her into her room.

Jaime stood outside her door for a few moments. Now that he had spent some time with Sansa and heard Joffrey's predatory threats towards her, Jaime had little doubt that he made the right decision to leave Kings Landing and take her with him as his wife. Loras Tyrell could deal with Joffrey's depravity. Some woman would have to be Lady of Casterly Rock. Why not the Stark girl? Sansa was good-natured, though he'd have to break her of some of her courtesies. That might be a rather entertaining task, he thought, remembering her shocked looks at his conversation with Tyrion. Jaime turned and walked back toward his chamber. Perhaps he wouldn't be quite so bored as Lord of Casterly Rock as he had thought.