Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I had a chaotic week at work and it didn't leave much time to write. (Hopefully, the smut – and the ending - will make up for it.)

…

Chapter 91

Jaime lay on his back, his arms stretched out over his head, as he stared up into the night sky. He was out on the terrace, and the only light was from the moon, the hundreds of stars filling the sky, and the torches that lit the villa. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the exotic flowers growing nearby, which reminded him of the perfume mother had worn when he was a little boy.

His Uncle Gerion had brought it to her from the Free Cities, after one of his adventures. Before that final quest in search of House Lannister's ancestral sword – Brightboar. Jaime and Tyrion had always wondered what happened to their favorite Uncle. They liked to imagine that Uncle Gerion was happy and living in Essos. Tyrion was the better story-teller, and would weave elaborate tales of the life their favorite uncle had found across the narrow sea. Lord Tywin had called them both fools. He'd repeatedly said there was nothing in Essos that could tempt a man of House Lannister to stay away from the Rock.

You were wrong, Father. Essos offers freedom from the politics and back-stabbing that has surrounded us for our whole lives. As he laid there in the silence, Jaime realized he had never felt such peace. He had always known that leaving Westeros – leaving the place where he was nothing more than the Kingslayer and the son of the great Tywin Lannister – would lift a weight from his shoulders, but he had not realized how heavy that weight was until it was gone. The people of Lys did had no use for titles, or family houses or crowns. They didn't care about a man's past. The customs and vows so prevalent in Westeros did not exist in Essos. No one would not know – or care - that he had killed a king.

"What are you thinking about?" she said softly, standing beside him. He turned and smiled as she lowered herself to sit next to him, stroking his hair back from his eyes.

"I was just considering how different our life here will be from what we left behind. How much…simpler things will be."

Sansa smiled and stretched out beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I think we're all going to be very happy here."

"I believe you're right. Are the children settled?"

He felt her nod against his shoulder. "Tommen was very excited to show me the little bed he made for his kittens, though they seem to prefer lying on the cold stone floor. And they were running and sliding on the marble in the bathing room and Julianna was laughing so hard watching them…she's so precious. Both of them are. I'm glad we have such sweet children." They're nothing like Joffrey. She didn't say it, but he knew that's what she was thinking. "And now they're both tucked safely into their beds for the night. They were asleep, almost before their heads hit the pillow."

"So you're all mine now?" he asked, with a wicked smile. He had been waiting to have some time alone with his sweet Sansa, after months of traveling on a ship full of people.

She smiled shyly and nodded, lying beside him silently while they simply gazed at the stars for a time. "Thank you for this beautiful home," she whispered, kissing his shoulder. "It's nice here in Lys. It's still so warm at night and everything looks and smells so…different from home. Even the air is different. May we go to the markets tomorrow? I want to see the people who live here and…but some more appropriate gowns." He felt her fingers moving over his bare chest, as she curled up closer to him.

"I was surprised you left our bedchamber in this without wrapping a sheet around yourself," he said, unable to keep the laughter from his voice, as he played with the hem of the little Lysene dress Sansa wore. The moment he saw it, Jaime knew then that she would be horrified at how slight it was. But he spoke truthfully when he said that it suited her. She looked beautiful – every bit a Lysene love goddess.

She blushed for a moment and rested her chin on his chest. "Your men all stared at the floor to avoid looking at me. Though they certainly looked Pia up and down and her gown was not nearly as scant as this one. I think they are afraid you'll chop their heads off if they so much as glance my way. And poor Gendry nearly ran into a wall when he got a look at me."

Jaime started laughing, amused at the picture she painted and her genuine concern for Gendry. He was certain the boy had never been with a woman and he could only imagine what the sight of the amount of skin Sansa was currently showing would have done to him. As honorable as he is, Gendry must be tormented by the lustful thoughts he's having about Sansa. Any man who saw Sansa as she was would spend the night thinking of her. Even Jaime had found himself distracted by the curve of her legs and the swell of her breasts during dinner.

"After a time, they'll become accustomed to the ways of Lys, and they'll scarce notice you." He could see from her expression that she did not believe him. "Do you find it difficult to concentrate, sweet girl, surrounded by men dressed so…casually?"

He bit back a laugh as the color rose in her cheeks. "Of course not," she sputtered, appalled at his insinuation that she was having depraved thoughts about his soldiers. She sat up, as if to distance herself from him. "Women are not as…lustful as men are at the mere sight of bare flesh."

"I disagree," he said smugly, sitting up and leaning over to capture her lips, teasing her with his kisses. "I see how you look at my…bare flesh. And I know better than anyone how wanton you can be. You seem as fond of my new clothes as I am of yours." She opened her mouth to protest, but he covered it with his own, kissing her once again.

"You're incorrigible," she muttered when he finally released her. "I only have such thoughts about you," she said quietly, looking down at her hands. "It's not…wanton…to have such thoughts about your husband." He saw that she was embarrassed to admit as much, and seemed uncertain that her desire for him wasn't improper, but it warmed his heart to hear her voice aloud that he was the only man that she wanted.

"And I could say the same," he murmured quietly, tilting her chin up to look in her eyes. "You're the only woman I desire. The only woman long to watch parade around in a skimpy Lysene dress."

"So, you agree that this is improper," she said triumphantly, gesturing toward her clothing.

He shook his head, moving his hand to her leg and slowly sliding it beneath the hem of her gown, as he leaned towards her, lowering her back onto the cushions. Her hands were on his shoulders as he kissed her, insinuating his thigh between her legs. "Jaime," she said softly, the warning apparent in her voice as he toyed with her smallclothes.

He mumbled some nonsense in response, moving his mouth to her neck and sucking on the spot that he knew would make her sigh in pleasure. She responded to his touch as he thought, arching towards him and sliding one hand to the back of his neck, threading her fingers through his hair. He smiled to himself and stripped off her smallclothes, feeling her stiffen in his arms as he did so.

"Jaime, we're outside. What if someone sees?" she finished in a whisper. She inclined her head towards their bedchamber. "We should go inside," she said with a smile, trying to sit up, though Jaime did not yield, shaking his head and using his body to keep her reclining beneath him. He continued kissing and sucking at her neck, though he could feel the tension in her body.

"There's no one here to see us. And who cares if they do? You have nothing to be ashamed of." He bit back a laugh as her eyes widened. "We're alone. I promise," he murmured against her skin, before he moved to slide his trousers down over his hips, kicking them the rest of the way off. He saw her eyes dart around nervously, as if she expected to see lechers hiding in the corners, waiting to watch them have sex. "Look at me," he whispered, softly kissing her mouth. He continued kissing her to drown out any protests and slipped his hand between them to stroke her heated center. Before long, Sansa's eyes were closed and she was breathing heavily through her mouth. He leaned back on his knees, taking advantage of her distraction and swiftly pushing her dress up, past her waist.

"We're not in Westeros anymore," he murmured, when she sat up, her eyes meeting his. "We're in one of your exotic…romantic…Free Cities. Lys is the city of love goddesses. What's more romantic than making love under the stars?"

Sansa seemed to consider his words before she hesitantly pulled the dress over her head, completely baring herself to his gaze. However briefly. Jaime forced himself not to chuckle as she covered her breasts with her hands, looking around nervously. "You're certain this is all right?"

"All right with whom?" he asked, stretching out alongside her and running his hand over her body. She's so beautiful, laid out here naked for me. "We can do as we wish here without worrying about shaming our houses, or whatever nonsense you're worried about." He ran his hand over the very slight swelling of her belly, the only sign she carried their second child. He felt Sansa's hand on his face and looked at her, seeing the soft smile on her face and the love shining in our eyes.

"I love you," she breathed. "Even if you are a bad influence."

Jaime moved to cover her body with his own, hiking one of her legs up over his hip. "I think you rather enjoy my corruption," he murmured.

Her indignant glare disappeared when he swiftly sheathed himself inside her, the both of them moaning in pleasure. Sansa closed her eyes and moved with him, her nails digging into his shoulders and throwing her head back against the cushions as Jaime thrust into her. He smiled as she slowly forgot her self-consciousness and lost herself in the pleasure of their lovemaking. He closed his eyes, burying his face against her shoulder, and felt her legs tighten around his waist. Jaime felt her nuzzling against his cheek and turned to look into her eyes. Just as blue as the Sunset Sea.

He rested his forehead against hers as they made love. He'd like to think it was him, but Jaime suspected it was the forbidden nature of making love outside that made her peak quickly, turning her head against the cushions to muffle her cries of pleasure. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of her and soon reached his own peak, loudly moaning her name and shaking in her arms.

"Shh…" she whispered in his ear. "Everyone will hear you and know…what we're doing."

He shook his head at her. "We've had to be virtually silent for months, with Tommen and Julianna sleeping in an adjoining room. On a ship surrounded by my soldiers and the crew of the ship." He snuggled against her neck. "I think my men know that I bed you whenever the opportunity presents itself," he said with a smile. She smacked his bottom playfully and he rolled onto his side, kissing her softly.

Sansa curled up against him, resting her head on his chest, her fingers playing across his chest. Once their heart rates had calmed, and she was softly kissing his chest, an idea struck him. Jaime lifted her into his arms and carried her from the chaise.

"It'll be nice to sleep in a true bedchamber…in a real bed," she said softly, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Not quite yet," he said, hearing the amusement in his own voice. She looked at him in confusion – then alarm – when she realized that he was carrying her towards the water.

"What are you doing?"

He continued walking, stepping into the water – still warm from the day's sun – though he did answer her question. "I suppose in the North, it was too cold for this but on hot summer nights in the South, we would frequently go swimming in the Sunset Sea at night."

"Naked?" she squeaked out as the water began to cover her.

"I'm surprised Margaery Tyrell never spoke of it. She seems a bit…provocative." He released Sansa from his arms once the water rose around them, but she clung to him, with both her arms and legs wrapped around him. He had a thought. "You know how to swim don't you?"

She nodded, though she made no movement to let go of him. "We would swim in the hot springs but…not…naked. Lord Tywin considered this proper?"

Jaime laughed. "No. It was not considered proper and any septa – whether from the South or no – would forbid it but…Haven't you enjoyed the forbidden, tonight?" he teased. "It's rather nice indulging in your lusts."

He was surprised when she pushed him away and splashed him with water, laughing as she did so. He glared at her as if he were angry and Sansa bit her lip, her smile fading. He hated that she still had moments when she was so timid and uncertain of herself. Even if they had lived, I could never have forgiven Joffrey and Cersei for what they did to her. He slowly walked toward Sansa, grabbing her before she could react and dunking her under the water, laughing when she came up sputtering water and shoving a large amount of water at him.

Their water fight continued and Jaime enjoyed seeing Sansa so joyous and playful. So happy. Jaime reached for Sansa, pulling her into his arms and kissing her. She was laughing and they were both soaking wet. And Jaime had never loved her more than he did in that moment.

…

It's not fair.

The Battle for Winterfell had lasted for nearly two weeks and all Arya got to see of it were the injured soldiers who rode back from the battlefield to be patched up before they left to fight again. She had tried to ask them what was happening and if they had killed any of the Boltons, but Lady Roslin had led her away, telling her that the healers needed space to work. I was not in the way of the healers. They could talk to me while their injuries were being tended. She had tried to sneak closer to the battle when her mother was distracted, but she had been caught. Lady Catelyn had threatened to restrict her to Lady Roslin's carriage for the duration of the battle if she left their camp again.

So she had sat, sharpening Needle and practicing with an invisible adversary, should any of the Boltons break the battle lines and come into their camp. Arya had wanted to serve as squire to Uncle Edmure, Uncle Brynden or the Greatjon, but her mother had forbidden it. She didn't even listen when I offered to show her how well I could fight. Instead, Arya had to stay back at their camp – with her mother, and Lady Roslin and the wildling women who had joined their camp - so far away from Winterfell that they could not even see the castle or the battle that was being fought.

It's not fair.

Arya knew if she was a boy, she would have been allowed to fight for House Stark. Or if Jaime were still there, he might have allowed her to serve as his squire. Jaime knew that she was more than a silly girl who was useless in battle. He knew her skills and her true worth. It's not as if I'm Sansa asking to ride into battle. That would be absurd. And now it was all over.

Just that morning, Uncle Edmure's squire rode out to the camp where Arya waited with her mother and Lady Roslin, and proclaimed that the Battle of Winterfell was over. They were victorious and Stark banners once again flew above Winterfell. Arya felt jubilation and disappointment at the same time. I wish I could have seen the Boltons captured. I hope Mother will let me see them put to death. Her hand clutched the pommel of Needle in anticipation of Lord Bolton's punishment for killing Robb.

Arya felt a surge of pride that they had taken Winterfell back from the Boltons. She knew the entire Realm had believed that House Stark – and the North – were dead after the Red Wedding but Arya knew better. The North remembers. And now they had proven it. They had left Casterly Rock with a small party – only the lords taken prisoner during the Red Wedding - but more men had joined their cause when they fought the Battle for the Twins. Men from the North had flanked the opposite side of the Walder Frey's twin castles, forcing him to fight a battle from both sides A battle that House Frey could not sustain.

And then, as they traveled North to Winterfell, more and more Stark bannermen had met them and sworn loyalty to her mother and Uncle Edmure. They had been forced to swear fealty to Lord Bolton while their lords and sons were held prisoner at the Twins, and then Casterly Rock, but now they were free to declare for House Stark. When her mother asked how they knew where to find them – how they knew that they would be mounting an attack against House Bolton – they all had the same reply: Lord Commander Snow told them as the Night's Watch traveled back to the Wall. He had suggested that, if they wished to see Lady Stark or Lord Edmure, they should ride hard for the Twins.

Now they rode toward Winterfell. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Arya swallowed as she heard her father's words echo in her head. Now I must be that Stark. Until Sansa returns from the Free Cities, I'm the only one left. Arya had not laid eyes on her home in more than three years and she had feared that it would be taken away from her, now that she was so close. Just as Robb had been taken from her at almost the moment she reached the Twins. Arya rode beside her mother, her excitement to be home increasing with each step her horse took. Once the keep came into view, Arya felt her stomach drop.

It's no less a ruin than Harrenhal. The walls and towers – at least, what was left of them – were blackened from the fire. Not even the heavy winter snow could hide that. Some buildings were nothing more than a pile of rubble. She'd not felt so hopeless since she saw Father die. Arya rode hard through the gates, sliding from her horse once she was inside. Though it was far worse than she had feared.

It was apparent that some rebuilding had been undertaken, but Winterfell was still little more than a skeleton of what it was. It was nothing like the home that she had left nearly three years earlier. It was nothing like the place she knew as her home – where she lived with her parents and her brothers and Sansa. She felt tears well in her eyes as she thought of all that she had lost. Why has everyone left? Father, Robb, Bran and Rickon. Sansa was gone with Jaime. Jon was at the Wall. And Nymeria was lost forever.

Arya felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up, seeing the stricken expression on her mother's face. She took her mother's hand fearing that Lady Catelyn would break down as she had in the Great Hall at the Twins. Arya had not known what to do to comfort her. She'd wished that Sansa was there. She would have known what to say. Mother was always closer to Sansa than to me.

Arya looked up as Ser Brynden walked out of what was left of the main keep. She wiped her eyes, not wishing to be seen crying. They'll think I'm a baby. A silly girl. Three men were dragged into the courtyard and shoved to their knees. She recognized Roose Bolton – he'd visited Winterfell often enough, as her father was his liege lord. He killed Robb. Arya drew her sword and began marching towards him, but her Uncle Edmure grasped the neck of her cape, stopping her movement.

"Arya," he whispered in warning.

She looked to her mother and drew back in fear. She had never seen such hatred in her mother's eyes as she saw directed toward Roose Bolton. Not even towards Jaime. Arya could see that her mother would like to kill Lord Bolton with her bare hands. Perhaps I should offer her Needle.

"Lord Bolton," Lady Catelyn said stiffly. "Killing my son was not enough to show the depth of your dishonor? You would dare to take up residence in our home. Proclaim yourself Lord of Winterfell. You deserve the fate that awaits you," she spat out. "I only regret that it will not be the slow, painful death you deserve."

"We could always have one of his own men flay him and hang his skin from the gates," Ser Brynden remarked, dryly, and Arya couldn't stop the small smile that formed on her lips at the prospect. She looked at the Leech Lord and saw that he would not cry or beg. He would not show fear. He would accept his death sentence with courage.

Her mother moved her attention to the pale, younger man beside Lord Bolton. "This must be your bastard."

"I'm no bastard. The crown legitimized me."

Lady Catelyn's eyes narrowed. "When they gave you some poor girl to marry and torment? Do you think I don't know how you treated the girl that you believed to be my daughter? I pity the girl, but I thank the gods you were not able to harm my girl. The wildling women told us how you've treated her. How they've heard her screams and the injuries on her body. They were planning to save her. Of course, they did not realize she was an imposter. They believed her to be Arya Stark."

When she'd heard the tales the wildling women told of the Bastard of Bolton's treatment of the young girl calling herself "Arya Stark," Arya had been frightened, knowing that would have been her fate, had she not escaped King's Landing. Had Jaime not found her and allowed her to take her rightful place in his family as Sansa's sister. She'd seen her mother's rage then, as she contemplated the horrors inflicted on someone else by House Bolton. The horrors they meant to inflict on a daughter of House Stark.

Arya's eyes moved to the third man, who was skinny and haggard, his fingers bent at an odd angle – as if they had broken and not healed properly. As she looked closer, she saw that he was missing some of his fingers. She shivered at the thought, having overheard her father once describe to Robb how the Bolton's used to flay their enemies. Her mother voiced what Arya was thinking.

"Who is this one?"

Ser Brynden looked at her in surprise. "Do you not recognize him? He lived under your roof for more than ten years. Theon Greyjoy." Arya looked at him closer, shocked at his appearance. He looked so old and small. His hair was long and grey, and his skin was wrinkled. That can't be Theon. He was young and strong like Robb. The best archer for miles around, if not in the entire Seven Kingdoms.

"I understand Bolton's bastard is as fond of flaying as his father," Edmure said quietly, so only Arya and Lady Catelyn could hear.

"Theon?" her mother said. Her voice was strong, but it was clear to Arya that she was uncertain that this pathetic creature in front of her actually was Theon Greyjoy, despite what her brother and uncle had said. He looked up finally, though he did not meet their eyes and when Arya saw his face, she saw that it was Theon. She looked up at her mother, and saw recognition there also. "Stand him up," she ground out.

Lord Umber dragged Theon to his feet, though he nearly fell back on the ground, walking hunched over, with a limp, as an old man would.

"Who did this to you?" Her mother's eyes darted toward the Boltons. As did Theon's. Arya saw that he looked at the bastard with a primal fear in his eyes. "Take them to the chopping block," her mother ordered, also seeing that Theon was reluctant to speak to her in front of the Boltons. "What did they do to you?"

"It matters not what…what I endured, Lady Stark. It was no less than I deserved." Theon stared at the ground, unable to look her mother in the eye. "Lady Stark…forgive me." He shook his head. "I know you can never forgive me but…I am sorry. For everything. For betraying you and…Robb. He was as close to a brother as I ever knew and I…" Arya was shocked as Theon began to sob, the proud boy she had known gone and replaced by the pathetic creature before them.

Lady Catelyn was not unmoved by his words, blinking back tears of her own, though her voice was hard when she addressed him again. "You say Robb was like a brother to you…and yet you betrayed him for your father. He trusted you and you betrayed him."

"My real father died in King's Landing," Theon said, so quietly that Arya doubted anyone but she and her mother heard him. He fell to his knees and gripped her mother's skirts. "I know that I deserve to die for what I did. Please…Kill me. End my suffering now."

"Do you not deserve to suffer?" her mother asked, with difficulty. "You killed my sons. You killed two boys that you've known since they were born. Two boys who considered you to be part of the family. You killed-" her mother began to sob and Arya took her hand with concern.

"Don't cry, Mother."

Seeing how upset Lady Catelyn was, Ser Brynden and Ser Edmure dragged Theon back to his feet, pulling him in the direction of the Boltons. "No! No! Wait! Lady Stark! Please! I could never have killed them. Never. They're not dead! I swear it. Bolton's bastard – he killed two orphans and burned their bodies. He made me pretend they were Bran and Rickon but…Lady Stark, please, your sons - they're alive!"

…

Dun dun dun.

Next chapter will pick up where this one left off…and I hope to return to King's Landing.

Again, sorry for the delay with this one, but I hope that the ending was worth it. As always, please review and let me know your thoughts.