Comment fic meme #3
Here we go for the post-exchange comment fic meme. (Posted on the mod account as usual because I don't want to enable anonymous comments on the exchange comm.)
A couple of rules:
- please include the pairing/character (and maybe a short prompt/kink) in the comment title - both for prompts and for fills.
- there are both show and book fans in this ( Read more... )
A couple of rules:
- please include the pairing/character (and maybe a short prompt/kink) in the comment title - both for prompts and for fills.
- there are both show and book fans in this ( Read more... )
“Do you know what you called me last night?”
Jaime can never quite read Sansa, and it is the one thing he thinks he shall never grow accustomed to. Cersei had always been so free with her rages and her joys and sorrows, a lioness with a roar always in the back of her throat; and even if she had not been, he knew well enough what each minute expression looked like on his own face, and therefore it was simple to see it reflected on hers. In comparison, the Stark girl always has her face carefully schooled, her eyes sweetly blank, so that he does not even know the nature of his transgression. In the height of passion, he might have murmured anything in her ear, an endearment or a curse, something to move her or amuse her, or it may have been his deepest worry - that he would one day whisper the name eternally on his lips, a matter of long habit and longer love.
“No,” he finally ventures, when she watches him with her eyes serious and inscrutable. “What did I call you?”
“You called me Cat.”
Of all he had expected, that had not been one of his first thoughts, and he furrows his brow with an instinctive denial on his lips. But, he considers, what reason would she say such a thing, if it were not the truth of the matter? And how often had he considered how much Sansa Stark resembled Catelyn Tully at sixteen, sweet and young as she had been in the Riverlands? Yet so often those thoughts would be followed by how dissimilar they were, how Catelyn’s eyes had been so open and wide, her smile guileless and her laughter bright. Those had been the days before war, before kingslayers and kinslayers, before Starks and Baratheons and Lannisters were felled one by one, where a boy could chase a girl through the godswood with no true intention of catching her.
At those times he thinks Sansa far more resembles the woman he met when he was wrought in chains, so very changed from all she had once been, grief-stricken and hardened by loss; if sorrows were years they would be older than Walder Frey himself.
He does not like to think of Walder Frey, does not like to think of the travesty there. He hates to sound the part of Ned Stark but the lack of honor, of decency disgusts him, and when he learns of the words spoken when the King in the North was slain, he wonders if Catelyn Stark heard them, too. This was not my work, my lady.
Sansa watches him, and she does not seem distressed or angry, and he wants to grab her, wants to shake her, as though he could fling the mask of Alayne Stone from her forevermore; always cautious and guarded, always practiced, a thousand leagues away from the young girl he remembers from Winterfell, sweet and open and honest, a song on her lips and a spark in her eyes.
But then, he would have never taken that girl to his bed, lovely creature she had been - she had been pure and would have loved him, a shining knight come to life, and Jaime has always needed a bite with his pleasure, pain and punishment to temper the guilt of getting what he wants.
Soothing reassurances die from his lips when she tilts her head slightly (Alayne, that gesture had always been Alayne’s, he remembers) and waits, and though he may need the punishment, the bad with the good, he does not relish it. He thinks of how Cersei would have flown at him, had he dared to even think of another woman with her in his bed (and Cersei knew all his thoughts as truly as he knew hers), would have slashed at him with sharp nails and shrieked herself hoarse. “Well,” he snarls, irritated at her calmness, prodding the wound as he has always done in the past, always hurting and never healing, “you do look like her, I’m sure you’ve been told.”
“Did you love my mother?” she asks oddly, and she sits before the fire of their camp, prods at the flame with a stick to stoke it higher.
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He had not loved her, and yet when he lies with Sansa he cannot help but think of those days so long gone. He had not loved her but he had loved himself then - strong and eager, handsome and infallible, the world at his feet and his heart still full of dreams. He still believed in knights then, he thinks, and had cared not a fig for things such as crowns and castles and conquering. He had still believed if he loved Cersei enough, if he wanted her enough, he would be able to have her - for he had always had everything he wanted, as long as he wanted it enough, and so why should this be any different? Everything had been before him, ripe for the taking.
“No,” he repeats, and his voice is a bit gentler this time, watching as the breeze stirs Sansa’s hair - it is lighter than her mother’s had been, but in the darkness it is hard to tell, especially now that all the muted, drab brown has been washed away. “She merely reminds me of better times.”
She does not protest to this, nor does he expect her to - neither of them pretends that this is the best of times.
Sansa keeps her head lowered over her work - maid’s work, really, but her hands are long gone from delicacy. It is only when Jaime hears a sniffle that he realizes that she is crying, and he feels a flutter of irritation and regret at the same time - of course, he is as ever the culprit, and he runs his left hand wearily over his face. “I am sorry, my lady,” he offers finally. “I meant - I mean you no offense.”
“You are not the first,” she tells him bitterly, her voice thicker now even as she keeps her head bowed, and he raises his eyebrows in interest. Her time at the Eyrie is not something she speaks of - he learned from the first that such questions are unwelcome and will only be ignored. She looks up now, and he starts at the brim of emotion in her eyes, more than he has seen before - perhaps Baelish did not stamp all the life out of her after all, he thinks, he hopes. “She was my mother, and she is dead now. Leave her to her peace.”
The passion in her voice surprises him, and it is that more than anything that moves him to true repentance. He knows enough to know that it is not passion for him, nor for Petyr Baelish - it is for her family, the bits and memories she keeps locked away, the secret place she keeps them that he and others have shamelessly invaded with mentions of her mother. Catelyn belongs to Sansa, as does Ned Stark, and her brothers and sister, and he and no other man has a right to them, should not breathe their names as though they knew them. He is suddenly keenly glad that he answered truthfully, that he had never loved Catelyn Tully, for he thinks saying such a thing would have moved her to rage rather than to tears. And, he realizes, not because she resents serving as a substitute, but because she resents others pretending to have loved those whom she had loved best.
It is her love for her family, the past, for what once was - for better days - and how cruelly they are picked away from her, what little remains to her, that brings her to anger.
It is a thing he, more than anyone, perhaps, can understand.
He rests a hand on her shoulder, squeezing, and feels a bit of tension leave her posture. “I am sorry,” he repeats, and this time, he means it in truth.
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Really nice characterisation. (and Cat, dammit, CAT)
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UGH, this is just so good. So, so good. YOU ARE GIVING ME SO MANY JAIME FEELS HERE THEY ARE LOOK AT THEM. I LOVE how he's constantly afraid of calling her "Cersei", but that he comes to realize that she'd be able to handle that better than what he DOES call her. AND AHHHHH CATELYN TULLY MAKES HIM THINK OF BETTER, PURER TIMES. Those had been the days before war, before kingslayers and kinslayers, before Starks and Baratheons and Lannisters were felled one by one, where a boy could chase a girl through the godswood with no true intention of catching her. This line is perfection. Because my darling Jaime believed in dreams and knights once upon a time. ATHEIOARPJEIROPEJAO KEYBOARD SMASH.
You also touch on one of the essential tragedies of Jaime as a character (I say "one of" because there are so many): the Jaime who met Cat at Riverrun was pretty much the most privileged person possible. He had his looks and his position and the gold and the inheritance- as you say, young Jaime Lannister had every reason to believe that he could have anything he wanted. AND THEN THINGS HAPPEN AND HE REALIZES THAT ISN'T TRUE AND WATCH ME CRY FOREVER.
And obviously my bb Sansa just gives me the sads here. It's heartbreaking that she doesn't mind being a replacement, but she DOES mind the idea of someone else laying claim to the people she loves/loved. Because memories are all she has leffffttttt of her familllllyyyyyyyyyy. ;-;
SO YES I LOVE THIS AND YOU. MWAH!!
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I hadn't even really planned on it before I started writing, but once I did I just EXPLODED WITH JAIME FEELS. Because part of the reason I like Jaime/Catelyn is the sort of juxaposition of the first meeting (adorable innocent flirty times in Riverrun) and their interactions when he's the prisoner in the Stark camp. And in a situation where he DID call Sansa 'Cat', I see it more as a longing for those TIMES rather than a longing for Catelyn herself (although head!canon will forever be that even later on, he likes Catelyn because she's KINDA A LOT LIKE CERSEI IN SOME WAYS). And that period in his life was when he was golden and infallible and sometimes he just wants to be there again. <333 OH JAIME.
Sansa's reaction was the hardest to pin down and why it took so long for me to write it. XD I didn't want it to just be a case of "OMG SAY WHAT???" because with all she's been through, I felt like it needed to be more than that. And I just see her being very protective of the memories of her family because that's all she has (CRYING FOREVER BRB) and she doesn't want anyone encroaching on that. They're HER family and they don't belong to anyone else so STFU Petyr JAIME. (Because obvs it was about SO MUCH MORE than just Jaime).
THANK YOU MY LOVEEEEE!!! SO GLAD YOU ENJOYED!!!
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And Sansa gives me all the feelz! Her reasoning for being upset is perfect. The way that Petyr tries to appropriate Cat for himself and rewrite Sansa's childhood is one of the most galling things about him. Like Sansa says, "she was my mother," and I love that Jaime understands that much. Sansa's family belongs to her, not to dodgy not-ex-boyfriends, XD. Great job with this!!
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AND OH MY SANSA. =( I didn't want to make Sansa into Lysa v.2.0, aka resentful of the comparisons or delusional. Instead she's just angry that people keep trying to hone in on our family. Like you said, they're hers, not dodgy not-ex-boyfriends. XD So glad you liked!
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