She was a fierce thing, for all her appearances at the ceremony. Jaime hadn't been sure what he'd been expecting from a girl whose kidnapping had sparked a rebellion that ended in the downfall of a dynasty, but whatever he imagined, Lyanna Stark wasn't it. She wasn't especially beautiful, considering how many great lords had gone to war for her, though she wasn't unattractive. Her dark curls, long face and grey eyes leant her a certain hard, wild northern beauty, but she couldn't even begin to compare to Cersei. It was likening a candle flame to the sun itself. However, Jaime really didn't care what his wife-to-be looked like; she wasn't his sister, she wasn't his other half, and never would be. For that reason, she would always be lacking.

The solemn, quiet girl he met the day before their wedding - held shortly after Robert and Cersei's - did not match up with the stories he'd heard of the she-wolf of Winterfell. His little wife's wild looks seemed somewhat strange when paired with her subdued personality. She spoke clearly but quietly, and though she repeated her courtesies, if a little coldly, she did not smile, nor did those words sound natural from her mouth. She was her brother Eddard in every respect, solemn, serious and reserved. And it didn't suit her one bit.

Jaime wondered if she'd been like that before the war. Gods knew he'd changed enough after spending the past three years of guarding the Mad King and witnessing everything that came with that. Lyanna Stark had spent that time at the mercy of Rhaegar, who'd taken her from her family, forcefully impregnated her with his bastard son, then left her in the mountains of Dorne to go off and get himself killed at the Trident. Said bastard had then been taken from her after her rescue, and was due to be sent to be raised in the cold, frozen north with his uncle, the equally cold, frozen Lord Stark. Truly, he didn't blame the girl for looking so empty.

That didn't mean he had any patience with her, however, because Jaime was angry. No, furious. He had wasted three years of his life guarding a madman, a cruel, sadistic bastard who was protected by the name Targaryen and the title of king. No man had deserved death more than Aerys, and Jaime had killed him, but people shamed him for it. Called him Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, man without honour. And thus he had been dismissed from the Kingsguard, with not only the support of many of the rebellion leaders - Eddard Stark foremost amongst them - but also his own father. Jaime knew Lord Tywin had never wanted him to become a Kingsguard, had resigned his post as Hand of the King in fury when Aerys appointed him, but he stupidly underestimated how far the man would go to get his heir back. Jaime was angry and humiliated. No doubt his name would go down in the White Book as the worst knight in history. Ser Jaime Lannister: joined the Kingsguard to fuck his sister in case she ever became queen, killed the king he was sworn to protect with his life, then became the first knight to be stripped of his white cloak. A legacy to be proud of for sure.

And there was another matter. Cersei. He'd joined to be close to her, only to separate them entirely. For months he'd sat through Aerys' burnings, going away inside to thoughts of his sister. He had dreamed of the living hell in the Red Keep all being over, of being back with Cersei in his arms, of Aerys being dead, and finally, finally that had happened. But as it turned out, all it meant was that they were switching places. Now Cersei actually was the queen, married to that oaf Robert Baratheon, Jaime was to be sent back to Casterly Rock with the girl the king desired but couldn't have.

Robert now hated him, for having what he couldn't. Jon Arryn and every other lord had been very insistent on the fact that the new king could not marry the whore of Rhaegar, mother of his bastard. The importance of the queen being a maiden had been stressed during those talks, which had only amused Jaime when they agreed upon Cersei. His smirk had been stopped not by the icy glare of Eddard Stark - assuming he was mocking Lady Lyanna - but by his father announcing that Jaime would make a good match for the Stark girl. A fitting pair, he had heard one lord mutter, well out of the hearing of Lord Stark and the king. The Kingslayer and the Dragon's Whore, both as soiled as each other. Jaime could have run him through for that, but instead found himself once more darkly amused.

He hadn't bothered to speak to his betrothed before their wedding. He had spent much of that time travelling to and from Casterly Rock as part of Cersei's honour guard, but in the week after he returned to King's Landing, he made no effort to seek her out. From what he did see of her, though, he could tell that the Stark girl clearly wasn't best pleased with the match either. After what the last man had done to her Jaime couldn't imagine she wanted any match at all. That was somewhat similar to how he felt. He hadn't got anything against her personally - yet - apart from the fact she was to marry him.

Jaime woke up on the morning of his wedding in a foul mood. He had tried to go to his sister the previous night, but she had scorned him, as she had ever since they reached the Red Keep and she found out he was to be wed. Go marry your northern whore, she had said coldly, shutting the door in his face, and no matter how much he had pleaded that he could still be with her, that they could run to Essos and live freely, she had still eyed him with nothing but contempt. For the first time, the traitorous thought came to his mind that she didn't love him as much as he loved her. We are two halves of the same whole, sister, as you're so fond of saying, but it seems you've forgotten. It didn't pass him by that Cersei would've been perfectly content for him to stand outside the door as a Kingsguard listening to her being fucked by the king. And she had the nerve to claim that he was possessive.

He and Lyanna Stark said their wedding vows in the Great Sept that afternoon, mechanically and unenthused, both well aware they were only there because of the expectations of others. There was no love between them. The girl stood before him dressed in a Stark grey gown in the northern style, dark hair flowing down her back. Her brother had given her away with a stony expression on his face, clearly reluctant even now. As the ceremony wore on, Jaime began to tire of Stark's glowering. It was as if the man hadn't agreed to the match his foster father Arryn suggested, knowing full well that no other lord would accept a ruined wife even if she was a Stark. Jaime glared back. You might call me Kingslayer, Stark, yet that won't stop the fact that I'll fuck your sister tonight. He didn't relish in that prospect, like another man might. He desired no one but Cersei; Lyanna Stark could've been the most beautiful woman in Westeros and he would have still only wanted his sister. As he fastened the Lannister red bridal cloak around his bride's shoulders, his mind was elsewhere. He doubted he'd ever get the chance to sleep with his sister again. The thought sent hot rage through him, and pressing sadness, which was only heightened by the memory of their last conversation the previous night.

They hadn't spoken much at the feast, but they were far from the odd ones out. The atmosphere at the high table was an unpleasant one. The king and Ned Stark were not speaking to each other, Robert clearly still angry at his friend for agreeing to marry his former betrothed to the Kingslayer. The king was also ignoring Cersei, who sat haughty and proud beside him in silent resentment - Robert must've done something woefully bad for his sister to hate him this much already, given the way she'd eagerly awaited her own wedding - and Cersei was ignoring Jaime. Lord Tywin seemed content to sit in silence, watching the hall, particularly Jaime and Lyanna. His father seemed rather satisfied with the whole situation. Jaime supposed he would be, given that everything had turned out exactly how the man had always wanted.

The only two people speaking to each other seemed to be Ned Stark and his sister, until Robert drank enough to lose the few inhibitions he had anyway and roared for the bedding ceremony, making a beeline for Lyanna who, Jaime was amused to see, slid deftly behind her brother, wearing an unimpressed look. That was all he saw, however, before the gaggle of giggling and shrieking ladies descended on him. Cersei was not one of them. That would hardly raise any questions - few ladies would choose to see their brothers unclothed, after all - but to Jaime, her cold stare held a terrible finality. Fine, sister, have it your way. He made sure to turn his attention to the women around him, joining in on their bawdy comments and making sure his best smile never left his face.

He soon stood before his new wife in their new, shared guestchamber. He wore nothing but his breeches, whilst she was down to her smallclothes, and was breathing heavily though trying to hide it; he had seen the wild look in her eyes as those men carried her through the door, leering and groping, the king first and foremost amongst them. For a moment they had locked eyes and she had looked like a cornered animal, like nothing would please her more than to take a swipe at Robert Baratheon's face with long nails. But then the door shut, the bawdy comments and laughter died away, and now that blank look was back. Neither of them said a word, though they both knew what they were meant to do. Expected to do.

"Go on then," Her voice wasn't completely mechanical now, as it had been in front everyone. No, now it held a hint of bitterness, and resignation, like she couldn't be bothered to keep up the farce any longer. "I am your wife, to do with as you please," She spread her arms slightly at her sides. The gesture was mocking but weary.

"That's not true," He replied. "If I could do with you what I pleased I would send you to your frozen north for the rest of your days and never have to see your face again," She laughed at that, humourlessly, too jaded by far for sixteen. But then, he was only eighteen himself and any pleasant ideals he had once held were now crushed to nothing by cynicism and hard reality.

"If only," She said honestly. "But if I've learnt anything, husband, it's that we rarely get to do what we want," He caught a glint of something in her eyes, but it was gone as soon as he saw it. It might have just been a flicker of the dim candlelight.

"You don't seem very afraid," Jaime remarked. "For one so unwilling," She raised a darkly amused eyebrow.

"You forget I've done this before," She said. "I'm well used to not being willing. This way's just more acceptable to everyone, as they all agreed on it beforehand. Just count yourself lucky I won't put up the same fight for you that I did for him in the end," She tossed her hair slightly, dark curls dancing in the warm candlelight, an old, proud defiance that was clearly familiar to her returning. It suited her better than the dead shell she had been up until this point.

Jaime said nothing. He didn't doubt for a moment that this woman had put up a hell of a fight. She tilted her head slightly, stepping closer. Not out of anger or desire, more curiosity.

"You've done this before too," She said thoughtfully, but then laughed that bitter laugh again. "I mean, of course you have," She glanced at his bare chest, and he felt his lips twitch. "As you're not at all eager, and you don't strike me as the type for nerves, you must care for her, whoever she is. This shall be quite the experience then. Both of us unwilling. You can call me by her name if it makes you feel better," Jaime was suddenly angry again. Memories of Cersei, how cold she had been to him, and now this girl daring to speak to him of her. Without thinking his hand snapped out and grabbed Lyanna's wrist, pulling her roughly against him. She stared at him for a moment, breathing shallow, the same anger that ran hot through him coursing through her too. It was like she was daring him. Go on. Do it. Prove himself worthy of the hate she feels to everyone and everything. He let go, and she didn't move.

"I won't call you her name," Jaime said lowly instead. "If you won't call me his," The thought of being called Rhaegar was... distasteful. A wolffish grin - sharp, and all teeth - spread across her face, and he couldn't help but grin humourlessly himself.

"Understood," He pressed his lips to hers.

*

They left for Casterly Rock the next day. Robert was still angry that Jaime had Lyanna whilst he was stuck with Cersei - if only he knew Jaime would've traded in a heartbeat - and Lord Tywin wanted them both back at the Rock as soon as possible. For Cersei's benefit, in a fit of rather petty defiance, Jaime made sure to appear at least friendly and comfortable with his new wife, who eyed him sharply and with some degree of confusion when he placed a hand on her lower back as they walked to the courtyard. She said nothing, however, which he was glad for. Her cold mask was up again, as she thanked the king politely but blankly, smiling blandly at Cersei, who wore a smile of her own, one with barely concealed daggers.

Lyanna took one look at the grand wheelhouse that had been prepared for the new Lady Lannister and made a small derisive scoffing noise, her mask flickering with scorn. Ned Stark, there to bid goodbye to his sister - and also holding her bastard son (the boy could've been his if Jaime hadn't known better, they looked so alike) - seemed amused by this, smiling a small nostalgic smile to himself in the background as stablehands hurried to find his sister a horse to ride.

"Apologies, milady Lannister," A nervous looking groom approached leading a large steel grey destrier, more suited to a knight than a lady. Lyanna rounded on him, attention almost instantly going to the horse. "This is the only one left who'll make the journey at pace," Jaime considered stepping in then, to tell the girl to just sit in the goddamned wheelhouse and not delay them any longer, but for whatever reason he stayed back, wanting to watch how this turned out. Lyanna just eyed the horse up critically, then placed a hand on its neck, rubbing it up and down. For a moment, the faintest of smiles graced her lips, then vanished.

"He'll do," She said simply. "Thank you," The groom gaped at her, even more so as she put her foot in the stirrup and mounted the large horse herself, springing easily into the saddle and settling like she was born there, one leg either side with her skirts bunched up around her pale legs. Jaime raised an eyebrow.

"Lya," Ned Stark said a little reprovingly. "Shouldn't you - " She eyed the man icily and he broke off with a sigh; he clearly knew when to give up. "Here," He passed the baby up to her. Jaime hadn't seen her with the boy before, and was surprised - he didn't know why - by how carefully she handled the child, holding him close and whispering something into his tiny ear. He saw a dark look cross her face as she handed the bastard back to her brother. Anger and sadness. But that was the ultimatum Robert and his small council had given her - never see the boy again, or insist on keeping him and condemn him to death. And the king claimed to love her. What a sweet song that would make.

"You look after him," She said to her brother, voice cracking slightly. "Don't let him be treated badly. Don't let him come to any harm. You raise my son to be a good boy, a good man, like you. Promise me, Ned," Stark nodded solemnly, covering his sister's small hand with his own as a wordless vow. Jaime found himself inexplicably looking away.

Then Stark stepped back and Lyanna dug her heels into the destrier's sides. The great horse reared, causing cries of alarm from the nearby men, but a reckless, grim smile had overtaken his wife's expression and she merely leaned into the rear before kicking again, sending the horse off at a fast canter across the courtyard and out of the gate, enormous iron-shod hooves clattering on the cobbles. The guards hastened to catch up. Jaime nodded to Cersei and his father - who was staying in the city to take his position of Master of Coin, which he was far from pleased with but it gave him considerable influence at least, and he would surely work his way upon a matter of months - in farewell, getting no response from either of them, before kicking his own horse forward and following the rest of the party. Hopefully they'd catch up with his wife before she decided to turn north instead of west. Honestly, if she tried, Jaime suspected he might just let her.

*

It took little over two weeks to reach Casterly Rock. They stayed in inns, minor holdfasts, lords keeps, but his wife seemed to prefer sleeping under the stars as opposed to in a feather bed. Even when they did get a room for the night - they often had to share, due to there not being space otherwise, and Jaime wasn't so selfish as to insist someone else give up their room so he didn't have to share - she insisted on sleeping with the window open, despite the spring air being bitingly cold at night. Where his men huddled under furs at night, Lyanna didn't seem to feel the chill the same way. Perhaps it was true that the Starks had ice in their veins.

Jaime and his wife had conversed on the journey, of course they had. It made no sense to travel in an awkward silence. She was as guarded as ever, often as blank as before, but for the most part she seemed to relax a little more the further they got from the city and the people in it. He saw more hints of her old defiance, and she often showed a wry humour much like his own that he found himself appreciating. All in all, Lyanna was not a bad travelling companion. She seemed used to conversing with men either way, and cursed like the best of them. This amused many of the soldiers, who after a while seemed to forget she was their lady as they ate together, rode together, made crude jokes together. She also didn't hesitate to act like the wolf on her family sigil whenever anyone got too friendly, or pissed her off at all, which gave the men a healthy wariness and respect of her. After she reduced a young knight almost to tears, after his hands wandered helping her onto her horse, there were a few joking mutters - out of earshot, of course - that it was Rhaegar they felt bad for now.

They reached Casterly Rock in the early evening on the sixteenth day since they'd left King's Landing. Despite herself, Lyanna's eyes had widened at the sight of the great castle, and Jaime had smirked.

"A little more impressive than Winterfell?" He asked her.

"Yes," She replied. "And ten times as grand. But I'd still rather be a day's ride from home than here,"

*

Tyrion had been there to greet them proudly as host, with uncles Kevan, Tygett and Gerion standing beside him, along with their wives and Jaime's growing hoard of cousins; Lancel was walking now, twins Martyn and Willem were in the arms of nursemaids and Tyrek was being held by his mother. Jaime had been genuinely happy to see his little brother, despite having seen him little over a month ago when he came to the Rock to escort Cersei back to King's Landing. Before then, he hadn't seen Tyrion in three years; the small boy of seven had become a slightly less small boy of ten. Jaime had dismounted his horse and gone to hug his brother, lifting him off the ground and making him laugh as he had done before. Behind him, Lyanna dismounted herself and approached without invitation, lowering her hood and turning all heads her way. She made no effort to speak, nor to smile, walls back up again.

"This is the Lady Lyanna," Jaime said, slightly grudging that she was a part of the family reunion, waving a careless hand her way. He couldn't bring himself to say the words 'my wife' out loud, not here. On the road, it had been easy to pretend she wasn't.

Uncle Kevan greeted her with a polite nod, Tygett with a stiff bow, Gerion with a charming grin and a kiss on her hand that did make her smile slightly for a moment. Dorna and Darlessa, his uncles' wives, had been introduced in turn. Lyanna had nodded to each one. Jaime noticed how she greeted Tyrion exactly the same as the others - as though she barely saw him - seeming to not notice the obvious fact that he was a dwarf. His sweet, friendly wife was guided to her rooms by a servant with scarcely another word to any of them. Which suited him just fine.

*

Jaime barely saw Lyanna in the next week or so. She kept to her rooms mostly, doing gods knows what. Many times he saw her, she was just stood staring out of the window; her bedroom faced north. He himself spent most of his time in the practice yard. Training didn't help his anger like it had when he was a boy, but back then he had had Cersei. No amount of knocking guardsmen and squires to the ground would help his rage at being the first knight dismissed from the Kingsguard, at losing his sister, at being saddled with a lordship he didn't want and a broken wife as cold as ice.

One morning, so early the sun had scarcely risen, he was training on a dummy when he caught a glimpse of a dark figure out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see Lyanna watching him, and gave her a questioning look.

"I got bored. I always watch - used to watch my brothers fight," She said by way of explanation. "I used to try and join them. Until my father stopped it and sent me to learn to sew," He caught a hint of that derisive scorn again. Jaime paused for a moment, considering her size and shape, before grabbing a smallish tourney sword from a nearby rack. He threw it to her, and she caught it, giving him a confused look. He snorted slightly.

"Good start," She looked at him in mild disbelief.

"Seriously?"

"Go on," He gestured to her to move. That wolffish grin returned and she struck immediately. He deflected it easily. She was faster than he expected, though was clearly no swordsman. Her attacks were fairly weak and predictable, and she grew more and more frustrated when she couldn't land a hit on him. Which was fairly amusing. It wasn't surprising really, considering she was wearing a dress. She might have messed around with swords with her brothers, but she had clearly had no proper training. She wasn't bad though, considering. Better than a lot of new squires.

Eventually he put her out of her misery and flicked the sword out of her hand. He thought that was the end of it, that the fight was over. He didn't expect her to act like a true wolf and literally throw herself at him, catching him off guard and sending them both tumbling to the floor. He let out an incredulous breath of laughter as she wrestled with his sword arm, kicking and punching. But he was far stronger, no matter how savagely she fought, which was very. He would certainly have his share of cuts and bruises, as would she; there was no way he was taking an attack like that lying down. He roughly wrestled her off of him, trapping her securely in his arms as he knelt, her back to him as she struggled and squirmed. His sword was then at her throat and she stopped at last, breathing heavily. Her hair was a birdsnest, her body was sweating and when she turned round to peer at him he saw her pale face was streaked with dust and dirt. But her steel grey eyes were what caught his attention. They seemed truly alive for the first time since he'd met her.

"You're vicious," He said, slightly awed, feeling the sting of the many minor wounds she'd given him. She didn't seem to mind the ones he'd given her, and laughed breathily, chest heaving against his arms.

"I've got three brothers," She said by way of explanation, then the smile dropped and she corrected herself. "Had three brothers," Her good humour vanished as quickly as it had come. Jaime let her go, and she turned to face him. "Thanks. For letting me fight," She said somewhat awkwardly. "You didn't have to,"

"If only other men gave their wives a sword," He said. "I'd rather fight you like that out here than with words in there. This I understand," She smiled faintly.

"I'll remember that,"

They dined together for the first time that night. Or rather, she came and joined the family for the first time as they ate together in the hall. Jaime noticed how no matter how many times she was offered wine, she refused it. Having drunk quite a lot himself, he found himself asking her about it as he walked her back to her chambers after.

"I don't trust wine," She'd said simply, then hesitated. "When he realised I wasn't going to stop fighting him, he started slipping sweetsleep in my drink whenever he wanted to..." Jaime raised an eyebrow as she broke off, glowering at nothing.

"And people say Rhaegar would have made a wonderful King," He said lightly. She laughed in dark agreement.

*

Several weeks later, Jaime was walking past the library and heard laughing from inside. Curious, he entered the cavernous room and saw his brother and his wife together before the fire. Any other man might have grown angry at that sentence, but Jaime merely wondered if he was having some sort of strange dream, because the sight that met his eyes was beyond ridiculous. Lyanna was stood on her hands against the wall, trying to stay upright as her skirts slowly slid over her head. Tyrion was laughing madly, and she righted herself just before revealing far too much in front of the ten year old boy. Her clothes were crumpled, her face red, her hair a mess but she was grinning, as Tyrion looked ready to piss himself laughing as he turned around to see Jaime standing there looking bemused. Lyanna's grin grew wolffish as she saw him.

"Your brother is quite the talented teacher," She said. "I'd never done acrobatics in my life, but now look," She promptly stood on her hands again, walking a few shaky steps before collapsing in a heap as Tyrion cackled, looking at his brother's incredulous expression as his wife acted more like seven than near seventeen. Lyanna stood up and grinned proudly, taking a small bow.

"Go on," She nodded to the little boy. "Show him how it's really done," Tyrion eagerly obliged, skilfully walking on his hands around the room before finishing with a somersault, earning an applause from Lyanna.

"Did Uncle Gerion teach you that?" Jaime asked, amused. Tyrion grinned.

"He did," He said. "How did you know?" Jaime, a fit of recklessness overcoming him, promptly did the same, walking on his hands for a dozen strides, making his brother clap his hands and start laughing again. Lyanna's grin returned.

"You're better than him," She nudged Tyrion, who looked delighted at the comparison which, Jaime had to admit, did not come often. "He didn't do a somersault," She was quite probably insane, his wife, he decided as she threw herself down on the rug before the fire, lounging without a care. Tyrion did the same, and Jaime found himself following them.

"The Lannisters of Casterly Rock," He said dryly. "Practically a circus troupe. Father would love that,"

"He could be a lion tamer," Tyrion said, amused by the thought. "With a whip and a big hat," His little brother grinned wickedly. "And Cersei could be the bearded lady," Jaime laughed loudly.

*

Some point in the coming months, Aunt Genna had decided it would be appropriate to commission a portrait, of Jaime and his wife. Apparently his parents had had one too, Genna had shown them, though judging by his father's expression in it he thought it was waste of time. Jaime wasn't exactly enthused by the idea either, Lyanna even less so, but his aunt was hard to say no to. You'll thank me later, she'd said, when you're old, fat, grey and want to remember being young and beautiful. This found the two of them stood side by side as the irritating Oldtown painter fussed over them, seeming to forget who he was talking to, or perhaps just not caring, such was his assurance in his own skill.

"No, stand closer together," The little man snapped. Jaime just glared at him. Whilst he and his wife did not dislike each other, and even enjoyed the other's company on occasion - they were, daresay, friends - they were far from close. They hadn't so much as kissed since their wedding night. All their physical contact came from trying their best to knock each other to the ground during training; if only they could get a portrait done of that. Jaime smirked at the thought. "Put your arm around her waist, my lord," He suspected Lyanna would snap his hand right off if he dared. "You both look too wooden, too stiff,"

"I thought it was a painting," Jaime said. "They're not supposed to move," Lyanna snorted beside him, and he smirked.

"That is it!" The painter exclaimed, making them both jump. "Keep that look, my lord,"

"Arrogant, self satisfied ponce?" Lyanna said slyly, having peered around to see his expression. "Should be easy enough,"

"My lady!" The painter gasped dramatically in shock. Lyanna turned to him with a raised eyebrow, tossing her hair, only for the man to quickly stumble over his words, again, and start painting hurriedly. "That - stay with that expression Lady Lyanna, it is perfect, it truly shows you at your best,"

"And what is that?" Lyanna asked him, with disdain to rival Lord Tywin.

"Sadistic wolf bitch," Jaime suggested.

"That look..." The man said distractedly, furiously painting. It looked like he had a twitch in his hand. "Scorn... and pride, like... no man is good enough. Or ever could be," Jaime laughed loudly and his wife scowled.

As they left the airy tower room the painter had been given for his work hours later, Lyanna surprised Jaime greatly by turning to face him and gripping the front of his tunic with both hands.

"No man is good enough?" She seethed, a wild look in her eyes that she'd seen many a time before. "Who does he take me for, an arrogant princess like your sister? I'll show him," And with that she promptly kissed him, roughly.

He was so taken aback that he didn't react for a second or so, but then responded with the same vigour; he had not been with a woman for months, he told himself, and Lyanna was his wife. He didn't even mind that she was doing it out of anger, to prove a point. He was doing much the same. I hope you're happy with your kingly husband, sweet sister.

"I'll come to your chambers tonight," Lyanna murmured in his ear after breaking the kiss. It wasn't an invitation for him to come to hers. This was on her terms, for sure.

"Do I get a choice?" He asked. She rolled her eyes, but grinned grudgingly.

"Are you saying no?"

"Who am I to deny my lovely lady wife?" He smiled his most dazzling smile, which he knew would make her defensive, instead of swooning like most ladies. He'd tried it before.

"Fuck off," She scowled at him.

"At least I smile," She was silent for a moment, and in that time he had an uncharacteristic flash of concern - was that pushing their fragile friendship too far? - only for her lips to twitch.

"He was a moody bastard, wasn't he," She admitted. Jaime laughed, with a hint of relief.

"I think they call it melancholy,"

*

Jaime waited for her in his chambers that evening, feeling some level of anticipation, more than he had expected. She came in wearing the same dress she'd worn to dinner - that steely shade of grey would've looked drab on most women yet somehow suited her - but her hair was loose from its previous rough plait. He was about to say something, not offer wine because she wouldn't accept, something else, but Lyanna cut him off by striding across the room and kissing him with even more intensity than she had on the staircase earlier. He didn't protest, twining his fingers in her hair, the other hand around her waist, pulling her tight against him. She was different to Cersei from her height (shorter), to her body (slimmer), to her smell (just different, not as sweet), but to his surprise the differences were refreshing rather than off-putting.

Lyanna pulled him by the front of his tunic to the bed, and they sat down on the edge without breaking the kiss, her in his lap. She gasped slightly as he trailed kisses down her neck, and helped him unlace the top half of her dress, but when his mouth moved lower to her newly exposed breasts she pulled away slightly.

"What are you doing?" She asked. Jaime looked at her, a little surprised, then he suddenly understood. He wasn't sure whether to laugh; strangely, he felt a little irritated, and not at her.

"Rhaegar just fucked you, didn't he," He said bluntly. "In, out, done soon as possible. Probably quite quickly," He couldn't help but add. His wife glared at him, understanding the jibe and disliking his crude description. She didn't understand his point, however, and he could tell that irritated her. Lyanna did like to know everything.

"What else is there to do?" He raised an eyebrow. "What? Don't look at me like that, in and out is all you did on our wedding night," She took on the expression of a petulant child - Jaime imagined her father used to spoil her as a girl - and he couldn't help but grin.

"Imagine that," He practically purred, smugly. "Lyanna Stark, as innocent as a rose-cheeked maiden," That earned him a sharp slap to the chest. He just laughed. "As sweet as a Reach girl in summer," She hit him again. "As pure as a septa who - "

"Stop mocking me," She said, but was biting back a slightly embarrassed smile despite herself. Jaime shook his head, enjoying having one over on his little wife. She hit him harder.

"You're violent, that's what you really are," He said, falling back to lie down without warning and pulling Lyanna with him, making her yelp in surprise. Before she could protest, he was on top of her, trapping her hands and stopping her abusing him any further. Lyanna wriggled underneath him, to no avail, he wouldn't move, and when he just grinned, she childishly stuck out her tongue. It wasn't hard to understand how he often forgot she was a mother.

"You deserve it," She muttered, eyeing him warily as he resumed where he'd left off before, kissing her breasts and moving down lower, pulling her dress down as he went, and her eyes widened. "Really, what are you - " She gasped as he reached between her legs. "Jaime, what - Jaime," Hearing her say his name, indecently like that, only encouraged him and before long his wife was gasping and twitching, legs wrapped tightly around him. It took longer than it would've with Cersei for Lyanna to gasp his name and shudder in pleasure at her release, but Jaime knew his sister far better than his wife. He knew every inch of Cersei, as she knew every inch of him. They'd had years together, not just one mediocre night. But Lyanna wasn't used to this, and that was somehow thrilling in itself.

As she lay there in the aftermath of her release, he edged back up to face her, kissing her lightly on the lips and pulling back, smirking. She looked at him through half lidded eyes, lips slightly parted, breathing heavily.

"'What else is there to do?' she asks," He put on a high pitched voice and a northern accent to mimic her own, and a breath of laughter rippled through her. He had never laughed like this when he was with Cersei, he realised, and neither had she.

"Arrogant... Southron ponce," Lyanna spoke in insults, though there was mirth in her voice. "You think you're so clever,"

"Come on, you enjoyed that," He said in his own voice. "It certainly sounded like it. 'Jaime... oh, Jaime'," He mimicked her again and she smacked him - again. At this rate his chest would be mottled with bruises, but he grinned regardless.

"Fuck off," She said lazily.

"Why don't you?"

"Because you're heavy, and lying on top of me, as you know full well,"

"My apologies, do you want me to move?" She fixed him with a look, and there was silence for a long moment, the smiles falling off both of their faces, before she slowly pulled his face down to hers and they kissed once more. This kiss was fiercer, and they couldn't seem to get close enough. Hands were everywhere, and both of them groaned slightly when he wrapped her legs around his waist and slowly entered her. After watching her for a few moments - she had winced in expectation of pain that never came - he began to move, and soon both were rocking their hips in time with each other. He surprised Lyanna again, by flipping them over so she was on top. She seemed unsure at first, so he grabbed her hips and moved her himself, but she soon took over, which she seemed to enjoy a great deal. Jaime finished when she did for the second time, and after she collapsed against his chest, just lying there for several minutes with a leg draped over him as both of them got their breath back. Then she tilted her face up to him.

"Why haven't we done that before?" It was a good question.

*

He didn't love her. And she didn't love him. But there was friendship there, which was only building, and, coupled with their nights together, Jaime could not complain. What he liked about Lyanna was that she didn't care about what people thought of her. Cersei was constantly worried about looking her best, appearing powerful, strong and proud, always wanting to give the right impression no matter how much she would deny caring about the opinions of the sheep (his father's analogy). Lyanna, however, would happily appear at dinner in her training clothes - the fact she didn't care what people whispered about the heir to Casterly Rock teaching his wife to use a sword in the first place said everything - and if she ever heard anyone muttering about the 'Dragon's Whore' she would simply laugh in their faces.

Despite this unsavoury title, his wife was very popular amongst the smallfolk of Lannisport. On her regular rides out on horseback, Lyanna would often visit the city and endear herself to the people by simply talking to them, making conversation, like a friend would instead of a noble lady. She said that was what they'd done in the North, and didn't see any reason not to do so in the Westerlands. Recently she'd started giving out small favours; the occasional coin to a beggar, offering an orphan a job in the kitchens of the Rock, paying for a blacksmith's burial when his widow needed the money.

Of course, the world did not just consist of Casterly Rock and Lannisport. Soon the invitation came, requesting their presence in King's Landing to celebrate the birth of Prince Steffon, first child of the new king and queen. Jaime had received the news numbly. He thought he would be devastated at the thought of Cersei bearing Baratheon's children, and though some part of him was, he found himself not nearly as distressed as he imagined. He was somehow... separate from it. Like it didn't matter nearly as much as it should've.

Needless to say, Lyanna was not pleased to hear they were going to King's Landing. Though she was now no longer the icy woman she had been when they married - at least not most of the time, she had her moments - there were still times when Jaime caught her gazing sadly out of the window or into the distance, the picture of melancholy with her solemn expression. He'd learned not to bother her in those moments, and she'd probably rather die that talk to him of all people about it, but it just went show how she had far from forgotten the events of the past. She had a son, he had to keep reminding himself, a son who she would never know.

The day before they were due to leave, Lyanna disappeared. She wasn't at dinner, her horse was still in its stable so she wasn't on one of her rides and soon the whole castle was looking for her. A guardsman ran up to Jaime, yelling that she was in the Godswood - a rarely used part of the castle, that Lyanna occasionally visited but not often enough for that to be the first place he'd look for her - and Jaime followed.

He found his wife knelt before the heart tree, a weirwood with a commanding, almost haughty expression, head bowed, and then realised with some shock that she was crying, tears falling from her eyes and onto the ground before her. Lyanna didn't look round at the sounds of people. He sent the guard away, unsure of what to do - he had little experience with crying women, he could count the number of times he'd seen Cersei sincerely cry on his right hand, and he'd never seen Lyanna shed so much as a tear before - so settled for kneeling beside her in front of the tree, not saying a word. This seemed to be the right thing to do, for a few minutes after his legs started to ache she spoke without looking at him.

"They died three years ago today," She said, voice thick, then she trailed off into nonsensical mutters, of which he could pick out only a few clear words. "... all my fault..." Jaime frowned. He remembered the deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark all too well. Pretty hard to forget.

"You got kidnapped by a prince and a Kingsguard," He said. "Which yes, ended in the deaths of your brother and father. But how was that your fault? It wasn't like you could've stopped them. I'd be hard pressed to beat Arthur Dayne, and no offence but you'd even struggle to beat any of my pisspoor replacements to the Kingsguard," Lyanna looked at him then, her grey eyes wild, bloodshot and her pale face gaunt. It was like she hadn't even heard him; he'd been expecting (hoping) to provoke at least a glare for that last remark.

"You don't understand," Was all she said. After that, Jaime couldn't get another word out of her. Perhaps his comforting skills were lacking. Perhaps there was more to it.

*

The next day, it was like the incident in the Godswood never happened. Lyanna didn't mention it and neither did Jaime. She smiled as usual, japed with the men as usual, hugged Tyrion goodbye (their father had forbidden him from coming with them) and mocked Jaime as mercilessly as she always did, clearly wanting normalcy. Jaime followed her example, giving as good as he got without concerning himself that she might start crying again anytime soon. He didn't believe she'd cry in public, anyway.

The ride to the city was easy enough. Just them and a dozen mounted guardsmen made for quick travel; Lyanna packed light for a woman, all her belongings she was taking fit into the - admittedly large and many - saddlebags of her grey destrier, which she'd insisted on keeping for her own after arriving at the Rock despite there being a dozen horses in the stables far more suited for a lady. The big grey destrier somehow seemed to suit Lyanna Stark more, however.

Cersei's cold glare was fixed on both of them for the entire duration of their stay. But Jaime had nothing more to say to her. She'd made her choice, she couldn't have it both ways.

His sister's viciousness only increased when the news of Lyanna's condition was made public. Jaime hadn't even known himself before they arrived in King's Landing. However, he had been watching his wife dressing - they shared a room, it was unavoidable - and noticed that her usually flat belly was definitely far rounder than usual. She had recently been quite sick, and then they'd been travelling, so he hadn't had as much of a chance to see her bare as before, but now he couldn't help but notice.

"You're getting fat," He said idly. His wife turned around to look at him, unimpressed.

"Fuck off," He grinned, not really caring but knowing it would rile her if he pointed it out. "I'm pregnant, you twit," His grin dropped abruptly.

His father had been grimly satisfied. Cersei, on the other hand... best not discussed. Robert too looked mutinous when he was told the news. They were scarcely out of the room before they were hearing the king bellowing to Jon Arryn about 'that kingslaying Lannister cunt fucking my Lyanna'. Jaime had raised an eyebrow at his wife, and she had scowled.

After that, Lyanna had kept as far from Robert as possible, which made Jaime oddly angry. At the king, not at her. Robert's lecherous glances towards his wife were far from hidden, and Jaime could do nothing about it unless he wanted to push the man into leaping at him with that great ugly warhammer he still insisted on keeping with him. Jaime personally wouldn't have been adverse to trying his luck - Robert was stronger than he was certainly, and fiercely quick, but Jaime was quicker - but that may have caused more trouble than it was worth. Lyanna had suffered worse.

However, that didn't stop Jaime from taking great pleasure in crowning Lyanna Queen of Love and Beauty in front of the whole court after winning the joust in the tourney. It was with a mocking smile that he offered the crown of red and white roses to her on the end of his lance, and she took it, seeming just as amused as he was, both of them understanding the irony in more ways than one. Lyanna Stark placed the crown on her head instead of her lap this time, almost daring anyone to say a single word as she beckoned her husband closer and pulled him in for a fierce, borderline indecent in public kiss. People muttered, people disapproved, as they always did and always would. Jaime couldn't bring himself to care. There was a certain beauty in the Kingslayer and the Dragon's Whore rubbing it in everyone's faces. Jaime certainly wasn't protesting, even if the looks Cersei gave them both were positively poisonous.

Lord Tywin wanted them to remain in King's Landing until the baby was born - even at this early stage he did not want to even slightly endanger the future heir of Casterly Rock - but neither Jaime and Lyanna had any desire to stay in the city a second longer than necessary. They left the day after the tourney, at dawn before most had even woken yet, and were back at the Rock within two weeks. This time as they saw the great castle rising up from the horizon, he looked over and saw a faint smile on Lyanna's face.

*

Those months of pregnancy seemed to be the longest in Jaime's life. Lyanna was a nightmare. As the child grew and grew until it seemed like she would burst, she was unable to do anything she liked - namely fighting, riding or running - so was in a permanent sulk, moody and snappish, liable to bite anyone's head off. Aunt Dorna got it into her head that she was scared about the birthing, and spent a painful few weeks trying to 'put her mind at ease' whilst Lyanna glowered at the well-meant but seemingly oblivious woman. Jaime was one of the few that seemed to appreciate that she was irritable because of the memories being in this condition must drag up. His wife had never spoken of her time as Rhaegar's prisoner beside a few bitter comments every now and again, but Jaime knew all too well the lasting effects of remembering things you'd much rather forget. He himself still couldn't look at a fire without smelling the charred remains of Rickard Stark, hearing the creaking of his blackened armour, and the echoes of his screams. He didn't tell Lyanna that though. He didn't think it would help much.

He and his wife were getting on perfectly with the careful avoidance of asking too much of each other. One day, however, his curiosity got the better of him, and he asked her if she was scared, or even nervous at the thought of birthing a child. Women die in childbirth, after all. Both their mothers had. He regretted pointing that out. In hindsight, he should've been able to tell that that probably wouldn't help much either.

"I did this before," She had just shrugged in response, seeming genuinely unbothered at the idea of pushing out a whole person. "All on my own. I can do it again surrounded by the best midwives and Maesters Lannister gold can buy,"

"He left you on your own?" He had frowned at that. "Wasn't that...?" He trailed off, glancing at her.

"The most terrifying experience of my life," He didn't expect her to reply at all, let alone with such blunt honesty. "I thought I was going to die. But I didn't," She paused. "Nothing can compare to that," That was the end of that conversation.

Jaime was surprised at how calm he himself was about the whole thing. He never expected to be anyone's husband, and especially never anyone's father, and he suspected that the idea hadn't fully sunk in yet. It was only when he came across Lyanna moodily stabbing a needle through some white cloth whilst sat with his aunts, that the reality hit him.

"There's a sight I never thought I'd see," He smirked as she glared up at him, clearly very displeased by her current situation. "Lady Stark doing her needlework like a good little wife," People had told him that she was technically Lyanna Lannister, but it seemed wrong to refer to her that way, even in his head. She looked thoroughly miserable with her hugely swollen stomach, slouching in the chair, and glared up at him resentfully.

"I'm so fat I can't do anything but sit here," She said. "Even this is better than nothing," She looked distastefully at the mess of fabric.

"What is it?" He couldn't work it out. She shrugged.

"Gods only know," She said. "Some sort of frock, I think. Darlessa cut it out for me, I'm just sewing it together," He peered doubtfully at the tangled web of thread.

"Are you?" She didn't slap his arm, which surprised him. Instead she stabbed him with the needle. "Ow!"

"Now you know how I feel, I've done that the times in the last hour," She sulked, but smirked at him as he rubbed his arm. "Come on Lannister, you've had worse wounds than that,"

"You really are a vicious bitch sometimes, aren't you?"

"Jaime!" Aunt Dorna exclaimed reproachfully, like he was ten years old and in trouble again, not a man of nineteen. "That's no way to talk to any lady, let alone your wife. You should apologise," Lyanna grinned, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"My humblest and most sincere apologies, sweet and gentle lady," Jaime said sardonically, then grinned. "I should never have distracted you from your favourite pastime,"

"Fuck off," Lyanna glared. Aunt Dorna sighed despairingly.

"How many times have I told you Lyanna?" She scolded. "I don't know what they teach you in the North but a Lady of House Lannister does not swear like a common fishwife," Lyanna just laughed.

"I've almost tempted you to it a few times, though, you can't deny it," Aunt Dorna's lips twitched, and Darlessa openly chuckled.

"Oh get on with your sewing," Dorna said, trying not to look amused or fond, and Lyanna gave a dramatic sigh.

"The little monster better be grateful,"

"It's for the baby?" Jaime was surprised, for some reason. She looked at him flatly.

"No, it's for you," She held up the minuscule garment, which was shorter than his forearm. "Of course it's for the baby. I've half a mind to ask the maids if they kept any of Tyrion's baby clothes, or even yours or Cersei's, so I don't have to make any more frilly little things like this," She paused. "No, not Cersei's, I'm not that desperate. It might be contagious," Aunt Dorna gave a very unladylike snort. Aunt Darlessa was too kind, and bit her lip instead.

"You wouldn't be able to tell mine and Cersei's clothes apart until we were four," Jaime said without thinking. Lyanna's eyes lit up.

"Speaking of which," She said, her wolffish grin making an appearance. "I heard, from one of the maids, the old one, that you and Cersei looked so alike when you were children that you used to swap clothes and pretend to be each other for the day. She'd dress in your tunic and breeches and take your sword training, and you - "

"Would sit in her Septa's lessons," He finished for her and she raised an eyebrow.

"Wearing?"

"Her dresses," She roared with laughter as did his aunts. "It was her idea, not mine. Safe to say it stopped after I had to sit through a talk about what to expect from your first flowering,"

"I never had that," Lyanna mused after she'd stopped laughing a while after. "We didn't have a Septa, and Mother died before I was old enough to be told. I'm not sure what Father thought she'd managed to teach me by the time I was six, but I no one ever explained it to me. I was in such a panic the first time I woke up, I thought I was dying and ran to Ned's room, he was on a visit home. He didn't know what to do with me, poor boy, he was fifteen and I was eleven," She grinned. "He did explain it, though. Not very well, I went to one of the maids later, but good on him. Brandon would've laughed in my face, and told me it was a fatal condition," It was Jaime's turn to laugh at the thought of Ned Stark having that conversation.

"They talk of great lords," Darlessa said, giggling. "But no one ever knows that about the Lord of Winterfell,"

"And no one knows that the future Lord of Casterly Rock used to wear his sister's dresses," Dorna smirked, and the three women burst out laughing again, like a group of cackling witches.

*

Jaime would admit to himself that he was more worried than he had expected to be. Lyanna's labour pains had started that morning, and come nightfall she was screaming. He had gone with her to the birthing chambers, her leaning on his arm as she insisted on not being carried (her exact words had been 'I'm so fat I'll break your skinny arms'). He had gone in with her too. When the head midwife - a tall, thin but formidable woman with a hawklike face - had given him a stern look and informed him that the birthing chambers were no place for a man, he had smiled and asked which one of them proposed to keep him out. Lyanna had let out a breathy laugh at that even as she winced, screwing up her face in what must be considerable pain. The screaming had started shortly after. She cursed and swore like a sellsword, using every foul word under the sun, her imagination and knowledge impressive. Especially when cursing Jaime, which she did a lot, colourfully, and in graphic, violent detail. He didn't begrudge her any of it, and it even made the younger midwives giggle.

The worst of it was seeing her in such agony. He had seen her sad, he had seen her angry, but he had never seen her like this before, so vulnerable and pained. And he could do nothing about it. Jaime knew that birthing was a long and bloody business at the best of times, but even so, unbidden memories of the screams of his mother as she lay dying after Tyrion's birth came to the forefront of his mind. He forced those thoughts away. Lyanna was fine. She was too bloody stubborn to be killed by a baby, of all things. And neither the midwives nor the maester were acting like anything was out of the ordinary.

It was when Lyanna's eyes blearily closed and she started muttering about dying that Jaime's blood ran cold. He looked sharply at the head midwife - who was very efficient and know what she was doing if nothing else - and the woman shook her head.

"Everything is fine, milord," She said. "It's common for first time mothers to panic," But this wasn't her first time, and Lyanna wasn't one to panic, so what was going on? Then Lyanna started calling for 'Ser Oswald' and 'Ser Arthur' and Jaime realised what was happening. She'd gone back. To the last time she gave birth, delivered a child alone in a tower in a place a thousand leagues from home, whilst her three guards fought her brother and his men outside.

"You're not there," He lowered his voice and spoke into her ear, so no one could hear but her. "Remember. It's over. Lyanna. Lya," He'd heard her brother call her that once, and hoped it would calm her. Her eyes flickered open then, and she seemed to come to her senses, seeing him again. Though he'd been sat beside her on a chair the whole time, when he reached out and took her hand then, that was the first time he had touched her. He squeezed it lightly, and she let out a slightly disbelieving laugh at his uncharacteristic niceness, only to almost break every bone his hand as her face contorted in pain again and she squeezed like a vice. Jaime regretted offering the hand; at least it was his left one.

Then came the cry. Lyanna stopped screaming, her breaths coming in great gasps as the midwives hurried to wrap the red little bundle in cloths. Jaime stared at it, unsure of how to feel as the head midwife turned to him.

"You have a son, milord," She said. "A strong and healthy boy," But the birthing wasn't over yet. "Another one? Here we go," The midwife didn't even seem surprised as Lyanna let out one last agonising scream, although Jaime was surprised into silence, and another ugly, red, wrinkled little bundle was carried away.

"Twins," A younger midwife smiled broadly, a slight gap between her front teeth. "A handsome boy and a beautiful girl. Just like you and your sister, milord," Jaime stared at her dumbly, speaking without thinking.

"Gods I hope not,"

*

Lyanna was fine. Asleep, just resting. She'd been exhausted after the birth, but stayed stubbornly awake long enough to see her children. Jaime was now stood in the nursery, where his son and daughter lay in the crib that had once been his and Cersei's, then Tyrion's. So small, so young, so new, yet Jaime and his sister had once been like that and look what had happened there. He knew that what he and Cersei had was not the norm between twins - far from it - but it just seemed too much like tempting fate.

Never mind. It was too early to tell. And his children were not completely identical. Their hair was the same, both had a dark brown tuft, the same colour their mother's. And they did both take after the Lannisters in other looks. However his son's eyes were Jaime's own green, whilst his daughter's were stormy grey like Lyanna's. With their eyes shut, they were very difficult to tell apart, but Jaime hoped beyond hope that his children did not end up like him and Cersei.

It was odd, because he had never once regretted his own relationship with his sister. He didn't find it wrong, or disgusting, and couldn't care less about the Faith's teachings of sin. It had just always been Cersei and Jaime. Jaime and Cersei. They loved each other, and what was wrong or disgusting about that? Yet now he found that he never wanted that for his own children. He wouldn't be able to put it into words why, and had no desire to try, but he just didn't.

*

When the raven came two months later announcing the birth of Cersei and Robert's second child, another boy, named Joffrey, Jaime wished his sister happiness. Truly wished it. There was no residual anger or frustration or feelings of injustice anymore. He simply hoped that his sister was happy with her husband and children. That was all. She was queen now, with a strong and handsome king, that's what she always wanted. Jaime had never wanted his own wife unless it was Cersei. He hadn't wanted Casterly Rock. Hadn't wanted children. Yet now he had all three, and strangely enough he found that he didn't mind it.

He came to that realisation as he sat on the rug in front of the fire in the library, on the rug, with Lyanna and Tyrion like they had all those months ago. They were all a year older, and now there were two six month old babies with them. Lorcan, the eldest by two minutes, was sat up on his own next to Lyanna, concentrating hard as he built a tower from the dozen or so small books that Tyrion had got for him; he had plenty of proper toys in the nursery, but no one could be bothered to get them, or even have a servant bring them, and the baby didn't seem to mind. His sister, Tya, was happily the centre of attention, crawling - she'd just learnt how - in the centre of their little circle, and giggling as she rolled onto her back, making Lyanna and Tyrion laugh. She happily righted herself, only for Jaime - who was lying stretched out on his side - to prod her lightly with his toe and make her fall over again. Tyrion laughed as Lyanna smacked his foot away.

"Stop bullying the baby," She scolded.

"She likes it," He protested, and sure enough his daughter was giggling again. Lyanna couldn't help but smile.

"Strange child," She shook her head. Tya was crawling over to Lorcan, a big grin on her chubby baby face as she happily trampled her brother's tower, knocking it over. Lorcan definitely glared at her then, as much as a baby can, and he looked so like Lord Tywin in that moment that Jaime burst out laughing. Tyrion obviously saw it too, as he joined in. "What?" Lyanna asked curiously, as Lorcan leaned to push his sister over himself, making her cry out in anger, and they only laughed harder.

*

She'd been wanting to go back for years, Jaime knew. The twins would stay behind, one year old was far too young to be travelling such a distance, especially in autumn. Jaime tried to point out that travelling for anyone in the North in any time but summer was a mistake, but he didn't try too hard to convince her. Lyanna hadn't been home for almost four years, since she set off to Riverrun for her brother's ill-fated wedding to Catelyn Tully.

It was with a small party of guards that Jaime and Lyanna left Casterly Rock, riding north at good pace through the Westerlands, into the Riverlands. The route they took meant it was necessary to use the crossing at the Twins, which Jaime regretted doing the moment they were summoned to an audience with Walder Frey, a truly repulsive old man with a wife sixty years younger than him yet who still looked Lyanna up and down when they entered.

"Ser Jaime Lannister and his wife, Lady Lyanna," The herald announced.

"You've grown up a bit," Frey wheezed, ignoring Jaime in favour of his wife. "Last time you passed through here you were a slip of a girl. Though that didn't stop the Dragon Prince from... heh," He wisely reconsidered saying it from the looks on both their faces, but his laugh was suggestive enough. For moment it seemed like Lyanna would draw her sword on him - she insisted on carrying one at her hip when they travelled, which Jaime thought was fair enough - and Jaime felt like doing the same, but she restrained herself and merely settled for a look of loathing.

"We want to cross your bridge," She said bluntly. "Let us through. We won't be staying the night,"

"And what will you give me for letting you use my bridge?" Frey asked. Jaime raised an eyebrow. He wouldn't dare have tried that if it was Lord Tywin asking. But then again, Lord Tywin never asked. He ordered. "You have a daughter, do you not? Surely to grow as fine as her mother, or even better, her aunt. Heh," Lyanna bristled. "Betroth her to one of my sons - I have many - and you can cross," Jaime didn't know what Frey thought he was doing. Tywin Lannister still deeply resented the fact his sister Genna had been married off to a Frey, a second son at that. Lord Walder was playing a dangerous game that he had no hope of winning. Jaime opened his mouth, but Lyanna beat him to it.

"You arrogant, decrepit old lecher," Her eyes flashed dangerously, and she stepped closer, looking every bit the wild wolf of Winterfell. And all her claws were out. "The day I let my daughter marry one of your weasel-faced brood is the day hell freezes over. How dare you stand before Houses Stark and Lannister and insult us by asking for my daughter in exchange for a bridge? I would never even let my daughter near this castle, let alone allow let any of the filthy, scraping rats you call family lay a finger on her. Now, if you do not let us cross this minute I will ensure that the fury of the North unleashes hell upon you and your home, and that the Rains of fucking Castamere play over the smoking ruins,"

There was a long, heavy silence. Jaime turned to the old lord with a grin. She'd said everything he was thinking.

"Let them cross," Walder Frey ground out, resentment and hatred clear in his voice. He could not do anything else, because no one even considered that Lyanna was making empty threats. His father would be furious to hear of Frey's disrespect to the Lannisters and wouldn't hesitate before following up on it. And though he didn't believe Eddard Stark was a violent man - though given his reputation, Frey might - any attempt to keep his sister from going home would surely not be met well.

Jaime smirked as they crossed the bridge as perhaps the first people who didn't have to pay a toll.

"You're something else," He turned to her where she rode on her grey destrier. She grinned.

"I haven't told anyone off like that in years,"

"Enjoy it?"

"Gods, yes,"

*

Winterfell was a grey and grim castle, vast and sprawling and undoubtedly ancient. It stood in the wild and bleak moors and mountains of the North, the slightly foreboding Wolfswood on one side, yet the frozen land had a certain beauty to it, as did the castle. Strangely enough, the castle itself was not cold, and Lyanna eagerly explained about the hot springs under the castle that were pumped through the walls.

They had scarcely ridden through the gates before she had jumped off her horse and run into the arms of Ned Stark. Then she had thrown herself at a long faced, dark haired boy of perhaps thirteen - that must be her younger brother Benjen - for even longer; they hadn't seen each other since before the rebellion. She had greeted Lady Catelyn politely, seeming a little unnerved to see the beautiful woman standing beside her second brother big with child - it had been Brandon Stark the woman was meant to wed, not Eddard - but smiled warmly nonetheless and waved at the little boy stood beside her, who was introduced as Robb. The child grinned broadly at her, asking if she was Aunt Lyanna.

Jaime had hung back a little whilst she greeted her family, but Lyanna dragged him forward. The greeting between himself and Lord Stark was cold - the man disliked him for killing Aerys and Jaime disliked him in turn - but he made sure to smile charmingly at Lady Catelyn as Stark glowered beside her. The young Benjen clearly shared his brother's distaste for him, but little Robb eagerly asked him if he was a real knight. Jaime laughed and said he tried to be.

Then Lyanna saw the other little boy, hiding slightly behind Lord Stark's legs. Everyone quietened, even Robb. Catelyn was watching Lyanna with a sad smile, but Eddard and Benjen were watching Jaime even as Lord Stark nudged the boy forward.

"Here you go, Jon," He said encouragingly and surprisingly softly. "That's your mother, there. Go over and meet her," The boy stepped forward, and gods, there was no trace of Targaryen at all in him. He looked more Stark than Robb, and that had probably saved his life, for had he been silver haired and lilac eyed - had he looked like Rhaegar's son - Robert certainly would have been far less forgiving. His face was long and solemn even at two, his hair was the same colour as the twins' and fell to his shoulders, and his eyes were the same shade as Lyanna's.

"Hello Jon," Lyanna smiled, her tone gentle as she knelt in the snow and held out her arms. There was a pause, but then the boy flung himself towards her, wrapping his little arms around her neck, and she took him in her own, hugging him tightly like she'd never let go. She tried to hide the tears streaming down her face, but Jaime saw them anyway, as she murmured into her son's ear.

They stayed in Winterfell for two months. Lyanna would've stayed longer if she hadn't been missing the twins. As it was, she spent as much time as possible with Jon before they had to go. Jaime laughed to see her with him and Robb in the yard, training with sticks they'd found in the Godswood (an unnerving place that set Jaime on edge, even though all the Starks seemed perfectly at home there).

"You're teaching them wrong," He sauntered up to her, and she looked up, rolling her eyes.

"Here we go," She said to the children and Benjen, who was watching. "And what does the great Ser Jaime Lannister think the two year olds should be doing better?"

"Nothing," He said. "It's you. You're teaching them how I taught you, which is how to fight someone bigger than you. Because let's face it, anyone you'll ever have to fight will be," She made to hit him with her stick, but he caught it and pulled it out of her grasp. She stuck out her tongue as he grinned.

"You taught her to fight?" Benjen Stark asked, disbelieving.

"Teaching," Jaime said mildly; the younger Stark hadn't ever been openly rude towards him, but his dislike of Lannisters was evident. "It's a work in progress. She's not very good," Without warning, he made a slash at Lyanna with the makeshift sword, seeing that she'd picked up another stick, and grinning when she yelped in surprise but got the stick up in time to parry. He considered her for a moment, moving in a circle around her. "Though she is getting better," He lunged again, slashing once, twice, three times, and she blocked them all. Then she attacked him and the fight began in earnest. Lyanna was lasting longer against him now, she was far better than she had been a year ago, but it was always only a matter of time before he beat her. When he flicked the stick out of her hand, she did what she hadn't done in a while and leapt at him, using her whole bodyweight to try and force his sword arm down. They stood frozen for a moment - his arm wasn't moving and she wasn't giving up - and looked up at him and he looked down at her, grinning challengingly. Jaime let her try for a time then put her out of her misery and hooked his leg around hers, taking them out from under her but catching her just before she hit the floor. They remained like that for a moment, Lyanna glaring at him, him grinning unapologetically, before he let her go and she fell with a thump the remaining short distance to the ground. The sounds of children giggling made both of them remember that they weren't alone.

"Jaime!" She was on her feet in an instant, marching furiously over. He just laughed at her, catching both her wrists as she moved to hit him and pulling her close, kissing her quickly. Little things like that, kissing her in public without caring who saw, was something he'd never had before.

They broke apart to see Benjen looking at them, so incredulous and disgusted that Jaime might as well have been kissing Cersei.

*

He had known his wife was physically pleasing since he saw her. Known that her face was fair enough, her body was slim but quite curvaceous and, on occasion, thought she had nice eyes. In all honesty, he hadn't ever really thought about her looks. In the beginning, he wouldn't have paid any more or less attention to her if she'd been gorgeous or looked like a troll; she wasn't Cersei, and anything but Cersei was all irrelevant to him. Cersei was beauty itself, the Light of the West, as dazzling as the sun. Who could even begin to compare? Certainly not a dark haired Northern girl, cold and damaged. Of course, things had changed. Jaime had changed. Distance from his sister, a fresh perspective, had helped him see things clearer. He loved Cersei, he always had and probably always would. She was his sister. He would've loved her as more than a sister forever, if she'd let him.

But she hadn't. And now he had Lyanna. When he and his wife had started to get close - actually acting like they were married, rather than tentative, if unlikely, friends - the attraction between them hadn't ever been about looks, more the fact that they were both just there and wanted someone to share a bed with. Then after that... he hadn't really thought about it. The point was, though he had noticed Lyanna was hardly unattractive, he had never paid much attention to her looks. He hadn't had to.

It was only now that he fully appreciated for the first time how truly beautiful she was.

It was a strange moment to realise it. Honestly, in that moment his thoughts should have been about anything but how lovely his wife looked. Anger, fear, panic. That would all come later. Right now, all he could do was stare.

He'd felt it in his gut that returning to King's Landing would not end well, even though they had no choice but to obey his father's request for a visit; Lord Tywin was, as predicted, Hand of the King by now, Jon Arryn having returned to the Vale with his wife to get an heir on her. Lyanna had been annoyed at having to leave Lorcan and Tya again, but the twins were still too young to travel such a distance. And Robert had been bad enough last time, acting like a spoilt child who had his favourite toy taken from him and given second-rate replacement.

This time, he seemed to have gotten over that anger and resentment, which both Jaime and Lyanna would've thought would be cause for celebration, but after a week or two in the Red Keep they were longing for its return. Robert was even more raucous and rowdy, getting drunk at every meal and groping at the serving wenches. It would've been bad enough, for king to be embarrassing himself and Cersei - and by extension the Lannisters - in public like that, if his drunkness hadn't also come with countless highly inappropriate comments made towards Lyanna, in front of large audiences.

Jaime had never imagined that he would feel protective over Lyanna - in the beginning he simply didn't care, and now he knew she could more than take care of herself - but the king's comments started making his blood boil simply because of the reaction they caused from his wife. He'd heard comments like that be directed at her before, made in jest by other men, and she always carelessly laughed them off, giving twice as good as she got. Robert, however, went further than that. It wasn't quite lighthearted enough to laugh off, and Lyanna merely smiled blandly whenever it happened, her eyes going blank, her mouth completely silent, her body completely still. It was like when they were first married. It didn't suit her any more now than it had then. Not at all.

Then there was the feast, held a week before Jaime and Lyanna were meant to return to Casterly Rock, to celebrate the arrival of Lord Whatshisface from Who-Knows Where. Robert loved any excuse for a feast. The king had been particularly bad that night, kissing Lyanna's hand far too long to be decent and practically undressing her with his eyes all night, not even bothering to hide it. Therefore, Jaime did not protest when Lyanna muttered to him that she was going back to their chambers slightly earlier than normal. As she walked out the hall, Jaime realised with a jolt that all had gone oddly quiet from the middle of the table. Cersei was still sat there, looking as beautiful and sour as ever as she hissed some complaint to their father, but more importantly she was sat there alone. Robert, where was Robert?

It may have been an irrational conclusion to jump to, but Jaime immediately feared the worst. No way would the king leave a feast early without a good reason. He got to his feet, ignoring the questions of those around him, and quickly left the hall, hand on his sword hilt. He wasn't exactly sure what he was thinking. Even Robert wouldn't be that stupid. He was a womaniser, yes, a drunk, yes, but a rapist? Jaime doubted it. And Lady Stark too, his best friend's sister, he wouldn't, he couldn't -

"Get your dirty hands off me," Shit. He'd recognise that voice anywhere. Jaime ran around the corner, to see the great hulking form of Robert Baratheon stood there as a small figure advanced on him, hand raised. He was just in time to see Lyanna slap the king fully round the face, the sound making Jaime want to wince from experience, but on this occasion he smirked.

He should be feeling angry. His wife's hair was messed up, her dress was askew and she'd evidently just been backed into a wall against her will by a man three times her size. He should be afraid, that his wife technically attacked the king, for which the penalty was death. But in that moment, he couldn't help but notice that she looked truly beautiful. Her hair was a wild mane around her long, pale face. Her eyes were alive with ice and fire, stormy grey and dangerous. She moved like a wolf advancing on its prey; a rather large prey for such a small wolf, admittedly, but that made the scene even better.

"Get it in your stupid, fat lump of a head," Lyanna was seething. "I never wanted to marry you. The thought of your hands on me makes me sick," The king was actually backing away. The Demon of the Trident, backing away from an angry woman of barely five foot four. "It you dare even think about laying a finger on me again, king or no king, I will take that finger, hack it off with a rusty spoon and shove it so far up your royal arse you won't ever shit the same again," Jaime couldn't help it. He snorted, loudly, catching both of their attention. Robert glared, furious and red faced already, Jaime's presence only making it worse. Lyanna looked over, eyes flashing, breathing heavily.

"You're incredible," Jaime clapped his hands slowly at his wife, grinning widely. "Completely mad, but incredible," Lyanna's furious expression faltered, and her lips twitched.

"You're a bit late," She said.

"Like you needed me," Jaime shot a mocking glance at Robert. "I'm just glad I got to see the show,"

"Fuck off, Kingslayer," Robert grunted. It probably wasn't wise to piss off one of the deadliest warriors in the kingdoms, especially as that man had the power to behead him on a whim, but Jaime was beyond even that. The use of the name Kingslayer snapped something in him, and the grin abruptly fell from his face. Fuck it, he was one of the deadliest warriors in the kingdom. And he hadn't earned the name Kingslayer for nothing.

"I'm sure Ned Stark would love to hear of the hospitality you treat his beloved sister with," He looked at the man, suddenly sharp and threatening. Robert riled at the threat, but Jaime didn't back down. "You know, Ned, your old friend, the man who fought a rebellion to save the same sister from the last brute to rape her," Robert looked ready to hit him with the same force as his last blow on Rhaegar Targaryen, his worst and clearly still very much hated enemy who he very obviously loathed being compared to, but then Lyanna stepped between them and the king's face fell.

"Lyanna, I didn't mean - " He tried, but one look from her was all it took to stop him. It was pathetic really. The woman was looking for a fight. If it was Jaime she was arguing with they'd both be fighting on the floor by now.

"He always said he didn't mean it," She gave him a look of purest disdain, and the king flinched like he'd been struck. "Like that made it any less of a torment," She glanced at Jaime, then back to Robert. "We're leaving. Back to Casterly Rock, tomorrow. As early as possible. I can't stay here with you. Now, if you'll excuse me," She grinned wolfishly. "I'm going to fuck my husband. Goodnight, your Grace," She took Jaime's arm and lead him towards their rooms, not looking back once at the heartbroken, humiliated and furious face of Robert Baratheon stood alone in the hall.

Jaime did look back. Met the king's eyes, raised his eyebrow and smirked his most deliberately infuriating smirk, as the door closed behind them. There might be hell to pay in the morning, but, for now, that didn't matter. He turned, only for Lyanna to throw her arms around him and try to bury her face in his chest. His smirk fell and he held her, hand in his hair, the other round her waist. The encounter had upset her. Jaime had seen it, even if others wouldn't have. Upset at being reminded of the worst years of her life. Anger, at being treated like property, like anyone had the right to her. Embarrassed, for letting it happen again. She was wild, she was ferocious, she was strong, but she was also human.

"I did mean that," He murmured into her hair.

"What?" She looked up at him, grey eyes rather bright.

"You are incredible," She rolled her eyes and hit him lightly, but smiled nonetheless. He smiled too. "Honestly. I know we don't do compliments, but this has to be an exception. What you said about his finger... I'll treasure the look on his face forever," She chuckled then, and he grinned. They just looked at each other for a moment, a long moment, then she buried her head in his chest again and he held her tight. "You're beautiful," He spoke into her hair again, so quiet even he could barely hear it. She heard it, and he felt her squeeze a little tighter in acknowledgement. There was a pause.

"You're not bad yourself," She murmured, and he laughed at the hint of mocking, feeling her smirking against his chest. It wasn't I love you - it might never be I love you - but it was enough for both of them. They'd gone from strangers to husband and wife, then husband and wife to friends, who then became lovers as well. Then after that, well. Neither of them quite knew what they were now. That was their relationship. Hard to explain. He hadn't told her about Cersei, or Aerys, and there was definitely something she wasn't telling him about Rhaegar Targaryen. What that might be, he had no idea, but there was something, of that he was sure. In all honesty, he didn't really want to know. And she certainly didn't want to know about him and Cersei. Jaime was happy like this. Happy to settle for friends.

"Careful," He said sarcastically. "I might blush," She chuckled at that, and he felt the vibrations through his chest. He found himself smiling. In this cruel, hard, generally shit world, at least they could still laugh.