Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4187097.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sandor_Clegane/Sansa_Stark, Renly_Baratheon/Loras_Tyrell, Jaime
      Lannister/Brienne_of_Tarth, Jaime_Lannister/Sansa_Stark, Tywin_Lannister/
      Sansa_Stark, Joanna_Lannister/Tywin_Lannister
  Character:
      Ned_Stark, Robert_Baratheon, Arya_Stark, Lady_(ASoIaF), Sansa_Stark,
      Cersei_Lannister, Joffrey_Baratheon, Loras_Tyrell, Renly_Baratheon, The
      Elder_Brother_(ASoIaF), Lothor_Brune, Myranda_Royce, Jaime_Lannister,
      Brienne_of_Tarth
  Additional Tags:
      direwolf, Arranged_Marriage, Secret_Relationship, Surprises, Future_Fic,
      Masturbation, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence
  Series:
      Part 2 of Game_of_Thrones_Drabble_Week
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-06-22 Updated: 2018-01-25 Chapters: 6/? Words: 7711
****** Game of Thrones Drabble Week (II) ******
by Maracuya
Summary
     Seven drabbles and one-shots.
     1) SanSan
     2) Renly/Loras
     3) SanSan
     4) Jaime/Brienne
     5) Jaime/Sansa
     6) Tywin/Sansa
Notes
     I don't own anything. All the credits of these texts go to GRRM.
     At the moment, I'm rating this work "T", but this may change with
     regard to later future texts in this collection.
     You're very welcome to participate in/start a Game of Thrones Drabble
     Week as well! It's NOT restricted to SanSan. ;-) The more, the
     merrier!
***** A misunderstanding *****
 
A crack! Sansan Kingsroad/Game of Thrones AU drabble.
 
 
“A direwolf is no pet. Get her the Hound, she'll be happier for it.”
Ned Stark's head snapped up on hearing his king's comment. WHAT was Robert
saying? That couldn't be true, could it?
Sure, Ned had declined Robert's wish to betroth Sansa to Joffrey since the
prince had behaved like a spoiled bastard in Winterfell. And sure enough,
Robert was still cross with him and surely wanted to punish him. Forcing Ned to
move to King's Landing had already been one part of the punishment, and
nominating Ser Jaime as the new Hand had be a second slap in the face... but
the king couldn't mean this, could he?
 
Ned's body became as taut as a bowstring, and he said: “Begging your pardon,
Your Grace, but Clegane isn't the right man for my delicate, high-born
daughter.”
In answer to that, the king furrowed his brow and growled: “What do you mean,
Ned, Cleg– ”
And then, Robert's eyes widened in sudden understanding, he burst into a fit of
laughter, and slapped his massive thigh.
“HAHAHAHA, Ned, now that's a good one. Didn't know you had such japes in you!”
 
At that point, it dawned on Eddard Stark that he had simply misunderstood his
king and childhood friend, and he was willing to relax – at least as much as he
could under these circumstances. However, the moment of mirth was short-lived.
To begin with, Sansa had understood that the king had previously talked about
having Lady killed, so she was weeping and squealing and begging for mercy.
That, in its turn, made Robert angry.
“To be honest, I'm starting to think better of the Hound. At least, he's good
at obeying, in contrast to your big beasts.”
 
It looked as if Cersei had only waited for such an opportunity.
“Robert, give Sansa to Clegane at once, and the girl may have her wolf's life
as a wedding present.”
“You're not serious!” Robert answered his wife with round eyes.
Even Arya, who had been going rampant, looked shocked because of the mere idea
of Sansa and the Hound together. At the same time, a malicious grin was
spreading on Joffrey's lips.
Eddard couldn't believe his ears and shouted at the queen: “Sansa is a girl!
She hasn't even flowered yet, and you want to have her in the clutches of a
lowly, brutish second son from an upstart house?”
But Cersei only waved her hand and remained adamant.
 
“Balderdash! Clegane is a most loyal and competent fighter, and Joffrey's sworn
shield besides. My husband can bestow a fief and a title on him as a wedding
present, and your girl's animal will see another day. Besides, Clegane can be
told not to bed Sansa until she has flowered. Don't tell me that such
arrangements haven't been made before.”
 
Ned was in no way willing to exchange Sansa's future for Lady's life – but
unfortunately, Sansa saw things differently.
His girl was so frightened she looked as if she might make water on herself at
any moment, but at the same time, she pleaded: “Father, if this saves Lady, I'm
willing to go through with it.”
At once, Cersei responded: “See, Robert, even Sansa is willing.”
 
“I am her father! Don't I have any saying on the matter?” Eddard thundered.
Robert looked exhausted and averse to any more arguing. At the same time, he
seemed to be ashamed of his own weakness.
The king grabbed a goblet of wine and looked into it so he wouldn't meet his
former friend's eyes.
Next, he ordered: “Take the Warden of the North and lock him up in the queen's
cart until the wedding night is over.”
 
Sansa's mouth hung open and Arya yelled: “Father!”
Rough hands took Eddard by the arm. He tried to fight back, but he was
surrounded by the queen's men, so he didn't stand a chance.
 
Ned's confinement in the queen's cart seemed to last for ages. He tried to
wreck it with his bare hands, but to no avail.
“Gods, what will Catelyn say? Nononono, not our little girl! Sold like chattel
to a horrible brute!”
That was what he kept murmuring to himself – when he wasn't weeping about
Sansa's sad fate. Or cursing Robert. There was one thing that wasn't debatable
anymore: the friendship between the two had come to an end.
 
Finally, the door opened. Eddard blinked. It was morning. At once, he dashed
out of the cart.
“Where's Sansa? Where's my girl?” he demanded to know.
“At the breakfast table, my lord,” a soldier said.
 
Eddard hurried on, and true enough, he found Sansa where she was supposed t be.
She was alone, apart from Lady at her feet.
When his daughter saw him, she jumped up and called: “Father!”
Eddard crushed her to his chest, trembling.
“I'm so sorry, Sansa, so sorry! I didn't mean it to end like this. Where is
that scarred monster? What did he do to you? I'll scrap the flesh from his
bones with my sword!”
 
His daughter looked up at him, but to his surprise, there was confusion in her
blue eyes.
“You mean Sandor? He's done nothing to me, like he promised. He was on the
lookout for Arya's butcher friend when they found him and brought him back for
the wedding. King Robert has declared him Lady Whent's heir right after the
ceremony.”
Ned flinched. Sandor Clegane – the heir of Harrenhal? Well, at least Robert had
promoted the prince's sworn shield in such a way that the marriage was a tiny
little less shameful for all of them from a social point of view. Still.
 
“Sansa, look at me and tell me honestly – has Clegane laid one of his grubby
fingers on you?”
His daughter's eyes widened even more.
“No!” she affirmed.
Lord Stark breathed out in sheer relief.
Meanwhile, Sansa went on: “He has fed Lady, and Lady likes him and has licked
his face. She clearly prefers Sandor to Joffrey. I'm so surprised. Sandor must
be really good with all sorts of... canines. I mean, I'm still frightened of
him, but he seems to be better than his reputation. He's gruff, but he hasn't
hurt me at all. He's even given me a necklace as a wedding present. Look! Isn't
that yellow and black pendant nice? He said it once belonged to his dead
sister. To give me such a precious gift! He's kept his distance, but when I
felt cold at night and I moved a bit closer for warmth he didn't snarl at me.”
Sansa giggled.
“But he snores a little, do you know that? Oh, and he's so muscled!”
 
Eddard wanted to cover his ears so he wouldn't have to hear these details.
“Where is Clegane?”
Sansa wrinkled her nose and answered: “I don't really know. In the morning, I
thought I should give him a little kiss on his cheek – the good one, of course.
I mean... that's what you do to mother, too, because she's your wife. So I did
it, too. See, I was really brave! But I must have done it wrong somehow,
because Sandor was suddenly angry and literally ran off. Can you understand
this?”
Lord Stark couldn't and didn't want to understand.
 
“I'll go and have a word with him,” Eddard said...
and thought: “I'll turn the man into dog hash.”
At that moment, he felt Sansa's hand on his arm. Her face was very serious.
“I'm sorry for giving you so much worry, father. But don't blame Sandor for
anything. He was ordered to do this and didn't have a choice, just like me, but
he has promised to keep me safe. He... won't hurt me. Other than Joffrey or the
queen. That much I've learned now. Please, father, I think Sandor deserves a
chance. You didn't love mother at first sight, did you? And it took a while to
change, didn't it? I think I want to try to establish a relationship like you
did.”
 
Ned looked into the distance. His Sansa was such a good girl. Too good for a
man like Clegane – and not only for social reasons. Yet, he couldn't go against
her explicit wish, not after what had befallen her. He stroked her auburn locks
and cast a look further down at Lady. The animal gazed back, tongue lolling
out. It looked as if the wolf were grinning like a fool.
 
Ned thought back to the moment when he had found the pup, together with his
sons. Then, he thought ahead, of the vipers' nest that King's Landing was. For
the first time, he wondered whether it might actually turn into an advantage
for Sansa to have two canine guardians at her disposal.
 
***** Waking up next to your secret love for the first time *****
Chapter Notes
     My very first attempt at slash writing. Pre-canon.
It was the crack of dawn.
“You know... I've come to appreciate that roses have got thorns,” Renly
murmured into the ear of his new lover.
Loras chuckled.
“You did like mine, didn't you?” he taunted the king's younger brother.
“Ah, very much so,” Renly admitted freely and wrapped his arms around Loras's
waist. “Did you sleep well?”
Loras answered: “How could I not after last night?”
He turned around in the other one's arms and kissed Renly, who was as
responsive as one could possibly hope for.
 
After a while Loras sighed.
“It's a pity we have to keep this secret. I wish we could show the world our
true feelings. If anyone asks about tonight we must say we've been playing
Cyvasse and have been talking shop about military strategies and lost track of
time. Hmph. As it is, we'll go on crushing women's hopes wherever we go. ”
Renly's eyes darkened.
“We may even have to marry one day. Gods, I can't imagine how to bed a woman. I
can't even figure out how much wine I'd have to drink to be able to perform my
duty.”
 
Loras's hand played with his lover's darker chest hair, deep in thought.
“Perhaps we could win over my sister Margaery for you at some point. She's a
wonderful young woman, and intelligent at that. If there's anyone who might
ever understand this here without judging us too harshly, it would be her.”
 
Renly bethought himself.
“It's still too early to make such decisions, but I'll keep your idea in mind.”
He nibbled on Loras's ear and mumbled: “What about some jousting in the
morning? I mean... down in the training yard.”
That caused Loras to laugh.
“I'd very much appreciate that. And... may I invite you to Highgarden? You will
absolutely love it there – perhaps with the exception of my sharp-tongued
grandmother.”
 
Renly chuckled.
“The infamous Lady Olenna. Can we bring her to King's Landing so she can
torment my sod of a royal brother?”
Loras grinned: “I'll have to remember you're a cruel man who likes to inflict
sorrow on others, so I can guard myself – and my heart.”
Renly smirked and pointed with his index finger into the air.
“Too late, my dear, too late. I think you have lost your heart already.”
***** Winning against your inner demons *****
Chapter Notes
     A post-QI SanSan story. Enjoy.
The Gates of the Moon were a roaring inferno after most of the Lords Declarant
had revolted against the bloody Mockingbird. Even from here one could see the
flames and smell the mix of fire, soot, charred wood and burned flesh. It made
Sandor nauseous.
Under his cowl, which hid his face, he shook his head in disbelief. He had only
ever known Petyr as one of the most cunning players in the Game of Thrones...
and one of the most dangerous men. Perhaps even THE most dangerous man.
Well. That was over now for sure. Littlefucker had overplayed his hand this
time.
Sandor nudged the arrow-feathered body of the short, elegantly-clad man with
his shoes.
“He's managed to leave the Gates in secret. Or rather ALMOST in secret,” he
growled to the Elder Brother at his side.
“Obviously,” the monk murmured. “Sorry to have missed this fight?”
“And here I thought you were the one who said the Hound was dead.”
The Elder Brother cocked his head and looked at the huge man in his rough-spun
brown robe.
“In the north there are many dead things rearing their ugly heads again I've
heard.”
“Do I look like I'm from the north?”
“Actually, you do, Sandor.”
“Bastard.”
The Elder Brother sighed.
“The Seven be blessed! You've come at the right moment to take care of the
wounded and the dying,” Lothor Brune said to the monk and pointed at various
people. The knight looked more than a little ruffled himself, and blood was
oozing from a wound on his forehead.
Sandor's gaze swept over the crowd. His heart dropped.
“No Sansa Stark,” he whispered in the holy man's ear. “I'm going. I've got to
look for her.”
In the chaos outside the Gates of the Moon, Sandor hovered around like a huge,
black crow. Then, he spotted a woman who was now in half-burned rags, but one
could still see that those rags had been a dress of a noblewoman before the
fights had begun. This woman surely know Petyr Baelish's bastard daughter.
“You, woman! What's your name?” Sandor rasped, keeping his face well-hidden.
The woman winced, but answered duly: “Myranda Royce, good brother.”
Sandor snorted and would have barked his laughter at being addressed in such a
way, had he not been so worried.
“Have you seen Baelish's daughter?”
Myranda Royce gazed up at him, eyes unnaturally wide.
“The last time I saw her we were inside the castle, good brother.”
Bile rose in Sandor's throat.
“I see,” he said. “I'll go in and try to find her.”
Myranda Royce nodded.
“Oh yes, please do that!”
But Sandor didn't grant her one more word, had already spun around on his heels
and was marching towards the Gates of the Moon as best he could with his limp.
Fortunately, nobody thought of attacking a giant brother from the Quiet Isle.
The much greater problem was the furnace ahead. Worst of all... some of it was
coloured green. It had likely been Littlefucker who had possessed and used some
Wildfire to use it against his enemies and to safeguard his flight in case of
need. The green, hellish fire had not helped the former Master of the Coin, but
it had done a lot to send many people to the Stranger, and to make the castle
burn where normal stone would normally not have been inflammable.
Sandor couldn't help it, revealed his face for a moment, and puked into a
corner. He was back at the Battle of the Blackwater! Seven fucking hells!
But no, there was a difference this time: he wasn't leading any men, wasn't
urged on by the bloody Imp... and he was trying to reach Sansa, not to run away
from her.
Flames were still licking on the sooty walls here and there, causing Sandor to
retch again, but he kept going.
“One foot in front of the other,” he kept ordering himself. “I'll find you,
little bird, and this time, I'll keep you safe. This time, I'll keep my
promise. Only please be alive, please!”
He moved from one room to the next, avoiding the worst flames and rounding
charred carcasses on his way. The smoke bit him in the eyes, and he started to
cough.
The Great Hall was a deserted mess when he entered, and partly burned. He
looked here and there... and suddenly, his teary eyes discovered the lifeless
form of a young woman under a fallen beam. He would have recognised her
anywhere, though her hair was a dark, crusty half-melted mess, but otherwise,
he couldn't spot any burnings.
“Little bird!” Sandor gasped and all but ran towards the woman.
He was sobbing and didn't care one whit.
With all the power he could muster he hauled the beam away, knelt and cradled
Sansa in his arms, ever so gently. Her eyes were closed, her body limp.
Sandor tried to listen to a heartbeat, but his own heart was too loud in his
ears.
Gods! He had lost her!
Sandor squeezed his eyes shut in abject grief and wanted to die as well.
But then, Sansa shuddered, gasped weakly for air and coughed.
From one second to the next, Sandor tensed, he opened his eyes, his heart
hammered away and his mind snapped back into focus.
“Must take the little bird with me. To the Elder Brother. To safety,” his
instincts ordered.
Just at that moment, he heard Sansa's voice, brittle and tiny: “Sandor...”
“She's using my name!? And how the fuck does she know it's me? She's half
unconscious and her eyes are closed!”
“Shhhht, little bird. I'm here. To keep you safe. You remember I told you I'd
keep you safe, don't you? Here, let me take you. Shhhht, careful now.”
Ever so gently, he picked her up. All he was focusing on was to take Sansa with
him. To safety. He was weary of the flames around him, of the heat, the stink,
but his heart was with Sansa, and he was only afraid of her health – he didn't
have any room for being afraid of fire.
Sansa coughed again and leaned her head against his collarbone.
“I'm sorry, Sandor,” she whispered. “I haven't got the white cloak anymore.”
“Ssssht, don't worry, little bird,” he rumbled. “That's no problem. Just
relax.”
But Sansa's voice reached him again: “I held the cloak dear. As long as I had
it.”
She coughed.
Sandor's stomach somersaulted, and he didn't feel Sansa's weight or the pain in
his weak leg anymore.
“If you want to, I'll get you another cloak. But now hush. You need fresh air.
Lots of fresh air. You've got a smoke poisoning, and a few broken bones, too, I
fear.”
Sandor had to concentrate on the way ahead, which was cluttered with rubble, so
he couldn't look down at Sansa's lovely face, but he felt her smile against
him, even through the rough-spun fabric he was wearing.
“Cloak. Yellow. Black. Stay. Please.”
Sandor choked.
Ah, he could always say he was crying because of the smoke. It wasn't even a
lie. No, it wasn't.
Fuck, but the Elder Brother would know.
And then, he was outside, safe and sound. People rushed towards him, took
Sansa... and suddenly, Sandor's knees gave way under him. The cool earth felt
soothing against his face, and he gasped and gasped.
Then, he could hear the Elder Brother: “Oh. That doesn't look good. The broken
ribs and the arms are one thing, but the smoke poisoning... I don't think
she'll make it.”
Sandor's heart clenched.
He gritted out: “You will bloody do what you can, or you WILL have an undead
Hound on your heels, understood? And I will not give her up. I will stay with
her. I will not lose her like I did my sister. I won't. I WON'T.”
The Elder Brother sighed, but Sandor was too stubborn to give up hope.
They were both put onto mats in a hastily-erected tent. Sandor refused to move
one inch away from Sansa, who was unconscious. Neither did he let go of her
hand. Her hands were cold, so cold.
Sandor had never been a pious man, and though he had stayed on the Quiet Isle
for so long, he hadn't become any more religious. Yet, during that night he
kept praying to both the Maiden and the Stranger.
“All I want to do is to see her blue eyes again,” he thought.
He had buried so many people during his healing process, and he had always
hoped to bury the inner demons of his past as well: his fear of fire, the sense
of losing everyone who might have been friendly towards him at some point, the
deadliness of the Hound... but now, he knew he'd never truly overcome them
without Sansa.
When the sun sent its first rays of sunshine towards the Vale the next morning,
he coughed, woke up after a short, troubled slumber and leaned over his little
bird. He even went as far as to ghost a kiss on her lips. Of course, he wasn't
a gallant prince in a fairy-tale, who could wake up the princess from a deadly
curse with just one kiss, but –
“Sandor?”
He flinched and inched back.
Sansa's eyes were open, though still overcast. And she was smiling at him. That
was the moment, Sandor thought he could die a happier man.
“Why didn't the little bird fly when the tree was set on fire?”
Had he been more daring he'd have asked why she wasn't afraid of him after the
Battle of the Blackwater.
Sansa uttered something between a cough and a chuckle.
“Fly away? When this was the perfect chance to make you my Florian?”
She coughed again.
Sandor palmed his face.
“And when did the little bird learn to chirp in such a teasing way? Turning
into a mockingbird?”
“Ffft. Turning into a wolf, rather.”
That caused Sandor to grin.
“Wolves and dogs fit together much better than other animals.”
That brought a twinkle into Sansa's eyes.
“Didn't take you for one who'd nest in trees.”
That caused Sandor to throuw back his head and to bark his laughter so loudly
that he was sure the echo reverberated everywhere in the Vale.
Outside of the tent, he then heard the Elder brother say in a contented voice:
“Looks like a certain someone has won against his inner demons.”
***** An unexpected gift *****
Chapter Notes
     I'm doing no. 5 first, because I had a Jaime/Brienne AU idea that got
     stuck in my head.
“Here we are, wench,” Jaime said and led her into the room. “Since I know
you'll be travelling soon I thought I should give you something beforehand.”
 
Brienne's eyes bulged. There was a beautiful set of armour spread out before
her: in her size, the best material, and the colour...
“I thought blue would go well with your eyes,” Jaime said in an offhand voice.
“And look at this: a fine sword. Newly-forged.”
“Valyrian steel!” Brienne breathed and couldn't believe he'd give her such a
precious gift.
“It's not as if I had much use for it,” Jaime commented in an acid tone and
held up his stump. “The blade still needs a name. What do you think?”
 
Brienne bethought herself for a moment, then answered: “Oathkeeper.”
Jaime's gaze at her intensified, and his eyes darkened, though it was not from
anger. Next, he flashed her one of his typical, dazzling grins that could hide
his true feelings so well.
 
“Oh, and this isn't everything. I've got something else for you. Can you keep a
secret?”
Brienne frowned.
“It would not be honourable to spill it to someone else.”
Jaime laughed.
“Hahaha, my honourable lady knight. I so know you'd come up with this answer.”
 
After that, he became more serious.
“My father has made sure I was kicked out of the King's Guard, only it hasn't
been made public yet.”
Once more, he looked at his stump.
“You know, wench, I'm not capable of keeping the king safe without my sword
hand, so somebody else will be appointed in my stead.”
 
Brienne pressed her hand onto her mouth.
“Gods, no! The King's Guard is meant for life.”
“No need to tell me wench, but they have already kicked out Ser Barristan, and
that has set an example. My dearest Lord Father was eager to repeat the action.
So... I thought you should get my cloak.”
Jaime pointed at a bundle he produced from under a table.
 
That caused Brienne to gasp.
“The white cloak from the King's Guard? But... but... I'm a woman. I can't be
appointed. They'll never allow it.”
Jaime pointed with his chin.
“Look, wench.”
 
With cautious movements, Brienne unfolded the bundle and looked inside.
She furrowed her brow.
“Oh, you must have made a mistake, Jaime.”
“Must I?”
“Yes, this is one of your Lannister cloaks in gold and red.”
 
Jaime breathed in.
“Actually, I don't think it's a mistake. My father wanted to have me back so I
could become the heir of Casterly Rock. His heir. And now, it'll be a matter of
little time until he announces a political match for me I'm bound to despise. I
mean – look at him, he's not exactly the god of love, so what could I expect
him to cook up? Sure, this is all only something for you if you're no coward –“
“I'm no coward!” Brienne interjected, but she was also completely confused.
 
Jaime grinned at her.
“Splendid!”
He clapped her on the back.
“I wouldn't want to have another wife but you for the life of me. But we have
to be really quick now so as to anticipate another betrothal. Prepare yourself
and put on fresh clothes. No worry, you don't have to wear a dress. I love you
the way you are. Meet you in an hour at the sept!”
And with those words, Jaime pressed a quick kiss on her lips, turned around and
hastened out of the room with energetic strides.
 
Brienne was left behind, goggling and gaping like a carp on land. Her fingers
moved to her lips and felt where he had touched her.
 
“This here has all been one of his little Lannister schemes! Love me – my left
foot!” she thought and became angry for a moment. “He can go and stuff his
cloak up into his –”
But then, she thought better of it. A wicked grin crept onto her lips.
“Jaime Lannister, why do I have the feeling you haven't thought this through?
You're binding yourself to me for life. I'll be able to torture you for being
the stupid sod you are forever. Ooooh, I think this will be fun if I go about
it deftly. You'll soon find out!”
 
And with those ideas, she rolled up her sleeves, eyes sparkling, and set off to
trap herself a one-pawed lion.
***** An unexpected gift *****
Chapter Notes
     Jaime/Sansa future AU, rating "E". Book canon.
Spring_and_autumn
 
Sansa's boot got nearly stuck in the puddle. There was a slurping sound when
she lifted her leg. She continued to walk the grounds of Winterfell. A constant
drip-drip-drip told her of melting ice and snow.
“Finally spring is here,” she thought.
 
Yet, the retreating white blanket also revealed how severely her home was
damaged. What was worse was that now, after the long winter, there were no
provisions left.
Under normal circumstances, Sansa would have sent out ships from White Harbour
to import food from Essos. The problem was that she didn't only lack food, but
also money. Thus, she didn't have the means to buy anything. By the look of it,
many people would starve, and soon. Many had already starved, as a matter of
fact.
 
Sighing, Sansa returned to the great hall and shook out her wet fur coat. She
saw little Barbrey play in the rushes and feared for her little daughter's
future. For now, the cheeks of the two-year-old toddler were still rosy enough,
but her prospects weren't good under the given circumstances.
 
At that moment, Feorl, a former wildling who had been with Jon until the Wall
had come down, announced a visitor. Was it her half brother who had come back
from eradicating the last stray wights?
 
But no.
Sansa needed a moment to recognise the man who entered the great hall. It had
been years since she had seen him last, and he had changed a lot. His formerly
golden hair was shot through with grey strands now, and he didn't sport a cocky
smirk like he had been wont to do in the past.
“Ser Jaime?” Sansa asked, eyebrows rising.
 
To her surprise, the Kingslayer bended the knee in front of her.
“Lady Stark.”
Sansa blinked. She had had no direct contact with he Lannister family since she
had fled the capital. Petyr had made sure hers and Tyrion's marriage had been
annulled, and after Sansa's husband Harry had died and Tyrion had returned from
Essos, she and the Imp had exchanged a few letters, but they had never come
face to face again. Sansa had only heard of Tyrion's heroic death during a
fight in the north.
Then what did his elder brother want in Winterfell?
 
Sansa looked at the ageing knight. He was nearing the autumn of his life
whereas it was spring outside. Cersei's death had obviously made him old beyond
his years.
And Queen Daenaerys hadn't wanted him in the Kingsguard anymore. Had she not
needed every single person to fight the Others, she'd likely have done worse to
him, Sansa guessed. Or perhaps the queen had wanted him to lead a cripple's
life. With Daenaerys you never knew.
 
Ser Jaime looked up at Sansa and stood straight again.
“I've heard you've got many problems here now.”
Sansa cocked her head.
“There are always many problems to deal with. That's the nature of ruling.”
The Kingslayer nodded.
“The castle is damaged, I've already seen as much. But at least you've still
got a family seat, Lady Sansa. You know – I never wanted Casterly Rock, but now
that it's gone, I miss it.”
 
Sansa shrugged and still didn't know what the Kingslayer wanted from her.
“You can always try to rebuild the castle.”
Ser Jaime sighed. How serious he had become. Gone was the image of a knight in
shining armour.
“I've still got the goldmines, sure...,” he said.
With his left hand, he removed the golden prostthesis he wore where his right
hand had been. He handed her the object.
 
Sansa blinked.
“What is the meaning of this?” she wanted to know.
Ser Jaime cleared his throat and didn't look at her.
“I've heard that there are several men asking for your hand. I'm rather giving
you mine instead, so to speak. You need it more than I do. For food. For your
people.”
 
Sansa's heart beat faster.
“Why are you doing this?”
Ser Jaime still didn't look at her.
“We've taken more from you than gold, me and my family. And the Lannisters
always pay their debts. Even the last living Lannister does. Besides, I once
promised your mother I'd keep you safe, and this is probably my last chance at
doing so. By ensuing you won't starve.”
 
The Kingslayer's words caused Sansa's thoughts to reel. She had never expected
any kind of compensation for what had happened, be it financial or emotional.
Sansa gazed at Ser Jaime. He looked lost. And he wasn't the man she had once
known.
“We've both suffered, and we've both lost too many loved ones over the last
years,”she thought.
 
Her mind also turned to other things Ser Jaime had referred to. How men were
trying to court her. She had an inkling that they'd resort to violence if she
didn't pick a husband soon. Sansa was a widow, but she was young and could
still have many children. Stark children. Sansa had never adopted Harry's
family name, because her own one was nobler. What was more, she had never felt
close enough to her husband. The only thing he'd ever done for her was to give
her little Barbrey – and that had been a cumbersome procedure at best.
 
Sansa's mind wandered back to Ser Jaime. She looked at the golden prostthesis
she was still holding, and she came to a conclusion.
“You've offered me your gold hand, and I thank you – but I'll only accept it
with the man attached to it.”
 
The Kingslayer's eyes widened and his mouth opened.
After a moment, he stammered, “Why... why would you want such a thing?”
Sansa breathed in and out.
“I need money. You need a family seat. We both want a family, don't we? Matches
have been made for less.”
 
Ser Jaime finally looked her in the eyes. Words weren't necessary.
 
*~*~*~*
 
They married mere hours later. Sansa didn't want to give any man the chance to
kill Ser Jaime before the ceremony. They swore their vows in the Godswood, in
front of the heart tree. Sansa sensed Bran was there, with them, and approving.
 
Ser Jaime's kiss was quick and chaste. They would't have a feast as there
wasn't enough food and the northerners didn't like the match; but Sansa was
convinced they'd come to accept the new lord of Winterfell after a while.
 
Without a feast, there was no bedding ceremony either, and Sansa was glad about
it. She still remembered the last one, and the pain she had felt when Harry had
made her a woman. It had taken weeks to learn how to ignore what her husband
had been doing between her legs, but she had finally found a way to feel around
the soreness and the embarrassment.
 
What confused her was that her new bridegroom was so utterly different when it
came to wedded intimacies. He was the blushing and self-conscious one of the
two of them when he put off his clothes. His stump played a part in this, too,
but it wasn't the only reason.
“He's never learned how to 'do his duty',”Sansa realised. Now that was a weird
feeling, given how much younger she was than him.
Jaime even needed some... encouragement. Harry had just done what he wanted to
do, had had his fun, and that had been it. He'd never cared about her. Had
never looked at her body in detail. Had never touched her any more than
necessary – for which Sansa had been grateful.
 
With Jaime, things were different. He was very much aware of her and her body,
and they were suddenly both shy and embarrassed. As if they were both
inexperienced.
When Jaime finally managed to push into her, he closed his eyes and stilled for
a moment. It was then that Sansa realised she couldn't feel around his
presence. And strangely enough, she thought it wasn't necessary to do so.
Because what they were doing didn't hurt.
“Gods, Sansa, what now?” Jaime whispered.
Sansa didn't know an answer – but somehow, it was a relief to know they shared
this question.
 
It was her body that found an answer. It started to relax in a way she had
never known. At the same time, Jaime's body began to move of its own accord.
They both started to gasp, and Sansa could only marvel at the new feelings that
flooded her very core. Gasps turned into whimpers into hungry moans.
In and out Jaime slid with his shaft, and for the first time, Sansa was
watching the procedure. She saw how his member was glistening with her juices
where she had never been wet before when her dead husband had claimed her.
Jaime's eyes were feverish, and despite her ecstasy, Sansa realised their
coupling was taking much longer than any tumble she had experienced before. But
then, she couldn't think straight anymore, her womanhood – and also other parts
– suddenly stiffened... and the next moment, she cried out and a wild wave
crashed over her, flooded her, reduced her to pure lust – and in a way, it
cleansed her, too.
Some more desperate thrusts on Jaime's part, and then, he groaned in relief as
well.
 
Afterwards, they lay together, still touching, but not knowing how to proceed.
It all was so awkward.
“Awkward, yes, but still better than anything I've ever felt,”Sansa mused.
She had heard that intimacies would be wonderful between true lovers, so she
wondered how much better it could be than what she had just experienced. How
could it be any better at all?
She thought of Jaime and Cersei.
 
“Are you disappointed?” Sansa asked her bridegroom.
Jaime blinked.
“What gives you the impression I could be disappointed?” he asked.
“I'm not... not HER,” Sansa peeped.
There was a silence.
Then, Jaime said, “I'm not disappointed. And yes, you're not her. And that's
good. You're giving me now what I thought I'd never have. Why... I've even got
a daughter now. And if everything goes right, we'll have children in the
future.”
 
Sansa smiled, her eyes serious. Jaime Lannister and her – it was an
impossibility. But over the last years, Sansa had learned how so many
impossible things were actually possible. She thought of herself and her new
husband and felt a certain warmth that shouldn't be there, given what had
happened in the past.
“We're spring and autumn, sun and snow, ice and fire – and all the seasons and
kinds of weather in between.”
 
***** A place you've never given much attention to becomes important *****
How_things_are_changing...
 
He was back! Tywin looked at the rooms he had left so many years before. The
chain of the Hand was dangling around his neck once again. He guessed he
actually had to thank his political enemies – especially Lady Catelyn Stark and
Stannis Baratheon – for him having been able to come back on top of everything
again. Not that he'd ever say it aloud. Not ever.
 
Tywin let his hands trail over the massive wooden desk in his solar he still
knew so well. From now on, he'd be the one who'd be making decisions again. His
retarded grandson who was styling himself as king and who was thoroughly
incompetent would think himself to be decisive, of course. It was sad to see
that everyone but Joffrey would be intelligent enough to know the reality to be
different.
 
Since he was alone, Tywin allowed himself a sigh and rolled his shoulders. Only
he himself knew he could feel he wasn't a youngster anymore, but he had to keep
up pretences at all costs. His mental and physical agility was decisive for the
years to come.
 
Tywin briefly wondered what Robert Arryn and Eddard Stark had been thinking
while they had been sitting on this chair and at this desk. However, it wasn't
his nature to ponder other people's matters for long. Instead, Tywin walked
over to his private wing.
 
When he arrived at the large four-poster bed, memories of a different past set
in. Of Joanna and what they had done here during their happier days. There had
been days when they had frolicked in this bed, no less – unconceivable as it
was for other people.
 
Tywin's cock stiffened. It had been ages since he had had a woman. He had
thought himself to be beyond these primal needs, but with a growl he had to
admit he had fooled himself.
“I'll have to ask for Alayaya's discrete service once more, I guess,” he mused
and hated the very idea.
His investments had been good ones in this field, because the mettings with the
capital's most advanced whore had been short and effective... and had remained
secretive. In the past, he had supported the woman from the Summer Isles,
rather than the brothels of this slimy Lord Baelish, who had become the new
master of Harrenhall. Tywin knew Alayaya to be still around in the Street of
Silk. Sure, these days, it would likely be her daughter who'd see to his
relief. It mattered little, as long as the whole affair would be private and as
long as Tywin would be able to focus on what he actually had to do.
 
The Lord of Lannister put off his clothes and sat down on the mattress of the
bed. Thanks to a warm hearth fire, this was no problem at all. He allowed his
head to sink against the headboard. His hard cock stood up from a nest of grey-
golden hair. Tywin knew he had to take care of his body, because he'd need to
return to his solar and to decide on more things that had to be organised in
the wake of the Battle of the Blackwater. Frowning, Tywin noticed that the
mattress was new and softer than the one he'd known.
“Sissies, all of them,” he thought about the previous Hands.
 
Then, he concentrated on his arousal and ran his hand along his shaft. Or
rather he didn't concentrate on his body, but rather thought of Joanna and how
he remembered their intimacies. The memories singed his very core, they always
did – but he could never forget or ignore them. Not. Ever.
 
Tywin groaned. He closed his eyes, and he tried to keep himself in check so
he'd last a little longer. His cock started to throb and to leak some fluid.
Some of this kind of fluid had served to beget a monster like Tyrion.
No, but he wouldn't think of the deformed killer of his wife now. Not when
Tywin was reminiscing how Joanna had used to moan under him. How she had always
encouraged him to fuck her harder, because it had been what she'd needed.
Gods, how he missed her!
 
The next moment, Tywin's eyes snapped open. For whatever reason, his old
survival instinct poked him, somewhere, somehow.
“Somebody's in the room!” he thought. “The tapestry!”
 
He'd known the tapestry in his bedroom for decades and had never paid it any
heed, but now, Tywin thought it was hiding an intruder.
At once, he grabbed a dagger and cursed the fact his sword wasn't close enough.
Next, he threw himself at the tapestry, and sure enough, he wrapped the fabric
around a body. To his surprise, he heard a woman's shriek. Were there female
assassins about by now?
 
Curious, Tywin pulled some of the fabric away and revealed a woman's face. A
young woman's face. A really young one. To make things worse, he recognised the
features, recognised them from someone else he had known years before. His eyes
widened.
 
“Sansa Stark?” he asked.
His victim was flushed and crying and trembling... and far from being an
assassin. Tywin let go of the tapestry to some extent, but was still pinning
down his victim.
“What in the name of the gods are you doing here?” Tywin asked, oscillating
between anger and confusion.
He could see some more of the young woman now. She was dressed in a thin
nightshift, nothing more. And where the tapestry had hung, there was a gaping
hole in the wall.
 
At this point, Tywin remembered there was a secret corridor between the Hand's
bedroom and another bedroom above, only he had forgotten it long ago since he
had never used it for a sweetheart. Sansa Stark, however, had obviously found
the passage.
 
“You've watched me!” Tywin snapped.
The young woman pulled in her head. Tywin remembered she was still a maid, but
didn't accept it as an excuse.
“How long have you known about this secret passage?” he demanded to know in his
most intimidating voice.
 
“I... I... I'm sorry,” the young woman stammered. “I accidentally stumbled
against the lever. It set the mechanism in motion. I didn't know... didn't mean
to spy. Really, I...”
Sobs rattled her chest.
 
Tywin looked down at this red-haired heap of misery. No matter what she was
saying – she had seen him. Had watched him, even.
Her behaviour was changing matters, and dramatically so. Before, Tywin had
briefly thought of wedding her off to Tyrion; he just hadn't had enough time
since his arrival back in King's Landing and after the Battle of the Blackwater
to think things through.
Now, however, Sansa Stark was altering his plans. Tywin shuddered inwardly. He
had never wanted to remarry. Had never wanted to risk begetting another dwarf.
But Sansa Stark had seen him in private. Naked. Aroused. Nobody saw him in
private and lived long enough to tell anyone any details – the only exception
being a wife.
 
Aloud, Tywin said, “It doesn't matter whether you wanted to ogle me or not.
Looks like you'll get the chance to ogle me for a lifetime now. Since you've
seen me the way you did, we'll have to marry.”
Blue eyes looked up at him, wide with fear.
Great. Simply great. Tywin wanted to smash something. How had things gone so
very wrong? At least it would be easy from a technical point of view since
Joffrey had already recanted his betrothal with Sansa Stark, but the rest...
Tywin was tempted to curse. Instead, he simply uttered a hiss.
 
Cersei had mentioned the Stark girl to be stupid. Tywin looked at his future
wife for the first time now and noticed she had understood him, despite her
obvious shock. It meant that her brain worked better than Joffrey's, even if
that didn't mean much.
Naked as he was, Tywin rolled off of the young woman, who was still half
wrapped in the tapestry. Sansa Stark gazed at him, couldn't take her widened
eyes off him – until she realised what she was doing and squeezed her eyelids
shut.
Tywin felt the urge to snap at her again. To humiliate her for doing what she
had done. Yet, he somehow managed to procure a shred of basic civility he
hadn't known he possessed and just turned away to don his clothes.
 
When he was done, he grabbed Sansa Stark's hand and pulled her up though her
knees threatened to buckle under her.
“Put on a dress,” he ordered. “We'll go to the the sept and marry at once to
get it all over with.”
Tywin didn't want to give anyone a chance to foil his intentions, least of all
Cersei and Joffrey. They'd probably be stupid enough to end the life of their
valuable hostage.
 
To Tywin's surprise, Sansa Stark's eyes emptied and she squared her shoulders.
“Yes, my lord,” she answered in a hollow voice and returned to her chamber to
follow his orders.
“She's got a strong survival instinct and a sense for duty,” Tywin surmised.
“Perfect prerequisites for the Game of Thrones. And for a marriage with me.”
 
He realised he was becoming interested in the Stark girl, for whatever reason.
He'd never been inetersted like this in anyone else since Joanna had died.
 
Tywin looked at the hole in the wall.
“And all of it because of a secret passage I barely remembered. Places matter,
by the look of it.”
At that moment, Sansa Stark re-emerged from the hidden corridor, carrying a
dress over her arm. Although she was far from relaxed or controlled she
nevertherless seemed to have regained a fraction of composure. Would any other
woman have come so far in such a short time?
“People matter, too,”Tywin thought, and he even went as far as to wonder what
that would mean for their joint future. Well, the only chance was to go ahead
and to find out for himself.
 
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