summary:as children, the two of you had always been close. as teenagers, you were in love with each other and the only thing tearing you apart was her engagement to the future lord of winterfell. only after two rebellions, marriages, and children, do you see her again, but the pair of you have grown to be far different than you remember.

note:the weirdest love triangle-like idea i’ve had so far

She was running through the dewy green grass, blue skirts hiked up as to not get any stains along the hem of the fabric. Her auburn hair was free behind her, not twisted into a braid like she always had done. And she wore a smile that you had only ever seen when she was here with you.

“Y/N,” she stopped running, breathing heavy. Even exhausted, your name wasn’t a burden on her lips.

“Cat,” you smile. Her smile grows even bigger, and even in the moonlight you can see a blush paint her pale skin. The nickname was always different when it came from you, more intimate. Catelyn couldn’t help but feel butterflies in her stomach at the sound of your voice.

“You’ve been gone for so long, I thought you would forget our spot and everything.”

“I could never forget you,” you shake your head. Catelyn moves closer, sitting next to you on the cloak laid out across the grass. It was a deep red color, one that hadn’t suited the Riverlands. You never wore it or the color, it’s only use a blanket to protect your dresses from the damp grass. “Besides, I was only gone for three weeks.”

“It was a long three weeks without you,” she pouts. It was unnatural to see her this way, complaints never spilled from her lips in the light. She was a different woman when other people were around, with you she was Catelyn, and not Lady Tully. “Father was busy sending ravens. Edmure still a needy child, and Lysa… you know how she is. Fussing over Petyr because he lost in a duel.”

“I heard about that. He’s never been good with a sword.”

Catelyn hums, not pressing on about the duel. She doesn’t tell you why he was fighting or who it was with. The fewer details you know, for her, the better. “How was your trip?” She changes the subject, taking your hands into her own, “did you like visiting your family?”

You sigh, and give her hands a gentle squeeze. You had been away visiting your family, having been fostered off to the Tullys at the age of seven. You originated from a wealthy northern house, nearly as prestigious as the Starks. However, you did no good in the cold, harsh winter winds giving you too many illnesses to fight off. And with winter coming, your family feared it would take you along with it. You had been ward to Hoster Tully ever since. “It was fine. I got to see my baby brother. Mother named him after some Stark king from hundreds of years ago. Father disapproved, but mother has never really cared what he thought when it comes to naming children.”

Catelyn giggles. She met your father on a visit last year, shortly after the two of you had started whatever it was she could call this. It wasn’t courting, that was saved for a man and a woman who were going to marry. The only way for that to happen to you both would be to run away to Dorne. A fruitless thought, for Catelyn couldn’t abandon her family just for love. Family, duty, honor. There was no room for your fling between her house words. Now more so than ever.

“That sounds like him.”

“Probably wanted to name him after himself,” you roll your eyes. Catelyn hums in agreement once more, and you look back at her. Her eyes won’t meet your own, instead looking between blades of grass along the edges of a distant creek. “Catelyn?” At the sound of her full name, she looks back at you with dilated blue eyes. “Is something wrong?”

Quite frankly, she wanted to lie to you. She wanted to lie and say no, to convince you with small kisses and reassure you with nice words. But honor was a part of her family’s saying, and she had never managed to lie to you before.

“Y/N,” she says it soft and low, a small warning tone. You won’t like the next thing she has to say, you know it. “I told you how my father was sending ravens,” you nod when she pauses, finally looking to you. Catelyn looks away just as fast, “and Petyr, in that duel, it was, um,” you had always known he had a thing for Catelyn. You could never blame him, with her pretty curls and pale skin. A beauty of the Riverlands. You were fortunate, unlike Baelish, to have her return your affections. “It was for my hand.”

You pull your own hands back, crossing your arms. “You’re engaged?”

“Y/N—”

“Answer the question.”

Catelyn sighs, “yes,” you take in a sharp breath, “I am.”

“Who?” Your responses are short and cold, goosebumps rising on Cat’s exposed arms.

She swallows, “Lord Stark’s eldest son, Brandon Stark. He… he was kind to me, and even though he beat Petyr…”

“Seven hells, if you mention Petyr one more time, I’ll think you love him instead!” You get you your feet. “I leave for a few weeks and you’ve gotten not one, but two new suitors to replace me!”

“Y/N, please,” she stands, reaching out for your arm, but you back away faster than she can reach. Her hand drops back to her side, and she sighs. “I didn’t want to marry him, I didn’t want it to happen this way.”

“Didn’t,” you echo, “past tense.” Tears prick at your eyes, and your forced to look anywhere else. You will not cry for her, for this. You refuse. “Do you like him? Brandon?” She doesn’t respond at first, and so you’re forced to keep going. “Are you fond of him? Or will any affection you have for him fade out in a year like it has for me?”

“You have to understand, it wasn’t my idea,” you don’t look at her, but you can hear a change in her voice and know she’s started to cry. “I didn’t want to marry Brandon, I didn’t want to be engaged. But my father has made up his mind, I don’t have a choice.”

You stand in silence, moments passing and all you do is stand. You listen as a small breeze passes through the fields, as water rushes over rocks in the creek not far from here. You listen to the rhythmic pattern of your breathing, at how synchronized it is with Catelyn’s. But the lack of words hurts, and your heartbeat grows louder with anticipation—anticipation for what? You had nothing to look forward to.

“That’s what everyone says when their honor gets in the way.”

With that, you turn away from her and your place you always met late at night. You were quick on your feet, rushing away from her. You had always known your affair with her would end, knew it was a lady’s duty to marry a lord and give him heirs. A small, naive part of you truly thought you would make it, that she would go against her nature for you and maybe the heat of Dorne would be tolerable with you at her side. You were wrong, and as she called out your name from where she was standing, you didn’t acknowledge it. Didn’t look back or stop at her pleas for you to come back, for the pair of you to work something out. It wouldn’t work, just like this.

You should have known better at the start.

Catelyn just stands, watching your retreating form rush back to her father’s castle. She wants to run after you, to chase you down and apologize for it all coming out like this. She wants to, but she can’t. Her feet are planted firmly in the ground, watching you run off. She had never been good at watching people leave her.

Something she would have to get used to, when she saw you again in about twenty years.

*

In the years she had left her home of the Riverlands, two rebellions had taken place. Robert Baratheon’s rebellion, dethroning the Targaryens and placing the Storm Lord in charge of the realm. And then the unsuccessful Greyjoy rebellion, one that had taken her lord husband away from her during the end of her pregnancy with their third child. Five children, she had now. All lined up, ready for the king and his party to arrive.

Of course, that entailed the king, the queen, and their three children. The queen’s two brothers, as well, would be making a visit. The younger of the two, Tyrion, was the reason Catelyn restocked on wine and candles for him to read at night. Jaime Lannister, future Lord of Casterly Rock, was a surprise. Robert’s brothers did not stop their lordly duties to visit, but Jaime had. Likely due to Tywin’s suggestion that his granddaughter, Jaime’s daughter, marry the heir to Winterfell.

The initial mention of Jaime’s daughter made Catelyn wonder who had the unfortunate fate of marrying the former kingsguard knight. Whoever it was, her daughter could marry her son, a thought she didn’t like. She held no love in her heart for the Lannister lions, but her and Ned agreed to let Robb meet the girl before they decided to make the girl their daughter by law.

As the king rides in, Catelyn and her family fall to their knees out of respect. Her eyes are trained on a patch of dirt above her, all thoughts of who could possibly be Jaime Lannister’s wife leaves her. Her mindset is back to that of a perfect lady, prepared to do her duties and accommodate for the royal family.

Robert jokes with her husband, and then pulls her into a hug. He ruffles little Rickon’s hair, and then moves on to shake Robb’s hand. “You must be Robb,” the boy nods, “hear you might marry my niece! Not a handful, like her aunt. You’ll like her.”

Catelyn and Ned share a look as their king continues down the line. She doesn’t notice the queen’s carriage until Cersei Lannister is out of it, holding her hand out for Ned to kiss.

A blonde haired boy rides in alongside Jaime, both in leather embroidered with the Lannister sigil. Jaime’s son, no doubt. The two look exactly alike.

“That’s Jason Lannister,” Sansa whispers to Robb. “He’ll be Lord of the Rock after his father.”

Catelyn can hear the smile in Sansa’s voice, the girl’s eyes shifting from the crowned prince to Jason. The prince, Joffrey, looks Lannister also, but he takes more after his mother’s soft features. Jason has a look of confidence, rather than arrogance, that draws Sansa to him instead.

Catelyn recognizes the way Jason carries himself, the same way you did once. The only similarity he has to you, a coincidence no doubt.

At least, that’s what Catelyn tells herself once she figures it out. Until a second, smaller carriage appears, and Jaime gets down from his horse to open the door. He holds his hand out for his wife, dressed in red-brown furs over a golden dress. Her hair… your hair… is twisted into a braid you knew Catelyn always worn as a teenager.

She takes in a sharp breath, holding it until she thinks she’ll be able to breathe again.

You were the unfortunate woman to have married Jaime Lannister, mother to his two children. It was your daughter who may marry her son.

Followed behind you was a girl who could be your doppelgänger. Rohanne, her name was. Jason’s sister, your second child. Robb’s betrothed, if all went as Tywin Lannister wanted. She turned to face the line of Starks, offering the many children smiles when you don’t. Your expression is blank, yet somehow beautiful. Stoic, as opposed to the cheerful expression on your daughter’s face. There was nothing about her that looked Lannister, save for her pair of green eyes. Even those looked like yours, kind eyes that met Robb’s blue ones, and caused him to react just like his mother.

Two of her children had eyes for Jaime Lannister’s children, for Y/N’s. Another thing they had gotten from their mother.

*

The feast made her uneasy.

It wasn’t the food, nor was it the wine. It was the fact you were seated two seats away from her, only the queen a buffer. It was your daughter, Rohanne, fawning over Robb. It was how Sansa’s eyes were either on your son, Jason, or the crowned prince. It was Jaime’s attempt to intimidate her husband, mentions of a duel between the pair. And it was King Robert’s drunken groping of a maid bringing him ale, causing awkwardness and disrespect to his wife sitting beside her.

Cersei excused herself rather quickly, claiming she was tired though you and Catelyn knew she wasn’t. She retired to the chambers she shared with the king, leaving nothing between Catelyn and her former lover.

“Seems as though we’re going to share a grandchild,” you lift a glass of wine to your lips, taking a drink of the liquid far more bitter than you liked it. A northern thing, no doubt.

Catelyn followed your line of sight, looking to Robb who had returned from putting Arya to bed. He was whispering something into Rohanne Lannister’s ear, a smile on his lips. Whatever he had said made the girl laugh, and by the seven, did her laugh sound just like yours had.

“Maybe,” Cat stresses, but she knows how likely it is from the way your daughter and her son look at each other.

“They’re happy together,” you note. Catelyn closes her eyes for a moment, unable to look at the scene. Rohanne is telling him a story from when she visited the capital for the birth of the second prince, Tommen. Just before his name day celebration, she chased a kitten around the Red Keep, only to find it at the feet of the iron throne. Some joke she snuck in made Robb chuckle, and when Catelyn opens her eyes again, Robb’s arm is around Rohanne. “I wonder if that’s how we use to look, don’t you? Acting like we’re the only two people in the world.”

“We’re not, anymore.”

“We never were,” you agree, “even alone in the fields late at night. The world goes on, as do we. Five children, you have now? The three boys and two girls?” Catelyn can only manage to say yes before something harsh slips off her tongue. “The older girl can’t stop staring at my son. He’d be a better match for her than that prince, but the king has made up his mind.”

“How—?” She starts and stops just as fast. Cateltn forgets herself when she’s with you, an old habit that didn’t die out. “When did you and Ser Jaime get married?”

“Lord Jaime,” you correct. People still call him sir, since he hasn’t acted like a lord. You usually didn’t care, but when you heard it on Lady Stark’s lips, you knew it needed to be corrected. “And we married after Robert’s coronation. He was released from the kingsguard as soon as Robert took the throne.”

“Your children?”

“Born nearly a year after the wedding, both of them. Twins are common in both Houses Lannister and L/N.”

Catelyn glances over to you, but your eyes are far away. Still shifting between Sansa’s whispers with her friend Jeyne to your daughter and Robb to Jason twirling Myrcella around. “She looks just like you,” Cat says, and she means it. Rohanne is a ghost come to haunt her with all the same features as you. “And you never had any other children?”

“Didn’t want to have too many, my dear. How do you manage all five? And still look like you haven’t had a child at all?” You look over to her, and you knew she was staring at you before. The (e/c) of your eyes are cold as they look at her, through her. “Tell me, Lady Stark, are you happy in your marriage? I know Ned wasn’t the brother you wanted, but did you enjoy giving him five children?”

Her lips part, and you let out a small laugh. Catelyn forces herself to look away from you, to find her husband drinking ale with the the king. Your own husband had disappeared—likely with the queen, as he always was, you thought—leaving her with the knowledge that yours wasn’t a happy marriage. Ned, at least, was fond of her, and she him.

It was clear Jaime did not feel the same way about you. You were not in love, but there was a clear and mutual respect. Any love between you, if there had been any at all, faded over time.

You had been thrown into the lion’s den, and became a bitter lioness yourself.

“You know this isn’t how I meant for any of this to happen,” she pauses, nearly addressing you as Lady Lannister. She’s glad she doesn’t, the name doesn’t suite you even if it’s your official title.

“I know,” you say, “but what you mean doesn’t matter now, does it?” Your eyes meet again, before you both look out from the high table at the party. “Maybe Robert has a point,” you start, once more looking at Rohanne and Robb, “love not meant to be in one generation will take place in another.”

Before Catelyn knew it, you were walking away. A sight far too familiar, but one she had never gotten use to.

stuck with me (iii)

part onepart two

anon said: hey i’m loving the arya x reader fic, i’d like to request the third part, maybe with some interaction with jaime, yk discussing the fam

note: i have rewritten this four times, and now it’s back :) also i love dad jaime

There was some sort of poetic irony as you cradled your injured right hand to your chest. Your arm was wrapped and placed into a sling, only one of the injuries you acquired in battle. Another was a shallow stab wound in your thigh, now wrapped and bandaged and propped up with a pillow.

Your father had been up towards the front lines, whereas you never left the castle. You hadn’t fought with him, unable to find each other during the fight.

It lead to him searching frantically once it was clear your side had won. Jaime found you on the ground, bloody leg and barely conscious.

He hadn’t left you since.

You were brought to the room you were given, Jaime pulling up a chair while you were asleep. His only surviving child, his heart broke to see you in such a state.

“Father,” you stretch your left arm out, hitting his leg when you couldn’t reach his arm. You remembered passing out from blood loss and exhaustion as soon as Jaime had you in his arms. “Father,” you try again, louder. He’d fallen asleep in the chair he pulled up next to your bedside. “Jaime!”

“Hm?” His eyes open and he takes his left hand and rubbing his forehead. “Gods, that sounded like your mother.” You give him a half-smile, unsure of what to say. “You had some visitors, you know,” Jaime sits up in his seat, “I didn’t know you were so popular among the Starks.”

“Am I?” He nods, “what makes you say that?”

Jaime sighs, adjusting himself in the chair. “A few people asked about you. And the Stark girl, Arya, only left about an hour ago. The girl forced a maester to tend to you first; didn’t even let him check her own injuries.”

“She’s hurt?” Your words nearly blend together at how quickly you say them. Jaime gives a confused look, raising an eyebrow, but he doesn’t ask a thing. Your eyes scan over him, and he hasn’t changed into new clothes. There are slashes in the fabric and stains that have an equal chance of being dirt as they do dried blood. “Are youhurt?”

He shakes his head, “I’m alright.”

“You were on the front lines—”

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he takes his left hand and places it over yours. “I promise.” You bite the inside of your lip, deciding not to say anything else and just letting your father hold your hand. “There’s going to be a feast later,” Jaime says, “do you think you’ll be alright to go? I think some people would like to see you.”

Some people, you think you know who.

“Oh, that depends,” you smile, “can I have wine?”

Shaking his head, your father refuses to let go of your hand. Wine, you want wine. It’s hard to tell if he should compare you to your mother for that or your uncle. “Some,” he says, “but remember what happened last time.”

“In my defense: northern wine is different,” your voice is louder than it should be, and Jaime can’t help but laugh. Maybe he meant the time before then, but it didn’t matter. “This feast, is it a celebration or…?”

Jaime sighs, “it’s supposed to be,” he stops, “We burned the dead this morning; I don’t think people are necessarily in the mood to celebrate.”

You nod your head, looking away from him. You wondered how long you’ve been in this room, if the battle was only the night before or if there’s been a day in between. And in the very back of your mind, you wonder how long it is you’ve been away from your mother. Your mother who doesn’t even know if you survived. Cersei…

“Father?” The word isn’t foreign on your tongue, but it was odd for him to hear. He had always been Uncle Jaime until just before Myrcella died, and then father to you since he returned from Dorne. “What do you think will happen to us if Daenerys wins the war?”

Where the question came from, Jaime doesn’t ask. Your eyes too far away in thought, and a question he had himself. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Your mother has men to outnumber her—”

“She doesn’t have dragons, though,” you think out loud. Your mother and grandfather had tried to shape your mind to think like them, but you were fortunate you never had to sit on the throne and make the decisions they made. You were your father’s daughter, after all. Meant for a sword and not a seat made of them. “She could still lose.” He doesn’t say anything, and you continue, “what happens to us if she loses?”

You wonder if she would strip you of all your titles and exile you, or if she would kill you. Your father, it was likely, and your mother… you knew if your mother lost she would lose her life as well. Never get to meet her youngest child, only have four children. Your uncle would remain the queen’s hand, but you? She said she wasn’t her father, and you had to hope she didn’t treat you like yours.

“I don’t know.”

Again, you think out loud, “what happens if she wins?”

Jaime shifts in his seat at the thought. If you went back to her, if he went back to her, he didn’t know how that would go either. He remembered the last time he saw Cersei, she had nearly ordered the Mountain to kill him—but he hadn’t told you. All you knew is your mother lied to him about sending your armies north and he needed you to come with him. He hadn’t told you she had no intention of marrying Euron Greyjoy and was debating offering your hand for the sake of their unborn child, he just whisked you away from the situation and to Winterfell once more.

“I don’t know,” he says, again, truthfully. In the back of his mind, however, something you said before repeating itself as a mantra. Why would I remain loyal to a family that causes so many problems? “Y/N?” You hum in reply, leaning closer to him, “at the trial, what did you mean when you said you didn’t want to be loyal to our family?”

Your lips twist into a frown, exhaustion keeping you from losing your expressions. You had never been as good at it as some of your family members, but you still tried. “That’s not what I said. I asked why I would want to be, she didn’t answer me,” you pause, swallowing and taking a moment to figure out what to say next, “it’s what they needed to hear.”

“Did you mean it?”

You want to say no. You do. You want to tell Jaime that nothing would stop you from fighting for him, your mother—your uncle, even—and your unborn sibling. But your mind goes back to Joffrey and how you weren’t truly loyal to him, even if you didn’t understand everything he did.

He takes your silence as an answer.

“I remember,” he starts, “when I came back from Dorne. With Myrcella… after what they did to her. I remember your mother was heartbroken, angry. You, though, you were furious.” The Baratheon words had never suited you until then, he thought, but he knew better than to say it. A lioness’s anger, he thought instead. A Lannister stolen from.

“She was my sister.”

“And she was my daughter.” Jaime swallows. The words don’t slide off his tongue easily, the truth he could never speak to anyone but Cersei. Your eyes flicker to him, and he looks far away. Jaime’s mind has drifted back to that day, when Myrcella listened to his attempted confession even as she knew the truth.

I’m glad you’re my father.

It isn’t hard to tell he thinks back to the first moment he had as her father, the only moment he had. You could see in his stature how heartbreaking it was to have that moment ripped away from him and his oldest daughter dying in his arms.

He then thinks of Joffrey, as do you. He died with your mother holding him and pleading for help; you saw from where your grandfather tried and failed to keep you behind him. You had always seen death whenever they tried to hide you from it.

And then Tommen, jumping out of his bedroom window after taking off the crown he didn’t want. The loss of a wife your mother hated, and blew up along with countless others in the sept where she should have been for a trial.

Gold their shrouds, the words haunted your mother and they haunted him too.

He won’t let you end up like that.

He can’t.

You forgot your hand was holding his until he squeezed it.

Trying to bring him back from his thoughts, you ask, “when is this celebrationlater?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, “in an hour, or so,” he looks back at you. “We can go whenever you want.” We,he says. He didn’t plan on leaving you at all.

holding the other’s chin up

Jaime Lannister x reader

Word Count: 316

Note: Again, this might blow up to be a whole thing one of these days but uh … for now let’s just say that Aerys took Ned’s other sister (reader) as a hostage back in the day, and she got close to Jaime while trapped in the Red Keep (as in together in secret). Then once Ned and co. freed her, she didn’t exactly have a chance to see Jaime again since the whole Kingsguard thing and he avoided her during the trip to Winterfell

He was refusing to look at you.

You weren’t surprised, but … 

You couldn’t have that.

You hooked your index finger underneath his chin and made him look at you. His big, green eyes looked reluctant as he was forced to meet your gaze.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t come after you?” After all you’d done together, after all you’d been through? Even now, you still woke with the sound of Aerys’s mad laughter echoing in your ears on particularly bad nights. 

“I didn’t think your mother would let you,” he replied roughly.

“She doesn’t know I’m here.” You’d snuck out as soon as Robb told you that Lady Brienne had taken the Kingslayer on his mother’s orders.

He chuckled breathily. “Of course she doesn’t. Why are you here?”

“Going with you,” you replied as if it was obvious, which to you it was. “Joffery isn’t likely to let my sisters go easily, and you know it.” You paused, searching his eyes for a reaction before saying, “And Lady Brienne might be a fine fighter, but I’d rather keep you in one piece if I can.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because I love you.” It really was just that simple.

“My father won’t let you leave King’s Landing once he has you in his grasp.”

“I’ve dealt with worse.” Systematically hunting down and killing all the pyromancers you could during Tywin’s sacking of King’s Landing certainly took the cake as the most dangerous thing you’d ever do, especially having just fled the scene of the King’s murder. You could still remember it perfectly: the only kiss you and Jaime ever shared and it was over the Mad King’s cooling corpse before he told you to go after the pyromancers.

“I suppose you have,” he admitted quietly. “… It’s good to see you again.”

You felt your eyes crinkle at the corners with your smile. “You too, Jaime.”

16/50 Touches

massaging them

Jaime Lannister x reader

Word Count: 521

As your fingers sank into his stiff muscles, you realized that he must have been tense since the moment he lost his hand, and you commented as much aloud.

“Can you blame me? Running for your life while you’re unable to so much as lift a sword to protect yourself will do that,” he snapped a bit.

Narrowing your eyes, you pressed just a bittoo hard into a knot.

“Alright! Alright! I’ll watch my tone!” he yelped.

You eased up the pressure wordlessly.

Jaime grumbled to himself. “And anyway, most of this tightness is from Bronn’s bloody training.”

“He’s doing you a favor, so don’t complain.”

“I’mpayinghim!”

“Have you ever met a sellsword that would be willing to train someone in swordfighting? No matter how much you’re paying them?”

“… No.”

“Exactly.”

A comfortable silence fell between you for a few moments.

You warmed some more oil between your fingers before working it into his skin. “Remind me to thank Lady Brienne for getting you home safely,” you murmured. The fact that your reality almost became a life without ever being able to see Jaime again after that last fight had been all too close to happening. You hadn’t known what to do with yourself while he was being held captive, and you feared your worry had been too obvious to Cersei. There was little chance she didn’t know about your relationship with her brother, especially given the fact that Jaime had turned her down time after time ever since returning.

It was him turning his head so he could look at you over his shoulder that made you realize that your hands had stilled with your thoughts. “Are you alright?”

You shook your head, and not wanting to lie you admitted, “Cersei.”

His jaw clenched. “You’ve been working under Father, right?”

You nodded.

“Stay close to him,” Jaime advised. “He’s always been fond of you; he won’t let her touch you.”

You knew he was right. Tywin had planned for you and Jaime to marry since you were born. The pair of you hadn’t done so was because Jaime had joined the Kingsguard … and his former relationship with his sister. During the time before his capture, you’d slept together often when he wasn’t with Cersei–usually times when Robert was being particularly hostile towards the blond. You’d hidden your feelings for him back then. But since he returned from being the Starks’ captive you’d grown closer emotionally.

You sighed before resuming the motions of your fingers on his gorgeous skin. “I thought you were supposed to be relaxing.”

He chuckled, returning his head to its former place on his arms. “Not an easy task when the woman you love is afraid.”

Your heart fluttered “How could I be afraid when I have you here?”

“Easily,” came the blunt reply. “I mean it. Stick close to Father. I’ll talk to Bronn about him guarding you when you can’t be around Father.”

“You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” he interrupted. “I want you safe.”

Again came that flutter. You leaned forward to press a kiss to his shoulder. “Thank you.”