Chapter 6: The Long Game

When she woke the next morning, the sun was already bleeding through the windows into their opulent chambers, and Margaery only groaned before covering her face with one arm in an attempt to shield from the light.

Not so opulent were these chambers, of course, as the ones that might have been hers were she Queen now, but she was determined not to mourn for a title she could no longer have. She was Lady Lannister now.

Margaery glanced to her left, where her husband, strange as the word still seemed in regards to that man, lay tangled in the sheets beside her. She blinked in surprise; in all their time together, he had always managed to wake before she.

The feel of him, the smell of him, still clung to her, and Margaery nearly blushed as she sat up slowly, pulling the sheets around her in case one of the servants entered to bring their morning break of fast, as it was later than they two usually awoke.

Everything came back to her in a bit of a rush then.

Jaime had fucked her last night. And not in the gentle way that he had on the night they were married. In the way that a Lion took what was his; hard and full of passionate, rough touches, rather than kind ones.

And Margaery had enjoyed it in a way that she had never enjoyed being with a man before.

She simply had not been expecting it.

They had not, after all, been together intimately since that first night of marital bliss, though the long days that her new husband spent with her to atone for it made it clear, at least in her mind, if not yet in his, that he wanted some sort of relationship with her, and so Margaery had not given up hope. She was a very patient woman.

She had merely been confused about why he wished to hold her at arm's length, when he so clearly had an interest in her. Whether it was simply because he did not to return to Casterly Rock and take up his position as heir, or if it was his grief over Joffrey.

Until last night, when everything had become all too clear.

Margaery sighed, falling back onto the bed; tired in a way that had nothing to do with the need for further sleep, and studied her husband.

He was not an unattractive man, for all that he seemed to think so without the use of his second hand. Margaery had heard tales enough of his charm and prettiness, and prowess in battle, growing up; far more than she'd ever heard of Joffrey Baratheon, though she had managed to keep this a secret.

Somehow, she didn't think her husband would like to hear such flattery, as his...nephew clearly had.

His blond hair clung to the sides of his head, still slicked with sweat from the night before, his chest rising and falling in slow patterns as his hands tangled tighter in the sheets.

Moving delicately, not wishing to wake him with her ministrations, Margaery leaned toward him and ran a spindly finger down the sharp contours of his chest, wondering if he'd looked so before his time as a captive; he was still rather thin, especially for a man who was now simply a lord, rather than a Kingsguard.

Jaime let out a sigh that was half of a man and moved closer to her touch, and Margaery could not help the small smile that graced her lips as, emboldened, she ran the entirety of her hand along his frame, whispering touches that she hoped he would remember, when he did indeed wake.

And as she lay beside her husband, she wondered.

Wondered what it would be like to be the woman that Jaime Lannister truly loved. To be held in his arms and to know without a doubt that he belonged to her, and her alone, loving her ardently enough to sacrifice all else for her happiness.

To be the one whose name he whispered in the dead of night, in his sleep when he thought her sleeping too, so lovingly that Margaery was almost jealous of a woman she had felt pity, and then revulsion for, for most of the time she'd known her.

She was not a fool, for all that Cersei Lannister seemed to believe her to be, a pretty thing with no mind in her head.

But nor did she truly need her husband's love.

She had proved that with her last two, who had loved her brother and making others as miserable as they could more than she, respectively.

At least she did not need to play act around Jaime, for the rest of her days, fearful that if she dropped her composure for a moment and he took note of it, her life would be just as miserable as those of the souls Joffrey so liked to torment.

Jaime was safe, and comfortable enough, and did not have many demands from his new wife, except her time.

And there was only one aspect of her life in which Margaery would be forced to pretend, which was not so very difficult.

Even still, she wondered.

Sighing, Margaery crawled from the bed and stood to her feet, stretching out like a cat before reaching for her robe, which lay abandoned on the floor.

In one way, though, would she always best Cersei Lannister.

Even if she did not possess his love, was uncertain how exactly to tear her husband's love from a woman who'd had it all his life, though she was certainly willing to try, if only for her own self-preservation, she had him.

And Cersei Lannister never would, at least never in the eyes of the law, or the Seven.

Her husband moaned then, woken from his sleep a moment later, only to stare with bleary eyes up at Margaery.

A moment later, it seemed to hit him that he lay on their bed in nothing but the sheet above him, and he sat up swiftly, reaching for his nearby tunic and pulling it on over his head.

Margaery watched in some amusement.

"Do you care to break the fast with me, my husband?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye as she stood to her feet, and, as he always did, Jaime nodded and held out his arm.

She took it, daintily, and allowed him to lead her out of their bedchambers and into the dining room, the dining room that they alone shared, where the servants had obviously been waiting some time with their meal.

He pulled out her chair for her, ever the gentleman, before sitting himself, and piling his plate with food that he seemed to hold a very little amount of interest in.

"What shall you be doing today, Jaime?" she asked, after the first few beats of silence at the table.

She had always hated silence.

He sighed. "I suppose that my lord father shall have need of me for most of the day; duties for Casterly Rock, now that I'm required to care about the place, and I was hoping for a chance to spar with Bronn again."

"Tell me about Casterly Rock," Margaery tried, in an attempt to pull her husband from his most recent gloom as he picked absently at his food, and then let out a sigh and maneuvered his hand toward his drink, letting out a frustrated sigh when his hand shook at overuse; something she'd been noticing lately, whenever he used it.

Though the golden hand was mostly useless, he could have used it for something so simple as holding a spoon, or, if he maneuvered it correctly, a cup, and yet her husband refused to do so, letting it hang awkwardly by his side.

Jaime let out a sigh and glanced up, eyes softening at the truly curious look in her eyes. "It is a...barren rock for the most part my lady, not much to tell of it."

"But you grew up there, before joining the Kingsguard," Margaery prodded.

He dipped his head in acquiescence. "Aye, and it was a pleasant enough place, for a child. It is by the Sea, so I suppose you shall not feel too uncomfortable, when we eventually retire there."

It was the first he'd spoken of doing so, of leaving this place or of children in general, and Margaery forced her face not to falter in surprise.

"I suppose then that raising a child there should be pleasant enough, then," she hinted, and Jaime wouldn't look at her at those words. "And I should enjoy being away from this place, though I shall not like the solitude, I think."

Her husband nodded thoughtfully. "Lannisport is not so very far away as the Sea, and there is almost as much to do there as there is in King's Landing, or so my sister told me."

Margaery set her jaw and forced her face into a pleasant smile at the mention of his twin. "Well, if it was fine enough for your sister, I suppose it shall be fine enough for me." And laughed at the expression on her husband's face.

"Well?" Olenna demanded, before Margaery had even taken her seat at the table. "Has he filled you with a child yet?"

Even Margaery was sometimes still embarrassed by her grandmother's words, and she blushed prettily as the serving boy left them with only two goblets of wine and some bread, and her brother Loras pretended not to leer at the boy as he walked away, while also pretending not to hear the conversation.

She had a feeling that her husband was even less enthusiastic about the thought of a child than she, though she knew the importance of making one, and quickly.

"I..."

Olenna let out a long sigh. "A lion in the battlefield, and a mouse in the bed," she muttered under her breath. "Who would have imagined it."

Margaery bit her lip. "Well, he is not so much a mouse, grandmamma," she corrected calmly, and then found herself blushing again, for it was all very well to talk about such things with Olenna Tyrell in theory, but she had the sneaking suspicion that the woman would demand more details. "Not if one judges how things went last night."

And so she did. "I am going to be leaving this hellhole and returning to Highgarden soon enough," Olenna said abruptly, and Loras snapped his gaze away from the serving boy to listen, at those words. "I would like to leave with the knowledge that my granddaughter is safe, when I go, and for that, you need to have an heir in your belly and be as far away from Cersei Lannister as possible."

"Of course," Margaery dipped her head demurely. "I don't think you have to fear on that account too much, grandmamma."

The old woman shot Loras a disparaging look, as he took a long gulp of his wine at the mention of his betrothed's name. "I hold out no hope for your safety, however," she told him flatly. "Not when you're to wed and bed that woman."

"He enjoys my company, and you already made him give his word that he would protect me at all costs." Margaery lifted her nose, saving her brother at the last minute. "I think he was offended, that you did so after the wedding ceremony."

Olenna huffed, clearly unimpressed. "Well, and why shouldn't I, when I had no say in what your circus jester father dreamed up, getting in to bed with the Lannisters, of all things. Worse than that matter with Renly." Her eyes narrowed. "And remember, dear, that being good company is not enough for a marriage. You were that enough with your first husband, and nothing came of it."

Margaery sighed. "I'm weary of this conversation, grandmamma, and I don't want to remember our last few days together in King's Landing as a quarrel."

The old woman laughed at that, and clapped her hands together in a way that made the serving boy, standing at the other end of the room, jump and start to move toward them before Olenna waved him impatiently back once more.

"I suppose I needn't have worried over you after all," she said finally, still smirking. "If you keep that up, you'll have the matter well in hand quickly enough." Then her gaze turned to Loras. "You, my boy, are going to find yourself crushed under the irritated looks that your beloved sends you, each time she sees you. I suggest staying out of her way as much as possible, if you do not want to end up with a knife between your ribs on your wedding night."

Margaery blinked at that. "When is it, by the way? Have they set a date?"

Olenna rolled her eyes. "Our Queen Regent claims that there is simply too much to look after to set a specific date, now that she graces the rest of Westeros with her presence, rather than that small room she stayed in for weeks. In other words, she is stalling."

Margaery tried to look reproving, but failed utterly. "She was mourning her son," she said, in a soft, far off voice.

Olenna gave her an exasperated look. "You are not helping, darling. Your poor brother is distraught at the very thought of waiting to have her, can't you see?"

Loras choked rather gracelessly on his wine at that point, and looked up.

Olenna and Margaery chuckled.

"At the very least," Margaery said, finally having a bit of news of her own to impart, "you shall have the chance to impress your...fiancée at the upcoming tourney. My husband has informed me that the Lord Hand is putting it together, to commemorate the new King. It is supposed to be a secret to all of King's Landing until the knights show up from the far reaches, but of course he told Jaime. Jaime won't be participating, of course, but any of the noble Houses can."

"Ah, Jaime, is it?" Loras couldn't help but tease.

Margaery flashed him a winning smile. "But of course. I insisted."

The Sept of Baelor, strange though it seemed with her most recent memories of that place being when Joffrey had escorted her through all of those tombs and bragged over their awful deaths, had become something of a place of refuge for Margaery, in the weeks before and after her marriage.

Jaime did not seem to find it so, not after that first time when he stood before Joffrey Baratheon's tomb and simply stared at it before she joined him there, before they were wed.

He had not been to the Sept since.

He was out sparring now, with that sell sword Bronn and Margaery was left to explore the Sept on her own, only a few odd souls milling about the place at this time of the morning.

Her grandmother had already returned to Highgarden, and Loras had no interest in the Sept, nor with the Seven, if one was to be perfectly honest on that matter.

Of course, she should have realized that she was not entirely alone.

Cersei Lannister took her arm, when she stood distracted, staring up at the tall, vaulted ceiling, and Margaery nearly jumped at the touch.

"Nervous?" Cersei asked, in a sickly sweet tone that often belied ill for the recipient. "I suppose there are things for you to be nervous about these days."

Margaery forced a grin, made herself walk alongside this woman as if she enjoyed her company, for that was what a Rose was capable of, not a Lion. "Not at all. I was only thinking what it might be like to be buried in this place, as I shall never know, now."

Cersei's sudden smile at the words made her nervous, though. "No, you shan't, shall you?"

And, for a moment, Margaery felt a bit of pity for her cousin, the girl who would be marrying the King, as she almost had.

"You shall, though, of course," Margaery went on, watching a bit of the smirking glint on the woman's face fade with some satisfaction. She could not resist the idea of bringing the woman down a few notches more. "I mean, when you pass from old age, having spent many long years guiding your beloved son throughout his reign, and have lived a long and happy life by his side."

Cersei's look was entirely devoid of any humor now, and her grip on Margaery's arm almost crushing.

After a moment, she seemed to recover, for she almost bit out, "And how is your marriage with my dear brother progressing?" she glanced pointedly down at Margaery's stomach.

Margaery forced herself to flush. "Well enough. He is very..." she brought a bit more color into her cheeks and leaned forward, as if sharing a secret with a close friend, "fierce in the bedchamber. Like any lion would be, I suppose."

Cersei paled. "He..." And then she collected herself once more, and patted Margaery almost condescendingly on the arm. And Margaery forced herself to keep smiling.

"Rest assured, my sweetling, he has had plenty enough practice, to awe you so. Just because he...possesses a certain prowess in bed with you, as he ever has with every maiden he has lain with over the years, does not in any way prove a measure of devotion. Indeed, it is a lesson that it took me far too long to learn with my own husband; men's outward emotions are a fickle thing, but they do not give their hearts away so fickly as all that. I've found that, once they've done so, it is very difficult to convince them to turn their eyes elsewhere. Often an impossible task."

"Well," Margaery smiled sweetly, "I suppose that hardly matters when we are already wed, for he seems...determined to do his duty by me, and I am not so young as to be swayed by such things as love, when I have already lost Joffrey." She had the further satisfaction of seeing Cersei flinch at her words.

"I merely wish to warn you," the older woman hissed, through clenched teeth, "That family means more to him these days than finding love. I do not wish to see you suffer through the heartbreak that my marriage found me."

"But, surely, now that I am his wife, I am his family," Margaery said pleasantly, eyebrows dipping together in confusion.

Cersei smiled, almost, Margaery fancied, sympathetically.

"Ever since we were children," she said then, changing the topic of discussion abruptly, "Our father, lord Tywin, has attempted to instill in us the importance of our legacy. Of the Lannister name. I remained convinced for many years that I am the only one who ever listened to his words, for my brothers had naught between their ears when they were children, but now I think differently. I think my brother Jaime listened to them, but simply chose to interpret them differently. Interpret them as the importance of family, for I have never seen him act but in the interest of me, my father, and...the Kinslayer, the Imp. I know my brother, Jaime cares about his Lannister family, my dear, a family that has been with him since he was born. And you are merely a means of making our father happy and saving the Imp's miserable, undeserving life."

The words shouldn't have hurt. But they did.

And Margaery was instilled, in that moment, with the desperate desire to hurt her back.

"But soon...you shall be wed to my brother Loras, and we two shall be family, and, even further, sisters twice over soon enough, shan't we?" Margaery asked, repeating the words she remembered offending Cersei so deeply, before. "I hope that we shall be able to confide in each other, and find comfort in each other, when that happy day comes." She tilted her head, pretending to ponder the relationships over in her head, and finally clucked her tongue. "And to think, that I shall be just as much a sister to our Jaime as a wife, when you and my brother Loras are wed, and you and my dear brother Loras the same. I suppose that will be quite strange."

She supposed she was laying it on rather thick, when the rumor of Cersei and Jaime's relationship was the worst kept secret in Westeros, with her words, but she could not bring herself to regret them at her sister's reaction to them.

Cersei's triumphant gaze hardened into anger, and she opened her mouth to make a scathing retort, but Margaery did not give her the opportunity. Instead, with one final smile in farewell, Margaery walked away with the triumph of that small battle, a slight spring in her step as she left the woman behind in the Sept, and went to find her husband.

Jaime was with his father, Lord Tywin, in the Hand of the King's chambers, where they both stood over a table filled with parchments; maps, ledgers, and the like.

Margaery had been able to find him easily enough, after returning from the Sept, and, when the guards outside Lord Tywin's chambers had attempted to keep her out, saying that Lord Tywin had instructed none answer, she laughed and said that her husband was behind that door, and she would have a word with him, if they pleased.

She supposed Cersei would have simply demanded they move past and shoved inside, anyway, but Margaery did not believe that brute force had ever granted a woman anything lasting.

Jaime and Tywin glanced up with twin expressions of surprise when she entered, exchanging glances before Lord Tywin dipped his head to her.

"Lady Margaery," he said calmly, though his eyes betrayed his annoyance at the interruption.

Jaime was giving her a strange look, clearly trying to figure out what she was doing here, and Margaery smiled prettily at him.

"I wonder, my lord," she said, turning back to Tywin, "if I might have a word alone with my husband. I promise that I would not tear him from such important prospects as our future home were it not dreadfully important, and I shall return him to you with the speed of the all of the Seven."

Tywin eyed her. "I suppose I cannot deny my son's wife that," he said calmly, but she read more into it than that.

Lord Tywin would not deny her anything short of the impossible, if she were able to put Lannister seed in her womb.

Jaime took her arm, following her out into the hall with a bemused expression; evidently, he could see no reason for her tearing him from the work of Casterly Rock, and Margaery wondered jealously, and she was not a woman to become easily jealous, whether or not Cersei had ever attempted to do so.

She would not think of Cersei.

He shut the door to Tywin's chambers silently behind him, and then Jaime turned back to her. "Whatever is the matter, my lady?" he asked, even as the guards looked on with interest.

Margaery smirked and took his hand, leading him into a room adjacent, one which just happened to stand open, and bade him shut it behind them.

The moment they were alone, Jaime turned around, opening his mouth to ask what it was that she wanted, which demanded such secrecy, and Margaery flew at him before he could, capturing his mouth with her wet, heated lips and pulling him down into a kiss.

Her husband let out a sound of surprise, one which was not entirely discontent with the situation at hand, and Margaery smiled to herself, even as her tongue pressed against his lips, pleading an entrance which he gave her quickly enough.

His hand roamed down her side, pinching and stroking, even as he continued to kiss her, and Margaery returned the favor, one had stroking his neck while the other moved downward, finally coming to a rest where it cupped her husband's manhood through his trousers, and waited.

She did not need to wait for long.

Jaime thrust up into her hand, letting out a noise which sounded suspiciously like a whine and starting to pull away from her lips. Margaery pressed her advantage, kissing him boldly and in a way that she had never truly kissed another man before. But she was in no doubt about her abilities, when, a moment later, Jaime spun them both around and shoved her back into the wall.

From far away, Margaery's body registered the painful sensation of hitting against the bare wall, and she knew later that this action would cause undue injury, but couldn't bring herself to care as she felt Jaime's cock harden beneath the cloth that separated it from her hand.

His lips abandoned her mouth then, moving down her chin and neck, and then his hand was gone from her side, reaching up to rip down the silken fabric which held her breasts, and letting them slip free.

Margaery gasped as the cool air hit her skin, but had very little time to think of this before his lips were on her, capturing her nipple in a sweet kiss that soon turned into something else, and Margaery let out a wanton moan at the feel of it, pushing her hand against his cock.

Jaime continued thrusting into her hand, panting and groaning now, and Margaery was surprised to note that she matched him, sound for sound.

And when they both came, together, Jaime with a shout, making a mess on the floor of the empty room, Margaery knew that he was irrevocably hers, even if he was also once Cersei's, and might still be.

And it was enough.

Margaery had not expected Cersei to act so swiftly, nor so cruelly. She supposed that, at any other time, she might have described the action as bold.

And if she had anticipated the price she would pay for her mocking words, she'd have never said them.

Some part of her reasoned that it could not entirely be her fault, that Cersei Lannister would never have married her brother to begin with, and the death threats that everyone from Jaime to Varys had warned him of since the moment the Tyrells had agreed to the match had never been far from her mind, though she had done her best to appear unconcerned about them.

For Loras' sake.

He was already so sensitive on the thought of death, after Renly, that she was not entirely sure that he had not acquiesced without much fight to the match for that very reason.

Jaime's large, gentle hand settled on her thigh, not provocatively, only softly, rubbing small circles over her skin through the sheer dress that she wore, after a moment's hesitation showed that she would not pull away.

They were in their chambers, after having spent hours tending to Loras before the maesters deemed it foolhardy to do so any longer; still, Mace Tyrell had demanded they continue to try, until the last gasping breath left Loras' body, and the maesters muttered that they might have done something to ease his passing, were they not trying so hard to keep him alive.

And, after, her father had sobbed over his son's prone form, and then railed at the incompetence of the maesters, and then sobbed again. Not even Tywin Lannister's whisper in his ear that they needed to clean the body would dissuade him from this.

She privately thought that they had hardly been trying, the maesters, what with Cersei Lannister standing in the corner of the room, watching with dry eyes and a suitably shocked expression, that she would lose her fiancé before a wedding date was even set.

Margaery had wandered back to the rooms she shared with her husband then in stunned silence, steps tripping gracelessly every so often. She had heard her knight walk two steps behind her during this journey, ready to catch her if she fell but not prepared to engage her in conversation while they walked.

And now they were back here, sitting on the very bed where, not so long ago, she had thought it fun to bed a Lannister, forgetting that all Lions were just as deadly as Snakes.

"I'm sorry," Jaime said, thickly, the words coming out rather strained and quiet. And then he was handing her a goblet of wine, and Margaery found herself downing it in two large gulps before she could think better of doing so, on an empty stomach.

Well, perhaps not all Lions.

She handed the goblet back to him, watched out of the corner of her eye as he set it on the bedside table. "I still can hardly believe what happened," she said, softly. "One moment, he was fine, and the next..."

But she could believe what had happened, and that was the worst of all of this. Knew all too well who was responsible for this, even if there was no actual proof she could bring to bear against the woman in question.

And, by the look of shame that flashed in her husband's eyes at her words, she had a strong suspicion that he knew, as well.

He turned back to her, took in her shaking hands, and held them both in his own. She was surprised to find that his golden hand, the one that Cersei had made for him, the one that she hadn't touched since they were wed, since she could see clearly how uncomfortable anyone doing so made him, was soft enough with her own dwarfed inside it.

"Tell me what I can do for you," he said, finally, and when he looked at her, there was such pain in his eyes, though she doubted it was because of the passing of Loras Tyrell, that she sucked in her breath.

"I don't know," she said finally, the moment the realization hit her, and then came the tears.

She did not truthfully remember when she fell into Jaime's embrace, when her face pressed against his chest and he started applying sweet, gentle kisses to her hair and forehead. Somehow, despite the fact that he was a Lannister, she found them comforting.

Perhaps because he was not so much a Lannister as the rest of his vile family.

It was the first time she could remember displaying genuine, vulnerable emotion before her husband, besides the small moment in which she had let some slip, at the Sept where Joffrey was buried.

"You are a brave girl, Margaery," Jaime said finally, voice so soft she almost didn't hear the words. "To love someone so deeply, when you stand the chance of losing them."

She hiccupped. "We all stand the chance of losing everyone we love, at any moment. Such is the Game." She took a shuddering breath. "Yet still we play, and still we love."

He didn't attempt to lift her from his arms for some time, and she was glad of it. Glad of the familiar touch, for if he left her alone in this moment, she was afraid she might break.

"We are not so different, you and I," he said instead, thoughtfully, after a time.

"And now we've both lost our brothers," Margaery whispered hoarsely into his tunic, To Cersei, she wanted to say, but didn't. Though, she couldn't help but think resentfully, at least Jaime's brother was still alive, if not living out a living death at the Wall.

Jaime's grip on her tightened, and she melted into the reassuring touch and pretended, for a moment, that it was her brother Loras.

That he did not now lie slain from a joust wound, the gaping hole in him where his stomach had once been, where Ser Meryn had left him grotesque and terrifying, when in life he had always been so beautiful, after one fell thrust.

That she would see her brother again, before the Stranger took her, too.

It had all passed in a daze for Margaery. Loras had asked to wear her favor, before the tourney, as he seemed rather too terrified to ask Cersei, and had turned to wink predictably at his squire before facing the joust against Ser Meryn.

No one had doubted he would win; he was, after all, becoming almost as legendary at these tourneys as Jaime had once been, and especially against an opponent like Meryn Trant.

Only he hadn't won, and here they were.

And then Jaime was pulling her up to face him. She sniffed, aware all of the sudden that she had cried on this man for some time, and was certainly not the picture of grace she always wished to look around men, but suddenly found, with his next question, that she didn't care.

"When was your last moon's blood, my lady? Was it at the usual time?" he asked, voice impossibly gentle, and she blinked, not at the impropriety of the question, but rather at the strange turn in conversation.

"I...haven't had it," Margaery heard herself say, from a long way off. "Since days before we wed."

Jaime nodded, a strange look suddenly crossing his features, and she rushed on before she could give him hope of an heir, though she still thought it a strange time to be asking after one.

"But that is not so rare a thing, and does not truly prove conception."

He flinched at that last word, as if she'd slapped him. If he was trying to make her feel better with the thought of a child to entertain her, so soon after losing her brother, he was dreadfully failing in it.

Then he shrugged. "Still, I'd say it is a good sign. Perhaps...perhaps we ought to start on our journey to Casterly Rock, in case it does." He swallowed hard. "It wouldn't hurt to be too careful, after all."

Margaery's eyes widened, and she sat up still further, gazing at her husband in surprise. "Are you sure?"

Jaime glanced down at the stump where his hand had once been, and eventually nodded. "We'll have a maester who doesn't have his hands in my sister's pockets confirm it, easily done."

And only then did she agree to it, and her husband smiled, looking almost relieved at the very thought of going to that place, and putting King's Landing behind them for a time.

The End

A/N: Well, there you have it. I've never written anything like before, but the plot bunny would not leave me alone. Actually, I was going to end this story on the last chapter, but after that last episode...I figured we all needed a bit of a pick-me-up. Though this isn't really one...Oh, well. Please leave a review!