Mid April, 300 AC

"She has a champion!"

The bastard's voice was a harsh bellow that belied the two frantic women hanging off his sleeves. Prince Oberyn rose to his feet, his copper skin gone pale. The packed hall was in turmoil, hundreds of voices shouting and swearing. The pounding of the goldcloaks' spears could barely be heard over the uproar.

When the hall was finally quiet, Lord Tywin spoke. Jaime had never seen his father's eyes so full of hate. "Let the issue be decided on the morrow," he declared in iron tones. "I wash my hands of it." He gave the Stark girl a venomous look, then strode from the hall, out the king's door behind the Iron Throne, his brother Kevan at his side.

With Lord Tywin gone the cacophony resumed. Jaime had to shout to be heard as he gave orders. At his command Ser Lyn Corbray and Ser Balon Swann escorted the Stark girl back to her tower cell, her eyes still wide with shock. He charged Ser Jacelyn and his goldcloaks with clearing the hall. The goldcloaks were openly gossiping just as loudly as the servants. The news will be all over the city before dark. Much as he disliked the goldcloaks, Jaime did not envy them the ordeal of managing the Red Viper. Prince Oberyn had made his way to his bastard son and was berating him at length as the boy listened, his face murderous. The woman Ellaria Sand was openly weeping, while the bastard girl at her side bristled with rage.

Cersei, where was Cersei? Jaime could not find her anywhere. Instinct sent him out the king's door. Lord Tywin and Ser Kevan were doubtless in the private audience chamber at the end of the passage. Heavy wooden doors lined the walls of the passageway. Some of the more dutiful Targaryen kings had used the closets as studies, packing them full of dry tomes on issues of state. Robert had no use for such things, and had left them to accumulate dust.

Cersei was waiting for him beside the first door. Her green eyes were wild, her cheeks flushed. She had barely opened the door when Jaime shoved her through it, his hand fisted in her golden hair as he kissed her.

"Yes," she gasped as he pressed her against the door, her hands unlacing his breeches. She had never sought him out like this, not with Lord Tywin so near at hand. The thought sent fire through his veins as he cupped a breast with his hand, twisting the nipple through her silk gown until she whimpered.

"I told you she killed him," Cersei gasped as he ground his cock against her.

He kissed her silent, yanking up her skirts as she pulled her smallclothes out of the way. She was sopping wet when he entered her in a single sharp thrust. He swallowed her cries and her gasps, fucking her like a man possessed. Her cunt pulsed around him, growing even more slick. He thrust harder, her back thumping against the door.

"No," she gasped, pulling away from his kiss. "The noise—"

There was a small table in the closet, covered with dusty scrolls. Jaime dragged her to the table and shoved her face down, his good hand clamped against her mouth as he thrust back inside her. She keened into his hand, biting to make him let go. Jaime fucked her harder without remorse, plunging deep into her heat. You denied me too long, sweet sister. His cock was beginning to chafe when he finally spilled his seed in her. She had given up on biting by then, angry tears dripping down his fingers.

When he released her Cersei was mercifully silent. While Jaime fumbled with his laces his sister brushed the dust from her gown. She was rearranging her hair when he finally spoke.

"Do you really think the girl turned into a direwolf?"

Cersei laughed bitterly.

"No. I suppose the bitch thought it sounded more poetic than admitting she shoved Joff from the ramparts. Not that it matters." She smiled triumphantly. "The girl is as good as dead already. I cannot wait to see Ser Ilyn Payne hold her head up by the hair."

"Father might not allow that. She's kicked his plans to splinters but even so—"

Cersei's face went white with fury, and she strode out the door without another word. Jaime followed her to the private audience chamber.

Lord Tywin and Ser Kevan were within, his lord father pacing while his uncle spoke. No sooner had Cersei announced herself than their father turned on her.

"You said the girl was biddable and witless." Lord Tywin's voice cracked like a whip. "You said nothing of her being willful and half-mad."

"She has never spoken a word out of turn before—"

"Do not pretend that you are not pleased with this embarrassment," Lord Tywin said coldly. "We needed the girl's womb, not her head on a spike. Get out of my sight."

Cersei swept stiffly from the room, her rage plain to see. Jaime almost followed her, then hesitated.

"What if the boy wins?"

Lord Tywin's gaze was freezing.

"He will not. A squire of eighteen is no champion, and Ser Gregor Clegane will teach him that lesson before he dies."

And Sansa Stark is a girl of thirteen, but she ruined your plans all the same, Jaime thought.

"Barristan Selmy was twenty-three when he defeated Maelys the Monstrous," Jaime pointed out. "Ser Loras Tyrell defeated Ser Gregor at the Hand's Tourney two years past, and him only sixteen."

"Lord Mace Tyrell is still quite vexed over that incident," Ser Kevan said dryly. "But that was a tourney joust. Olyvar Sand will not be able to rely on a bad-tempered stallion and a mare in heat."

"But—"

"I will hear no more of this," Lord Tywin snapped. "I must needs speak to Oberyn Martell. If the man has the sense the gods gave a goose he will dissuade his bastard from this folly."

And with that Lord Tywin strode from the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Ser Kevan rubbed at his eyes, his shoulders slumped.

"What happens when the bastard loses?" Jaime asked. His uncle sat down heavily, suddenly ten years older.

"The girl has earned herself a harsh fate. The realm must be reminded that House Lannister is not to be mocked. That fellow Qyburn, the one who tended your stump, had offered to persuade the girl into confessing the truth of what transpired. Your lord father considered it unnecessary, but now…"

A chill ran up Jaime's spine. "Gods be good, Qyburn rode with the Bloody Mummers. The Citadel took his chain!"

"There is a tool for every task," Ser Kevan said practically. "When the bastard loses the combat, Sansa Stark will be given over to Qyburn. The fourth level of the dungeons should serve for his purposes. It is well that she did not bring up the… distasteful rumors regarding yourself and the queen. Such slander would have required sharper treatment."

"Sharper treatment?" Jaime echoed.

"Do you recall Serala of Myr?"

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he did not know why. Jaime shook his head.

"Serala was wed to Lord Darklyn. After the Defiance of Duskendale, King Aerys gave her to his guards before he had her womanly parts torn out and burned before her eyes. A cruel fate, but necessary. She enslaved her lord husband with her body and encouraged his treason."

"Sansa Stark is more fortunate. No man doubts her maidenhood, and even she was not so foolish as to question the queen's virtue or the legitimacy of her children. Once she reveals the truth of what happened that night, only her tongue shall be torn out before her execution." Ser Kevan sighed. "A waste, a ruinous waste. Had the girl only cooperated, all of this would have been avoided. Did she show any signs of this madness during your return to the city?"

"No," Jaime answered.

In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. Chivalry be damned, he should have let that crossbowman have her at the God's Eye. Sansa Stark would have thanked him and asked Jaime to rape her next if she knew what awaited her here. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women. He had tried, the Others take her.

It wasn't Jaime's fault that the girl had chosen death.