fic: what the stories do not tell (Game of Thrones; Sansa, Jaime)
Jaime is in a foul mood. Robert, the King he sneers the correct title in his head, has dismissed him from his watch. Not before fucking his whores, though, and forcing him to listen outside his door. It would be easy to slip in and kill him. And wouldn’t that be living up to his name. Kingslayer Kingslayer Kingslayer, the whispers follow him at every turn.
He prowls the length of the corridor, long legged gait, hips rocking in a way where the sword at his side is a natural extension of his movement. It’s a practiced thing, walking this way, moving this way, the swagger of arrogance and knowing that he is the best, years of practice.
The air is warm when he steps out onto the walkway. The breeze from the water wafts over the Keep, bringing in the smells of salt and the city. Humidity causes the white cloak on his back to stick to his armor.
However, he will take the warmth over the cold of the North. And speaking of the North, his eyes alight upon the two figures walking towards him. He recognizes the figure of Stark’s eldest daughter, the trailing figure of her septa behind her.
“Lady Sansa,” he hails, forcing the corners of his mouth upwards into a grin.
The girl returns his grin with a smile, eyes flicking downward under his gaze. He knows how he must look to her. His sister has told him how the Stark girl is empty headed except for stories of knights and heroes and the songs that are sung in court. She sees his golden armor that matches the gold of his hair and the lions of his house, the white cloak of the Kingsguard. She sees a knight, a true knight. She has yet to learn that there are no true knights. The lesson will be cruel when she does, he thinks.
Jaime pauses when he reaches her, takes her small hand and places a kiss in the air over her skin. It’s quick, but still her cheeks blush. He does not turn his eyes away, and he can feel the disdainful gaze of her guardian behind her. Inwardly, he smirks.
The septa ushers her away, not daring to say anything to him, but not hiding her feelings. The girl follows but looks over her shoulder once. The blush does not disappear when he raises an eyebrow at her.
He watches her leave the way he came from. Cersei awaits, and she can assuage his mood like no other. The moment passes, his bit of fun, and then he too continues on.
He prowls the length of the corridor, long legged gait, hips rocking in a way where the sword at his side is a natural extension of his movement. It’s a practiced thing, walking this way, moving this way, the swagger of arrogance and knowing that he is the best, years of practice.
The air is warm when he steps out onto the walkway. The breeze from the water wafts over the Keep, bringing in the smells of salt and the city. Humidity causes the white cloak on his back to stick to his armor.
However, he will take the warmth over the cold of the North. And speaking of the North, his eyes alight upon the two figures walking towards him. He recognizes the figure of Stark’s eldest daughter, the trailing figure of her septa behind her.
“Lady Sansa,” he hails, forcing the corners of his mouth upwards into a grin.
The girl returns his grin with a smile, eyes flicking downward under his gaze. He knows how he must look to her. His sister has told him how the Stark girl is empty headed except for stories of knights and heroes and the songs that are sung in court. She sees his golden armor that matches the gold of his hair and the lions of his house, the white cloak of the Kingsguard. She sees a knight, a true knight. She has yet to learn that there are no true knights. The lesson will be cruel when she does, he thinks.
Jaime pauses when he reaches her, takes her small hand and places a kiss in the air over her skin. It’s quick, but still her cheeks blush. He does not turn his eyes away, and he can feel the disdainful gaze of her guardian behind her. Inwardly, he smirks.
The septa ushers her away, not daring to say anything to him, but not hiding her feelings. The girl follows but looks over her shoulder once. The blush does not disappear when he raises an eyebrow at her.
He watches her leave the way he came from. Cersei awaits, and she can assuage his mood like no other. The moment passes, his bit of fun, and then he too continues on.