A tension fell over the household even as routines returned to normal. The staff of Castlerly Rock witnessed the teasing and affectionate relationship between their lord and lady morph into a fraught dance of avoidance and desertions. Lady Merilyn slipped through the halls, steadily answering questions and doling out directives, with a quiet firmness as if nothing had changed. Though the servants often whispered amongst themselves that something else must have happened beyond the baby, because the lady hadn't smiled once since the night of the celebrations.

However, the rumors were hissed quickly and quietly for while Lady Lannister was a quiet constant, Ser Jaime had become an unpredictable storm that no one wanted to invoke. The soldiers in the yard, the ones who prided themselves on their ability to maintain a presence in a fight against the Kingslayer, now shrunk back when he came to spar. He attended only the nighttime sessions, stalking around with black anger rolling off him, and his men couldn't remember a time when they'd been this bruised from simple training matches. When the lord and lady appeared in the same room, her gaze never reached him, while his never left her.

The servants closest to Lady Merilyn silently traded terrified glances when she fixed her own tea pretending no one could see the slightly silver sheen of oil at the top. The castle's chef swore that she saw them kiss in the glass tower before she left her duties only a few evenings past. The chef whispered this quickly to Lady Lannister's handmaiden, who remembered there had been no tea that evening. Casterly Rock's Septa once remarked to the maester that their lord had asked for her advice on how to celebrate Lady Lannister's nameday. The maester had responded to her with nothing more than a half-hearted shrug, but he later in private gave Ser Jaime all of the ideas he could think of for celebrations.

No matter how early the servants rose in the mornings, their lady was always already awake. The sound of her humming softly filled the rooms before even the choir of gulls. By the evenings however, her presence waned and the lord's increased. Lady Lannister retired early, hiding in her world of drugged tea and dreamless sleep and while she slept, her husband roamed the halls, face impassive but feet restless. If one of the them watched him long enough, they could almost see the wear in the stone from his tread. His boots were heard until well past midnight most nights.

They still slept in the same room, gossip informed. The few weeks after the lady's accident where separate bedrooms featured were now all but forgotten by reasoning of necessary for her recovery. A maid giggled recently to the laundry circle that Ser Jaime was still fond of sleeping through the night without clothes, and as she was the maid in charge of changing the Lannister's sheets, she also noted that the lady had healed enough from labor. Unfortunately, that particular conversation had been overheard by Willas. The captain of the guard punished any of the servants who were caught repeating the maid's stories, lecturing them about respect and loyalty.

The servants were growing used to the charged atmosphere. Even with the looming threats from the dedicated captain, they still tried to determine the cause of the change. They asked one another what had happened to the once awkward but sincere accord between the married couple. The theories ranged from tangible to inventive to impossible. They had no way of testing the accuracy of it all, so the theories remained unsubstantiated, although repeated often.

Jaime rubbed his eyes, forcing the grit of sleepiness from them, and rolled his shoulders. Sitting up from the bed, he turned and stood. His head throbbed in rhythm with his pulse, and he felt the knot of muscle sitting uncomfortably in the middle of his back. He threw his shirt on, and looked around the room for any sign of his wife.

Luna lay underneath the window, watching him with half-opened eyes. Two months ago, he would've assumed that meant that she was nearby. Lately though, the direwolf shadowed his footsteps. Watching Luna lazily stretch on the floor and loll her tongue out, Jaime assumed Merilyn left well before sunrise since the direwolf had had the time to go back to sleep. He continued dressing as he stepped past Luna.

Jaime had cobbled together a vague plan in the last few weeks. He gave Merilyn space during the day, though it was reluctantly and sometimes half-heartedly, but he made an effort. At night, he tried to mend what was broken with their bodies, because he didn't have the words. And she always met him halfway, in the middle of their bed in the confusing tangle of bodies and history, of past and present. Her drugged tea consumption existed still, though some nights he didn't taste it on her as sharply.

He walked out of the room, passing several of the younger maids stacking folded linens. He met Willas halfway down the steps. The younger man nodded his head reverentially, and followed Jaime down.

"Where?" Jaime exhaled quietly.

Willas nodded, "down at the cove like you suggested."

"Alone?"

He nodded again and then grimaced slightly, "she assumed you were going to follow after, so she told me to tell you to, uh, well, she specified, uh, she said, 'make yourself fu-fucking useful and bring honeywine down. She hates beer." Willas held out a rounded bottle and shrugged.

Jaime huffed out a breath, taking the bottle. He bit back several insults about Willas' intelligence choosing instead to break eye contact and walk down the trail instead. The rocks crunched beneath his steps and he slowed his walk as he reached the top of the incline, peering over and down into the cove at the bottom. He caught sight of Merilyn's figure outlined on the bright sand, and continued down slowly. As he got closer, her figure grew sharper and he could see she was in her lightest layer with her hair unrestrained around her as the waves crept up and touched the tips of her toes. He knew she could hear his footsteps as he crossed the sand, but her eyes stayed closed and she breathed evenly as if she was trying to lazily identify the scents on the air. He sat next to her quietly, waiting for her to open her eyes in acknowledgement. The moments passed in silence as he watched the waves reaching for the shore.

"Take your boots off." Her voice cut through the silence as she ordered him.

He looked at her, startled, but she was still sitting with her eyes closed facing towards to ocean. He toed off his boots and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. She gestured to the ocean without a word. He withheld a sigh and placed his feet in the cool water. More time passed without words. They shared the quiet rumbling of the beach and watched the tiny crabs shuffling along the coastline.

"When I was younger, I used to ask my father question after question after question. It was incessant. The septa scolded me, my mother forbade me from asking questions, and my father would just chuckle quietly and shake his head, but I wouldn't quit. So finally, when I was five he bargained with me. I could ask all of the questions I wanted, but only on one day of the whole year. As a small child, I wanted to be certain I remembered the particular day, so I chose my name day. And he always honored it. I'd write my questions throughout the year in these little journals my brothers had gifted me. I don't even remember most of the questions now. But I think I looked forward to those questions more than my celebrations."

Jaime was silent a moment, unsure of what he should say or what she was trying to tell him. She turned and looked him in the eyes for the first time and then continued talking.

"I thought of that story earlier this morning when I remembered what today was, and then my first instinct was to tell you because it's a memory that makes me happy." She blinked and looked away, biting her nail, "Do you know, in a year and a half, you've never really told me a story about yourself?"

Her tone wasn't accusatory and Jaime relaxed slightly. She sounded more tentative than anything else, as if she was uncertain about the topic. He took a deep breath and slipped around to sit behind her, holding her closer to him. Before she could object, he began to speak.

"Since, it's your nameday, I think," he lowered his mouth to her ear and dropped his voice lower, "I can tell you whatever kind of story you want."

She pulled her upper body away from him, but didn't object to sitting near his lap. As she moved, she twisted to look at him and half-smiled, "tell me one from when you were five."

Jaime thought for a moment and shrugged, "I'm not actually sure how old I was but, Tyrion hadn't been born yet, so it's close. Has anyone told you about the old lions that were kept in the cages in the dungeons?"

She gasped, "Lions?"

He nodded solemnly, hiding a smirk, "My uncle kept them, about a dozen once. It was said they'd been bought from a competitive arena in the Disputed Lands where people used to battle with them for sport. I went exploring one day when the lion keeper happened to be distracted. Right up to the cages of one of them and looked him in the eye. He was absolutely massive and he did not give a single fuck about me. Just yawned at me. Anyway, I got a look at those teeth and fled."

She looked horrified, "A five year old around a lion?"

"I might've been six. And not just a five year old, I was a Lannister. I understood the dangers."

She huffed and rolled her eyes, "Wow."

"If you're impressed with that one, you should hear about our cliff diving -."

She interrupted, "Wait, where's my promised honeywine?"

He smirked, "I never promised honeywine."

"It's my nameday and you promised whatever I want on my nameday," she stated firmly.

"I promised you stories," he raised an eyebrow, "not whatever you'd like."

She chuckled softly and dragged her feet softly across the wet sand, drawing nonsensical figures, "I assume that you don't remember then? Just a few months ago, when you told me you'd give me whatever I wanted if I'd just let you touch me? If I'd come with you behind the trees, you promised to make me scream. From what I remember, I told you I'd collect today," she said all of it matter-of-factly but there was a lingering suggestion to her words, was she teasing him he thought.

He took a deep breath in and focused on not remembering the particulars of their nature tryst in the gardens. Flashes of red hair on green grass and the smell of her perfume and rain mixing seeped in slowly even with his concentrated avoidance of that night. She was right though. He remembered his hands and mouth trying to coax her and he remembered his teasing promises of jewels or silks to her. The feel of her skin slick with sweat and rain came unbidden to his mind and he urgently concentrated on not physically reacting.

"Here," he cleared his throat and focused on the corner of the blanket they sat on as he handed her the bottle.

She clapped quickly and took it from him, "I think Leila packed glasses in that basket," she pointed to the left and gestured for him to look.

He leaned and pulled out the two glass goblets and held them out for her to fill. She tipped the bottle and hovered over the glasses. One was significantly more than the other and she smiled and took the larger glass. She clinked the glasses together lightly and drank down a steady gulp. She coughed weakly and smiled again, "thank you."

He drank from his glass in response. They both turned and watched the waves together, uncertain of what to say next or simply content to enjoy and be still, he didn't know which. The sky was blue and endless without a single cloud in sight. As if in accordance with the peaceful sky, the surroundings were all calm and undisturbed. This hadn't been a highly popular cove when he was a child, but they had come down here once or twice to explore. He watched the edge of the waves again.

She took another drink and then looked at him, "did you have a favorite feast day?"

They continued on in this fashion for a while, exchanging drinks from the bottle their glasses long abandoned. She'd ask about a certain detail or date and he'd answer, sometimes with a half-truth but mostly just the casual memories he'd almost forgot about. Her cheeks and nose were flushed and she smiled in such an unguarded, casual manner that it felt like a vice around his heart when she directed it at him. He couldn't understand what had changed, but he was hesitant to ask in case she suddenly remembered her anger. At some point, Merilyn unpacked the food from Leila's basket and they shared in between their questions and answers. The questions were becoming more personal and pointed as she drank, he observed amusedly.

"Why does your father hate you?" She asked softly, setting the bottle down.

He shrugged, "I'm one of many he hates."

"Why does he hate everyone then?"

"Honestly, I think when he was younger, he merely disliked everyone. Then he met my mother, who really was the only person he loved. And he mellowed, according to other people. When she died though, he just... never recovered and grew to hate everyone."

"Surely, he loves you three though, you're his children," she looked up at him with bright blue eyes and he could see the sincerity in them. He hesitated, not wanting to upset the happy mood of the afternoon.

"Surely," he agreed instead. He looked down at her mouth, still smiling at the corners and stained with the dark crimson of their wine. He wondered if she'd taste like honey. He couldn't remember if he had leaned in first or if she had, but he found himself inches from her face. He leaned closer, trying hard not to rush in, trying hard to give her time to pull away. She didn't.

His mouth captured hers softly at first, tentative and testing. It was gentle and sweet and everything Jaime Lannister was not, but that didn't stop him. He raised his hand to the back of her head holding it lightly. They melted together slowly, her hands slowly moving to his upper arms and his other hand snaking down to her hip. Jaime tasted just a hint of the bittersweet honeywine on her lips and he felt a wave of longing wash over him. He wanted more, more gentle and sweet and slow and consuming. He withheld from gripping her hair in his hands, instead moving his hand restlessly down her neck. Their bodies shared heat and he could see Merilyn grow even more flushed. They broke apart to breathe, both inhaling sharply, eyes locked. He could see her lust as her chest rose and fell quickly, but he could also see the hesitation.

It was different in the light of day. At night, she could pretend it didn't mean anything significant, that they fall together because there's no one else. But here, with the sun as a witness, she'd have to examine her feelings if they went any further. He understood the difference between him coming to her and her coming to him.

He stood up then and held out his hand. She took it and stood with him, looking torn. He brushed a strand of hair from her face and led her away from the cove.

"Willas lied to you as well, I should inform you," he remembered as they walked up the path, "There is more to this day than just the picnic at the cove."

She cocked her head to the side and looked at him as they walked, "what do you mean?"

"You're going to need more appropriate clothing than that," he waved toward her chemise.

0*****He hadn't given her any further hints though she'd rolled her eyes exasperatedly when he'd only shrugged at her questions. Her good mood continued as he watched her return to the entrance in a silk dress. She'd tucked her hair up loosely and her face was still slightly flushed from the wine. She didn't look directly at him, but her mouth was curved into a smile as she reached him.

"Well?" She raised an eyebrow, "will this be acceptable for your mystery excursion?"

He didn't answer but held his arm out. He felt the tension in his shoulders relax as she reached out and gently placed her arm on his. He wondered vaguely yet again why her mood had shifted so drastically. They walked slowly down the hill that led to the nearest village, arms still entwined. She was talking quietly about the work that had been done to rebuild the mines and he tried to pay attention, but pieces of her hair had escaped her braid and were clinging to the back of her neck. There was a drop of sweat that pooled at the back of her hairline and Jaime resisted the urge to kiss it away. After a moment too long of staring at her, he realized she wasn't speaking anymore and was instead watching him from the corner of her eye. He cleared his throat and looked ahead, willing himself not to be an idiotic sap and blush. Her mouth curled into a half-smile.

"What can you be thinking right now?"

He huffed a breath and shrugged, "you seem happy."

He felt her arm tense and he cursed himself for pushing it. He shook his head and opened his mouth to tell her to forget it when she mirrored him and shrugged back.

"It's my nameday. Only happy things exist today."

He wasn't sure how to respond to that. He wondered if her confession meant everything would regress after today ended. They reached the end of the gravel path and saw a camp of colorful tents swarmed with people.

Merilyn could recognize a few of the scents that alit the air from their kitchens at Casterly Rock but others shocked her and reminded her of Winterfell - pine and clove. The madness of overlapping shouts had a merry ring to it and Merilyn took a deep breath trying to absorb it all. She smiled up at Jaime who was watching her with an amused expression.

"Which Market is this?"

He smirked, "You don't know?"

She rolled her eyes, "My knowledge of markets is limited to descriptions from a secondhand source, not the most reliable."

"It's a traveling bazaar from the Western Market. They pass through Casterly Rock every few years or so."

"Have you been before?" She walked towards the closest aisle of tents and looked down curiously at the fabrics that were piled over the stall. She saw silk and other bright fabrics haphazardly stacked on each other. She could feel Jaime step up behind her, as she ran her hand along the fabrics.

"No, it seemed... superfluous for myself."

She smiled back at him quickly, "No trinkets for Tyrion?"

He barked out a low laugh and she felt her face warm. She loved when he laughed, especially when she was the person to make him laugh. A flash of their kiss down at the cove earlier came to her mind and she forcibly tore her gaze from his mouth. Simultaneously, she smothered the urge to kiss him again. She turned away from him distracted, not hearing his reply about his brother and chided herself for being foolish. She straightened her shoulders and continued walking past the other stalls, looking in amazement at all of the different goods. Stopping suddenly, she picked up a pearl embossed comb and ran her fingers over the engraved handle with care. Her mother had a similar one that she kept in the chest at the foot of her bed in Winterfell. Once she had told Merilyn it was a gift from a boy in her past, when she was still Catelyn Tully. The stall was lined with small gifts, carved statues, and jewelry. She wondered idly if her mother's childhood admirer had found the comb at a similar bazaar. She set it gently down and moved forward, feeling overwhelmed and exhilarated simultaneously. She looked at the people surrounding her in the market more closely and saw several of their guard pretending to wander aimlessly while maintaining a respectable distance. Children skipped past her and she assumed their parents stood near, haggling good naturedly with the stall keepers.

She turned behind her and opened her mouth to ask a question when saw Jaime buying the comb she had set down moments before. His eyes met hers, catching him in the act and he shoved the wrapped comb in his pocket roughly and glared at her as if daring her to ask about it.

She hid a smile quickly and tried to make her voice light, "Guards?"

The corner of his mouth turned up, but he merely shrugged. He stepped to her and placed his hand on the small of her back ushering her forward to another stall. The heat seemed to amplify the differing scents surrounding them. They wandered aimlessly, with Merilyn showing Jaime different items every now and again. When they walked past a stall full of fruit she didn't recognize, the owner told her the red fruit with black seeds was called watermelon and gave her a bowl filled with it. She learned she loved watermelon very much.

The sun had dropped in the sky as they came to some of the last tents of the market. There was a small crowd of people up ahead surrounding a large metal cage. As Jaime and she reached it, she tried to peek past people but couldn't manage to see what in the cage had everyone's attention. Jaime had no manners that prevented him from pushing through the crowd and pulling her with him. She felt the warmth of his hand holding onto hers and she was loathe to let go for a moment. Her hand fell away though when she caught a glimpse of what was caged.

In the farthest corner away from the crowd crouched low was a small lion cub. Its fur was matted and coated and she could see his ribs. It hardly lifted its head as a couple young children yelled at it and poked a stick in the cage. Merilyn gasped aloud as she took in the scene in front of her and felt tears gather in her eyes. She looked up to Jaime, unsure of what to do but angry all the same.

She saw it, just for a moment, the flash of derision in his eyes and she knew as he opened his mouth he was going to mock her for her soft heart. She squared her shoulders, bracing herself for the cutting remark. He closed his mouth quickly and nodded to her instead. He gestured behind him and a man she vaguely recognized stepped forward.

He leant down to her ear, "Stay with Godfrey."

He walked off without explaining anything further and she was left trying to follow him with her gaze as he cut past people. She smiled at the man who must be Godfrey uncertainly and took a few steps away from the crowd, hoping to catch sight of Jaime. She scanned the group twice until her gaze finally landed on him. He was standing near the cage arguing with a man. Merilyn thought the man could be from Dorne with his tanned skin and dark hair. He was shaking his head firmly, even as Jaime pointed to the cage. Even from far away, Merilyn could see Jaime was angry and losing patience quickly. His shoulders pulled back suddenly and she could almost hear his voice dropping an octave and threatening fast retribution. The man quickly put his hands up in surrender and he unlocked the cage without another objection. Jaime called behind him and Merilyn saw Willas step forward into the cage and pick up the cub. Willas handed the man a small purse and walked away without a second look. Willas offered up the cub to Jaime, who shot him a disgusted look before waving his hands in Merilyn's direction.

Gently, Willas handed the young lion to Merilyn. He weighed next to nothing and Merilyn felt tears rise again. She carefully avoided both men's gazes as she smoothed a hand over his coat.

"He's going to die, Merilyn." Jaime said abruptly, "You can make him comfortable, but don't get attached."

She sniffed as quietly as she could manage and nodded, but mentally she knew she wasn't going to give up on the poor, matted animal in her arms. She looked back up to Jaime when she trusted she was no longer teary-eyed.

"He needs water," her throat stuck for a moment, but she cleared it and continued, "let's go back up."

He rolled his eyes, but surprisingly took the cub from her arms and nodded, walking back towards the road that had led them down. She smiled wearily and followed him, thinking about how her nameday celebration was quite different from her expectations this morning.