Author's Note: this is set about a month before the first season. As the majority of the characters are already in the South, many things will have changed. But this chapter is just a wedding with the bedding at the end (making it a M-rated chapter) so not much happens plot-wise. Hope you like it!

PART I

the little wolf of casterly rock

The Union

As the little wolf walked through the aisle and towards the alter where he stood, patiently waiting and willing for this day to be over, Jaime imagined that it was Cersei walking towards him, wearing a gown of red and gold instead of the Stark girl's grey and white, her hair gold instead of brown. Had they been Targaryens, that would have been the way. No one would have blinked an eye.

But alas, they were Lannisters, and here they stood, the great Lannister twins, both wed to unwanted spouses.

She was pretty enough, he supposed, this northern wife of his. Small and dainty with grey eyes, brown hair and a heart-shaped face, she had the Stark look without that horrible long face of theirs that made them all look solemn and grumpy. The Stark girl was nothing compared to Cersei, of course. After all, how could a winter rose ever compare to the rising sun?

Lord Stark gave Jaime a fierce glare, filled with so much hatred and disdain that a lesser man might have cowered, which Jaime responded to with a smug smirk as Lord Stark handed over to him his daughter, reciting meaningless words that Jaime had to respond to. He struggled to remember all the vows and the oaths and the empty declarations of love.

He unclasped his wife's Stark cloak and replaced it with a Lannister one of red and gold. Only then, when she stood beside him, did Jaime realise how small the little wolf actually was. Gods be good, the girl was only a head taller than Tyrion. His brother would be delighted! Looking down at Lyarra, Jaime had to bite back a laugh. Not only was she half his age, but King Robert was forcing him to marry a girl who barely reached his shoulders!

The Septon droned on and on and on... Every so often he'd look to Jaime and Lyarra for a response, and as the husband must always speak first, Jaime would struggle to remember what to say and spat out some sort of reply. He equal parts hoped that what he said was correct and hoped that it wasn't, just to humiliate his father a little as payback for agreeing to this horrible match.

It must surely be almost finished, Jaime mused, glancing around the Sept discretely to cure his boredom. He spotted no one of interest. Anyone important was sitting behind him.

All of a sudden, the Septon stopped speaking and looked expectantly at Jaime, whose eyes were dancing around the Sept. When he caught the Septon's eye, Jaime blurted out, "Do I say something?"

He caught his wife cracking a small smile while most women would be scandalised, just as the Septon was. The poor Septon, Jaime allowed, I have not given him an easy time today. He must be at his wits end, having to whisper all the responses to me.

Nodding frantically, the Septon muttered while trying to keep his lips as still as possible, "With this kiss..." he trailed off, expecting Jaime to know the rest. He was half-tempted to make the Septon repeat himself and say the full sentence this time, but resisted the urge just so he could get this ordeal over with quicker.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," Jaime announced, his voice booming through the Sept. The words were strange on his tongue. Love. He had only ever loved Cersei. He would only ever love Cersei. Not the Stark child.

Child. I am wed to a child.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," Lyarra repeated, her voice much quieter than his but still audible.

Jaime leaned in as soon as the words had left her mouth and kissed her, taking joy in the little squeak that escaped her lips. How he loved to scandalise the little wolf, even in the short time he had known her. To make things worse for the girl, he slipped his tongue through her lips and licked her teeth, leaving her flushed and appalled as she tore away from him. She glared at Jaime almost as fiercely as her father had early.

It was clear to anyone in attendance that the Lannisters were just as unhappy with this match as the Starks. The only person who seemed to take any pleasure from it was the king, who had organised it all. As he walked out of the Sept with his little wife on his arm, Jaime noticed the sour looks on his sister and father's faces, and then took in the frowns Lord Stark, his wife and his son all wore. Happy now, Robert? You got your wedding. You got Lord Stark back in the South. You got to humiliate both your good-brother and good-father by showing us who holds the power. Are you happy now, you drunk oaf?

Already drunk, the king seemed very merry indeed. As soon as he got out of the Sept he started joking with Lord Stark, who was still stony-faced and grumpy. He tore his eyes away from Lord Stark and looked for his sister. He caught her eye for just a moment before she looked away from him, but it was long enough to see the rage in her eyes, the jealousy.

He looked to Cersei and then to the Stark girl he now had to call 'wife.' What a poor replacement, he couldn't help but think. A pup for a lioness.

Tywin Lannister had spared no expense for his son's wedding. Nine courses and the finest wine in Westeros – Dornish, of course – was being served, while the guests were entertained with mummer's shows and musicians from all over Westeros and some from Essos. Jaime wondered why his father bothered spending so much on a wedding nobody wanted, but the answer was quite simple. Why did his father do anything really? To show off the Lannister power and wealth.

Jaime allowed his little wife to spew out pleasantries and deal with their guests on her own. He was never good at being polite or holding stupid conversations that were going nowhere. Once all the close relatives had been to their table to offer their congratulations and well-wishes, Jaime decided to drink more wine in silence until he felt drunk enough to speak with the Westerlands lords and ladies. It wasn't often Jaime drank more wine than he was able for, but then again, today was a special occasion, was it not?

He was in the middle of a conversation with Lord Crakehall when he caught Cersei's eye again. She smirked at him before standing up and leaving the hall. He missed entirely what Crakehall was droning on about as he watched his sister leave, hoping that the lust in his eyes wasn't noticeable.

"What a pretty little thing your wife is, my lord. You are most lucky!"

"Indeed. Now, if you would excuse me," Jaime said, rather rudely. If he had to hear his wife being referred to as a 'pretty little thing' or some other variant one more time, he might just fling himself out of a window. Of course, the words were true, his wife was both pretty and little, but hearing the same thing on repeat all night did not do one's sanity any favours.

He struggled to stand up from his seat, and it was a worse struggle to pull back his chair and escape from the high table. He tripped at least twice, though thankfully he never fell and landed on his face, and followed Cersei out the hall.

Lucky. How many times had he been called lucky? What kind of perverted fuck thought that wedding and bedding a child was an achievement? The lords of Westeros were strange sometimes, even to Jaime, who had grown up as a lord's son.

His thoughts were interrupted as he saw a flicker of golden blonde hair at the end of the long hallway. Jaime walked quickly down the hall, past the corner where Cersei had disappeared. He was not disappointed. Cersei was waiting for him, standing beside a door, a seductive smile on her lips. She took his hand and led him inside. It was Father's solar. Father could walk in at any moment...

Jaime didn't care.

Overcome by lust and wine, Jaime wrapped his arms around his sister and began kissed her passionately, tongue and all. His hands roamed her body, from her hair to her breast to her arse... there were very few places left untouched by him. He trailed wet kisses along her neck, unskilled and clumsy though they were, and attempted to hike up her dress and he backed her against a wall.

"Will you think of me as you fuck that Stark girl tonight?" Cersei moaned into his ear as she bit down his ear, making Jaime groan. "When you're between her legs... who will it be Jaime? Me, or that child?"

"You, Cersei," he groaned into her neck, becoming very hard. "It's always been you."

Then, suddenly, Cersei laughed and pushed him away. She pulled down her skirts and straightened them before fixing her hair. She wore a mocking smile on that beautiful face of hers while he could only look confused, her sudden mood change had shocked him into silence.

"You made your bed, Jaime. You chose Lyarra Stark over me. You chose that little girl over the woman you've loved you're entire life! How old is she? I forget. Three-and-ten, is it?" Cersei taunted him.

"Don't be a fool, Cersei! I never chose to marry the Stark girl. The king and father demanded it, you know that," Jaime reminded her, unable to help that his voice had become somewhat pleading.

"You didn't fight them hard enough," Cersei stated. "You never loved me enough."

"Cersei-" Jaime tried, one last time, but was interrupted by more mocking laughter.

"Have fun with the Stark girl, tonight. She'll be the only woman you'll be fucking for a long time," Cersei mocked before she left their father's solar, standing tall and proud, no doubt delighted with herself that she had left him hard and flustered. In her eyes, she had won, and perhaps she had.

Jaime returned to the feast a little redder than before. He caught his wife giving him a curious look, or perhaps it was accusing, but did not pay her any mind. He'd barely spoken a word to her the week before their wedding, why should he start now? They weren't going to like each other. Jaime was harsh and blunt and selfish while Lyarra was polite to point of annoyance, but sweet as well. Jaime had seen it himself. The way she fretted over her brother when he had earned a scratch from the tiltyard, or doted on her younger brother and sisters like they were her own. It was endearing, truly, but Jaime wasn't interested in a delicate little flower from the North. He could only love a lioness like Cersei.

The king, drunk and groping a kitchen maid, stood up shakily and roared, "Time for the bedding!"

He felt Lyarra stiffen beside him. He wasn't looking forward to the bedding either, but it was different for men, he supposed. A girl as young as her wouldn't have had any experience with a man before, while a man his age would be expected to have lain with many women. Cersei. Only Cersei. He had sworn himself to Cersei, yet here he was, being carried away to the bed chamber and stripped of his garments, about to fuck his new wife. He caught a glimpse of his wife before the women carried him away from the Great Hall. She too was being stripped of her clothes while her brother – the heir, Robb – slapped away the unwanted hands of lustful men. Jaime almost smiled, remembering how he did the same for Cersei on her wedding night. If only he could have protected her from Robert after. Jaime wondered if Robb Stark was wishing the same.

They were both left in their room, as naked as their nameday. Jaime allowed his eyes to rake over his wife's body, which encouraged little Lyarra to do the same with his. She was thin, but not bony, with soft curves at hips and breasts. Her breasts were small, which was to be expected of a woman who had not yet birthed a child. Her hair covered some of her naked flesh, but not enough to hide her breasts from his eyes.

When he looked up at her eyes, he saw her staring back him, unsure. At least she wasn't trying to uselessly cover herself or cower away from him like he was some kind of rapist.

Wordlessly, Jaime poured them both a goblet of wine, downing his with one gulp. The little wolf was just as quick. A mere few seconds after he emptied his goblet, she had emptied hers. She wiped the red wine dripping from her lips with her thumb and set the goblet on the table, waiting for him to say or do something.

He did not disappoint. "Tell me, how old are you, little wolf?"

Her brows twitched together in bafflement of the question, but she answered nonetheless. "Five-and-ten, my lord."

"Five-and-ten," Jaime repeated, followed by a small scoff as the urge to down another glass of wine hit him. He resisted the urge, knowing that he should be somewhat sober if he didn't want to break the girl in half during the bedding. "Do you know how old I am, Lyarra?"

Again, the girl looked at him in confusion. "No, I don't."

"Thirty-six," Jaime answered bitterly. "Twice your age and then some. Does that disturb you?"

Jaime expected to hear some pretty little lie. No, my lord. I am honoured to be your lady wife, Ser Jaime, truly! When he saw the hesitant look on her face, he began to think of all the responses she could come up with, each more intelligent than the last. With the time she took to think of a reply, Jaime must have thought of at least seven.

"What's done is done," Lyarra admitted. Jaime couldn't hide his surprise. These northern women are different indeed. "There's nothing we can do about it now."

Once the surprise faded away, Jaime barked out a laugh. "You're Ned Stark's daughter to the bone, aren't you? No courtesies, no pretty words, just facts. Harsh, true facts."

"Would you prefer I speak with pretty words?" the Stark girl asked him.

He thought for a moment, regarding the girl in front of him with interest and amusement. "No. I don't think I would."

But the rest of the world is not so kind. You'd be eaten alive in King's Landing, little wolf. Pray you never see the Red Keep. Starks were not known for their skill at courtly intrigue. Most of the Starks that had went to King's Landing in the last half a century had perished there. Jaime didn't think Lyarra would be an exception.

"You know what happens next, don't you?" Jaime ended the silence that had came over the two of them, both lost in their own thoughts, by mentioning the task they had both been dreading.

Though worry was etched on her face, Lyarra straightened her back and nodded. "I do."

He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and smiled a somewhat rueful smile. "Well then. Shall we?" Jaime stretched his arm out, gesturing towards the bed.

Dutifully, the Stark girl nodded and walked with him to the bed, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling as Jaime climbed on top of her. "Relax," he bid her. "It won't be as painful if you relax." He thought his advise would be helpful, but it only made her body tense in response. Jaime let out a small sigh. He was determined to make this as painless as possible. If he was going to have to lie with her, he wasn't going to harm the girl.

His father's words echoed in his head as he looked down at the naked girl lying on his bed. "You will get a child on the Stark girl, Jaime, I don't care if you have to pin her down on the bed and have your way with her. The future of House Lannister has been in doubt for too long." What choice did he have really, in any of this? Yet Jaime felt like he was doing something wrong, something immoral, when he was left with no choice. He pushed the thoughts aside and focused at the task at hand, ignoring the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He had never lain with a woman he didn't love, so Jaime found intimate acts difficult to perform on a girl he had no fondness for. He forced himself to press his lips against Lyarra's neck and then trailed his lips further down her torso, to the area between her breasts to her flat stomach. The little wolf let out a barely audible moan and relaxed under him, telling Jaime that she was no longer quite so uncomfortable.

Jaime's hand slipped between her legs then, parting them further. He slipped a finger inside of her, causing his little wife to gasp in shock and tense beneath him again, but once the discomfort faded, he slipped in another, pumping them in and out of her. He considered pressing his mouth to her cunt, as he had with Cersei many times, but decided against it, believing that such an act would only make Lyarra more uncomfortable. Another moan passed the little wolf's lips as she grew used to his fingers inside of her.

He looked to her for assurance that he was ready. Lyarra gave him a short nod, understanding why there was doubt on his face, and so Jaime positioned his hands on her hips and his cock at her entrance, pushing her legs further apart, before he pushed himself inside of her.

He was slow, gentle and careful, but his little wife still let out a low cry of pain as her maidenhead broke. He felt like a monster for causing her pain and looked down at his wife with worry. Lyarra gave him another small nod of encouragement, so Jaime continued on.

For a time, even when pleasure tried to take over, Jaime forced himself to keep a slow pace as he thrust inside his new wife. As the whimpers grew quieter, Jaime's thrusts became quicker. His wife was tense, her legs wrapped around his waist tightly. Eventually Lyarra grew more relaxed and rested her hands on Jaime's arms. She did not respond to his movements, and laid still on their bed as he pumped in and out of her.

Jaime wished that she could just do something. Move her body with his, arch her back to meet his thrusts... anything! Instead, his wife was lifeless. He tried not to fault her, she was inexperienced, but he still found himself wishing for a more lively partner. Nonetheless, Jaime kept thrusting himself inside of her, his thrusts becoming faster and faster as he started to groan with pleasure.

His grip on Lyarra's hips became tighter as pleasure rose inside of him, his nails digging into her skin. Later, he would regret hurting her so, but for now, he found himself unable to control his movements. As he began to reach his climax, his thrusts became unsteady as his mind became clouded with lust. His body pressed against Lyarra's, both slick with sweat, he felt himself almost collapsing on his little wife as he released his load inside of her.

Jaime tried to regain himself quickly, climbing off his wife's body because he knew that if he fell asleep on top of her he would likely crush a few bones. Exhausted, he climbed into bed, trying to ignore the blood on the sheets where Lyarra lay.

"Get some sleep," Jaime advised her. "I imagine tomorrow will be almost as busy as today."

Lyarra nodded and climbed under the sheets. They tried to keep as much distance between them, both sleeping on the very edge of the bed.

That night, he dreamt of a woman with long golden hair and emerald green eyes, as he always had.