Work Text:
280 AC
“But why must it be Sansa? I am the older daughter!” howls Lyanna Stark unapologetically, even as her younger sister sits beside her.
“And as my older daughter, I’ve already betrothed you to Robert Baratheon.”
“Then break the betrothal and give him Sansa. Why should she have a prince when all I get is a lord?”
“No,” Rickard grunts out. His daughter may be a wolf, but so is he. Her bark is louder, but his bite digs deeper. “Lyanna, you will marry Robert Baratheon. Sansa, Brandon will pledge for you in the tourney. If he should win, you will marry Prince Rhaegar. Do you two girls understand me?”
“Yes, Father,” agrees his younger daughter, so pleasing and regal, whose red hair looks like summer and whose manner is just as warm. He thanks the Gods for this child, though he does not know where she comes from. This child looks nothing like the Starks of old and acts far from wolf-like. He loves her fiercely, though. This child gives him no grief.
Lyanna does not agree. She huffs and stomps out of the room, but he will not stop her. He will not punish her because for all her show, Lyanna will not defy her father.
xXx
“They have broken their treaty to Dorne! Elia is the rightful princess, and Aerys has overlooked her! He’s overlooked Dorne.”
“Oberyn, calm yourself,” his brother urges. “You can still participate in the tournament on Elia’s behalf. She can still rule beside Prince Rhaegar. You are one of the best fighters in Westeros.”
“I will not,” vows the Viper.
“You would deny our sister the opportunity to be Princess of the Seven Kingdoms?”
In Oberyn’s fury, he charges at his brother, though he is not inclined to harm Prince Doran. “That throne is her right. I will not have her insulted like this, competing for a betrothal that is explicitly hers by treaty.”
“Elia wants to marry Prince Rhaegar. She wants to be his Princess.”
“She already is a princess. She has no need for him.”
They never speak of it again, and Prince Doran must now find a suitable husband for his sister.
xXx
Pride is his face, fury his father’s. It’s been this way since King Aerys named him for the Kingsguard, and since Cersei’s betrothal to Rhaegar was dismissed. Now that the tournament is announced, Cersei has a chance to marry the prince again. Since Queen Rhaella has no daughter, King Aerys wants to make sport out of finding a bride for his son.
Pride is his face, victory his sister’s.
“You will win for me, Jaime,” she tells him. “You will make me a princess.”
“I will fight as hard as I can for you. I always want you to be happy.”
“Of course you do. You are my closest friend, and now we will never be separated. I always knew I was meant to marry Rhaegar, and now you’ll stay in King's Landing to protect us. That’s why I suggested it to the King.”
Her twin freezes. “He did not call me to serve on his own?”
“Grow up, Jaime. While you concern yourself with swords, there’s a greater game to be played.”
xXx
Valyrian steel sings, and so few wield it these days that everyone gathers to hear the song. In this tournament, Catelyn Tully looks on proudly while her betrothed cuts down every one of his opponents. He fights with Ice, the large ancestral sword of House Stark, and he wields the obscenely heavy object with such ease and skill. She sits between her sister, whose knight has already been defeated, and Brandon’s younger brother.
“I did not know Lord Brandon was such a great swordsman.”
Ned smiles. “One of the best in Westeros, my lady.”
“If he continues like this, your sister will be princess.”
They spare a look down the row at Lady Sansa. She is young, only thirteen years old, and she watches Brandon fight with a wide smile on her face. Lady Lyanna only glowers.
“He will continue like this,” Ned says plainly, and he does.
Sweat dripping down his face, blood pooling above his eyebrow, Brandon Stark is named the champion of the tournament.
“Lord Brandon Stark, whose champion are you?” Prince Rhaegar shouts above the commotion.
Brandon sheaths his sword and finds his family in the crowd. “My sister's, the Lady Sansa Stark.”
Sansa rises then, beautiful and steady, while the rest remain seated. Everyone rakes their eyes over their new princess, judging and admiring. She meets her brother and links her arm with his. Her palms are sweaty. She is nervous, though she does not show it. Brandon walks her over to Prince Rhaegar, eight years her senior.
Please like me, she begs.
Prince Rhaegar takes her hand and presses a light kiss to her knuckles. She curtsies with a blush upon her face.
“My princess,” he whispers. He is so handsome, and his voice is so kind. Her heart belongs to him.
xXx
“You lost,” Cersei rages at him, nails digging into the skin of his chest.
“There were many fighters who have been fighting longer than I. I placed third. That’s something.”
“You would have me be the third wife to a prince?” she demands. “You would place two before me?”
“These are the Targaryens. They do have a history of taking more than one. Perhaps you’re still in the running,” he replies cheekily.
She’s leaving for Casterly Rock in the morning. Their father leaves with her and their aunt Genna Lannister. He will be the only lion left in the Red Keep, though his red armor is now gold and hidden beneath a white cloak.
He’s been in the Kingsguard long enough now to learn some details about the royal family. King Aerys likes fire. Prince Rhaegar likes songs. Prince Viserys likes to outrun his nurse. Queen Rhaella is always left alone. Lady Sansa, he’s never spoken to. He’s never protected her, but he knows she is young. He knows she is not ready to come to this awful place. Every day he wears the cloak and hears the screams, he realizes he was not ready either.
xXx
“Has she even flowered, do you think?” Rhaegar asks his mother on one of his daily visits to Maegor's Holdfast. His father locks her in there to make sure she is faithful to him. He's brought her a budding rose from the gardens, and she smiles thankfully. Her fingers gently play with the crimson petals. Rhaegar notices they are the same shade of his bride's hair.
“Of course, she has. She would not be eligible otherwise.”
“She is so young.”
“She will grow,” Rhaella assures him. “And she will grow to be even more beautiful than I hear she already is. You know how these things work. Youth is best for wives and age is best for wines. She has time to give you many heirs. Learn to love her, my precious boy.”
“Yes, Mother.” He turns to walk away from her, but she calls him back, and her voice is grave when she does.
“Whatever you do, promise me you will never hurt her.”
He kisses her cheek. “I promise.”
xXx
She is not allowed any of her own ladies from Winterfell. She is alone at court. After the wedding, her family will leave her. She will miss them, especially sweet Ned and little Benjen. Brandon will always be special to her because it is her eldest brother who has made her a princess. She will not miss her older sister as much. Lyanna looks at her like she wants her to die.
“Will you always hate me?” she asks the morning of her wedding, when Lyanna cannot avoid her any longer. Handmaidens have been fawning over her all morning, bathing her and styling her hair, rubbing oils into her skin.
“For as long as I live,” Lyanna vows.
“I did not know you wanted so badly to be a princess. You never acted like it.”
Lyanna rolls her eyes. “You’ve always been so stupid.”
“Sometimes I wish I could give this up, so we may be friends, but you didn’t even love me in Winterfell.”
“I’ve never loved you.”
Tears well in Sansa’s eyes. She will be a princess come sundown, but she has never felt so vulnerable. “Why?” she begs to know. Why did you never twirl around the solar with me? Why did you never tell me stories about our mother when it wasn’t fair that you remember her more than I do? Why did you never invite me riding with you? Why did you never love me like you love our brothers? Why did you never love me like I love you?
Lyanna shakes her head. “So stupid,” she spits out and leaves the room.
xXx
Ser Jaime and Ser Arthur stand outside the door of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Sansa. She bore the bedding ceremony well, but now that they are alone in the room together, Ser Jaime fully expects to hear her screams like he hears the queen’s. He fully expects he will be forced to stand outside another room and do nothing while an innocent suffers.
The screams never come. Prince Rhaegar must be different from the King he serves, the king who depends on wildfire more and more.
The prince does not stay longer than the act requires. He marches out of the chamber and does not meet the eyes of his guards, though Ser Arthur follows behind him. Arthur is charged to protect the prince. Jaime, as the newest member of the Kingsguard, is responsible for the newest member of the royal family.
The princess pokes her head out of the chamber a little while later, fully clothed with a frown on her face. “I thought my prince would be back by now for bed. Do you know where he went, Ser Jaime?”
He shakes his head. “No, my princess.”
Arthur whispers it to him the next morning, Prince Rhaegar’s mysterious destination. He does not have to be told never to tell another soul.
xXx
Prince Rhaegar does not spend much time at all with his young wife. Even at night, they sleep in separate chambers. He visits her occasionally, but these visits are fruitless. Months later, there is no sign of an heir in the works.
She is always kind to him when they are together. She smiles politely and asks about his day, comments about the weather, speaks about her lessons. She is young and still requires further education by a septa. There are times the prince invites her to listen to him play the harp, and these are the moments she is happiest. Ser Jaime believes she still has faith that her prince may love her one day. Maybe he will, but Ser Jaime grows more cynical every day, and he doesn’t know if it is possible for the dragon prince to love his wolf bride.
Really, he thinks inviting her to listen to his harp is strictly for Rhaegar’s benefit. He wonders if it resolves some of the guilt the man feels for bedding her. Perhaps he has to make her smile with a little song before he tries to bed her again. Any day that he invites Sansa to the gardens, he ends the day with a visit to her bedchamber. He still never stays with her the whole night, and there is still no son in her belly.
Prince Rhaegar relies heavily on signs from the gods, and he seeks out their omens. Enough time has passed in this marriage for Sansa to have had one child already. If Sansa is not with child, the gods must not bless this marriage.
The notion does not bother Ser Jaime until King Aerys begins to wonder about it as well, and King Aerys’s intervention is a time for great concern. The king forbids Rhaegar from sleeping in a separate room and demands that he bed his wife every night. He even assigns someone to watch them for confirmation and report back to the king. It is only after this decree that Ser Jaime starts to hear the noises outside his princess’s door.
She is in pain. One night is not enough to recover from the soreness of the last. She is a perfect lady, and he knows she must be trying everything she can to suppress her discomfort. This is why it hurts him even more every time a yelp leaves her lips. He has admiration for Prince Rhaegar, but it escapes in this situation.
Without thinking, his hand tugs at his sword, but Ser Arthur calls his attention.
“No, Jaime,” he says.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it.”
“Try not to be so impulsive, especially not here. You’ll get yourself killed.”
xXx
King Aerys calls Sansa to the throne room more as she requires less time with her septa. She stands beside her husband and looks over her shoulder to make sure Ser Jaime is still posted by the wall. He always is, he never leaves her unprotected, but she likes to check all the same.
“You’ve been plotting!” he yells at a man whose identity is unknown to Sansa. The king’s voice is furious and his manner unsettling.
The man falls to his feet. “No, your grace, I would never. I swear it. I never said anything.”
“You mean to instill my son over me!”
“No, absolutely not!”
Sansa has never seen anyone so afraid. This man’s forehead rests against the floor, and tears run down his cheeks. He shivers wildly. She decides then he must be innocent. When the trial comes, the man will prove his innocence.
“Lord Rossart, if it pleases you.”
The man is tied up, and the fire ignited.
“My prince, what about a trial?” she frantically asks her husband while the man screams for mercy.
Rhaegar clutches her hand and does his best to comfort her discreetly. There is no comforting her. She wants to cover her ears, but Rhaegar stops her.
“My father will see. You must bear it,” he whispers to her.
She may have to hear it, but she can’t bear to watch. She looks around the room. She thinks there must be over a hundred people present. Over a hundred people, but not one brave enough to defy a mad king. Over her shoulder, her eyes rest on Ser Jaime. He is watching, though his jaw is set in anger. Eventually, he looks away, and their eyes meet. There is no chance of him reassuring her here. The screams of that unknown man, the smell of his flesh melting, the heat from the flames—all of it will haunt her for the rest of her life.
xXx
“We’re going to see Sansa again,” Benjen says to Ned with a gleam in his eyes as they ride to Harrenhal. He’s missed her fourteenth nameday, and she’s missed his twelfth in the year they’ve been separated, but the wolf will finally be reunited with her pack again.
She hugs him tightly and plays with his hair. Benjen loves to play with Lyanna, but she is always rough with him. Sansa’s touch is gentle as he imagines a mother’s would be. He cannot sit beside her at the tournament. She sits with King Aerys and young Prince Viserys while Prince Rhaegar participates in the ceremonies.
Everyone adores the prince. Even his sister Lyanna sheds a tear during one of Rhaegar’s songs. He can’t help poking fun at her, but his laughs end when she pours wine over his head. Sansa may be the younger sister, but he knows Sansa never would have done that.
Benjen has never seen Prince Rhaegar fight. There was no need for him to participate in the last tournament, but now Benjen sees how strong a fighter the man is. Prince Rhaegar unseats his brother Brandon, and Benjen has never seen his brother cast down like that. The Prince unseats Ser Arthur Dayne, known as The Sword of the Morning. The final tilt has Benjen edging out of his seat. It’s the prince against Ser Barristan Selmy, the most honorable man and greatest warrior known.
The crowd's applause is deafening when Prince Rhaegar unseats him.
His sister Sansa looks on at her husband proudly, applauding him from her seat. A squire hands the prince a crown of blue winter roses, likely chosen because Sansa is from the North. It’s time for her crown. His eyes fix on the box for the royal family, but then Prince Rhaegar’s horse passes by them.
Benjen thinks it must be a mistake. Rhaegar has to turn around. But the horse moves farther from Sansa and closer to them until the Prince is close enough for Benjen to see the violet of his eyes. Rhaegar places the crown in Lyanna’s lap.
“The queen of love and beauty,” he declares.
xXx
“May I have a moment alone, Ser Jaime?” she asks, wandering the edge of the forest, looking into it as if she wants to lose herself in the woods.
“You know I cannot leave you.”
“Just this once.”
“I’ve sworn a vow.”
She has held her tears since her sister was crowned, but his statement calls for them to spill. “So did he,” she cries.
Jaime remembers. He was present at their wedding when Rhaegar pledged his love for her with a kiss, when they were made one body, one soul, one flesh. He was present the next morning when Arthur told him that Rhaegar had visited Lyanna Stark for the night, though he will not reveal this detail to his princess now.
“I wish I never said my vows to him,” she admits. “I wish Brandon had pledged for Lyanna instead.”
She wipes furiously at the tears and takes a deep breath. She cannot be away from everyone long, but he knows how humiliating it must be for her when no one can stop talking about the scandal.
“Prince Rhaegar may not realize it, but I think he got the better Stark the first time,” he tells her.
She smiles at him gratefully. In the bright sun, her smile shines and her features glow. No one is better suited to wear the crown of winter roses than Princess Sansa. To admit her beauty is one matter, but he fears there is more to it as he follows her back to the masses. He fears he is falling love with her.
xXx
“Sansa, I am sorry.”
Sansa used to have only kind words for her sister. Sansa used to beg for her attention. Those days are over now.
“No, you are not,” she accuses.
“Truly, I did not mean for him to humiliate you that way.”
The princess’s eyes narrow. Her shoulders stiffen. Her voice unveils her anger, which Lyanna has never known from her.
“Then why do you still wear the crown?”
xXx
“I’m going to kill him,” Robert tells him, and he is so serious when he says it.
Ned knows Rhaegar has insulted House Baratheon and House Stark, but he does not want to call for violence just yet.
“You shouldn’t say that.”
“I mean it, Ned. With one swing of my hammer, I’ll end him. He’s dishonored my betrothed and both of your sisters.”
“You are still the one who will marry Lyanna. His spectacle changes nothing. It is best that we return to the Eyrie with our heads intact.”
What started as an exciting affair ends grimly, and he kisses his sisters goodbye with an extra prayer on his mind for each. After months in the Eyrie, the news comes. Rhaegar Targaryen has abducted Lyanna Stark.
xXx
“Promise me everything will be all right.”
“More than all right. Everything will be perfect, my love. It always will be if we’re together.” His words are exactly what she wants to hear, and she presses another kiss to his lips, thinking this is how everything was meant to be.
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
In their passion she forgets the prince’s broken promises to her younger sister.
xXx
Her presence is demanded in the throne room. Her heart stops. Rhaegar has left her. There is no one between her and King Aerys. Ser Jaime escorts her, and even the safety she has found in him is false. Ser Jaime is sworn to the king, not her. She kneels at the throne.
“Your brother Brandon has decided to pay us a visit, threatening to kill Rhaegar. What do you have to say for this?”
She feels sick, but even through the sound of her heartbeat booms through her ears, she finds words.
“My brother is wrong to say these things. They are spoken out of fear for our sister. Please let me speak to him and tell him that everything is all right. He will not disturb us again if I tell him.”
Her husband’s father laughs maniacally. “It is too late for that, my child.”
“Please, your grace, may I see him?”
“Yes,” he agrees. “When your father arrives, you’ll see them both. I’ve called for Lord Rickard Stark to answer for his crimes. They will be tried together.”
Halfway back to her chamber, she collapses and relies on Ser Jaime to support her the rest of the way.
xXx
“Benjen, you will be the Stark in Winterfell while I am gone.”
“But, Father, please, I want to go with you. Please, I will help you defend our family.”
“No. You will stay in Winterfell. Sometimes staying put is the hardest thing to do, but you must. For Lyanna and Sansa. For Brandon and Ned. For me. Winter is coming.”
“Winter is coming,” he repeats.
xXx
Honorable Rickard Stark is not prepared to battle madness, Jaime muses. The man is dressed for battle as his daughter looks on anxiously. King Aerys has forced her to attend her father’s trial by combat. With Rhaegar gone, Viserys training, and Rhaella locked away as usual, Sansa Stark is the only other member of the royal family.
The court is confused. They do not see anyone ready to fight Lord Stark.
“Who is your champion?” Lord Stark asks the king.
“Fire.”
The pyromancers suspend the Lord of Winterfell from the rafters while the court looks on, while Princess Sansa looks on. She is the palest he’s ever seen her, standing close to the throne.
“Your grace, please, my father was not prepared for this kind of battle.”
It’s obvious no one can believe she’s spoken up. The king is not outraged by her interruption. Instead he calls her to stand beside him, so she stands directly next to the Iron Throne. Her father still hangs there, helpless to fight should the king choose to punish her. The king wraps an arm around her waist, anchoring in place.
“I do believe I made a promise to you, dear girl. Bring me Brandon Stark!”
Sansa’s knees weaken, and she tries to wrench away from the king’s hold on her. He hugs her tighter, pressing kisses to her cheek and wandering his hands along her body. Sansa’s cries echo through the room for everyone to hear.
Arthur always told him his impulsiveness would mark his grave.
“Your, grace,” he calls. “It is yet to be confirmed, but Princess Sansa believes she is with child. I tell you this because I am sworn to protect you, your grace, and therefore I must protect your heirs. I fear that any stress may cause Princess Sansa to lose the child.”
He may be mad, but he takes the succession very seriously. “Ser Jaime, take her to her chamber. Pycelle, you will examine her there immediately.”
“Yes, your grace,” both men reply in unison.
He gets her out of the throne room before she can see the Tyroshi strangling device Aerys means to use on her brother. Sansa shakes all the way to the chamber. Outside the door, Jaime grabs Pycelle by the arm and whispers urgently to the man, “The Lannisters will be in your debt if you can find a baby in the princess’s womb. I will make sure my father knows.”
There is a smirk on the older man’s face. Tywin Lannister has made lots of friends from his time as Hand of the King. “I understand, ser.”
He may have saved the princess from the throne room, but there is no way for him to save Lord Brandon or Lord Stark, just as there is no way to intervene in the executions of the men who had accompanied Lord Brandon. She does not hear the screams of her father as he roasts in his armor, and she does not see her brother strangle himself. Still, while the grandmaester congratulates her for a child that does not exist, she knows in her heart they are dying. A part of her is dying with them.
xXx
“It feels like a betrayal to Brandon to take you as my wife.”
“You need the Riverlands,” Catelyn reminds Ned. “Now more than ever.”
“I do. And you were raised to be Lady Stark for years.”
“Sometimes I feel like I’ve spent more time at Winterfell than Riverrun.”
“Your father wants us to marry tomorrow before we march south.”
She nods solemnly, mulling over how quickly things change, how much less innocent she feels. The king killed her betrothed. Her father rebels against the throne now. She and Lysa will both be married to men who are rebelling against the throne. She fears what will happen to everyone she loves if they lose.
“I am ready to be Lady Stark,” she tells him, biting back her nervousness, but her expression must give her away.
“You don’t have to lie to me. I’m not ready to be Lord Stark either.”
xXx
Ned is coming for her. Every morning he gets closer, and she wakes praying to the gods for his safety. Locked away in Maegor’s Holdfast from everyone else, the only one she ever sees is Grandmaester Pycelle, as it was for Queen Rhaella. She knows there is always a member of the Kingsguard outside her door, but no one is allowed inside her room except the grandmaester. Even food and drink are left outside for Pycelle to bring in.
With no reason to examine her, he talks instead, bringing news, condemning her traitor brother, but she is happy when he condemns Ned because she learns information about the war in this way.
Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys have been evacuated to Dragonstone, where the queen will deliver her new baby any day now. The king means to evacuate Sansa’s child once she delivers but, in the meantime, she must be kept as a hostage. The grandmaester tells the king that Sansa will be ready to deliver in a month. She prays that Ned arrives before then.
xXx
Ser Jaime is the last kingsguard left. The other six are gone. He is the last one to do his king’s bidding. The king listened to Pycelle and let his father’s armies into the city. Outside the walls of the Red Keep, the Lannister armies are butchering men and raping women.
Half a million people in King’s Landing are suffering. As the only defense left in the Red Keep, it is his responsibility to organize negotiations with the attackers. The king is not receptive to this idea.
“Rossart,” the king orders. “Ignite the wildfire beneath the city.”
“All of the caches, your grace?”
“Burn them. Burn them all. If Robert Baratheon wants Kings Landing, he can have it, but we will leave him nothing but ashes and bones.”
Rossart is about to depart. Half a million people are about to burn.
“Your grace, I am sworn to protect you. It would be wrong to let you burn alongside your people.”
“Do not fear, Ser Jaime,” the king declares. “Fire cannot kill a dragon. Go now, Rossart. And Ser Jaime, bring me your father’s head.”
Half a million. Your father. Your princess. You. Half a million. Half a million.
Rossart is slain in an instant. Jaime’s sword pierces through him quite easily. The king begins to flee in fear, and Jaime knows the man will take any chance to call the order to another pyromancer. He runs up the steps to the throne, but Jaime grabs him by his back and throws him down. He slits his king’s throat before the order can be given.
He can’t help but stare at the two men he’s just slain and wearily sits down upon the Iron Throne before his father’s men burst in.
They arrive and only want to talk about who will be the next king. Jaime doesn’t have anything to add to the conversation, but now that he knows he is not going to die today, he has one last matter of business.
xXx
“Princess Sansa!”
She recognizes Ser Jaime’s voice outside her door. It sounds urgent.
“Ser Jaime, what is happening?”
“Keep away from the door,” he tells her. She retreats to a far corner and hears as the knight tries to break the door down. When his brute force does not work, she thinks he is trying to slice through the locking mechanism with his sword. She hears the clang of metals colliding. Eventually, it works, and she is face to face with Ser Jaime Lannister, his green eyes and golden hair. She has not seen his face in months.
He rushes to her. There is blood on his hands, his sword, his cloak, but he does not frighten her.
“The king is dead, my princess. Your brother will be here any minute now.”
“If he is not here, who killed the king?” she asks.
He throws his sword down on the ground. “I did,” he admits quietly, shame burning on his features. “I killed him. I broke my vow.”
She is compelled to take his hand. “I think it can be forgiven, ser. We all know what Aerys was. You have saved us all.”
He squeezes her hand. “Are you all right?” he asks gently.
Aerys is dead. Ned is coming. She is free. “Yes.”
xXx
“I’m telling you, Jaime Lannister should live out the rest of his days on the Wall.”
Robert groans. “Ned, he did our work for us. I’m pardoning him, and he has the choice to remain in the Kingsguard or take his place back as Tywin’s heir.”
“Your Grace, what he has done—’’
“Oh, spare me, Ned! Nothing about the Targaryens was honorable! Honor would not have defeated them. I don’t care how you feel about the way the Lannisters handled things. It doesn’t matter. The Targaryens are gone. We’ve recovered one of your sisters, but Lyanna is still missing. That is the focus right now, not what will be done with Jaime fucking Lannister!”
xXx
“You’ve chosen to be dismissed from the Kingsguard?” Sansa asks. She is no longer his princess. She is still staying in the Red Keep for now, and she’s sitting in a window at the moment, looking out at the city. There is enough space in that window for two, he decides, and sits beside her.
“I think I’ve had my fill of King's Landing,” he tells her with a rueful smile. He may only be seventeen, but his eyes have seen their fair share in those years, and his eyes are tired.
“I think I have, too.”
He tells her the news that Queen Rhaella died in childbirth. He knows the news will cause her more pain, but he doesn’t want her to hear it from someone in the castle gloating about another victory. She shakes her head.
“No, she died of a broken heart,” she insists. “I am sorry to you, ser, for the death of Prince Rhaegar. I know the two of you were friends.”
“I should be offering you condolences. He was your husband.”
“I stopped loving him long ago. When he chose Lyanna and took her from us. When he started all this mess. If he was still alive, he would say it was all my fault. The gods saw fit to punish us because I broke my vow to love him.”
“He would say that, but it would not be true.”
She will be leaving with her brother soon. Jaime knows Ned is desperate to get away from his family. It will also be time for Sansa to remarry. He’s already heard whispers of betrothing her to King Robert’s brother Stannis, a match ill made.
“Thank you for your protection while I was princess, especially for what you did to get me out of the throne room that day. The Mad King could have burned you alive for interfering. I wish my brother would not say such harsh words about you.”
He smiles at her fondly. “Don’t worry. I can handle Ned Stark, sour as he may be, though not nearly as serious as Stannis Baratheon, from what I hear.”
Sansa stiffens. “Why do you mention Stannis?”
“I’ve heard the rumors.”
“It’s just talk,” she says. “Nothing’s been decided yet. He’s not even at court. He’s taking Dragonstone.”
“Which King Robert means to give him. You don’t belong at Dragonstone.”
“I do not wish to be Lady of Dragonstone,” she admits.
“Have you told your brother that?”
“I will if another lord will have me, but lords are a little hesitant to marry a Targaryen widow these days.”
“Done.” The word is out of his mouth before he can stop it, and he can see the shock on Sansa’s face. With no reply from her, nervousness spurs more words. “I know I am less honorable than Stannis. I know they call me Kingslayer now.”
“I don’t care about that,” she says. The look in her eyes sends his heart racing. It is hopeful, even joyous, something he has not seen in her eyes in such a long time. “I know you are an honorable man.”
“I broke my vow.”
“But I know what he was, and I know you had to. You are as honorable as any Stark in my eyes.”
For a selfish moment, he wishes he had taken the throne for himself just to make Sansa the queen she always deserved to be. He reaches for her hand. “Do you think you could be happy at Casterly Rock?” he asks her.
She surprises him by brushing a kiss to their intertwined fingers. “I think I can be happy with you.”
xXx
“Jaime Lannister?” Ned demands. “You are considering marriage to the Kingslayer.”
“Don’t call him that,” she protests. “You have no idea how he has looked out for me these years I have been here, how kind he has been.”
“I know you think other lords will not want you because of your status as Rhaegar’s widow, but you are still a Stark. You are a very beautiful, young lady. You have options. Many lords will want you.”
“I want him.”
“No.”
“Please, grant me this one request. Please let me have Jaime.”
“He shouldn’t be allowed to return to Casterly Rock. The king should have sent him to the Wall with the other criminals.”
“I marry Jaime, or I marry no one.”
“Are you serious, Sansa?”
“I am.”
She is so willful, she reminds him of Lyanna, and his heart aches to recover their sister. He doesn’t know what Jaime Lannister has promised her, what false words of love he’s whispered in her ear, but he will not give her his blessing. He will not give his sister to the Kingslayer.
He departs to Dorne to recover Lyanna in the morning. Sansa does not offer him a warm farewell.
xXx
Lyanna has had plenty of time to think in the Tower of Joy. She thinks about her life, love, and her actions. She thinks about her family. She knows now that her brother and father were killed by the king. She knows that Robert killed Rhaegar at the Trident. Sansa, Benjen, and Ned are alive, but she will not be much longer.
Ned comes to her in her final moments. He is there to hold her hand and shower her with comfort.
“I’m so sorry,” she says to him.
“It’s not your fault.”
Oh, but it is, she wants to tell him, but she cannot bear to have him angry with her before she dies.
“When you go back and you see Benjen, tell him how much I love him. And tell Sansa too. Tell her I’m sorry I said such awful things to her and tell her I did love her when we were children. Tell them I’m sorry.” She reaches out to touch the cheek of her older brother. “I love you, Ned. I am so glad you’re here now.”
“Me, too, Lyanna. We’re going to get you out of here and take you home.”
“Ned, I’m never leaving here.”
He denies it, but the truth is clear on his face. She is going to die here. “Ned, promise me.” She pulls his face lower and whispers in his ear. “Promise me.”
xXx
“Who will you marry now that my brother won’t let it be me?” she wonders on his last night in King’s Landing. He and his father are leaving in the morning. She isn’t free of the capital yet. She has to wait for Ned and Lyanna.
“No one,” he tells her. The night air is cold, but she thinks the moon is too beautiful not to look at and her companion too handsome in the moonlight.
“Your father will make you.”
“I will not love whoever my father chooses. And if I remember correctly, you’ve only given me leave to break one vow,” he teases, trying to get a smile from her. It doesn’t work. She is too melancholy. “I will not swear words I cannot keep.”
“I’m going to ask Ned again when he returns.”
“His answer will be the same, Sansa.”
“It might not be. He’ll be happier when Lyanna is here.”
Jaime is doubtful, but hope is all Sansa has, and she does not intend to let go of it. “I did not know I loved you until there was a chance for us to marry. I am not letting that chance slip away,” she tells him.
He smiles softly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s where we differ. I loved you from afar. I can love you from afar as long as I need to.”
xXx
When Ned arrives without Lyanna and with a bastard baby in his arms, Sansa crumbles against the door of her chamber. Why does House Stark receive so much suffering?
“She will be buried at Winterfell,” Ned tells her. “I intend to have statues for both Brandon and Lyanna.”
“What do you call your boy?” she asks.
“Jon.”
She wants to scream at him for being a dishonorable man. How dare he insult Jaime when he fathers a bastard, especially while his wife cares for their newborn at Riverrun? The words are hot on her tongue before he speaks first.
“I have decided to consent to a betrothal between you and Jaime Lannister.”
“Really?”
“With Lyanna’s loss, I would prefer to keep the sister I still have.”
She takes her brother’s hand. “I am so thankful for this, Ned.”
“One last thing, Sansa. In Lyanna’s final moment,” Ned’s voice wavers. “Lyanna wanted you to know that she was sorry, and she wanted you to know that she loved you.”
xXx
She is finally leaving the Red Keep. She vows to never return to King’s Landing. Ned is escorting her west, his last mission before he will be reunited with Catelyn and his newborn son. Casterly Rock is two weeks away, and with every step of the horses, she feels lighter. Her years in King’s Landing will always haunt her just as she is sure they will haunt Jaime, and this is one of the reasons they are drawn so closely to each other.
Her breath is taken away when she sees the castle upon the Sunset Sea. It is a fortress, and it offers the strength she needs. She loves it. Jaime is waiting for her. He embraces her when she arrives, tells her how much he's missed her, how happy he was when he received word that they could marry.
Tywin Lannister has no issue with consenting to the marriage, but he and Ned will sit down soon to discuss terms of an alliance between the North and the West with this development. Tywin is not as concerned with the details of this marriage as he is the betrothal of his daughter Cersei to King Robert. The longer Ned stays at Casterly Rock, Sansa fears he will change his mind again, but it never happens.
Before their wedding in the sept, Jaime and Sansa say their own private vows to each other, one after the other, vows that have meaning to them but are not a part of the ceremony.
“I vow to be faithful.”
“I vow to protect you.”
“To hold you through the nightmares.”
“To think of you above all else.”
“To make you happy.”
They list everything that comes to their minds before it is time for Jaime to stand beside a septon in the Sept of Lannisport. Sansa walks in on her brother’s arm, the most beautiful he has ever seen her. He smiles at her reassuringly, and the closer she gets, the lighter he feels. He wraps her in a crimson Lannister cloak, and they are bound forever in union, sacred vows upon their lips.