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An Inconvenient Marriage

Sansa Stark sat under her favorite tree reading. She knew her mother would scold her for sitting on the grass and staining her dress, so she'd been careful to put down a blanket to sit upon. It was rare that she was able to escape the confines and strictures of her daily life as a lady, so she took every opportunity she could get.

The dappled sunlight that filtered through the spring leaves was warm upon her cheeks, and she closed her eyes for a moment to savor it. She inhaled the delicate fragrance of the apple blossoms around her and sighed deeply. If only she could stay here, she'd be perfectly happy as a spinster. Being a young lady of twenty one, she was past her prime as a bride anyway, as Mother was so fond of reminding her.

It was the beginning of a new season, and soon she'd be dragged back to the city to once again attempt to find a husband and bring honor to her house. It wasn't that Sansa didn't want a husband and children - she did, more than anything - but her heart had been broken before and her romantic ideas shattered; she had simply stopped believing in love.

It wasn't as if they needed the money that a 'good' marriage could bring, anyway - her family were very well off already and she had more than enough of her own money to live on if need be. Sansa truly did not see the necessity and she despised the thought of going through the whole foolish performance of balls and suppers and the theater yet again for another interminable social season.

She tucked a lock of glossy red hair behind her ear and returned her attention to her book. It was by Mary Wollstonecraft, and had been written around the time of Sansa's birth. A Vindication of the Rights of Woman was a fascinating read, and one of which her lady mother would firmly disapprove. Sansa's blue eyes devoured the words advocating for rational and equal education of women and men. Her own father had ensured that his only daughter was well enough educated to make intelligent conversation with a gentleman, at least.

It was unconventional, but not shockingly so, unlike what Miss Wollstonecraft had advocated. The most shocking part, however, was the way in which the author had lived her short life. Sansa's mother considered her anathema, as did most of polite society, which was why she read it in secret.

She hadn't always been this wicked, but life had taught Sansa a very painful lesson, and she was not about to allow herself to be a victim of her circumstances any longer. That it had been a man - she would not call him a gentleman - who'd taught her these lessons was largely responsible for her disinterest in the entire sex. Harrold Hardyng had broken her heart two years ago, and Sansa vowed never to permit herself to fall in love again.

He'd seemed perfect: he had sandy-blond hair, blue eyes that melted her insides whenever he gazed at her lovingly, and dimples when he smiled. He had a silver tongue, too - his words were so sweet, as if he'd come straight from the pages of one of the romances she loved to read. Harrold had courted her in what seemed like a sincere and heart-felt manner, and Sansa had been ready and willing to say yes if only he would propose, but then he'd jilted her - thrown her over for another woman without warning.

She still remembered how it had felt to have his arms around her on the one occasion when they'd stolen away together at a party and he'd kissed her. The danger of it was thrilling, but Sansa had been so sure he would propose at any moment that she'd eagerly gone along with his scandalous request. She truly believed they were meant for each other that night, but the very next day he left her, telling her only that he'd met someone else and they were to be married. She later heard rumors that he'd been forced to marry the other girl because he'd gotten her with child.

Harrold had toyed with her affections in an abominable manner which she would never forgive.

Jaime Lannister needed a wife. He did not particularly want a wife, but he needed one just the same - preferably one with money. He was far from poor, of course, but the deep coffers of his family's wealth had dried up some time ago, and he was just getting by - coasting, really - and heading toward a very regrettable position if he did not find a solution soon. As the last living Lannister, marriage to an heiress was his only hope. Renting a townhouse for the season would just about wipe him out, but it was his best shot at achieving his goal - a gamble he had to take.

Not that he was averse to gambling - far to the contrary. That might possibly have had something to do with his current circumstances, but he preferred not to think about that at the moment; he needed to focus! Jaime might not be particularly good with money, but he considered himself an accomplished gentleman in other ways. He loved practicing the sabre, riding, and shooting, although not hunting per se. He enjoyed good food and drink, but never to excess; pheasant was his favorite dish, but he simply could not bear to kill them himself.

He was well-read and had an excellent ear for music, and played the violin rather well. He could draw passably and enjoyed playing card games of all kinds. Jaime never engaged with politics in any way if he could avoid it - most unpleasant! He was tall and strong, and considered himself a good-looking man. In short, he had much to offer a prospective bride - everything except wealth, in fact.

The only reason he hadn't yet married despite being thirty-four years of age was that he had simply been too busy enjoying life on his own. After the deaths of both of his parents, and being an only child, Jaime had become accustomed to solitude and the freedom that it offered. If he wanted to read all day in his nightshirt and banyan, he could do so. If he wanted to go riding or practice the violin or anything else his heart desired, he was free to do so without consulting anyone nor considering their opinions or needs. Jaime quite liked it that way, and as such his ideal match would be a woman who would largely leave him alone. What Lannister needed was money, not companionship.

Did that make him shallow and selfish? Perhaps. Did he care? Not one whit. At least no one could call him a rake or a cad. He generally avoided the company of women, except in certain circumstances which should not be mentioned, and even that was rare. It wasn't that Jaime didn't care for their attentions, he just found most of them boring and so conducted the necessary business and then went upon his way promptly. He left none worse off nor any hearts broken.

Upon arriving in the city and settling into the townhouse, Sansa's mother, Mrs. Stark, set about making appointments with all the appropriate trades in order to prepare her daughter for the season. First and foremost was the dressmaker - an entirely new wardrobe was required, naturally, but also the milliner, the jewelers, the shoemaker - she was quite busy indeed! Catelyn Stark knew perfectly well that her Sansa was a reluctant socialite, but she only wanted what was best for her daughter, and that meant a good marriage. The poor girl was getting older every day and not an offer in sight; she wondered if this year might be their last chance to find her a gentleman of her own.

Sansa's father was also in residence at the townhouse of course, but he did little and less to assist his wife, finding such matters frivolous in the extreme. Eddard Stark rather doted upon his only daughter and indulged her in ways of which Mrs. Stark did not always approve, such as encouraging her to engage in political debates with the gentlemen after supper! Put upon as she found herself, Sansa's mother did her very best in spite of the challenges.

The first ball of the season was to be held at the home of the Tyrell family. Her mother emphasized to her that, as this was merely the beginning of the season, Sansa should relax and enjoy the party without feeling too much pressure. Of course Sansa knew better; her mother was always on the hunt for a bridegroom for her, no matter what the occasion. Mrs. Stark was quite relentless, despite the casual air she affected, and badgered her all week leading up to the event about what she should wear. She tried to please her mother, she really did, but Sansa truly did not care about such things anymore.

"How about the green dress, to complement your hair?" suggested Mother, and Sansa shrugged. "Don't shrug dear, it's uncouth," scolded Mrs. Stark, and Sansa took a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face.

"Forgive me, Mother," she replied. "The green would be lovely, thank you."

"Although, the blue brings out your eyes and makes your skin look nice and pale," her mother continued, second-guessing herself. "Perhaps that would be better - it would make a striking first impression."

"I thought we weren't to worry overmuch about this first engagement, Mother," replied Sansa, trying not to sound like a sullen child.

"Never waste an opportunity, Sansa," her mother advised. "You can only wear each dress once per season, after all, so we must put it to the most advantageous use possible."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Very well, the blue dress, then," agreed Sansa, hoping that would be the end of it, but of course it couldn't be. They had to decide upon accessories for the evening - reticule, fan, gloves, fascinator; the question of whether to wear a shawl or a Spencer took over an hour alone to resolve. At least the matter of jewelry was readily decided - the sapphire earrings and pendant would match the blue gown and were the obvious choice. Nothing too gaudy of course, just the right touch of sparkle to draw the eye.

Jaime might have had to let his valet go to save money, but he absolutely refused to compromise when it came to his tailor; he went to the best in the city and allowed the master to practice his art, with himself as the canvas. He'd have to settle for only two suits, but they were of excellent quality and the latest style, and the several different waistcoats and cravats he'd purchased should serve to change his appearance sufficiently to distract from the paucity of his wardrobe. It wasn't that he was vain - taking pride in one's appearance was only right and proper for a gentleman - but rather that he needed to set out the correct bait if he was to catch a wealthy bride.

For the first ball of the season he'd chosen the red waistcoat with gold embroidery and a gold silk cravat, the tying and arranging of which was a trial without the assistance of a valet, but Jaime felt he'd managed it adequately. Looking at himself in the mirror, he carefully tousled the blond locks framing his face before donning his greatcoat and topper. Plucking his gloves from the hall table, he set out for the ball in his carriage, another extravagance he simply could not do without, though it strained his finances. After all, a gentleman could hardly arrive at a fashionable event in a hackney!

The crystal flute sparkled in her hand as the champagne bubbles popped; Sansa watched them as they rose up the sides of the glass. With a sigh she set it down on a small table and moved away. She was bored, so very bored. They'd only been at the ball for an hour but already she was counting the minutes until they could leave. She'd been obliged to dance, of course - it would have been rude not to - but not one of the gentlemen had had anything of interest to say and she found herself entirely unmoved by the experience.

She had noticed an unfamiliar man, a tall blond in a very smart suit with a lovely embroidered waistcoat who was very attractive, if rather a dandy. Idly curious about him, Sansa drifted closer to listen in on the conversation he was having with the dowager Lady Tyrell, their hostess for the evening. She knew eavesdropping was very bad manners, but what else was there to do at this interminable soiree?

"Aren't you a charming fellow?" declared Lady Tyrell with a smile, in response to whatever the gentleman had said before Sansa had gotten close enough to hear. "I'm sure you'll find the perfect bride this season; why, perhaps even this very night!"

The man bowed deeply and even blushed slightly.

"You are too kind, my lady," he replied politely, "but I pray you are correct. It is long past time that I take a wife. I fear I have been too busy pursuing my own amusements to do my duty to my family name these many years, but I am quite ready to settle down now."

Sansa quietly moved away, having heard enough to tell her that he was no different from any other gentleman at the party, or indeed in the whole ton. She'd only taken a few steps when a different man tripped over his own feet and barreled into her. Sansa was pushed backwards right into the gentleman who'd been speaking to their hostess and would have fallen had he not caught her handily and set her back upon her feet.

"A thousand pardons, lady," said the drunken man who'd knocked her over, reaching for her hand to kiss it. Sansa snatched it away from him in disgust.

"Good Sir," her savior, who was now standing beside her, said sharply. "You are a disgrace! How dare you treat a lady thus?" His brow furrowed and he scowled at the offending man, who mumbled another apology and beat a hasty retreat.

"Thank you for your assistance, Sir," Sansa told him, genuinely grateful.

Lady Tyrell had risen from her place on the small bench during the commotion, and now stepped forward to introduce them properly.

"Mr. Lannister, may I present Miss Stark, the daughter of a dear friend," she said. "Miss Stark, this is Mr. Lannister, a worthy gentleman and the son of the late Tywin Lannister."

"At your service, Miss," he said with a graceful bow.

Sansa made a small curtsy in reply, and offered her hand. He bent over it and just barely grazed her gloved knuckles with his lips, as was proper, before releasing it.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lannister," said Sansa. "Again, I thank you for your helpful intervention just now."

"My pleasure," replied Lannister. "Would you care to dance?"

She drew in a surprised breath at his forwardness.

"Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Lannister," replied Sansa, "but I find that I am quite tired of dancing."

Lannister raised an eyebrow.

"Already?" he asked. "But the evening has hardly even begun. Perhaps when you have sufficiently recovered, you would be so gracious as to grant me a dance?"

Jaime looked at the young lady hopefully, putting on his best boyish charm.

"Very well, Sir," she acquiesced finally. "I shall be pleased to dance with you at least once before the evening is out. Will that suffice?"

Smiling, he nodded, bowed once more, and took his leave of both ladies, the elder and the younger.

Accepting a glass of champagne from a nearby footman, Jaime made his way to the opposite side of the room before turning back to observe the lovely Miss Stark from afar. He was well aware that she was quite well off indeed, but he hadn't expected her to be so fair. Her coppery-red hair and smooth, pale skin were accentuated quite becomingly by her deep blue gown and dainty jewels. He could do worse, he reasoned, and determined then and there to pursue her. He'd have to proceed carefully, however, lest she suss out his true motivation.

Not that he had any ill intent, of course - Jaime was a gentleman after all - he just happened to be in a difficult spot at the moment which required prompt and decisive action on his part. He would do the lady no harm, nor did he consider it to be taking advantage to make use of the fortune she would bring him. He would make no protestations of true love, nor would he promise happiness he could not provide, but he would treat his bride kindly and fairly, and see that she was kept in the manner to which she was accustomed. The minor detail that it would be her own money supporting that lifestyle made him only slightly uncomfortable. She'd have his name and his protection, and the freedom to live her own life however she saw fit without interference from him. Surely that was a more honorable offer than a tranche of false promises.

Miss Stark proved to be a proficient and graceful, if less than enthusiastic, dance partner. Although she was polite, Jaime could tell that she would prefer to be anywhere else.

"Is it the company, Miss Stark, or the occasion as a whole that has you so enervated?" he asked, and her blue eyes snapped up to his in surprise.

"Oh!" she replied, her cheeks coloring slightly, "I do apologize, Sir. I meant no offense! I simply do not care over much for parties." Jaime nodded sympathetically.

"I quite understand," he replied. "It is the best way to get to know others of one's own station, however, and as such is an unfortunate necessity."

"Do you not enjoy parties, Mr. Lannister?" asked the lady, and he gave her a small, yet sincere, smile.

"I enjoy the company more than the activity," said Jaime. When the song came to an end, he offered his arm. "Would you care to take the air, Miss Stark? The veranda is just there and the evening is lovely," he suggested, indicating the open French doors. She gazed out into the night before looking back at him.

"If you wish," she replied thoughtfully and, he felt, a bit reluctantly. She took his arm and they proceeded out onto the veranda, which was well lit with many lanterns, and occupied by a scattering of other guests. They would not be alone, of course, but there were few enough people that they would be able to speak freely.

"I can't help noticing that you are not like the other ladies of the ton," he observed. Her eyes sparkled in the soft light, and he found them rather distracting.

"How do you mean, Sir?" asked Miss Stark, tilting her head.

Best to jump in with both feet, he decided. What did he have to lose?

"You'd rather not be here, I think," said Jaime, "yet here you are, no doubt at the behest of your parents who wish you to make a good marriage?" The lady's cheeks flushed once again, quite becomingly, and she took a deep breath.

"You speak boldly, Sir, but you are not incorrect," she replied.

"Where would you prefer to be, if I may ask? What do you enjoy?"

The lady studied him for a moment, assessing his sincerity, perhaps.

"I greatly enjoy reading," said Miss Stark, "and also sewing and music, although I cannot sing for anything. Political debate is another interest of mine, to my mother's dismay." She offered a smile and he returned it. "I enjoy sitting outside in the gardens, but generally prefer to stay indoors most of the time."

Lannister nodded his understanding.

"I also enjoy music," he provided, "and I daresay I am a fair musician myself, although I prefer to be out-of-doors more than in." Jaime cleared his throat, feeling nervous for the first time that evening as he prepared to state his case.

"I wish to be forthright with you, Miss Stark," he began, "as I believe you are the kind of lady who appreciates such an attitude, are you not?"

"I am, Sir," she replied, "although you have me somewhat concerned by your preamble. What terrible secret are you preparing to divulge?"

"Only this," he said, taking her hand in his. "I do not wish to marry any more than I think you do, but I must - we both must - so why not make a pact to assist one another in this matter?"

Sansa regarded Mr. Lannister in a mixture of shock and confusion. Was he in earnest, or was he mocking her? Was this a proposal or a proposition? She wasn't sure whether to be flattered or offended that he had chosen to speak so baldly to her of his intentions. At least the ball was no longer a stiflingly dull affair!

"Well, Mr. Lannister," she said, "forthright is an understatement. I must ask in all sincerity, do you mean what you say?"

"Indeed I do, Miss Stark," he replied. "I propose a marriage of convenience, to our mutual benefit."

"Well I don't know what to say, Sir," said Sansa truthfully. If she accepted it would enable her to satisfy her parents while also relieving the pressure put upon her, but something in her felt insulted, too - did he think her so desperate that she would accept such a flippant proposal? Did he think he was the best she could do? Was he?

"When you say 'mutual benefit' what precisely do you mean?" she asked, beginning to feel irritated.

"Simply this: we will each have our own lives to live as we see fit, without the complications of a romantic entanglement," replied Lannister. "You would have your own space, as I would maintain mine, and I would not impose upon you any more than necessary." He cleared his throat again, seeming a bit uncomfortable. "Should you desire children, I would of course accommodate you, but that would be entirely up to you. What do you say?"

"I say that you are extremely presumptuous, Sir," replied Sansa, feeling her cheeks warm, "and your suggestion is both insulting and vulgar. Am I so awful that you would shun me in such a manner? Am I so undesirable that you think I would be amenable to such a situation out of sheer desperation?" She wrapped her shawl tightly about her and crossed her arms. "You are correct that I am not precisely eager to be wed, but you are sorely mistaken if you think I will settle for the first man to take pity on me!"

Lannister held himself stiffly as he stared at her, then straightened his cravat.

"Indeed, madam, I now see that you would be quite good at something as disagreeable as politics," he replied rather tartly, "as your waspish tongue is perfectly suited to it!"

Sansa's eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared as she considered striking the man. He must have seen the intention in her eyes, as he took a step back, bowed, and took his leave without another word.

Her affront blossomed into anger and she slapped her fan into her open palm again and again, like a cat lashing its tail. What an awful man! Sansa decided she'd had quite enough entertainment for one evening, and sought out her parents, feigning a headache and requesting that she be permitted to go home.

What an infuriating woman! Jaime's heart was pounding in his chest and he had to consciously force himself not to stride across the ballroom as if he were running from something. He slowed to a more stately pace and made his way over to Lady Tyrell to say a polite farewell; he'd had all he could stomach of ladies and their ridiculous pride. What was so offensive in his suggestion? Jaime knew it was unconventional to speak openly of such an arrangement, but in truth it was not at all uncommon for a marriage to end up that way. In fact, most society marriages were loveless, he'd wager; it was the nature of the beast. He'd simply done away with the window dressing.

What did Miss Stark expect, when she was so obviously disinterested in marriage? What gentleman would want a reluctant bride, no matter how pretty or wealthy?

Perhaps that was the wrong question to ask - Lannister wanted her for precisely those reasons, after all. Jaime shook his head ruefully as he rode back to the townhouse in the comfortable and well-appointed carriage.

Miss Stark did have the loveliest flashing eyes when she looked like she wanted to hit him, and the angry flush on her porcelain cheeks was most becoming, he reflected. Her dowry would be even prettier, he did not doubt; perhaps he could try just a bit of romantic persuasion…

But no, he would do no such thing! She was a shrew and she'd turned him down flat! He was not about to humiliate himself further by crawling back to her to beg for her hand. Let some other fool suffer her company; Jaime would find a better prospect elsewhere.

The next time he saw her, Miss Stark was in the company of a gentleman, promenading about the park. Jaime's eyes narrowed as he observed the two of them together, noting the roses in her cheeks and the demure smiles she directed at the man. He knew himself to be quite a bit taller than this other fellow, and felt certain he could trounce him with a sabre.

"Pray, what has soured your mood so, Sir?" asked his companion, a pretty little blonde lady dressed all in pink ruffles from her bonnet to her slippers. Jaime looked down into her heart-shaped face and forced himself to smile gently.

"I beg your forgiveness, Miss Hartshorne," he replied smoothly, "twas nothing of importance. Please do carry on with what you were saying."

The girl proceeded to ramble inanely about the latest fashions in Paris, and his mind wandered back to Miss Stark once again. What was she doing with that man? Why were they walking so close together? It was indecent! Where was the chaperone?

As he watched, the two paused and Miss Stark looked into her beau's face, and the gentleman took her hand in his and kissed it tenderly. His eyes and his mind elsewhere, Lannister clumsily trod on Miss Hartshorne's foot, eliciting a cry of pain and surprise from her.

"Mr. Lannister!" exclaimed the young lady, pulling away from his attempt to support her by the elbows. "I've had quite enough of your company, Sir," she declared haughtily, glaring at him. "Please take me home."

Miss Stark did not care overmuch for Mr. Huntington, finding him far too devoted and demonstrative by half after their short acquaintance. Her mother liked him, which was why she'd agreed to this promenade at all, but Sansa was now regretting allowing herself to be swayed by her mother's tear-stained entreaties to please at least try to like him.

She wasn't sure which was worse: the overwhelming affection of Mr. Huntington, or the crass pragmatism of Mr. Lannister. At least Lannister didn't slobber all over her hand or smother her with unwanted attention. If she were being honest with herself, a marriage of convenience was starting to sound better and better. Men! They were simply not worth the effort it took to manage them.

Seeing Mr. Lannister with that Hartshorne girl in her ridiculous ruffles had put Sansa in an even worse mood. The two of them with their golden curls and rosy cheeks just made her stomach turn with their sickening sweetness. The way he leaned down to listen to the petite lady as she spoke emphasized how tall he was, and made her aware of how short her own companion was, and how un-athletic.

Not that athleticism was something she valued per se, it was just that a smart figure was more dashing in a gentleman than a doughy one. If he'd been intelligent or witty she wouldn't have cared what he looked like, but Huntington was none of those things. In fact, she was hard pressed to discern what virtues he did have which had so enamored her mother. If she must wed, Sansa positively required an intelligent husband above all. At least Mr. Lannister was that.

The season wore on, as it always did, with the usual balls and parties. The Starks seemed to frequent the same social circles as Mr. Lannister much of the time, so she saw a great deal more of him than she would have liked. They did not dance, and only conversed when absolutely necessary, but still she found her eyes straying in his direction on more than one occasion. Sansa told herself she was merely ensuring that he kept his distance.

It was both disheartening and alarming when she realized that the season was nearly over; she'd danced or at least spoken with nearly every eligible bachelor in the ton, and she still hadn't found a gentleman to her liking, although several of them seemed to like her. Her father had warned her after she refused yet another suitor that the next gentleman to ask would be granted her hand forthwith!

Jaime was in serious danger of becoming discouraged. He was running out of time (and money) and hadn't managed to catch himself a bride. None of the ladies with whom he'd socialized was suitable - he found some glaring fault with every one of them. They were either too tall or too short, too silly or too dull, too overbearing or too apathetic. His mind kept returning to Miss Stark. True, she'd turned down his proposal once already, but perhaps he just hadn't gone about it properly. He knew she was too intelligent not to see straight through an emotional appeal or protestations of affection, but perhaps there was some other way he could convince her to accept him.

And convince her he must, for her father would no doubt discover his relative impoverishment and oppose a match; he needed for Miss Stark to convince the man that he was the only one she would have. Mr. Stark clearly favored and indulged his daughter in most things; if she were to make the case, surely her father would allow Lannister to marry her. She'd been his first choice, and now she was his last, best hope. He vowed to take action the upon the very next occasion when he saw her.

Sansa stood near the refreshments waiting anxiously for Mr. Lannister to appear. It was the last ball of the season, and her last hope for finding a husband she could tolerate. The gentleman in question had offended her, it was true, but she found the prospect of marrying any other gentleman to be even worse. At least with Mr Lannister, there would be an understanding between them. At least he would make no odious demands of her, nor require that she give him an heir and a spare. With her father's threat hanging over her head, Sansa miserably realized that she was in fact now desperate enough to accept him, if he still would have her.

When finally she saw him, she breathed a sigh of relief. Well dressed as always, and with a certain determination in his expression, Sansa held her breath as he made his way to her side.

"Miss Stark, I am pleased to see you here this evening; you have no idea how much," he told her with a small bow. "May I have this dance?"

Sansa made a curtsy and offered her hand, which he graciously accepted.

"I would be delighted, Mr. Lannister," she said, and they headed out onto the floor. Although he was a confident dancer, she noted a nervous edge to his movements as he led her around the ballroom. Sansa hoped she would not need to be blatant in her intentions, but rather that he would simply ask again for her hand without her having to embarrass herself by proposing to him.

"I couldn't help but notice that your dance card is empty, Miss Stark," he began the conversation. "I hope that means that I may monopolize your evening at will," he said with a rather charming smile. Sansa wasn't sure how to feel about that statement.

"Mr. Lannister, once again you shock me with your boldness," she replied, "however I find that I do not mind so much anymore. Circumstances change, after all, and it behooves one to be flexible at such a time."

Jaime tried not to stare. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? Was she in fact ready to accept his proposal?

"I am relieved that my boldness no longer offends you, Miss Stark," he replied cautiously. "Dare I hope that you have reconsidered what we discussed at the beginning of the season?"

Sansa steeled herself, just barely not gritting her teeth.

"You would be justified in that hope, Sir," she replied. "I have indeed given the matter much thought. Have you reconsidered your opinion of my waspish tongue?"

Lannister suppressed a growl.

"You have shown yourself to be consistent, dear lady, and that I must respect," he replied acerbically.

"Do you want me or not, Mr. Lannister? Speak plainly!" Sansa griped, gripping his hand tightly.

"Not particularly, Miss Stark, yet I find myself compelled to hope that you want me," he replied.

"I do not," she told him, "and yet I too am compelled."

"So be it."

"Fine."

"Quite."

The interminable music finally ended and Jaime bowed, offered his arm, and led Miss Stark to a bench on the veranda without uttering another word until they were both seated.

"Now then, Miss Stark- "

"Sansa," she interjected.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, surprised.

"My name is Sansa, Sir," she replied. "If we are to be betrothed you should use my given name." Jaime inclined his head in agreement.

"Very well, Sansa," he said, "and you may call me Jaime."

"As you wish, Jaime," said the lady. Lannister was surprised by a warm feeling in his chest at her use of his name, but dismissed it as indigestion.

"Shall we discuss the terms of our arrangement here and now, Sansa?" he inquired, "or would you prefer that I call at your residence in the morning and speak with your father first?"

"I believe both are required," she replied. "You will of course need to acquire my father's approval, but before you do so, I wish for things to be quite clear between us, you and I."

"Very well," said Jaime, "I will reiterate what I proposed before: a marriage of convenience; you live your life, I live mine, and rarely the twain shall meet."

"Let us be explicit, then," said Sansa. "Barring the required consummation of our union, there will be no expectation of intimacy between us. Correct?" Her cheeks were quite red and she did not meet his eyes as she said this, and Jaime found himself almost equally uncomfortable.

"And you accuse me of boldness!" he exclaimed. "You are correct, however. There will be no such expectations, unless of course you decide you would like children. As I said before, that will be entirely up to you. I will make no such demands upon you."

"Very well, I have only one more question for you, Jaime," she said. "I must marry due to pressure from my parents, but you have no such reason that I can see. What then is your motivation for desiring this union?"

Jaime hesitated only for a moment. She was an intelligent lady and would not be satisfied with anything less than the truth, he knew.

"To be quite crass," he said quietly, "I need your money."

Sansa gasped in horror.

"Good Sir!" she exclaimed. "Surely not even you could be so mercenary as that!"

"It is the simple truth, dear lady," he replied. "I respect your intelligence too much to prevaricate. You asked a direct question and I answered it honestly; surely you cannot complain about getting what you wanted."

The young woman regarded him in silence, lips pursed, for some time.

"I will read whatever I like, and wear whatever I like. I shall have my own rooms and my own friends and socialize with them as I see fit," she stated. "Do you agree?" He nodded.

"I do, and will you agree to the same freedoms for me?" he asked.

"I will," replied Sansa. "In that case, Jaime, I accept your proposal. My dowry is a small price to pay for the right to live my own life." She froze for a moment, then spoke again, more slowly, as something like suspicion lit her eyes. "You're not going to spend it all, are you?"

Jaime swallowed and hesitated.

"Dear God, you are!" she said, drawing away from him. "You're planning to drain my fortune and then what, leave me destitute?"

"No! Of course not!" he countered. "I would never." Sansa glared at him.

"There will be no betrothal until we have reached a legal agreement regarding management of finances," she informed him in a firm tone. It had an odd effect on him - he should have been angry, outraged even, but instead Jaime felt drawn to her. He reached out and took her gloved hand in his.

"Sansa, my dear- "

She withdrew her hand from his.

"I am not your dear, Mr. Lannister," she said sternly.

"Miss Stark, if you insist on making this betrothal into a business transaction," he said stiffly, "then so be it. I agree to your terms."

"Very well," she said, rather haughtily, "I shall discuss the matter with my father this evening and let him know to expect you in the morning."

Jaime rather liked this forceful side of Miss Sansa Stark, though it irked him in equal measure.

"Agreed," he replied. "Now, shall we dance once more? For the sake of appearances, of course."

"For appearances," she agreed with a nod.

Mr. Eddard Stark was not a man who cared for surprises. He liked things to be neat and orderly and predictable, so when his daughter came to him in the evening after the ball, he did not expect anything out of the ordinary. He was mistaken. Sansa declared that she had something to tell him and that she required his advice, so he invited her to sit opposite him in front of the fireplace without any trepidation whatsoever.

What she told him had him setting down his brandy and rising to pace. A suitor was good news indeed, and a marriage settlement not at all irregular, but the particulars Sansa had in mind for the prenuptial agreement were.

"And why do you think this is necessary, my dear?" he asked, concern weighing heavy upon him. His daughter pursed her lips and hesitated before answering.

"I just want to be protected," she said finally, "in case of any misfortune that might befall us. Mr. Lannister is a gentleman, not a businessman, so naturally his grasp of financial matters is likely to be tenuous at best."

"And I, on the other hand, am a businessman and not a gentleman, is that it?" he asked somewhat stiffly.

"Father, that's a virtue, not an indictment!" countered Sansa. "All I ask is that you help us reach an agreement that is both fair and mutually beneficial."

"Very sensible," he allowed, "but not terribly romantic. Are you sure about this match?"

"I thought you said the next gentleman to ask would be granted my hand immediately," she replied with a sly smile. "Are you withdrawing that ultimatum? If so…"

"Not at all, my dear," replied Mr. Stark quickly. "It is your mother's and my fondest wish to see you married as soon as possible. If you have finally come to your senses and settled on someone, then I shan't argue any further. I'm sure my solicitors and I can come to an agreement with Mr. Lannister."

Sansa refused to perform any false affection for Jaime in front of her family, but it was necessary to at least project a friendly tenor between them, so she tolerated his small gestures and did not flinch when he touched her hand or or gazed at her affectionately. She used his given name in front of her parents, who seemed pleased and impressed with his debonair bearing. Jaime Lannister was very good at playing the gentleman, and his public display was done tastefully, calculated to be just enough. Sansa could appreciate that, but it still irritated her.

Eventually a settlement was reached, the contract signed, and a marriage license acquired. Sansa suffered her mother's overbearing management of every last detail of the wedding with gritted teeth and bad grace, just wanting the whole thing to be over and done with.

Before she knew it, the day had arrived. Mrs. Stark fussed over her all morning until Sansa thought she might scream, but finally, blessedly, all was in readiness. The look on her bridegroom's face when she appeared at the end of the aisle took Sansa by surprise. If he was acting, he was making an impressive job of it; if she didn't know better, she'd think he was sincerely moved.

All throughout the wedding ceremony Sansa felt as though she were in a trance. She followed the priest's instructions and said the words required of her, but in her mind she was far away. This was it; she'd done it. She'd satisfied her parents by getting married, and now the rest of her life lay before her.

Once she got through the wedding night, that is.

Sansa's mind kept returning to the horribly awkward conversation with her mother that morning, and like a dog chewing on a bone, she couldn't seem to let it go. She knew the basics of what would happen, of course, and that it was required to make the marriage legally binding, but her mother had felt the need to take her aside and explain it to her regardless. Her cautions and admonitions did nothing to quell Sansa's fears, and all throughout the afternoon she wondered if she'd made a terrible mistake. She looked at Jaime and tried to feel anything but dread, but it was impossible. When they arrived at his townhouse - finally, blessedly free of the attention of her family and others - Sansa did feel some relief; at least she could stop pretending, but still her stomach lay in knots of anxiety and she ate almost nothing at the modest supper which was laid before her.

"Are you quite well, Sansa?" asked Jaime over the rim of his wine glass. "You look rather pale." Sansa bit her lip, uncertain what to say to him. Suddenly her fear turned to anger. How dare he speak to her gently, as if all were normal and good between them, as if this were a true marriage? It was time to end the charade.

"You can stop acting solicitous of my feelings, Jaime," she snapped. "No one is watching anymore and the contract is final, so you can relax. You needn't try to fool me, too." He raised an eyebrow and his cheeks colored.

"Why must you be unpleasant, wife?" he demanded. "It's true that no further performance is required on my part, but what makes you think my concern is feigned?" Sansa glared at him.

"We have an agreement," she pointed out. "No expectations or demands for emotional attachment to be placed on each other, or have you forgotten?"

Jaime sighed and put down his wine.

"We needn't be in love, Sansa, to be decent to one another," he said impatiently.

Sansa stared at him, breathing heavily in her ire, which was mostly made up of discomfort with the unknown. What did he want from her, truly? What did he expect of her tonight?

"I'm tired," she declared suddenly, "I'm going to bed."

Jaime studied her silently.

"You know we must- "

"I know!" she replied sharply. "Let's just get it over with."

While he did not expect his wife to welcome his attentions exactly, nor did Jaime expect her to be quite so actively hostile.

"It needn't be like that," he told her.

"Don't patronize me," replied his bride. Jaime bristled.

"I refuse to force myself on you, Sansa," he told her. "If you are unwilling tonight, then we will wait until you are ready to consummate the marriage. No one need know if we delay matters a bit, so please cease with your vitriol." As much as he enjoyed seeing the passion in his wife's face, her fear was not something he could tolerate. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"By all means, retire if you wish," said Jaime, "no one will trouble you, least of all me."

Sansa shook her head, biting her lip.

"No," she said softly, almost in a whisper, "waiting will only make it harder for me. Come to bed with me, do what must be done, and then we'll never speak of it again."

Awkward, uncomfortable, and blessedly quick was the encounter. Jaime was business-like and efficient, and left her as soon as it was done, thankfully not lingering in her bed expecting to be welcomed into her arms afterwards.

Sansa got up and washed herself, then changed into a fresh nightgown before climbing back into bed; she did not want to smell him on her person all night and be reminded of the humiliating experience. She was his wife now in truth, her duty fulfilled.

The more she thought about it, the more she resented her husband. Sansa did not wish to be bitter, to be the shrew he'd once called her, but his behavior made her suspicious. Why was he being so kind? He'd been gentle with her in bed, and had not demanded anything of her beyond compliance, which was very decent of him. He'd respected her wishes, so why did she feel annoyed and disappointed?

Sansa remained cross the next day when she woke, and even as she dressed and broke her fast, her foul mood remained. She did not see her husband at all that day and couldn't decide if she was glad or not. She felt like a wild animal, needing a target upon which to take out her frustrated aggression. Where was he, and who was he with? A very unpleasant sensation took her and she realized with horror that it was jealousy; she wanted her husband to be with her and only her, in spite of the nature of the agreement they'd come to.

She did not love him; she didn't even want him, so why did it matter where he was or what he was doing? It mattered, she realized, because she wanted him to want her. It was insulting that he could simply walk away from her so easily!

She was not about to offer him her heart, but Sansa was determined to get and hold his attention nonetheless; her pride demanded it. Once she had it, she'd throw it in his face.

Jaime tossed and turned in his own bed after leaving his wife's room. The consummation had been perfunctory, just as she'd requested, although he'd found himself quite aroused by the feel of her body and had finished far quicker than he intended. He would have been embarrassed but he knew she didn't know any different, and was probably grateful for the brevity of the encounter anyway. The scent of her hair and skin - clean linen and lavender - had been lovely and still lingered in his nose. Jaime breathed deeply. They had an understanding, and he intended to honor it, but he couldn't help feeling disappointed and even a little bit ashamed that his wife didn't want him.

He needed to harden his heart and honor the agreement he'd made with her. No matter how beautiful she was or how nice she smelled, Sansa was and would remain a stranger to him. He had her money - or would soon enough, once the transfer of her dowry to his bank account was complete; what more did he want from her?

Jaime found to his dismay that having a wife made him want conjugal relations more than he had before his marriage, now that there was a woman in his house who at least nominally belonged to him but whom he had agreed to leave unmolested. He needed a woman who was not just willing but enthusiastic and welcoming of his touch, and he wondered if Sansa would object to him having a mistress. Did it matter if she did? After all, they'd agreed to mutual freedom to conduct their affairs as they saw fit, and provided he was discreet, she'd be in no position to complain. If it made her jealous it would serve her right!

The more Jaime thought about a jealous Sansa, the more aroused he became. He'd show her - he'd make her want him and then deny her when she begged him to come back to her bed!

Sansa began the campaign against her husband slowly; it would not do to simply throw herself at him. The first part was easy enough: she made sure that she was always well groomed, sweet smelling, and dressed becomingly. She didn't simper or batt her eyelashes at him, and she was sparing with her smiles.

She invited her husband to dine with her for supper, and was gratified when he readily agreed. She made sure to listen attentively when he spoke, and smiled a little more. Sansa made eye contact only sparingly, truly feeling a bit shy with him to her surprise. When Jaime said something funny she found herself laughing with genuine amusement, and immediately wished she could take it back. He really was quite amusing and very handsome, but Sansa was determined not to be diverted from her goal through misguided sentiment.

Sansa certainly was enticing when she smiled, but Jaime wasn't about to fall for it. If anyone was to do the seducing, it would be him. He couldn't imagine what Sansa's motivation was for her sudden change of heart, though, and it troubled him. He wanted her to want him, and her attention was flattering, but why was she doing it?

After dinner, Jaime told her he was going out for the evening and not to wait up for him. His wife had looked askance at him but said nothing, and he smiled to himself. He had no intention of doing anything scandalous, but she didn't know that. Jaime extended an invitation to her for breakfast, which she accepted.

The next day Jaime lingered in bed later than usual and deliberately did not comb his hair or shave before sauntering into the breakfast room to join a visibly irritated Sansa at the table. His wife glared at him and pursed her lips at his appearance.

"Did you get lost on your way to the wash basin this morning, husband?" she asked testily, and he smirked at her.

"Why Sansa dear, are you concerned about me?" he drawled with a lazy smile. "I merely had a very late night and am still recovering from my…exertions," he said, a little pause emphasizing the last word. Sansa's eyes widened and then narrowed.

"What exertions would those be, Mr. Lannister?" she asked sharply, and he gave her a cheeky wink.

"Nothing you need concern yourself with," replied Jaime, waving a hand dismissively.

Sansa's nostrils flared but she quickly regained her composure and excused herself from the table. Jaime smiled at the stiffness of her back as she walked away from him, even as he admired her backside. She really was appealing when she was angry.

With the social season at an end, it was time for Sansa and Jaime to retire to his country estate of Casterly Manor for the remainder of the year.  The trip promised to be long and boring, and Sansa considered it an ideal opportunity to employ all of her charms and social graces upon her husband, while he was a captive audience, to make him fall in love with her. The trip would take several days, during which they'd be in forced proximity in the carriage, and sharing a room at various inns along the way. It was perfect!

 The first day, Sansa sat primly across from her husband and read a book while she covertly peeked at him beneath her lashes. She'd chosen a particularly daring novel for the specific reason that she knew it would make her blush, and she hoped Jaime would notice and be intrigued.

In the novel, a fiercely independent girl rails against the strictures of society and defies her parents to run away with a rakish scoundrel, who seduces and ruins her. It was billed as a cautionary tale, of course, but in reality it was nothing but a torrid romance. As Sansa turned the pages her heart raced and she could feel her cheeks flushing. She couldn't help comparing her handsome golden-haired Jaime to the man in the story, who also had blond hair and green eyes and the physique of a Greek god. Sansa surreptitiously inspected her husband's hands to see if they were as manly as those of the cad who'd literally swept the lady off her feet and carried her to his bed.

They were just as strong and inspiring of admiration, as were his cat-green eyes which watched her from time to time. When he caught her looking at him, Jaime smirked at her, and Sansa blushed even more deeply.

"What is it that you are reading which has you so inflamed, wife?" he asked with an insouciant smile. "Should I be afraid for your virtue?"

Sansa snapped open her fan and swished it gracefully in front of her decolletage, and was pleased when his eyes were drawn there, just as she had intended. She lowered her eyes bashfully and gave him a demure smile.

"I hope you're not angry, Jaime," she said in her best little girl voice - the one she'd used on her father many a time to get her way. "It's merely harmless entertainment, I assure you, but…"

She hesitated as if she were ashamed, and his look sharpened.

"But what, exactly?" he asked, sounding quite serious now. Good, she wanted to inspire jealousy or at least possessiveness in him in addition to curiosity. She wanted him to be thinking about her being aroused and wondering if he could arouse her in the same way.

"Well," she said, and she didn't have to pretend to be a little uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat and rubbed her legs together - the story really was exciting, after all! Jaime's eyes tracked the movement, before returning to meet her own. Sansa cleared her throat.

"Well you see," she said, "it's a romance between a young maiden and a terrible cad. She's innocent and he takes advantage of her in a most shocking manner."

"And that appeals to you, does it?" asked Jaime with a gleam in his eye. "Would you like to be taken advantage of by a dashing scoundrel?"

Sansa licked her lips and tried to calm her breathing. The way he was looking at her made her feel rather like a small animal staring down a lion. She'd wanted him to want her, but now that he was so clearly interested, Sansa found herself at a loss for what to do or say.

Jaime's heart pounded in his chest. The heated look in his wife's dazzling blue eyes was having a marked effect upon his body and he struggled to contain it. This was not supposed to happen! She was supposed to want him but not the other way around. Jaime wondered if he could turn the situation to his advantage, but to do so he would have to master himself with tremendous discipline.

"Tell me about the rake in your story," he requested. "Is he as tall as me? What color are his eyes?" Jaime rested his chin on his hand, focusing all his attention directly on her. Sansa's cheeks were the most amusing shade now, and he suppressed a grin.

"Yes, he is tall like you, and has blond hair and green eyes like yours, too," she confessed. "It's quite a coincidence, I suppose."

Jaime moved to sit beside his wife and took her hand. he lowered his head as if to kiss her, then hesitated.

"And do they kiss?" he asked in a low, quiet voice. Sansa drew in a breath and nodded silently, her eyes fixed on his.

"Yes," she breathed, and closed her eyes.

Jaime quickly moved back to the other side of the carriage to sit across from her once again and affected a disapproving glare.

"Then it is not suitable reading material for a lady!" he declared, and snatched the book out of her hands.

Sansa stared at her husband in disbelief and growing anger. He'd tricked her! He'd pretended he was going to kiss her and then scolded her instead, the brute. She pressed her lips into a thin line and glared right back at him. What was he playing at? Sansa found herself sniffling, to her horror, and pulled out her handkerchief with angry, jerky movements and dabbed at her eyes and nose. Damn and blast! Why did she have to be a weak woman?

She folded her arms across her chest and looked out the window instead of at her infuriating husband, and tried to school her expression to one of calm neutrality. When she'd regained her composure, Sansa looked over at her husband, only to find him engrossed in her novel! The nerve of the man. She suppressed a huff and instead leaned against one wall and closed her eyes, feigning sleep, until the rocking of the carriage lulled her into true slumber.

That evening when they came to a halt she awoke groggy and with a stiff neck. Jaime helped her out of the carriage and led her into the inn where they would be staying for the night. Upon retrieving the key from the landlord, they mounted the stairs and entered their room. There was just the one room, with one good-sized but not overlarge bed in the middle of it. Sansa blinked sleepily and sat down on the edge of it to remove her shoes, when a thought occurred to her.

"Where are you going to sleep, husband?" she asked Jaime, who had already removed his coat and was loosening his cravat.

"Why, in the bed of course," he replied matter-of-factly. "Why do you ask?"

"Surely you do not expect us to share one bed," she objected, but he just looked at her coolly.

"You may sleep wherever you wish, wife," he informed her, "but I shall be sleeping in this bed, with or without you."

Sansa pouted. She was utterly exhausted and wanted nothing more than to strip down to her shift and fall into bed, and after all, why shouldn't she? Why should Jaime get to be comfortable while she did what, slept on the floor? In the chair? No, it would not do. If her husband insisted on using the bed, then they would share it, whether he liked it or not; she refused to be cowed by him.

As his wife went behind the screen to change into her nightclothes, Jaime removed everything but his smallclothes and climbed into the bed. He scratched his bare chest and stretched out comfortably, letting his back settle against the mattress and work out the kinks from sitting all day in the carriage.

Sansa emerged in a long white linen nightgown and sat at the table with a hairbrush. The sound of the bristles running through her long hair was soothing and Jaime found himself quite relaxed by the time she'd finished and woven her hair into a simple braid. They were both tired, he knew; perhaps they could co-exist for one night in the same bed without wanting to strangle each other.

His wife stood over the bed with her hands on her hips and glared at him. The fire was behind her, and the light made her shift see through, the silhouette of her figure clearly visible to him. Jaime ignored her face and just admired her curves.

"What are you gawking at?" she demanded, "and why are you half naked?"

"I was merely admiring my wife," he replied, "and I'm comfortable this way. If you don't like it, sleep on the floor." She grumbled but did not back down, instead climbing into the bed and shooing him over to one side. Jaime rolled away from her to hide his smile; she was so adorable when she was cross.

Before long, he heard her breathing deeply and evenly in sleep. Jaime was just as exhausted, and as soon as he closed his eyes, fell deep into his own slumber.

Morning light crept in around the window curtains and shone into the small room. Sansa was warm and comfortable, her body languid. She shifted a bit and found that she could barely move; she was tightly bound by Jaime's arm around her waist and his body pressed up against her back. She yawned and blinked a few times, sleep lingering stubbornly, and closed her eyes once more. She would reprimand her husband for taking liberties with her later; right now she just wanted more rest.

When next she woke, it was to the sensation of movement behind her. Something hard was pressed up against her backside, and Jaime was rubbing against her slowly but firmly. His hand was cupping her breast, and his fingers idly stroked her hard nipple, sending a jolt straight down to her core.

"Mmmmm," he groaned into her ear. "So soft." Sansa felt his lips on her neck and shivered; her mind might still be foggy, but her body responded eagerly to her husband's touch despite her intentions. She couldn't help herself; she arched her back and pressed her buttocks against his manhood, and Jaime's hand left her breast to grip her hip firmly as they writhed together. Sansa could feel the slick heat between her legs, but was too aroused to be embarrassed by it. Jaime reached down and pulled up her nightgown, before tugging on her smallclothes. He undid the tie and pulled them down and then slipped his hand between her legs from behind.

Sansa moaned involuntarily as his fingers delved inside her, only to be removed and then replaced with his thick member. Her husband pushed into her body and returned his grip to her hip, pulling her back against him with every thrust. She moved her upper leg forward a bit and he was able to go deeper inside. Sansa whimpered as Jaime's hips smacked her bottom over and over, his cock sliding in and out of her with obscene wet noises. Suddenly he shifted and rolled her over onto her stomach, gripping both of her hips and taking her from behind. Sansa spread her legs and arched her back, raising her hips to meet every stroke. She could not have contained the noises that came from her if she'd tried.

Faster and faster he pummeled her, grunting and mumbling words she couldn't quite make out, until his movements became furious and desperate. He slammed into her a few more times, then groaned and collapsed on top of her, his breath hot in her ear. Sansa's cunt pulsed around him, and she could feel his seed slipping out of her body along with his softened manhood. She couldn't believe what had just happened - how wonderful it had felt - and as she came fully awake, Sansa could not bring herself to regret allowing it. He didn't have to know that, however. As soon as he rolled off of her, she turned onto her side facing away from him and pretended to go back to sleep.

Jaime lay on his side catching his breath as he watched his wife and wondered what the devil had just happened. That had been without question the best fuck of his life thus far, and they'd both been half asleep. His wife's body had been so responsive, so lush, and her moans and mewls absolutely intoxicating. He hadn't intended to make love to her, but his body had a mind of its own, apparently. He rationalized it by deciding that this session would serve as a teaser, an enticement to his wife to make her fall in love with him before he would coldly turn her away. Jaime would absolutely not permit himself to become attached to her! She wanted him, clearly, which meant that he had won.

He knew she wasn't sleeping, but he went along with the pretense and set about his morning routine. Jaime stretched languorously, knowing she would see the muscles in his back and legs flexing. He'd shed his smallclothes in bed and took a moment to let her get a good look at his backside before strolling casually over to the washstand. He cleaned himself and dressed, taking his time, all out in the open. He wrapped his cravat around his neck and turned to the mirror to tie it, and snuck a sideways glance over to the bed, only to find that Sansa's eyes were fixed upon him. She immediately snapped them shut and Jaime smirked at her as he finished dressing and left the room to collect breakfast.

He took his time, and when he returned with food and a pot of hot tea on a tray, Jaime found Sansa fully dressed and seated before the mirror, pinning up her hair. Their eyes did not meet, but her fair skin betrayed her by flushing pink. Jaime didn't say a word about what had occurred between them; he didn't have to. He could see in her eyes when she did look at him that she was deeply conflicted, and it troubled his conscience, in spite of his intention to stay detached.

Sansa did her best to master herself, but it was almost impossible. She was supposed to be taunting her husband, making him want her and then snatching the prize away, not giving in and letting him have whatever he wished, and even enjoying it herself!

She had certainly not intended to let any such thing happen when they'd gone to bed the night before, and she truly wasn't sure how she felt about it. Sansa had had no idea that relations between man and wife could be so pleasurable before this morning; the knowledge certainly put a kink in her plan to take control and make her husband suffer.

On the other hand, she'd wanted Jaime to want her, and he clearly did, so did that mean she'd won? Or had he won because she'd permitted him to have his way with her so willingly? She continued to puzzle over the matter for the rest of the day as they continued their journey. Sansa spoke little, and her husband left her to her own devices, apparently quite absorbed with his own thoughts.

When next they stopped for the night, Jaime did not suggest that they share the bed, but gallantly took a blanket and slept in a chair before the fire without discussion. Sansa stared at the wall as tears pricked her eyes and confusion roiled in her heart. Was her husband staying away out of consideration or disdain? Was he rejecting her or respecting her? Sansa truly did not know what to think. They had not discussed or even acknowledged their liaison, much to her relief, but she herself could not seem to stop thinking about it - about the way his strong arm had felt when he held her against his chest, and about the way his manhood had felt buried deep inside her. Sansa found herself squirming in the bed and forced herself to stop.

It wasn't fair, it simply was not fair!

He could tell his wife was unhappy, but Jaime was at a loss for what, if anything, to do about it. What was supposed to be simple - a marriage of convenience, born of necessity and nothing more - had become anything but. He felt tremendous guilt for taking advantage of her, and that was exactly what it was: taking advantage of her groggy state. Sansa had clearly been unhappy afterwards, even though her body had responded to his touch eagerly. He didn't want to get emotionally involved, but neither did he wish to hurt her.

Jaime left his wife to her private thoughts for the remainder of the journey to the manor, speaking courteously but only when necessary. He found himself brooding, and resolved to go out for a ride as soon as they arrived; the fresh air and exercise would do him good. Perhaps with a clear head he'd be able to find a way out of this very uncomfortable situation in which he now found himself.

He realized that his plan neglected to consider his wife's needs as soon as they stepped out of the carriage in the courtyard of the Casterly Manor estate. Sansa gasped and exclaimed as she looked around at the fading grandeur of his ancestral home.

"Welcome to Casterly Manor, Mrs. Lannister," he told her with what he hoped was a warm expression. Jaime was painfully aware that his house was in poor condition and needed repairs urgently, and it embarrassed him, but he tried not to let it show.

The butler, housekeeper, and household servants were lined up to greet them at the door. There were a paltry few of them, but his wife greeted them graciously as introductions were made and made no comment about it. A lone groom waited to help the driver unload their baggage from the carriage and tend to the horses.

"Rooms have been prepared for you and your wife per your instructions, Sir," said the butler.

"Thank you, Reese," Jaime replied. He was about to give instructions for his riding horse to be saddled when he remembered that the gelding had been sold to help pay for his season in the city. He turned back to the butler.

"Please see that my sabre and gear are laid out for me," he told the man, "I wish to stretch my muscles a bit after the long ride here." The butler bowed and acknowledged the order.

"Mrs. Lannister, if you will come with me, I'll show you to your rooms," said the housekeeper, Mrs. Hutchins.

"Thank you Mrs. Hutchins," said Sansa politely. Jaime watched as the two women disappeared into the house. He took a deep breath and went to his rooms to change clothes, feeling not the least bit ready to face the new reality of his life as a married man.

Sansa followed the housekeeper up the grand staircase to the second floor gallery, which overlooked the entry hall.

"This is a lovely house," she observed to Mrs. Hutchins, who smiled at her. "Have you been here a long time?"

"Yes, ma'am, twenty years or more," she replied, "since before the Old Lion passed, God rest his soul."

"The Old Lion? Do you mean Mr. Lannister's father, Tywin?" asked Sansa, and the older woman nodded.

"Yes, ma'am, that's right," she replied. "Here are your rooms," she said as they arrived at a door at the end of the hall. "Your luggage will be brought up shortly, and if there's anything you need, you have only to ring the bell here," she said, indicating the bell pull by the door.

"I would very much like to have a hot bath, Mrs. Hutchins," Sansa told her. "Can you please arrange that for me?"

"Yes ma'am, I'll see to it immediately." The older woman curtsied and offered a warm, motherly smile. Sansa smiled back and dismissed her, before turning to explore the suite of rooms she'd been given.

There was a bedroom, a water closet, a dressing room, and a small sitting room with tall windows that let in lots of light which she felt would be perfect for sewing or reading during the day. Sansa would ask for a tour of the house later, after her bath and a rest, she decided.

Once the tub had been brought up and placed in front of the fireplace in her bedroom and filled with bucket after bucket of hot water, Sansa undressed herself and sank into it gratefully. There were many things that needed tending to in this great house, she'd noted, but the first thing she was going to do would be to engage a lady's maid.

Sansa washed her hair slowly and thoroughly, and poured clean water over it to rinse the soap out. The room was warm and comfortable with the fire going, but her bathwater had started to get cold and no longer felt clean, so she rinsed off and got out. Wrapping the warmed drying sheet around herself felt heavenly, and she lingered in it as she sat before the fire and combed out her hair. She knew she ought to get dressed, but Sansa was just so weary that as soon as her hair was in a tidy braid, she climbed into the bed quite naked, pulled the covers up and fell fast asleep.

She had a blissful dream wherein she was in the arms of her true love and he was kissing her and stroking her hair. Sansa couldn't see his face, but his arms were strong around her and his lips were soft on hers. As their bodies pressed together, she started to feel warm and wet between the legs, hungry for connection with her lover. Without any words passing between them, he knew exactly what she wanted. Her heart was full as he made love to her slowly, his manhood sheathed deep inside her. Love suffused every cell in her body as their joining surged to a crescendo of passion and pleasure.

Sansa woke with a start to the sound of someone knocking on her bedroom door. She sat up and pulled the covers up over her bare chest, still breathing hard and flushed from her heated dream.

"Who is it?" she called, trying to sound calm and composed.

"My name's Penny, ma'am," said the voice, "Mrs. Hutchins sent me to help you dress for dinner. May I come in?" Sansa got up and swiftly pulled on a clean shift and her dressing gown, before going to the door to admit the maid. She was a petite girl, slightly younger than Sansa herself.

"Pleased to meet you , Penny," said Sansa. "Please come in." Penny curtsied awkwardly and then entered the room.

"How may I assist you, Mrs. Lannister?" asked the girl, looking a little lost. "I'm only a housemaid, so I don't rightly know what to do."

The girl was bright and seemed excited to be helping her mistress. Sansa gave her instructions, which she followed with alacrity, and soon she was dressed to the shoes, but her hair was still in a damp braid.

"Do you know how to style a lady's hair, Penny?" Sansa asked her, and the girl bit her lip.

"I used to do my mum's hair for her, ma'am," she said. "T'weren't nothing fancy, though." She smiled and Sansa smiled back.

"Why don't you go ahead and arrange my hair the same way, then? I'm sure it will be lovely," she said, and Penny beamed.

When his wife entered the dining room, Jaime found that he did not know what to say to her. She looked lovely, as always, though her hair was arranged in an unfamiliar manner. He helped her into a chair and then sat himself at the head of the table. Sansa looked demurely down at her lap as he silently poured her a glass of wine, before filling one himself. Never let it be said that he did not know how to treat a lady.

"Thank you, Jaime," she said coolly, looking up at him before taking a dainty sip from her glass.

"You are most welcome," he replied. "I wasn't sure whether or not you would wish to dine together, but I thought that, at least this first night, it would be proper to do so." His wife nodded solemnly.

"Yes, I agree," she replied, "although in future I think I should prefer to dine alone, if you'll allow it."

"Of course," said Jaime, wondering what was going through her head.

"Thank you," said his wife, without elaborating.

They ate in near silence, only the scraping and clinking of utensils and glasses interrupting the stillness and tension in the air. Finally, Jaime decided he couldn't take it anymore.

"Are you angry with me, wife?" he asked. Just then the butler entered with dessert, and Jaime waited until they'd both been served and the man had left before returning his gaze to the lady. He found that she was looking back at him with an inscrutable expression.

"What makes you think that?" she asked in a neutral tone, before applying herself to her sorbet.

"Your demeanor ever since…since the inn…has been rather cool," he replied, "and tonight you seem quite aloof." Sansa gave him a look that would have wilted a lesser man, but Jaime did not flinch.

"What did you expect? Gratitude?" she asked, raising one beautifully arched eyebrow at him. Jaime was determined not to be moved, but it was difficult. "We had an agreement, Jaime, and you broke it," she concluded, attacking her dessert with sharp movements. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

"I didn't do it alone," he replied sharply, and her eyes flashed.

"How dare you…" she hissed, and Jaime, realizing that he'd been leaning towards her, pulled himself back.

"Don't act insulted, Sansa," he replied. "You liked it, and you know it." This was not at all the conversation he'd intended to have with her; why did she insist on making things difficult?

His wife glared at him angrily, then pushed her chair back and stood up.

"Sit down," he ordered, but she ignored him.

"I will not sit here and be insulted, Mr. Lannister," she spat, and folded her arms across her chest. Jaime was distracted by the way the motion pushed her breasts up and together, and he licked his lips involuntarily.

"Ugh!" cried his wife in a huff, dropping her arms to her sides. "You are disgusting," she declared.

"Well you are a hypocrite!" he countered.

"And you are a liar!" she accused, raising her voice for the first time he'd ever heard. Sansa seemed to be surprised by her own vehemence, for she drew back and clasped her hands in front of her.

"May I be excused?" she asked. Jaime simply nodded, saying nothing, and watched her leave. He finished his wine and refilled his glass from the decanter. That had not gone well at all. He'd intended to clear the air between them, but instead it was even more clouded with enmity than before. Jaime rested his head in his hands and just breathed. This was impossible - this woman was impossible! How had he ever thought they could live together peacefully? He should have known better after she refused him the first time.

"Mr. Lannister, sir," said Reese, standing to his right beside the table.

"Yes Reese? What is it?" said Jaime rather rudely, but the butler didn't flinch.

"May I speak freely, Sir?" asked the much older man. Reese had been the butler at Casterly Manor for as long as Jaime could remember; he'd known Jaime's father well, and had always been a fixture in the household, a steady presence after first his mother and then his father had passed away and left him alone.

Jaime sighed deeply, having a pretty good idea of what was to come.

"Please do so, Reese," he replied with a sense of resignation.

"You know I've served Casterly Manor faithfully for many years, Mr. Lannister," began the butler. "I watched you grow from a child into the man you are today. If you will forgive me for being so bold, Sir, I would offer a piece of advice."

"Go on," said Jaime.

"There is a saying, Sir: 'happy wife, happy life," Reese informed him. "Mrs. Lannister does not appear to be a happy wife at the moment. It would behoove you to apologize for whatever slight, real or imagined, has offended her."

"I have done nothing to offend her," objected Jaime, though he knew it wasn't true. Reese, to his credit, did not scoff or raise his eyebrows, but merely continued to look him in the eye in a meaningful way. It was most irritating.

"With respect, Sir," said the man, "it doesn't matter. The household as a whole will suffer so long as the lady of the house is cross."

Jaime sighed again.

"Thank you for your advice, Reese," he said. "You may go."

Over the next few days Sansa explored Casterly Manor inside and out. She made lists of all the needed repairs that she could discern, and spoke with Reese the butler to find out if there were others of which she was unaware. It was quite a lengthy list by the time she was finished; fortunately there was now plenty of money available to allow her to make up for the many years of neglect by her husband. Sansa wondered what he'd done with all of his family's wealth, for clearly there had been a great deal of it at one time.

Unfortunately, she would need to speak with him before any work could begin. There were also a number of changes she wished to make to the outdated and threadbare decor, and she felt she should obtain permission before doing so.

Sansa hadn't seen or spoken with Jaime since their argument at dinner that first night, so she asked Reese where to find him, and was informed that he spent many an afternoon practicing the sabre with their closest neighbor, a Mr. Clegane. She found her way to the room and stood transfixed by what she saw. The first thing she noticed was Mr. Clegane; he was extremely tall and broad, with dreadful-looking scarring on one side of his face. In spite of his size, he moved quickly and smoothly, deftly sparring with her husband, whose skill with a blade was truly marvelous to behold. Sansa hadn't realized that Jaime was such an accomplished swordsman.

When Jaime called a halt, the two gentlemen moved to a small refreshments table which had been set up in the room. Sansa cleared her throat to get their attention, and they both turned to her in surprise.

"Sansa? What are you doing here?" asked her husband, though he didn't sound angry to see her. The other man looked from her to Jaime and then back to her again.

"This the new wife, Lannister?" he asked without taking his eyes away from her, and Jaime nodded.

"Indeed she is" he replied. "Sansa, come over here and let me introduce you." Sansa obeyed merely because it was good manners and because she was curious about the newcomer.

"Sansa, this is our neighbor, Mr. Sandor Clegane," said Jaime. "Clegane, this is my wife, Sansa." Sansa curtsied to the man and held out her hand. He bowed over it and then straightened up, all without taking his eyes off of hers.

"Mrs. Lannister," he said in a raspy voice that made a chill race down her spine.

"Was there something you wanted, Madam?" asked Jaime impatiently. Sansa tore her eyes away from Mr. Clegane somewhat reluctantly.

"I wished to speak with you regarding some work to be done on the house, but I can see that you are otherwise occupied," she replied. "If you could make time for me later, I would be most grateful."

"I should go anyway, Lannister," said Mr. Clegane. "I'll just collect my things." Turning to her he added: "Mrs. Lannister, a pleasure." Sansa nodded to him politely and watched as he walked away.

Jaime reached out and gripped her upper arm tightly as soon as the other man had left.

"What the hell was that, wife?" he demanded angrily, and Sansa quailed instinctively at the rage in his face. She tried to pull away but his hand on her arm was like a vice. He shook her. "Answer me!" he demanded, and she stared at him, her mind having gone completely blank in her fear. Jaime huffed and pushed her away.

"Do whatever you want to the house, I don't care," he told her with his back turned. "It's your money anyway."

As his wife's footsteps receded, Jaime attempted to regain control of his temper. The way she and Sandor had looked at each other - no, stared at each other - had him seeing red. He wouldn't be inviting his neighbor over to spar again any time soon, that was for bloody well sure! He cleaned his sword and put it away, before grabbing his jacket and stomping back to his room. He rang for a bath and waited for the tub to be delivered and filled, before stripping out of his sweaty clothing. Jaime looked at himself in the mirror before stepping into the hot water. He knew he was handsome - his shoulders were broad, his chest and arms well muscled, and his face was quite comely. His golden hair and green eyes added to all that made a very pretty picture indeed.

He thought about Sandor Clegane then, as he stepped into the tub and began to wash himself. Clegane was taller and stronger - there was no question of that - but his face was a ruin. Even without the scars the dark-haired brute would not have been attractive, with his hooked nose and sharp-angled face. What was it about him that had so transfixed Sansa? Jaime could easily understand why the other man would want to look at her, of course: his wife was stunningly beautiful.

Jaime realized he'd been ruminating and returned to soaping up the washcloth and scrubbing himself all over. He'd been contemplating doing something nice for the lady, to 'apologize' as Reese had suggested, even though he knew he'd done no wrong. Now though, Jaime wasn't inclined to do a damn thing for her. Let her be angry; he didn't care anymore. In fact, the angrier he could make her, the better he thought it would make him feel.

Sansa knew that they needed more servants to run and maintain the manor house and had intended to choose them herself, but was shocked to discover one day soon after the incident with Mr. Clegane that her husband had already done so without her input. She was quite peeved by that, but even more insulted when the people in question were presented to her.

There were two footmen who seemed acceptable, but the women he'd engaged were all uncommonly pretty. Sansa was confident in her own beauty - she'd never felt the need to compare herself to other ladies - but the fact that her husband had chosen these particular girls to serve them struck her as both an insult and a threat. To make things worse, they weren't even competent. The lady's maid in particular, Ami, was terrible at her job, and Sansa was determined to replace her as soon as possible.

When she saw the girl flirting with Jaime, she was livid. Her husband seemed very pleased indeed by her attention, and was giving her his most dashing smile, complete with dimples. Sansa clenched her fists and breathed through her nose as she watched him lean towards the young woman as if he was about to kiss her.

"Ami!" she snapped, and the two sprang apart. "Ami, pack your things at once; you are dismissed," she declared coldly. The maid burst into tears that Sansa didn't believe for one moment were genuine, before running off to her room. Jaime leaned casually against the wall and gave her an absolutely predatory smile.

"That was harsh, dear wife," he drawled. "Are you not happy with the maid I chose for you?"

"You chose her for yourself, you cad," accused Sansa, "just like all the other pretty girls you hired. How many have you taken advantage of so far?"

Jaime's eyes blazed.

"You accuse me of being a cad?" he demanded. "That's rich coming from you!"

"What?" she screeched, hating how high-pitched and desperate her voice sounded. "Just what are you implying, Jaime? I have done nothing unseemly, unlike you."

"Lower your voice, woman," he seethed, "Do you want the whole house to hear you?" Sansa glared at him so hard at him that her eyes started to hurt. Jaime stalked towards her, backing her up against the wall and then looming over her, his arms caging her in on either side.

"You agreed to separate lives, remember?" he said quietly and fiercely, his hot breath tickling her ear and causing her to shiver. "We each live our own life however we see fit. You have no right to interfere!"

"You have no right to accuse me of…of…whatever it is you think I've done," she growled, stumbling over her words in her anger, "and then you humiliate me on top of that!"

"Harlot!"

"Rake!"

"Adventuress!"

"Prick!"

The words hung in the air between them as their chests heaved and their eyes locked in virtual combat. Jaime was so close to her that Sansa could feel the heat radiating off of his body. He bared his teeth in a feral grin and tangled his hand in her hair, before bringing his lips down to hers in a devastating kiss. Sansa gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer, returning the kiss and putting into it all the passion and rage that flowed through her body. Her husband pressed her firmly against the wall, crushing her to him so she could feel the hardness of his desire. He moved his mouth to her neck and sucked hard as she clawed at his back with her fingernails.

Suddenly she was in his arms and clinging to his shoulders as Jaime carried her down the hall and pushed open the first door he came to, before dropping her on the spare bed. the room was dark with the curtains drawn, but her husband tore them open after closing and locking the door.

"What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly.

"I want to see you," he replied, climbing on top of her on the bed. He tore open the front of her dress, exposing her breasts, and clamped down on one of her nipples with his mouth, and Sansa cried out in a mixture of pleasure and pain, winding her hands into his silky blond hair and holding him there. Jaime pushed her skirts up around her hips and tore off her smallclothes with one forceful jerk of his hand, and she immediately wrapped her legs around his waist, rubbing herself against him as she clutched at him.

Jaime sat back, pulling her with him, and opened his trousers to expose his cock, which was fully engorged and angry looking. He pulled her into his lap and she took hold of his member, guiding it to her opening with a shaking hand. He gripped both of her hips and seated her fully onto his shaft, which slid into her slick channel and bottomed out inside her. Jaime laid back on the bed and hammered his hips up into her as Sansa rode him like a galloping horse. The pins had fallen out of her hair and it tumbled down around her, streaming down her back and curtaining her face as they bucked and writhed together.

Sansa leaned forward and braced her hands on her husband's perfect chest, hating how perfect it was, hating how fantastic this felt, hating him with all her heart as she ground down on his thick cock as hard as she could.

"Bloody hell," Jaime groaned as he climaxed, saturating her womb with his seed. His gorgeous, passionate, infuriating wife cried out as she found her own peak and collapsed on top of him. They were a sweaty, sticky mess as they gasped for breath together. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed the top of her head.

"I hate you," she whispered into his shoulder, and Jaime laughed.

"I hate you too, you impossible woman," he replied. "So much for keeping our voices down," he added. Sansa groaned, and it sounded pained.

"I expect the whole house heard us," she agreed ruefully.

Jaime rolled them onto their sides so they faced each other on the thoroughly rumpled bed and brushed the hair out of her face.

"Sansa," he said, gently stroking her cheek.

"Jaime," she replied, leaning into his touch.

"I don't think I really want separate lives anymore," he told her.

"Nor do I," admitted his wife.

"Were you really attracted to Mr. Clegane?" asked Jaime, and his wife scoffed.

"Of course not," she replied. "I was stunned by how absolutely massive he is up close, that's all. He was the one who was staring at me." She peered at him sharply. "Were you really misbehaving with those girls?" she asked, and he chuckled.

"Of course not," he replied. "I'm a gentleman, remember? I merely wanted to pay you back for embarrassing me."

"This is silly," observed his wife, and Jaime readily agreed. He sat up on the edge of the bed and pulled her up beside him, noting her disheveled state.

"I'll just go and fetch you a dressing gown then, shall I?" he suggested, and Sansa giggled.

"I think you'd better," she said, "else we'll give poor Reese an apoplexy."

"I imagine he's already quite shocked, actually," reasoned Jaime, "but nevertheless, why add insult to injury?"

Sansa leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"I don't really hate you, Jaime," she said with a shy smile, which he returned.

"I don't hate you either, Sansa," he replied.

"Good."

"Good."

Life at Casterly Manor was a lot more congenial after that day, for both of them. Sansa was pleased with the progress on the repairs and redecoration, and had started working on a set of cushions embroidered by her own hand for the sitting room. Jaime would serenade her sometimes on his violin while she worked by the light of the new bay window, smiling all the while. Her husband had moved into the bedroom adjoining hers, though they almost always slept in her bed together now. She still liked having her own space, as he had his, but it was not the marriage of convenience they'd envisioned - not by far.

Sansa sighed and laid one hand on her rounded belly as she looked out the window and awaited Jaime's return from what he had dubbed a "secret mission." It was her nameday, and she knew he'd gone to fetch a gift, but she'd no idea what it was. The baby kicked under her hand and she grunted in discomfort. This child could not arrive soon enough for Sansa's taste, as it had grown quite heavy and was very active, especially when she was trying to sleep.

There was a commotion in the entry hall and Sansa rose awkwardly to go investigate. She'd barely waddled halfway to the door before it burst open and Jaime strode in carrying a little gray ball of fluff.

"Happy nameday, wife!" he declared, and Sansa stared at the thing in his arms. Just as she was about to ask what it was, a little head poked out, with shining yellow eyes and a little wet nose.

"A puppy!" she cried happily, reaching out to take the creature from his arms.

"Of course, my love," replied Jaime. "I was paying attention when you spoke fondly of your childhood dog."

"Oh Jaime! What a beautiful little lady she is!"exclaimed Sansa, setting her carefully down on the carpet, where she immediately squatted and peed. "Oh no!"

Jaime scooped the puppy back up quickly and grimaced.

"I guess I should have let her run around on the lawn a bit instead of bringing her straight in from the carriage," said her husband apologetically. "I'll just take her back outside."

"I'll join you both and sit on the veranda," suggested Sansa.

A footman arranged a table and chair for her and brought out refreshments, as Jaime and the pup, whom she'd decided to call Lady, gamboled about on the lawn. It was a lovely day and Sansa smiled and watched them happily as she drank her lemonade. She'd given up on the very idea of love after Harrold broke her heart, but now her life was filled with it every day - and every night, too. Even in her condition, Sansa and her husband could hardly keep their hands off each other; if anything, seeing her body grow ripe and full with his seed made Jaime more amorous than ever.

A blush blossomed on her cheeks and neck, and Sansa fanned herself. Her husband gave her a knowing look and winked at her.

Sansa closed her eyes and smiled.