Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7526107.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Jaime_Lannister/Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Jaime_Lannister, Sansa_Stark, Robb_Stark, Catelyn_Tully_Stark, Jeyne
      Westerling
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Sexual_Content, Older_Man/Younger
      Woman, Loss_of_Virginity, Aged-Up_Character(s)
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-07-21 Words: 5774
****** Oh, These Games We Play ******
by Oh_Shiny
Summary
     “You must feel the loss of you father greatly.”
     Sansa meets his eyes and they shine brighter than the sun, sparks of
     ire flickering forth and leaving him wanting more. “As great as the
     loss you feel for your right hand, I’m sure.” Jaime laughs loudly at
     her response. Sansa Stark has just become interesting—very
     interesting.
     He leans into her, lowering his mouth to her ear and earning the
     attention of more eyes cast in their direction. “Would you like to
     leave?” he asks in a whisper.
     ---------
     In which Joffrey dies in the Battle of the Blackwater, the Red
     Wedding never occurs, Tywin has Tommen release Jaime from the
     Kingsguard, and the Starks learn how to play the game as they form a
     rocky alliance with the Lannisters against the growing Targaryen
     threat across The Narrow Sea.
Notes
     This is an AU that I was fiddling with a couple of years ago.
     Recently found the first two pages on a memory stick and thought I'd
     turn it into a one shot. So, a sprinkling of porn with a sprinkling
     of plot? Either way I hope y'all enjoy. ;)
See the end of the work for more notes
Jaime hadn’t noticed her when he’d first returned to Kings Landing; she was
proficient at remaining forgettable with her head bowed and shoulders slumped
as she drifted through the gardens or halls. On occasion he’d wondered who the
meek young lady was but the thought never lingered long enough in his mind for
him to ever bother investigating it. When the remainder of her family arrived
she seemed to come back to life a little, and he had realised that the girl he
crossed paths with every morning on the way to the hall where he broke his fast
was indeed, Sansa Stark.
There are differences from when he’d seen her at Winterfell, of course. Her
hips have widened, her waist diminished some and her bust filled out. She’s
taller, her face more mature yet still so pale and her hair has grown much
longer. They aren’t the things that stood out to Jaime the most—that would be
her eyes; those damn Tully eyes don’t seem to shine as bright as they used to
and her smiles that had once been wide were now a faint curve of her lips. He
couldn’t help but ponder; just what in the hells had happened to Sansa Stark
while her brother had held him captive?
So now he watches her, studies her mannerisms whenever she is in his view and
over time he discovers a young woman that gives a slight flinch when someone
brings a hand near her back; who holds a fascination for birds and sits with
her head tilted up at the sky to watch as they flitter from tree to tree. She
possesses a sweet tooth, never touches the wine that’s served with meals but
unconsciously sinks her teeth into her bottom lip whenever lemon cakes are
presented.
He can admit to himself that the amount of time he spends observing her is odd
and tonight is no different. Where she once would have been one of the first
young ladies to acquire a dance partner she instead stands near a corner of the
room, half hiding behind her elder brother and he contemplates whether or not
he should ask her to stand up with him. Really, what harm could it do? Their
families are supposed to be allies now, after all, and if he were to be even
more honest with himself it would annoy his sister to no end.
Jaime smiles; yes, Cersei will be thoroughly displeased if he were to dance
with the Stark girl which means nothing would make him happier than to twirl
around the room alongside her. There is absolutely no denying the fact that he
would use Sansa to get at his sister and with that he set his goblet of wine
down and skirts around the crowd of people until he finally comes upon the
self-proclaimed King of the North.
“Stark,” he greets with a small bow of his head.
Robb levels him with a curious stare, his brows arching above eyes that are
identical to his sisters. “Is there something I can do for you?” Kingslayer.
The unspoken insult hangs between them just like it had with his late father
but if Jaime is well versed in anything, it’s smiling at those that think their
honour to be above his own.
“I was hoping you’d relinquish your sister for a short time. I’m sure she’d
prefer to dance rather than spend the night huddled in a corner.” Another raise
of eyebrows. “I promise to be on my best behaviour,” Jaime adds with a wink.
“My sister is of age to choose with whom she dances; you may ask her yourself.”
Well, this has become somewhat more uncomfortable. It is one thing to ask for a
dance and have the young wolf deny him his request but it’s quite another to be
denied by the lady herself. There’s no backing out now, though, as Robb moves
to the side, turning his back on the pair while Sansa keeps her gaze somewhere
in the vicinity of Jaime’s chest.
He offers her his hand, giving her nothing more than a simple, “Well?” Slowly
her eyes travel up to meet his. She doesn’t blush, does not try to act coy and
there is no smile. She does place her hand lightly within his while giving an
assenting nod of her head. Jaime turns, his hand folding around Sansa’s and
bringing them to rest at his back as he leads her into the middle of the
dancing couples. It has been a long time since he’s danced, any uncertainty
that he may have felt about possibly making an ass out of himself kept at bay
by the large quantities of wine he’s guzzled down throughout the evening.  
Thankfully, it appears the gods look upon him favourably this night for Sansa
is graceful enough for the both of them. Jaime can feel eyes upon them as they
move together and he knows their thoughts as if they are all speaking them
aloud. He held her hand as he led her.He had, and without giving a thought to
the gossip that will now follow Sansa wherever she goes. It will do her no good
to be connected with the likes of him. Jaime snorts, probably not but he’d
wager that he could get her to smile. Just what do you think you’re doing,
brother?He catches his sister’s gaze—his beautiful, whorish, deceitful
sister—and feels so completely satisfied by the irritation that briefly crosses
over her face.
Their dance ends with a lift, one that Jaime has trouble preforming with only
one working hand. She doesn’t recoil when he pushes his gold hand firmly
against her waste as he concentrates on balancing her for the few seconds he
holds her in the air. Sansa lands lightly on the balls of her feet and he
releases a discrete breath of relief; it would do no good to embarrass one’s
self when you are trying to make another irate with jealousy.
This time Jaime keeps his hand to himself as he leads them from the crowd,
Sansa following behind him until they come to the outskirts of the room. “You
look very pretty tonight,” he remarks for no other reason than to make small
talk despite the truth of it. Still, there is no smile and no blush. She
replies with a “thank you,” that is so desolately hollow it leaves Jaime
staring at her in silence. 
Just what was he supposed to do with her now? He should bid her a goodnight. He
should remove himself because her lack of reaction to him or anything else is
starting to crawl beneath his skin. Within seconds he’s forgotten his intention
to make Cersei envious and instead has turned them all towards Sansa. He wants
to pull something from her and Jaime had never been one to deny himself these
small urges. “You must feel the loss of you father greatly.”
Sansa meets his eyes and they shine brighter than the sun, sparks of ire
flickering forth and leaving him wanting more. “As great as the loss you feel
for your right hand, I’m sure.” Jaime laughs loudly at her response. Sansa
Stark has just become interesting—very interesting.
He leans into her, lowering his mouth to her ear and earning the attention of
more eyes cast in their direction. “Would you like to leave?” he asks in a
whisper.
There’s no answer, she simply turns and passes through the great arches that
lead to the gardens. Was he to follow? Does she want him to? Curiosity has
gotten the better of him and Jaime finds himself trailing after Sansa as she
guides them further away from the gathering, where the shrubs give way to much
greater bushes and the night swallows the light from the Keep. She knows her
way well, weaving her way between the greenery and following paths that he’s
never stepped foot on. Where was she taking him?
“Do you like apples?” Her question startles him in the darkness and he tracks
the faint outline of her form, waiting for his eyes to adjust. “I—uh, yes.”
Sansa stops and reaches for the branch that hangs above her; an apple tree that
he never knew existed until now. She rises up onto the tip of her toes, arm
stretching to the limit and her fingers twitching with the effort while seeking
for something that will never be within her reach. Taking pity on the young
woman, Jaime steps up behind her, his front brushing against her back as he
plucks the apple from its home and places it into her hand.
“Do you like apples, Sansa?” She stiffens before him; second reaction of the
night, he thinks. Now she was starting to seem more human in his presence and
Jaime can feel that unexplainable want building within him. He wants to toy
with her, wants to play a game and see how far he can take it. He wants to see
the fire in her eyes that surfaced when he’d mentioned her father. Why? He
doesn’t know and he isn’t entirely sure that he wants to, he just knows that
anything is better than the emptiness Cersei has left him with.
Sansa backs away from him, the crunch of the apple crisp and clean as she bites
into it. “Why are you here?” she asks as she chews. How very unladylike,
talking with her mouth full. Jaime clucks his tongue in mock reproach as he
leans his shoulder against the trunk of the tree. “I could ask you the very
same thing.”
“No.”
“No?”
Sansa takes another bite. “You followed me here, not the other way round.”
“Ah, but I am the one that asked if you wanted to leave,” he readily points
out.
“I never agreed.”
“True, but what sort of man would I be if I let you roam around out here on
your own?”
“One that is respectful of someone else’s privacy?”
Jaime chuckles. “Unfortunately, respectfulness is a quality I sorely lack.”
She lets the half eaten apple roll from her fingers and fall to the ground.
“What do you want?” she queries, voice soft yet unwavering. There’s something
more to her question, he is sure. It seems to encompass the here and now,
extending out to his life as a whole and he has no idea how to answer her
because he simply doesn’t know.
Jaime rapidly feels as if he’s losing ground, losing control of the situation,
but refuses to become ruffled by her. His determination to regain the control
he was sure he’d obtained over the situation surges. He had approached her,
he’d asked her to dance and they are here because of him and the actions he’s
taken. He pushes off the tree and closes the distance between them. Sansa
stands straight and stiff as he wraps his arm around her, the breath from her
parted lips breezing across his jaw while he slowly grazes the tips of his
fingers down her spine. She arches, trying to escape his touch and only
succeeds in pushing herself against his stomach and chest. Third reaction.
She could object to such impropriety, but she doesn’t. She could leave now and
he wouldn’t follow, but she stays. She remains pressed against him and once
again Jaime trails his fingers down her back. Sansa shifts slightly—fourth,he
counts—while letting out a puff of breath that is sweet, smelling of apple, and
Jaime considers for the first time that he may not be the only one playing a
game. He holds her to him, his hand now curled over the swell of her hip. With
his head lowered, Jaime presses his lips to Sansa’s in a brief, modest kiss.
She moves her lips against his. Fifth.
Surprising, yet it’s all the consent he needs and without thought for what he
is about to do, Jaime winds the ends of her hair around his hand, gently
pulling until her head is tipping back, then trails his lips down the length of
her neck, nipping and licking the salt from her skin until she gasps. Grazing
his teeth over her collarbone, he pushes forward until she’s rested against the
apple tree. Her hips stutter against his thigh and with a grunt of annoyance,
Jaime struggles to lift her with his right arm.
Sansa rises a few inches from the ground before her feet are once again
connected to the earth. Frustration wells up within him, his forehead pressing
against hers as he puffs out a breath over her cheek. He wasn’t sure what he
expected; laughter maybe, for her to mock him. The great Jaime Lannister can’t
even use a sword anymore, let alone fuck. Then her hand is clasping around his
neck. “Slowly,” she murmurs.
He nods and her hand threads through his hair. She probably deserves better
than this.He knows she does. Sansa wasn’t common and he knew her type with
their stories of great love and grand gestures, but life wasn’t a story. Life
was getting fucked by a one handed man that means next to nothing to her just
as she means nothing to him and he had to ask himself—why exactly was she here?
Why was she allowing a man that was tainted by a lifetime of blood and regret
touch her?
Despite the thoughts that were trickling through his mind, Jaime finds his hand
collecting up the skirts of her gown until he holds them gathered at her hip
and once again discovers himself to be in a position where he can do little
else. Instead of frustration it’s anger that propels through his body. He has
become utterly useless—he can’t do this and Sansa jumps when he slams his
golden hand against the tree trunk, her eyelids blinking rapidly as he mutters
profanities beneath his breath.
She slips out from between himself and the tree and he doesn’t try to stop her,
doesn’t bother trying to give her an explanation. He wholly anticipates her to
leave him here to wallow in the entirety of his hopelessness, so he’s
astonished when he feels her hands on his arms, small thrums of pressure from
her grip urging him to turn around. When Jaime faces her he does so with his
head bowed. He feels humiliated—pathetic, and the last thing he wants is her
pity, but it never comes.
Instead, Sansa drifts her hands to his chest where she fills them with his coat
and begins to sink to the ground before him, giving small tugs with her hands
as a clear indication that he should follow. Jaime flops against the tree,
Sansa’s hands trembling as they settle upon his chest while she steadies
herself over him. Smooth fingers ran up his neck, then those unsteady hands cup
his face, drawing it up so he can meet her eyes with his own.
A small, tentative smile graces her lips and he finds himself calmed by it in a
way. She is someone with little to no experience, and ignoring his own awkward
fumbling she most likely has nothing else to compare it to. Jaime’s confidence
is lit anew at this most evident assumption and instead of resigning to the
idea of retreating from embarrassment, he pulls the Stark girl forward to
settle more firmly in his lap.
“Do you know what you are about, Sansa Stark?” he questions mildly. She lowers
her eyes, long lashes fluttering against her cheek as Jaime tucks his hand
beneath the skirts of her gown that has puffed up around her thighs.
“I have kissed before,” she admits, seemingly shy in her own admission to a
lack of experience.
“Joffrey?”
She nods but turns her head away, causing Jaime to leave his hand to rest
halfway up her thigh. He gently kneads the smooth flesh there, fingers
periodically dipping in to caress the inside of her leg.
“Did you love him?”
Her laughter startles him, but her amusement is forefront in the face of such a
question. “Oh, on the contrary. I’m rather glad that he is dead. Does that
shock you? It shocked me when I first realised it, I’ll admit. I do not think
that I am such a good person.”
Jaime’s desire flags slightly at her omission; it is not what he expected—such
a cold detachment from one that had always been so bright. She had seemed, for
all intents and purposes, rather taken with the young prince when they had all
journeyed to the north. But, he supposed, the beheading of her father coupled
with the slaughter of the men and woman who had been in her families service
rightfully dampened any affection she would have held for Joffrey.
“It seems that I have thoroughly ruined the moment, does it not?” She smiles at
him tenderly and Jaime clears his throat, uncomfortable in his current
situation and unsure on how to proceed. “I just want to feel something,” she
confides in a low murmur, her smile replaced by the sinking of her teeth into
her plump bottom lip while she drops her chin to her chest.
Something inside of Jaime shifts, perhaps a softening for the girl that is
willing to dally with a man such as himself just to escape the darkness that
lingers within her. He recognises that darkness all too well, knows how it can
curl itself around your entire being until you’re left contemplating whether or
not the light moments in life have been but a fantasy of your own making.
With more care than he thought he could possess, Jaime tilts his head forward
and brushes his lips lightly against her forehead. “If that is your wish, it is
something that I can assist with.” He has to reign in his smirk at such a
sentiment for the words and the soft tone that he spoke them in is more
befitting a man taking up a noble cause. Instead he is a man proclaiming that
he will take away a young woman’s innocence and that is in no way noble.
Sansa hums under her breath with approval when Jaime’s hand finally continues
its path up to hook his fingers into her smalls, giving them a small yank. “The
removal of these will be imperative, I’m afraid. Or will that go against your
maidenly sensibilities?” Now he can’t keep the smile from his face at the
colour he imagines to be rising high on her cheeks; if only the night allowed
him to see such details. Once again, though, she surprises him by standing up
and slipping her hands beneath the silken skirts of her gown that rustle in the
silence as she shimmies her smallclothes down her legs, delicately stepping out
of them before lowering herself down to straddle his thighs.
Jaime wastes no time in picking up where he left off, his hand running over the
soft, supple skin that marks her youth. She doesn’t shy away when he brushes
the tips of his fingers through the coarse hair that grows between her legs, so
he endeavours to delve further with a single finger sliding between the folds
of her womanhood. She was nowhere near as aroused as he’d like her, only a hint
of dampness coating the pad of his forefinger and he can’t help but frown; no,
this would not do.
He finds the small bundle of nerves immediately, moves over it lightly in tight
circles. Sansa grinds down before bringing her hands up to grasp at his
shoulders. “Oh.” It would almost be a croon if she didn’t sound so surprised.
Jaime dips his finger down again and she feels hotter, wetter, and he gathers
it upon the tip before once more attacking her clit with the sure and practiced
rub of his hand. She shifts, moving with him, fingers digging in through his
doublet as she begins to pant out soft breaths in his ear.
He wants to taste her, to bury his face between her thighs and suck her clit
into his mouth before lashing it with his tongue. Wants to rub the roughness of
his stubble against the soft, sensitive skin of her thighs as he thrusts his
tongue within her. To feel the pressure of her legs squeezing around his head
while she trembles and shakes.
As it is, Jaime is unsure of how long their secrecy here will last and settles
for having his mouth upon her chest. “Loosen your gown,” he demands in a rasp
and she brings shaky hands to pluck and pull at the singular knot of silk that
keeps her gown fastened. The sleeves slip from her shoulders to her elbows and
the bust droops to her waist, his hand already gone from between her legs long
enough to tug her shift down, exposing soft breasts and rosy nipples beginning
to pucker as the delicate material tears.
There’s a gasp and a whimper when he takes a nipple into his mouth, flicks it
with the tip of his tongue and runs his teeth over it then sucks. “Gods.” It’s
quiet and breathy, but Jaime is sure he can hear her smile when she says it,
her fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp.
She’s practically clinging to him like a bur when he finally penetrates her
with first one, then two of his fingers, slowly sliding them into her cunt as
to give her time to adjust to the intrusion.
It’s not long before she’s shaking, not long before he can’t think of anything
other than burying his cock inside of her, because he is hard, aching, and gods
he is ready. He wants to make her come first, though, so her curls his fingers
and rubs while making a pass over her swollen clit with his thumb. Sansa bites
into his neck when she hits her peak, and what would almost be a shrill scream
is muffled by his flesh.
He could draw her out for longer but Jaime is at the point of desperation,
being far too long since he has had anything but his own hand for pleasure and
even then it is awkward and fumbling, and with his hand still wet and tacky
from Sansa’s release he’s pulling at the cords of his breeches. Her hands
follow, small and delicate, bunting his out of the way, her breathing still
unrestrained as she frees his cock from its confinement.
Jaime sighs but the relief is short lived as Sansa is motionless above him and
he’s losing his patience. He just wants. “Seven hells, Sansa, touch me,” he
demands, teeth grinding and jaw clenched.
“I-I don’t know how,” she stutters out, but her fingers are there now, the tips
of them hesitantly brushing over the head lightly; teasingly without meaning to
be, and he bucks into her touch in search for me. It’s not enough, so he wraps
his arm around her back and pulls her down atop his cock and grinds against her
wet heat, his gold hand heavy and digging into her spine.
“This will hurt,” Jaime warns as he eventually takes himself in hand. He hears
her suck in a breath and in that moment he truly feels bad for Sansa.
Beautiful, innocent girl that she is. He knows she is worthy of more, but he is
a selfish creature and not willing to forgo his own pleasure even if it’s at
the expense of her honour. The best he gives her is a brush of his lips on the
corner of her mouth and a pledge to be gentle. “No pain that isn’t necessary,”
he promises and she nods her head as she presses her face to his neck.
Then she is sinking down on him, breathtakingly slowly, enveloping the tip of
his cock, then lower, and she is so tight and hot that his head is falling back
against the tree with a thud. “Fuck,” he groans as Sansa releases hisses of
pain, but she doesn’t stop, not until she has worked her way down completely,
breaking through the barrier that marks her virtue and as far as she can go.
She’s panting again, body letting off tremors yet tense. “What now?” she asks
and Jaime almost laughs, but Gods she feels so good and he is terrified that he
will be done in an upsettingly short amount of time. “Wait,” he tells her, for
his sake as well as her own. It is agony not to fuck up into her, and Jaime
begins to touch her instead; his nose running along the line of her jaw, the
rough pads of his fingers stroking down her neck, over the bump of her clavicle
and to her breast to skim over a nipple, then to her hip.
“I think,” she begins and he tugs at her bottom lip with blunted teeth and she
gives him a small moan, “I’m ready now,” she finishes in a huff.
He takes her hand in his and guides it beneath the skirt of her gown to where
they are joined. “Rise up,” Jaime instructs. With a hand gripping his shoulder
she does and he is quick to press her fingers to his cock, pulling them up his
length until there is only the head left inside her. “Stop,” he gasps, the
smooth drag of her fluttering walls exquisite around him.
“Do you feel that?” he asks. “Stop there then lower back down.”
He’s pulling his hand away, back to clench her hip and Sansa is sinking, still
slow, still not enough. Back up again and her fingers continue to follow the
path of her cunt up his cock. He wants to watch and is cursing how irritatingly
voluminous her gown is as she lets out a small groan. “It still hurts some.”
“It will,” he tells her. “It’ll get better. Just move faster.” His head falls
forward, hiding his face against the flushed and heated skin of her neck
because he is nearly begging this girl and Jaime Lannister doesn’t beg, but
then her momentum picks up, both hands at his shoulders now and her unsure and
awkward movements become smoother, nearly flawless, and Jaime realises that he
would beg like a bumbling dullard just as long as she doesn’t stop.
“Like this?” she asks and he’s nudging at her jaw with his nose, lips and teeth
working at her neck as he pulls her closer. “Perfect. You feel perfect,” he
assures, because she does. So unbelievably tight, he hasn’t felt anything like
it in years and then she is clenching around him as she pulls up and his gut
tightens, every nerve ending becoming hyperaware and he knows that he is going
to come.
“Fuck. Sansa,” he grounds out from between clenched teeth, his body going rigid
and his hips jerking up as he releases inside her.
 
===============================================================================
 
Jaime walks Sansa to the wing that houses her and her family. She is sore and
aching between her legs and wants nothing more than to grimace in pain, but she
walks beside him just as gracefully as she has been trained to, not a single
hitch in her step and her manners composed. Her smalls are damp with a mixture
of his seed, blood and her own fluids. She never knew that coupling would
involve so much mess, but it had felt good at the beginning when he had used
his hand on her.
That is something else she has never known, that it can feel good for the
woman. Everyone had always made it sound like all there was to it was to lay
there and do your duty while the man derived his pleasure and planted the hope
of an heir within. He’d given her pleasure though, mind numbing pleasure that
made her toes curl within her slippers and her entire body to tingle and heat
up. She felt so alive. It was nothing short of astonishing and every time she
caught Jaime’s eye, Sansa couldn’t help but lightly blush.
But they were just a few rooms away now and her reality was beginning to seep
back in even with Jaime leaning against the wall; a small, satisfied smirk
tweaking his lips. “I think, Lady Sansa, that I would enjoy your company in the
future,” he tells her with all the ease of a man sated and brimming with virile
confidence. Her chest clenches because after being betrothed to a monster, a
spineless boy that had her father beheaded, who then held her captive and had
her stripped and beaten for his own amusement, afraid that each day that passed
would bring her one more step closer to death; after everything, she thinks she
might enjoy his company, too. And that is exactly why she can’t do this.
“Is that so?” she asks, purposefully tart.
He raises an eyebrow at her air, his smirk falling into a soft smile. “Yes,” he
replies. It’s so simple, no hidden connotations. Just yes. Sansa has come to
appreciate simple.
“We will see, Ser Jaime.” And he leans closer, his hand raising up to touch her
just as she steps out of his reach. “But do not hold your breath. I’d dislike
to see you perish.” With that she drops into a curtsy while he eyes her in both
amusement and confusion, and Sansa fears that he has taken her words as a
challenge when they were not meant to be so.
Jaime bows to her in turn, his movements practiced and impeccable, and takes
his leave of her, his eyes bright as he gives one last glance back at her
before he turns the corner into an adjoining corridor. She lets out a bitter
breath. She shouldn’t feel like she could become partial to him. It isn’t
supposed to be this way, she should hate him. But there is no mistaking the way
her heart had foolishly fluttered at him holding her close while brushing his
lips over her neck for a time after he had found his relief within her.
Sansa shakes her head, trying to clear her mind of such impractical thoughts as
she steps into her family’s quarters. If she had been paying attention she
would have heard the arguing from the solar door. As it is, she stands still,
startled, as she watches her mother and Robb bickering back and forth as Jeyne
Westerling—nay, she is Stark, now—sits on in uncomfortable silence.
“She is your younger sister. Sixteen, Robb, and you have given her the task of
a common slattern.” Sansa’s mouth pops open a little then closes, like a fish.
She has never heard her mother speak so vulgarly before.
“She was a prisoner of war, her reputation is dashed to all seven hells. I’ve
tried to make her a good match but nobody wants the girl that was stripped
practically naked and beaten before all the court.”
Her mother is crying, big salty tears dampening her cheeks because she knows
the truth of it. “So you want her to what, spread her legs for that man and
hope he gets a child on her?”
“I know it sounds ridiculous, but he would have to marry her then, if he has
any honour, and it would give us a positive tie to the Lannisters. The child
would be the heir to Casterly Rock and half Stark.”
“And if he has no honour? If he has no interest in her what so ever? What does
she do then, hope that no one noticed her flirtations towards him?”
And then her brother his hanging his head. In defeat or shame, Sansa is not
sure, and although she loves Robb dearly there is a black spot on her heart
that stops her from feeling too much empathy for him. He knows just as well as
she does that if he had only traded Ser Jaime for her in the beginning that
none of this would be an issue.
She wants to go to Robb and hug him, assure him that he did the best he could,
but that dark spot, that small bit of resentment holds her back and she is
clearing her throat instead. Her mother is quickly wiping at her cheeks, a
false smile coming to curl at her lips.
“The night has been long and I’m tired,” she announces. “I think I may retire
for the evening.”
She is in her bed chamber before anyone can utter a word and when there is a
knock and the door opens after her Sansa expects her mother, but it is her
brothers little wife with an unsure smile on her lips that steps through the
frame.
“Would you like help with your hair?” she asks sweetly, because she is sweet,
and so uncommonly kind.
Sansa agrees with a nod and she finds Jeyne to take great care in the task,
finding every pin with gentle fingers and brushing her hair from root to tip
until it shines.
“Robb tells me that Ser Jaime asked you to dance.”
“Yes,” Sansa confirms, not willing to give any more than necessary.
“Do you think it’s working then, putting yourself within his notice over the
past fortnight?”
Yes, she thinks,it did work. But Sansa doesn’t want anyone to know that and she
feels utterly ashamed by it. She doesn’t want to trick him. She doesn’t want to
trick anyone. Why can’t she just go home? She doesn’t care if she never
marries, she just doesn’t want to be here.
“I think he was just being polite,” she ends up saying, guilt setting in
because she should be revealing what happened between her and Ser Jaime, but
she just can’t bring herself to. It was a small escape from all the lies,
plotting and death and she wants to treasure it, keep it as her own.
“Oh, well, it is our duty to endeavour to succeed,” Jeyne says with a
reassuring smile.
It makes Sansa clench her fists into the skirts of her gown and she has to make
the effort to control the sound of her breathing as it starts to puff from her
nose, the bitterness from earlier rising up like sickly bile in her chest.
Duty, she thinks. Was Robb doing hisdutywhen he bedded you after already
agreeing to marry a Frey?
Her returning smile is tight. “Yes, duty. Of course.” Maybe she would see Ser
Jaime again, but with intentions of her own rather than her brothers and his
duty.
End Notes
     Ugh! This is the first sex scene I have written in forever. *chews
     nails*
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