A/N- Happy 2013 everyone! I love that HBO has been marathoning "Game of Thrones" like crazy, and it just so happened to give me plenty of inspiration for this chapter. I hope everyone enjoys!

Summons

Chapter Four

SANSA

She didn't know what she had been expecting. Sansa had long ago abandoned her little-girl fantasies of gallant knights and happily ever after, so it wasn't as though she'd thought she awaken the first morning after relinquishing her maidenhood to a world full of flowers, sunshine and birdsongs.

Life is not a song. She had learned that lesson tenfold. So she didn't know why she was still a little surprised to wake up alone after the night she and the Hound had shared. Everything had changed between them, and yet, nothing truly had. He was still afraid.

Sansa sat up in bed, finding herself still wrapped in his dark cloak. Her cheeks flushed red with shame when she looked down and realized there was a stain of dried blood on his cloak. Her blood. The proof of what she had given him last night. It seemed very common and unseemly to have slept all night wrapped up in the evidence. She shrugged out of the cloak and her nightdress with its now frayed and useless laces, kicking them under her bed, and hurrying to her washbasin to clean the dried blood off her inner thighs.

Once she washed her skin clean, she looked up at herself in the mirror, standing naked before her own reflection. Her bare body seemed different to her now. She ran her hands down her neck, over her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, and it was as though she could feel him touching her again. She was still markedly sore between her legs. He could run away and hide all he wanted—there was no denying what they had done.

Finally she turned away from the mirror, slipping her ornate red and gold Lannister dressing robe over her shoulders. It was one of Tyrion's many extravagant gifts to her, and as she fastened it closed, she waited to feel the crushing sense of guilt she would expect wearing her husband's family cloak after a night of passionately betraying her marriage vows. But the guilt she did feel was more vague and formless—she knew she shouldn't have done it. But she kept imagining more what her mother would think of her actions rather than Tyrion.

Sansa had never felt truly connected to her husband, on any level—mentally, physically, anything. So it was hard to dread his reaction to her infidelity when she wasn't even certain what his reaction would be. The mind of Tyrion was entirely a mystery to her, as she suspected hers was to him.

They were passing over unsteady road now, and the relentless rain was still pounding down on the roof of the wagon and making their path slick. It would be a miserable day for riding. Sansa crossed to the small barred window of her wagon, looking out to the gray, rainy day to find that Sandor was astride his horse again, riding along beside the wagon, his dark hair and clothes soaked through.

Almost as if he felt her eyes on him, the Hound turned his head towards the wagon, brown eyes meeting blue. She didn't smile, and he didn't smile back. We have no honor now, neither one of us, Sansa thought, her hands tightening on the bars of her window. She was the first to look away. He'd been the first to leave this morning, so it only seemed fair.

She didn't feel hungry at all that day, so when their traveling party stopped for dinner, a sleepy Sansa had stayed in bed, just listening to the rain and dozing in and out of sleep.

After dinner, in the midst of one of her deeper slumbers, she felt him at the foot of her bed before she was even really awake. Sansa opened her eyes and sat up, seeing him shrouded in shadows, his expression impossible to read. She didn't ask questions. She didn't need to, just as she'd never needed to ask why he left King's Landing. He was frightened again, only this time of a very different, perhaps more deadly, fire. Sansa slid herself forward to the foot of the bed and sat up to unbuckle his sword belt, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter as she rose up to her knees, her hands on his shoulders as he wordlessly leaned down to her, turning his head and kissing her long, slender neck, his lips searing her skin as he started to push her robe off one shoulder.

"Your Lannister robe?" He mumbled the words against the skin of her neck, his hands clenched in the fine red fabric and gold embroidery.

"Yes. My prison uniform." Sansa said, suddenly hating the heavy, itchy fabric more than ever. "Ruin it." Her hands slid to his chest, down his chained mail overshirt. "Ruin me. Again."

He removed her robe and kissed her on the mouth this time, holding her face in his massive hands as they fell back to the bed together, and committed their sin again, and several more times afterwards.

This time he stayed with her in the bed, the Lannister robe across both their naked bodies as they looked up at the ceiling.

"This can't last." Sansa finally spoke, sounding slightly dazed. "Nothing could feel like this, and last."

He nodded. "When we reach King's Landing…"

"I know. It's over then." She finished for him glumly. "But we still have four more days."

The Hound's mouth twisted into something that almost looked like a true smile. "That we do, little bird."

She climbed on top of him, her hands tangling in the dark coarse hair that covered his chest. "You once told me that killing is the sweetest thing there is."

The Hound's brow furrowed. "Did I? Gods. You should have told me to go fuck myself."

"I wanted to. It was a horrible thing to say." She grinned, leaning down towards him. "So have you still found nothing you love better than dealing death?"

The scent of her hair and skin flooded his nostrils when she was this close, and he never got around to answering her question with words.

Five Days Later

The Morning of Cersei's Dinner

TYRION

"Well done, Tommen!" Tyrion clapped heartily, Jaime feigning a deathly injury and falling to the ground as his thirteen year old son stood over him proudly with a tipped practice sword.

"You're dead, Uncle Jaime." Tommen pronounced, looking to Brienne. "How was that?"

She fought down a smile, trying to remain an impassive instructor. "Better. Much better. Bold offensive moves. That's your strength for sure. But your footwork is messy. And your recovery's slow between blocking."

Jaime smiled at Tyrion, nodding his head towards Tommen. The boy was hanging onto Brienne's every word. He had only met "Uncle Jaime's friend" three days ago, but Tommen had taken to following her everywhere.

Jaime had been horrified to discover that his son hadn't been training in swordplay, and he had tasked Brienne to assist him in a crash course. The Queen had done everything in her power to make Tommen more of her little companion than a fierce warrior, but Jaime was pleased to discover he did have some natural talent.

Brienne started to show Tommen more effective footwork for a blow, and Jaime sat down next to his brother, letting out a long, contented breath. Surrounded by his brother, his son, and his best friend—what more could he ask for? The past few days had been some of the happiest of his life. Tyrion's wife still hadn't arrived in King's Landing, and Cersei had ominously not shown her face for days, so the Lannister brothers had gotten to spend more time together in the past week than they had in years.

"Tommen seems very taken with your friend." Tyrion clasped his hands together against his chest with a small smile. "Tell me, Jaime, is this affection a family trait?"

Jaime's brow furrowed as he turned to Tyrion. "Can you ever just come right out and ask a question, little brother?"

"All right. I will come right out and ask. The question on everyone in the kingdom's mind lately, it seems." Tyrion mouthed his next four words so Tommen wouldn't hear. "Are you fucking her?"

Jaime's cheeks flushed slightly red. "I don't see why that's kingdom-worthy news. It's not a crime, you know."

"Unlike your previous exploits." Tyrion shrugged, and when Jaime's eyes narrowed, he hurried on, keeping his voice low. "Don't misunderstand me, dear brother. People are curious because they like the idea. Cersei losing her most precious prize to Brienne the Beauty? It's just too good."

"I didn't mean for any of this to hurt Cersei." Jaime sighed wearily.

"So that's just a fortunate byproduct of your new love affair?"

Jaime ran a hand through his messy blond hair, giving no direct answer. "Are you ready for our family dinner tonight?"

"Yes, I suppose. If we're even still having one. No one's seen Cersei for days." Tyrion drummed his fingers on his chest.

"I heard that." Jaime looked around them, almost as if he expected Cersei to jump out from behind a pillar in the courtyard at any moment. "I mean, I knew she wouldn't be happy about Brienne and me, but…what did she expect? That I'd just pine for her forever?"

"Of course that's what she expected." Tyrion laughed. "How did she even find out about you and Brienne? Did you tell her? And if so, why didn't you allow me to be privy to that particular conversation?"

"She discovered us. In my bedchamber."

Jaime had never seen Tyrion looked so pleased. "Really? Do tell, brother. What'd Cersei do? Shoot wildfire out of her tits?"

"Nothing so interesting. That was the strangest part. She barely said anything. She just…left."

Tyrion winced slightly. "I've found that when it comes to women, silence can be far more deadly than shouting. Are you bringing Brienne to the dinner tonight?"

"I don't know if I should subject her to such a thing." Jaime looked nervous. "But then, I don't want to tell her she can't go either. She's not afraid of Cersei. And Brienne's a warrior. What could our sister really do to her?"

"War between women is usually a far more delicate matter than swords and shields. They have weapons all their own, Jaime, you know this."

Jaime sat forward slightly, his hands on his knees as he watched Tommen laughing merrily at something Brienne had told him. "I never meant to make such a mess of things."

"Don't look so downtrodden, brother. I'm proud of you. Cersei's too far gone to love anyone, even her rotten self. It was high time you found someone else."

"I know. I know." Jaime shook his head. "I just don't want Brienne to suffer for my sins."

"All the people we Lannisters love must suffer for our sins, it seems. The sins he's passed down to us." Tyrion couldn't actually the speak the word "father" out loud again, resting his hand on his brother's massive, muscled shoulder.

"I just want to keep her safe." Jaime watched Brienne play wrestling with his son.

"Because you love her?" Tyrion asked simply.

But Jaime said nothing in response, climbing to his feet and pulling his son back up off the ground, ruffling his blond hair. "Never yield, Tommen. Not to anyone. Remember that."

"Never, Uncle Jaime?"

Jaime looked right at Brienne. "Never."

SANSA

"Your presence is requested at the Queen's dinner, my lady." The Hound bowed as he entered Sansa's bedchamber. When she turned to face him, his breath caught in his throat. Sansa was standing before him in a silk formal gown, so dark green it almost looked black, dark make-up around her eyes, the dress cut low to display her pushed-up, corseted breasts, her hands on her hips as she looked back at him with a smile. Sandor closed the door behind him, leaning back against it. "You look very beautiful, my lady."

"And you look very handsome in your armor." Sansa crossed to him, her hands resting on the breastplate.

"Handsome?" He snorted with laughter.

"Kiss me." She breathed out.

He tilted her chin up with his finger, obliging her request rather chastely considering what they had been doing (fairly ceaselessly) for the past four days and nights on the Kingsroad. But ever since they had arrived in King's Landing, he'd stayed completely away from her, just as he'd promised. That damned honor of his again, Sansa thought with a sigh.

She guided his other hand beneath the silk material of her dress to touch her bare breast, his eyes sliding closed as she kissed the side of his neck. "Do you miss me at night, Ser Clegane?"

"Of course, little bird. Of course I do." He breathed out before he could stop himself, gently massaging her breast until Sansa let out a sound of very unladylike pleasure, The Hound kissing her lips again, much more passionately this time.

When they broke apart for breath a long while later, Sansa's chest was heaving up and down with exertion, her nipples clearly erect and visible through the thin material of her gown. "I need you," she murmured, "I need you inside of me. Now."

The Hound held her out at arm's length. "Stop. Stop talking like that, or I'll rip your pretty new dress to ribbons to get it off of you."

"My wardrobe is never going to survive this romance, is it?" Sansa laughed, starting to unbuckle his belt, but the Hound stopped her.

"Dinner. We…We have to go down to dinner. The Queen's waiting."

"I don't care about her dinner." Sansa rolled her eyes. "Not when there's so many more interesting things we could be doing…"

"Sansa." His grip tightened on her arms, using her name for the first time she could ever remember, belying a new level of intimacy between them that thrilled her. "I must escort you to dinner. Where your husband and the queen presumably wait for us already."

Sansa sighed heavily. "Yes, Tyrion will be there, won't he?"

"Of course he will. And so will you. Come along, child."

"How can you still call me that? After everything we've done?" She raised her eyebrows, her voice high and panicked, getting a very bad feeling that the best thing in her life could be coming to an end if she allowed things to just fall back to the way they were before.

"Force of habit." He turned and led the way out the door, Sansa begrudgingly following behind him.

They walked quickly down the very narrow, winding staircase, The Hound in front of Sansa, until the heel of her shoe caught on the long hem of her dress and she tripped, letting out a small gasp as she fell forward. The Hound turned automatically at the sound of her distress, catching her by the shoulders and pinning her back against the cold stone wall to stop her from falling.

"Careful, little bird."

They looked at each other for a long, tense moment, their quarters so tight and confined that his back was brushing one wall as hers was pressed against the other. Sansa opened her mouth to say she was fine, that he should stop being so protective even though she secretly loved it, but suddenly, his eyes hungrily scanning her face, his willpower seemed to falter and his mouth was hard against hers, their lips both parting almost immediately at the force of the impact, their tongues tangling together with a practice borne of only a few days that had somehow felt like a whole other lifetime they'd spent together. The warm night outside and the cramped quarters of the staircase made it almost unbearable to be clothed as they embraced furiously, panting like the animals they allowed themselves to become in these stolen, secret moments. Soon, he had shoved her skirts up around her hips and thrust hard inside her, Sansa's head falling back against the wall as she groaned with pleasure and he let out a now-familiar guttural sound that she took great pride in bringing out of him. They made all the noise they wanted as they made love—this part of the castle had been set aside specifically for her, and everyone else would already be at dinner.

Afterwards, they didn't say a word, The Hound lowering her back to her feet, Sansa smoothing down her skirts, despite the fact that the silk material of her dress was now hopelessly wrinkled, a pronounced flush still visible on her neck and chest, both smiling like fools as they walked the rest of the short way down the staircase to the next floor.

They emerged to find Bronn standing just outside the staircase, looking between them, his eyes narrowed with anger. Sansa stopped short, forcing a pleasant smile onto her lips. "Bronn! Whatever are you doing here?"

He pressed his lips together, and she saw it in his expression. He knew. He'd heard everything. It was written all over his face. "Lord Tyrion bid me to come here and ask if you would like to accompany him down to dinner."

Sansa cleared her throat, The Hound staying completely silent beside her, every muscle in their bodies tensed as she went on. "W-Where is my husband now?"

"Still in his chambers." Bronn seemed to be speaking through clenched teeth. "What answer shall I give him, my lady?"

"Tell him I wouldn't want him to hurry on my account. Tell him just to join me at dinner." She smiled airily. "Now if you'll excuse us…" She hurried past Bronn, the Hound following behind her without a word.

"Worked up an appetite, have you?" Bronn called after them.

Sansa stopped, turning back around, ice in her eyes. "Remember your place."

Bronn shook his head. "Tyrion's whore wife was more of a lady than you."

The Hound spun around, drawing out his massive broadsword and reaching Bronn in two long strides, pressing the steel against his throat. "Apologize."

Bronn laughed, a small, sad laugh. "Why is that every time we meet, you end up threatening to kill me? I have no feud with you."

"Apologize to the lady, or I fuck you with this sword." The Hound growled.

"You really know your way around a colorful threat, Clegane." Bronn twisted out of The Hound's grasp, Sandor's fighting instincts still a little dimmed by his very pleasurable distraction of moments ago. Bronn put a safe distance between himself and the Hound before looking back to Sansa. "I'll tell Lord Tyrion you wish him to come down alone and join you at the Queen's table."

"And what else will you tell him?" Sansa asked carefully.

"Your sins are your own to confess, Lady Stark." Bronn muttered, taking his leave.

The Hound and Sansa exchanged a brief, nervous glance before silently making their way down to dinner.

JAIME

"You're not dressed for dinner?" Jaime joined Brienne in the bedchamber. He already looked like the shining white knight of his King's Landing days of old in his freshly polished Kingsguard armor, freshly bathed and smooth-shaven, his golden hair and skin practically gleaming. He looked like he belonged in a lexicon of children's storybooks under the heading of "fairytale prince."

But Brienne looked nowhere near ready, just sitting on the edge of the bed in a white men's dressing shirt and tan breeches, staring down at a dress box in her lap with a miserable expression on her face. Jaime joined her, sitting beside her on the bed, his hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Your sister's…broken her silence. She's sent me a gift. To wear to dinner." Brienne shoved the box into his lap. "A gown from her royal dressmaker. Made just for me."

"That was kind of her." Jaime shrugged, pulling the dress out of the box. It seemed a rather simple green and gold dress, and he didn't see what there was to be so upset about. As far as Cersei's treatment of her enemies was concerned, he thought Brienne was getting off very easy indeed.

Brienne pressed her lips together for a moment, shaking her head. When Jaime looked at her again, he was shocked to see her dark blue eyes were filled with tears. "What is it?" he asked.

"She…she knows I can't wear it. I could never…never fit into such a thing." Brienne was blushing so furiously even her earlobes had turned red.

"Have you even tried it on?"

"Why would I do that, Jaime?" Brienne's voice was shaking as she ripped the box out of his hands, throwing it to the ground. "So you can laugh at me too? Just like her?" She looked at his innocent expression for a moment, shaking her head with a laugh. "Seven hells, are you really this stupid or are you just still on her side?"

Jaime's jaw twitched slightly with anger at the insult, remembering all the times his father and countless tutors had called him slow or stupid for not being able to read or write as quickly or as well as Cersei and Tyrion. "Wear the dress. Don't wear the dress. Show up stark naked if you want. I don't really give a damn. But if you don't come to the diner, Cersei will name you a coward. And I won't think her entirely wrong."

He climbed to his feet, stalking out of the bedchamber and down to Cersei's dinner by himself, leaving Brienne to stare at the dress as it lay crumpled on the ground, her entire body trembling with anger and humiliation and fear, those scraps of silk fabric more terrifying to her than any enemy she'd ever faced on a battle field.

TYRION

When Tyrion entered his sister's royal dining chamber, Cersei was already seated at the head of the table. She seemed to have regained her strength from her brief sojourn into solitude—she had never looked more beautiful, the candlelight illuminating her tanned skin and green eyes, her blond hair twisted back and up off her thin bare shoulders, dressed in a silk gown of Lannister red, talking quietly with Jaime seated on her right side, a silent Sansa seated on her left. There was an empty seat next to both Jaime and Sansa, and Bronn and The Hound were standing guard side by side at the door with the rest of the waiting staff standing by them as well.

"Beloved siblings! And my lovely wife!" Tyrion crossed to Sansa, kissing her hand as he sat down beside her. "I trust you had an enjoyable journey to King's Landing without me."

"It was very pleasant, thank you." Sansa said in her usual monotone. But something seemed very different about her. Her hair looked slightly disheveled. Her dark silk dress was wrinkled around her hips. And she smelled of…there was really no nice way to say it…sex. Tyrion didn't know whether to be offended or laugh out loud. He twisted around in his seat to look at the most likely culprit, but The Hound looked as emotionless as ever, certainly not like a man who'd recently had the pleasure of a woman. The Hound did have a hell of a poker face though. As did Sansa. Despite the mounting evidence of her sins, she continued to smile pleasantly at her husband.

But suddenly, Tyrion was distracted from suspicions of his wife's infidelity by the arrival of the last member of their dinner party—Brienne of Tarth. Wearing a dress.

Everyone was stunned into silence for a moment, before Cersei finally spoke, her full lips curving into a cruel smile. "I see you received my present."

"Yes. Thank you, Your Grace. You're very kind." Brienne practically grunted out the words.

Tyrion looked at his older brother mostly because he couldn't bear to look at Brienne behaving so awkwardly, and he found Jaime's expression very hard to read. Jaime almost looked guilty, as if he'd been the one who'd put her in the dress. The gown didn't fit Brienne at all, and Cersei had the finest tailors in the world at her disposal, so the bad fit was clearly intentional. It was too tight across Brienne's massive, muscled shoulders and thighs, and it curved in at the waist, clearly intended for a woman who wore a corset though Brienne did no such thing. It was about three inches too short at the ankles, obviously not made for someone of Brienne's massive height, and the green color had the unfortunate effect of making Brienne's long, straight figure look like a vegetable stalk.

There was a long silence before Brienne stomped her way into the seat next to Jaime, collapsing into it, the sound of seams stretching almost to ripping across her shoulders and thighs very apparent in the heavy silence that Cersei allowed to stretch on and on as they were served their food, the queen taking a long sip of her wine, considering Brienne like a spider would consider prey spun and trapped in a web.

"You should always bow before your Queen. I suppose they don't bother to teach you proper royal etiquette in…where are you from, again? Remind me." Cersei asked Brienne with false politeness.

"Tarth." Brienne said shortly.

"Ah, yes. Tarth. A coastal village, is it not?" Cersei wrinkled her nose slightly. "My father visited there once. Told me the whole place smelled of rotting fish."

Brienne said nothing, staring down at her food, her cheeks flushing bright red, Tyrion reminded of Cersei's particular talent for humiliating her perceived enemies. Her wrath seemed especially cruel when aimed at Brienne though, who clearly did not have the quick tongue to respond in kind.

"Some of father's best men were recruited from Tarth." Jaime said quickly to Brienne before giving Cersei a rather cold look, seemingly starting to feel more and more protective of his friend the more and more Cersei attacked her. "And clearly my sister doesn't remember the proper royal etiquette for receiving guests."

"She is no guest of mine." Cersei laughed.

"That's right. She's my guest. And I saved your life not one week ago, so I really don't think you have any room to be complaining about anything I do or friend I bring to your table." Jaime looked up at his sister defiantly while Brienne seemed to want to climb under the table and die, her cheeks now so red that Tyrion imagined they must be burning hot to the touch.

"Dear sister." Tyrion interrupted the love triangle that seemed to fast be approaching a violent end. "In your letter, you wrote of wanting to tell me something. Some kind of apology, I believe."

Sansa, Jaime, even Bronn, and The Hound all looked very close to laughing out loud at the look on Cersei's face as she slowly turned to Tyrion. It would not have been surprising if the ends of her hair started smoking. She was gripping her knife and fork so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

Jaime smiled fleetingly at Tyrion before looking to his sister. "Our little brother has a point, Cersei. It's time to hold up your end of our bargain."

Cersei took a long swallow of wine before sighing very histrionically and turning to Tyrion. She spoke very slowly, as if each word was causing her physical pain. "I know now that you did not murder my son."

"Go on." Jaime prodded her. "Everyone here didn't come all of this way for nothing, I trust."

Cersei rolled her eyes, staring down at her hands and mumbling under her breath. "I'm sorry."

"Like you mean it." Jaime shoved her with his shoulder, the Lannister brothers grinning at each other.

Cersei looked up at Tyrion, speaking more clearly. "I'm sorry, baby brother." She clasped her hands together very tightly. "I…I was wrong."

"One more time please?" Tyrion cupped his hand around his ear. "I want to make a memory of this for all time."

Jaime's shoulders were shaking with silent laughter as Cersei cast him another withering look before turning back to Tyrion. "Remember it well. Because you'll never hear it from me again."

"Oh, I know that." Tyrion was laughing delightedly as well.

"I was wrong." Cersei said, and as she and Tyrion looked at each other for a brief, strange moment, Cersei's smile almost turned genuine, and he could almost believe she meant her apology—that she was actually glad to be back among her family. That maybe she'd even missed Tyrion in some miniscule hidden corner of her ice-cold heart.

Jaime put his arm around his sister's thin shoulders, smiling almost proudly at her, everyone else in the room seemingly forgotten, feeling almost as though he, Cersei, and Tyrion were children again. "Now was that so difficult?"

"Oh, stop looking so pleased with yourself. Although that is what you do best." Cersei smoothed Jaime's bangs back off his forehead. "It's not like you and Tyrion can make this play more than once."

"Oh, come now, Cersei. I'm sure you'll do something else that will make everyone in King's Landing want to cut your head off again." Tyrion snickered, Sansa coughing slightly when she took too long a swallow of wine, alerting Tyrion and Jaime that they had other guests at this dinner.

Jaime removed his arm from around his sister's shoulders, casting his eyes guiltily to Brienne who was still staring determinedly at her plate. Jaime looked across the table at Tyrion. "So, do you and Sansa plan on staying in King's Landing long?"

"I'm not sure. Dear wife," Tyrion turned to Sansa, "do we plan on staying in King's Landing long?"

Sansa, who had been resting her chin in her hand and staring almost longingly at the door, snapped back to reality, affixing her false pleasant smile on her face. "I am here as long as my husband wishes me to be here with him, of course."

Tyrion held up his hands, almost looking like he was about to laugh again. "Of course." He took a bite of dinner before motioning with his fork towards Jaime and Brienne. "What about you two? Staying here long?"

Jaime and Brienne finally looked at each other for the first time since she had arrived at dinner, and it was an oddly charged moment. It was as though Jaime was literally suspended between his old life with Cersei on one side of himself and the new life he had been building with Brienne on the other.

"You two?" Cersei interrupted the moment between Jaime and Brienne, setting down her drink. "Please. Satisfy everyone's curiosity. What exactly is happening with…" she drunkenly motioned to Brienne, "…that?"

"I'm not sure I understand the question." Jaime said, his eyebrows going together as Brienne stared back at the table, gripping the edge of the tabletop with her hands as if to distract herself.

"Neither do I, dear sister." Tyrion took another bite of his dinner. "You already know they're fucking each other. What more information do you require?"

Sansa choked slightly on her wine again.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dearest." Tyrion gave Sansa a rather cold look. "Have I offended your delicate sensibilities?"

"What exactly do you want to know, Cersei?" Jaime brought the question back to his sister.

"I'd actually like to direct the question to your friend Brienne, if I might." Cersei ran her tongue over her teeth, smiling as she looked at Brienne's beet red face giving an unflattering contrast against the bright green color of the dress. "You should look at your Queen when she addresses you, Brienne of Tarth."

Brienne gripped the edge of the table even more tightly, forcing herself to look up, Brienne's dark blue eyes finally meeting Cersei's light green ones. Two of the most powerful women in the Seven Kingdoms, with such different but equally deadly abilities, both in love with the same man, currently sitting right in between them. The moment was so tense and the air so thick as they stared at each other that no one else in the room even dared to move.

"Tell me, Brienne," Cersei finally spoke, "how does it feel to be the hole Jaime fucks when he can't have me?"

For a moment, it just seemed like Brienne was going to sit there and take the insult, like she took most insults, but she didn't. Everything that happened next seemed to happen very fast. Brienne rose out of her chair so fast that she knocked it over, her dress ripping at the shoulders as she pushed past Jaime and grabbed Cersei by the throat, bodily lifting her out of her chair and slamming her up against the wall.

"How's this for royal etiquette, Your Grace?" Brienne growled, her hands tightening on Cersei's throat.

Cersei gasped for breath, struggling to pry Brienne's powerful grasp off of her neck. "Get your hands off of me, you crazy bitch—" she choked out, her vision swimming alarmingly as the back of her head dripped blood down the stone from the significant head injury she'd suffered when Brienne had slammed her into the wall.

The Hound remained motionless, as did a stunned Jaime and Sansa, but Bronn and Tyrion exchanged a look, and Tyrion gave him a small nod. As much as it amused him to finally see Cersei get what was coming to her, he didn't want his sister dead, and killing the queen would certainly do Brienne no favors.

Bronn drew out his sword, crossing to Brienne and speaking, it seemed, somewhat reluctantly. "Unhand her royal highness, my Lady."

Brienne suddenly seemed to remember herself, releasing Cersei who crumpled into a heap on the floor, clutching her bloody mass of blond hair, hand-shaped bruises already forming on her throat as she coughed for breath, looking up at Brienne with a gaze so furious it was almost electric. Brienne stumbled backwards slightly, looking down at her hands as if not knowing what they had just done.

And as Tyrion watched with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Jaime, operating from an instinct bred of decades passed, raced to his sister's side, cradling a weeping Cersei against his chest and whispering words of comfort to her.

Brienne stared at Jaime and Cersei for a long moment, her mouth going into a thin line.

"Get out!" Cersei shouted at Brienne, clutching Jaime tighter.

Jaime looked up at Brienne as he held his sister, his expression helpless as if to say Brienne had given him no choice but to go back to Cersei.

Brienne shook her head, tears filling her eyes, pulling at the ill-fitting, miserable dress until she literally ripped it off her body, left wearing only her breeches and a man's undershirt. She crumpled up the ruined dress and threw it on the ground. "I told you. I told you…you'll never be done with her." Brienne was barely able to speak, already choking on sobs, and even those who didn't know her well found it painful to watch as Brienne fled the room, tears slipping down Jaime's own cheeks as he watched her go, still holding his injured sister in his arms.

He wept for Brienne. But he didn't follow her.

"Bronn…could you give us a moment, please?" Sansa asked politely.

"Of course, my lady." Bronn bowed, trying to keep his expression free of dislike as he nodded to her and stepped outside.

The Hound had left to help Jaime take Cersei to the Maester for her "injuries", and now Tyrion and Sansa were left alone at the massive dining table.

"That was an interesting dinner." Tyrion raised his eyebrows, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Yes." Sansa said, licking her lips nervously.

"What's wrong, my pet? You seem…changed somehow." Tyrion turned to her.

"Perceptive as always, my lord." Sansa met his eyes, and for once, Tyrion thought he might be hearing her speaking in her true voice. "I am changed. Changed irrevocably. And I am very sorry if what I am about to say hurts you in any way. I feel as though even after these last three years as your wife, I barely know you at all, so I do not know if it will hurt you, but if it does, I am truly sorry."

"Say what you need to say, my dear." Tyrion waved his hand as if she should continue.

"I don't think you would disagree if I say that we have been a bad match from the beginning. I have never felt that I truly understand your mind, and, if I may speak frankly, I do not think you ever cared enough to try and understand mine."

"I never bore any ill will towards you, Sansa. And, if you will permit me to speak frankly, you never gave me the chance to understand you." Tyrion sighed heavily. "But neither did I, to you. And you are correct. Clearly we have never been an ideal match. Continue."

Sansa swallowed hard. "I have harbored…feelings for another…for quite some time. Years. Actually since girlhood, though I do not think I fully understood it then. But I understand my feelings now. And…" her cheeks flushed very pink, "…those feelings led me to…to commit the sin of adultery against you, my husband, who has never shown me anything but kindness—a certain cold kindness, to be sure—but kindness, just the same." Her eyes filled with tears of shame which she quickly wiped away. "I'm so very sorry, Tyrion. I never thought I would become this kind of person. My family would be so ashamed of me. I'm so ashamed of myself. And I…I will accept whatever punishment or consequence you deem suitable for my actions."

Tyrion looked at her for a long moment, Sansa sniffling miserably and waiting for his sentencing. He spread his hands out on the table. "So…basically you and The Hound have been fucking each other senseless ever since I left you alone on the journey to King's Landing?"

"It's not like that, Tyrion. I mean…we have…I have been with him, but…I love him. With all my heart. And he loves me. When I'm not with him, I feel incomplete. Like…like I'm not fully myself anymore unless he's with me. Have you…have you ever felt that way about another person?"

"Yes, actually. And in the spirit of your shining example of total honesty between us…I still do feel that way about another person." Tyrion suddenly clasped his hands together, not elaborating further despite the curious furrowing of Sansa's brow. "Sansa Stark. Consider this me granting you your freedom. Our marriage was never consummated, and therefore is not truly valid or binding by any law of Westeros. I will have it officially annulled by the Queen Regent tomorrow morning. But consider it done. Go into the arms of the one you truly love tonight, and I will do the same."

"Who is the one you truly love?" Sansa couldn't help asking.

"Don't push your luck, my dear."

"Right, sorry." She rose to her feet, helping Tyrion do the same as Sansa still looked slightly stunned by his lack of reaction to her wrongdoing. "So you're….you're not angry with me?"

"How can I be angry with you for ending something that never started? Seems like an exercise in futility…especially when we both now seem to have much more interesting activities to occupy our time." Tyrion patted her arm. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure to be your husband, but we'd both know I was lying. I will say that I appreciate your courage in coming to me with this now."

"I'm sorry that I wasn't a better wife." Sansa gave him a small curtsy, not knowing what else to do.

"Try and be a better one to him." Tyrion shrugged by way of advice, holding out his hand.

Sansa shook it soundly. "I will. I hope you're happy with the woman you love. I truly do."

"Good-bye, Sansa."

"Good-bye, Tyrion." She left him alone in the hallway, Tyrion barely waiting until she had rounded the corner until he sprinted off in the opposite direction as fast as his legs would carry him, away from the dining hall, away from the castle, away from his family, and towards the only thing, the only person he'd ever really wanted.

"Shae! Shae!" Tyrion was literally pounding on her door, knowing he was abandoning dignity altogether but finally ceding that needing to feel her, touch her, taste her had become so vital at this point he would have beaten the door down if he had to.

After what seemed like an interminable wait but had really been only a very short while, Shae came to the door, tying a dark purple dressing robe closed at her waist, clearly wearing nothing underneath, her dark curls messy and eyes slightly bleary. She'd clearly been sleeping. Naked. Tyrion suddenly felt like he needed to sit down.

Shae ran a hand through her hair, looking down at him with confusion. "What is it, my lion?"

Tyrion's words all came out in a rush. "I'm not married anymore. I don't ever want to be married to anyone but you, ever again. It's…it's always been you for me. I love you, with everything I have. So if you could ever even think of forgiving me…I'm yours. Forever."

Shae looked at him for a long silent moment before speaking, her voice oddly emotionless after such a passionate declaration. "Close the door."

Tyrion nodded, turning back to close and lock the door to her dress shop behind him. When he spun back around to face her, Shae had slipped her robe off her shoulders, the silky material pooling around her ankles as she revealed that Tyrion had been right. She hadn't been wearing anything underneath. Tyrion let out a long breath. There were a few weak candles still guttering out in their holders on the front tables of the store, but her olive skin was mostly illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the gauzy red curtains over the windows.

Neither of them spoke for a moment that seemed frozen in time, Tyrion's eyes hungrily taking in every inch of her still perfect body, feeling like a starving man finally taken to a feast who didn't even know where to begin. Shae, as always, had no such hesitation, bending down and taking his face in her hands. "Are you so out of practice that you don't even know what to do with a naked girl any longer?"

Tyrion smiled, placing his hands over hers as he leaned forward, gently kissing her. Their embrace quickly grew more passionate and before long, they made they way their way to the ground, Tyrion on his back in the middle of the main aisle with Shae straddling him. Shae practically ripped off his belt, casting it aside and undoing his pants, smiling when she saw how hard he was already.

"You have missed me then," she leaned over him, smiling against his mouth before she kissed him again, lowering herself further down on top of him, Tyrion grasping her hips as he entered her at last. Their mouths broke apart, both breathing in sharply—with relief, with pleasure, with surprise that something could still feel so familiar yet so good after so many years had passed. Shae began to move her hips against with a slow rolling motion as she spread her knees wider, letting him further inside as they began to fuck right there on the floor, Tyrion looking up at her with an awed expression, his hands moving from her hips to her breasts, Shae's eyes sliding closed as she leaned back on her hands and she could feel herself getting close, starting to rock her hips back and forth, harder and faster each time, Tyrion groaning her name, his voice shaking, his eyes closing as well, feeling like he might black out if she kept this up much longer, both needing this, craving each other, like a drug they'd both gone far too long without. He held out as long as he could, until it was inevitable, letting out a strangled cry as he came inside her, helping an already trembling Shae take that one last step over the edge with his hand between her legs, the sound of Shae crying out with release, once so familiar to him, now so incredibly missed and so long overdue that it was like music to his ears, making Tyrion feel like he was returning to himself somehow. Afterwards, Shae climbed off of him and collapsed beside him on the floor, both still breathing hard from the rush of the kind of orgasm they only seemed to be able to give each other, especially after going so long without anything at all.

Tyrion looked over at her, his hand on her cheek. "Still think I don't know what to do with a naked girl anymore?"

"I only said that because I know you respond well to a challenge, my lion." Shae grinned, rolling over onto her stomach to look at him, stroking his chest with her hand. "Gods, I've missed you."

He pushed himself up slightly, kissing her soundly. "I missed you too."

"Are we really crazy enough to try this again?" Shae said, tracing lazy circles on his chest with her fingertips.

"Why not?" Tyrion shrugged, the haze that always seemed to settle over his brain after making love to a beautiful woman clouding his thoughts significantly and making it very difficult to think about anything more complicated than when his body would cooperate and he would be ready for another go-round with Shae.

But Shae did seem to have more complicated things on her mind, looking troubled. "Before we decide anything…there is one more thing you should know. One more thing I haven't told you."

Tyrion struggled to make his brain work as he looked up at her. "Oh, gods. You're not married, are you?"

"No. Nothing like that."

"Then what is it?"

"You…well, we…you and I…"

"Shae. Just tell me."

"I have a daughter. From before. She's yours."

SANSA

Sansa found Sandor standing in her bedchamber window, staring out at the cloudless night. The moon was full and bright, shining off the armor he was still wearing, his massive arms crossed over his chest.

"Were the queen's injuries…very serious?" Sansa twisted her small, pale hands together nervously.

Sandor didn't seem surprised by her presence. He'd sensed her coming from halfway down the hallway. Years of combat and guard training had unusually heightened his senses to sounds and smells. Especially hers. Like a dog, he thought ruefully to himself, still not turning to face her.

"No. Just a small cut on the back of the head, and some bruising around the neck."

"She's clever. Just wanted her brother to stay with her instead of Brienne." Sansa sighed, grateful she was no longer Cersei's primary target. "Women have wars all their own, you know."

Sandor finally did turn to look at her, his gold Kingsguard cloak rustling softly. "I think women usually fight those kinds of wars over men like Jaime Lannister, not me, little bird."

"I told Tyrion everything."

Sandor was struck speechless for a moment. When he recovered, his voice seemed unsure, nervous. "And what did he say?"

"He seemed relieved. He's agreed to an annulment, since our marriage was never officially consummated. He's granted me my freedom."

Sandor nodded, running his hand along the sheathe of his sword. "I'm happy for you, little bird. Truly. And I'll take you wherever you'd like. Back to Winterfell. Somewhere else. I'd be honored to serve as your guard."

"My…my guard?" Sansa looked confused. "No, don't you understand? This…this means we can be together now. I told him how much we loved each other, and he gave us his blessing. We can do whatever we like. Go anywhere. Be anything we want. Be together always."

"You don't have to do this," he shook his head, "I gave you a way out. I was happy to do it. But you don't owe me anything now."

"How can you say that to me?" Sansa's eyes filled with tears. "We belong to each other now. I gave myself to you, and you gave yourself to me. Didn't that mean anything to you?"

"What are you saying, child? You want to marry me? An old, tired warrior with no war to fight and with a face most women couldn't bear to look at, even when I paid them?"

"Gods! Just stop! Are you out of your mind? I don't want to hear about other women you've been with! Have you forgotten everything we said to each other that night? Of course I want to marry you! But only if you want to marry me!" Sansa cried.

The Hound finally broke, crossing to her with two long strides and taking her face in his hands, wiping away the tears sliding down her smooth skin with his rough thumbs. "If any man in this world could look at you, look at your face, your body, and not want to marry you, I'd either call him a madman or a liar. But then again, if any man tried to take you away from me again, I'd split him open with a sword." He breathed out. "You're right, Sansa…you're always right. You said once that I'm the only one who ever tells you the truth. Well, you're the only one who ever makes me see it. We belong to each other now. It doesn't make any sense. No one else may ever understand it. But none of that matters."

"So what are you saying?" Sansa was still crying, but smiling through her tears.

The Hound smiled back, something most people would not believe possible. "Marry me. Save me. And I will fight for you forever."

Sansa was nodding, crying harder, before he even finished speaking. "Yes, yes, I'll marry you, right now, tonight…"

"Tonight?"

"Well, maybe not officially, Tyrion said he couldn't have it annulled until tomorrow morning…but as far as I'm concerned…the moment we ride out of the gates of King's Landing together, you're my husband, and I'm your wife."

"Where will we go?" The Hound lifted her up easily with one arm, Sansa happily wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Take me home. Back to Winterfell."

"Wherever you like, little bird."

Sansa leaned down to kiss him deeply. "I love you."

The Hound still seemed vastly uncomfortable whenever she made this admission, so Sansa tried not to take it too personally when he just wrapped his other arm around her and kissed her again instead of saying it back. He'd said it to her before (once, but still). His every action showed he loved her. And she also knew he was a man of few words, and apparently he had used up more than his allotment for the evening. They didn't make love again that night in King's Landing, wordlessly deciding to wait until they were well away from this awful place that held so many dark memories for them both. King's Landing was not where they wanted to begin their new life together, and definitely not where they wanted to spend their first night as husband and wife. Once the decision had been made for Winterfell, they just packed up a few necessities, made their way secretly down to the royal stables, The Hound wordlessly saddling up Stranger for them both before Sansa and Sandor disappeared together into the night.

JAIME

"Jaime?" Cersei rolled over in bed, blinking in the dim candlelight of her bedchamber.

Her brother was sitting at her bedside, his hands spread out on his knees, staring just past her, lost in thought until he heard her voice. Cersei sounded almost sweet, childlike, her long blond hair messy and her voice hoarse from sleep (and from nearly getting strangled).

Jaime reached out automatically, smoothing down her hair. "How are you feeling?"

Cersei leaned against his hand. "My head hurts. But I'll survive." She looked down to see that she was wearing a green silk nightdress. Cersei smiled slightly. "Did you change my clothes?"

"I did."

"Just like old times." She sat back against her pillow. "Though I rather wish I'd been conscious for that part."

"Why? What would you have done?" Jaime looked at her for a long moment, and when Cersei reached forward, grabbing him by the chainmail under his breastplate and forcefully pulling him on top of her on bed, he didn't protest or pull away, but it was like he couldn't even really feel her lips against his or her tongue in his mouth as her embrace grew more insistent, Cersei opening her dress, her perfect breasts pressed up against the hard steel of his breastplate.

"Your armor's cold…" Cersei mumbled against his mouth, smiling. Jaime didn't say anything in return, and didn't make any move to undress her or himself any further, kissing her back more out of habit than actual desire, guilt over what he had done to Brienne (and what he was doing now) about to overwhelm him to the point that he felt like he was about to burst into tears. Clearly, Cersei's injuries weren't too severe, as she was still able to expertly undo the straps and buckles of his armor with focus and clarity that seemed impossible for someone who had suffered as grave a head injury as she had claimed.

"I knew you still wanted me more than that beast…" Cersei undid his breastplate, finally throwing it aside.

"Shut up, Cersei," Jaime growled.

"Just say it. I fucked you better than she ever could." Cersei said, starting to unbuckle his belt as she kissed his neck.

"I said, shut up."

"You were the best I ever had." Cersei said, her lips against his ear.

"What, better than Robert? I don't take that as a massive accomplishment." Jaime scoffed.

"Better than all of them," Cersei muttered without thinking, pulling his face back to hers to kiss him.

But Jaime caught her by the shoulders, holding her back. "All of them?"

Cersei laughed airily, realizing her error, and trying to play it off. "Well, my love, you were gone for a long time…"

"How many other men were there?"

Cersei said nothing, swallowing hard.

Jaime shook her slightly. "How many?"

Cersei pulled away from him, closing her robe and covering her breasts. "Oh, don't be such a fucking hypocrite! I practically walk in on you with your cock inside that monster not one week ago, and you're angry with me for sleeping with other men while you were gone for years without a word home to me? What were you expecting? Did you think I would just wait for you forever?"

"I did wait for you. For most of my life, I waited for you. Before Brienne, you were the only woman I'd ever been with. And you gave me absolutely nothing in return but scorn and betrayal until you needed a favor. So I stopped waiting. I fell in love with someone else, Cersei. Can you honestly tell me the same thing ever happened to you with those other men?"

Cersei's green eyes practically iced over as she considered Jaime. "Love?" She laughed cruelly. "Love only exists in stories, dear brother. If you still believe otherwise, then father was right about you. You are a fool."

Jaime climbed off of her, getting to his feet, feeling a profound sadness but also a distinct sense of relief as a kind of peace settled over him as he looked at Cersei and felt nothing for her. He had stumbled, like a drunkard returning to the bottle he knows could kill him, but he had not fallen. Not fully. He had finally seen Cersei for the cold, hard woman she had truly become, and that was not the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

"Goodbye, Cersei." Jaime nodded to her, gathering his clothes and getting redressed before walking out of her bedchamber. Cersei rolled her eyes and leaned back against her pillows, thinking to herself that he'd be back in the morning, that he'd come back like always.

But he wasn't coming back. For once, he didn't find himself plagued by second thoughts. Jaime made his way down the stairs of the castle, his speed increasing with his growing conviction, passing one of the guards, stopping and grabbing him by the arms. "Brienne…my friend…where has she gone?"

The guard didn't feign ignorance of palace gossip, knowing exactly whom Jaime was talking about. "She rode south, Ser Jaime. Through the Kingswood."

"Towards Tarth. She's going home." Jaime sighed. "Thank you."

He promptly packed his things and ran down to the stables, ordering a squire to prepare his horse Glory, riding off South down the Kingsroad, tracking Brienne's movements with knowledge bred from years of serving as her traveling companion, figuring that he was only a few hours behind her, and Glory was one of the fastest steeds in the Seven Kingdoms, so he could gain ground quickly.

Jaime rode straight through the night, hunger and exhaustion starting to blur all the trees and rivers together, but it finally paid off in the very early morning when he found a tent with Brienne's horse tethered outside.

He almost stumbled dismounting Glory, so tired he felt like he was about to pass out, but he moved towards the tent, needing to see Brienne, needing to make things right…

But suddenly, Brienne stepped out of the tent, fully dressed and with her pack slung over her shoulder. When she saw Jaime standing there, she stopped in shock, hurt and anger immediately replacing surprise in her dark blue eyes.

"What…h-how did you…" Brienne stammered.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, for everything. I—"

"Stop. Just stop." Brienne shook her head with disgust. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say. Ever again."

"Brienne—"

"There's a massive force flying the Baratheon stag as their sigil and moving towards King's Landing through the Kingswood. They're still far enough away to not have spotted me when I saw their fires last night, but they're surely on the move again now. I have no idea which Baratheon is leading them, but they've planned this well. No one in the capitol has any idea. There's thousands in the attacking army, Jaime. Your sister…your brother…your son…their people…they won't be prepared for the attack. If we don't get word to them, they'll all die."

Before Jaime could say a word in response, an arrow came whizzing over their heads, sticking cleanly in the tree over Jaime's shoulder. Both Jaime and Brienne drew their swords, practically in unison, turning to see a group of about ten soldiers holding Baratheon shields scaling the rocks surrounding her small camp.

"Well, I hate to tell you this, but I think they've spotted us now." Jaime muttered to her, turning so he and Brienne were back-to-back.

Brienne rolled her eyes, shoving him hard with her shoulder. "Focus, Kingslayer."

A/N- Until next time! Last chapter! Jaime and Brienne must learn to work together even when she's barely speaking to him, Arya and Gendry lead the Baratheon force into King's Landing, and we see what becomes of Cersei, Shae and Tyrion (and their growing brood), and Sansa and The Hound…reviews are wonderful!