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“You miss her.”
Jaime doesn’t bother responding. It wasn’t a question.
“Her raven said she would be back in time for my name day.”
She didn’t send him a raven, or try to make it back for his name day. Instead she went to King’s Landing.
“Stop acting like a petulant child, the Dragon Queen requested her presence and she knows you read all of my correspondence.” He does, but he would have liked a private note from her, even though he knows she wouldn’t use a raven for something so trivial.
Sansa pours herself a goblet of the Dornish red he is drinking. She does not offer to refill his cup. Given her normal adherence to manners, Jaime knows it’s a subtle suggestion he should stop drinking.
“You won’t welcome my brother to your bed, but you will drink his wine?”
“He tried to kill you, and still you drink his wine?”
If Jaime believed in an after life, he is sure that Ned Stark is there cringing right now. Hopefully with the Lady Catelyn by his side, equally horrified by the Kingslayer sitting in Stark’s study, drinking wine, and teasing their daughter about her Lannister husband.
“Well, since he sparred my life when you asked him to, and he sends the wine to you, I assume its safe to drink.”
Jaime is too fond of Dornish red to tell his brother that it is not the best way to court the Wolf Queen.
“I did not ask him to spare your life for you. And its not like Tyrion cares for me.”
Most people think Sansa asked for his life so she can order him killed herself someday when he is no longer a useful tool to annoy the northern lords. The lords seem to have accepted that he will die for this Queen, and that’s all that matters to Jaime.
“He cares for parts of you, woman.”
Jaime knows he is perilously close to truly insulting her, and he is sure Brienne will have something to say about that when she returns. She will blame him entirely for the situation, probably because he is should know better.
“And parts of many other women.” Comments like that make Jaime think this queen and his brother are well matched.
Jaime still wonders when the sweet sheep he met before the winter, became this sharp tooth wolf. Brienne only knows the woman they rescued from Baelish, and yet Brienne’s the one who can find Sansa’s sweetness after days like today.
“At least you know he doesn’t want you for your crown.”
“That is refreshing.”
Normally Brienne handles these conversations, but he asked her to visit another young woman whose value is measured by her marriage, or lack thereof. Age, and his own marriage have not taught him much. He didn’t know what to say to Cersei when their father bartered her life to Robert and he joined the King’s Guard to escape being sold in marriage. His council on this subject is reckless at best.
He hopes Brienne is doing better with his princess than he is doing with her queen.
“If you are going to annul the marriage, the sooner the better. Most people won’t believe a woman married three years is still a maid.”
“Words are just wind.”
Of course, she would quote the wench to him, particularly about this. He really did need more wine. He is beginning to understand why Tyrion seeks its comfort.
“Yes, but even the great trees bow to a wind.”
Sansa laughs at him, which had been the point of saying the truth in such an asinine fashion, but she doesn’t deny his point.
“No one cares whether I am a maid. They only want an heir to control me with.”
She looks so young, and so old, when she says things like that. Jaime is sure Stark and Lady Catelyn never meant to leave her a leaderless pack. At least Catelyn tried to give her daughter a champion.
Its occurred to him before that in a different world, he might have a daughter who looks like a Tully. Jaime wonders if that Lionfish would have swam for freedom before his father sold her maidenhead. He ignored his cub and her marital cage, otherwise they might have had this same conversation before his brother sent her to prowl in Dorne. Instead he is here in the North, backed into a corner with a wolf.
His father once told him the games of thrones is fought in a queen’s bed, and won in the birthing room. In Jaime’s experience is that wars start in queens’ beds, and ends with kings’ heads on a stake.
“Even if you were a man, they would be hammering you for an heir.”
Sansa has not named an heir, even though Bran, Arya, and Rickon live. They both know her siblings have found other paths. Bran knows everything, and nothing about leading a kingdom; Arya’s loyalty is to her family, not the North or the Dragon Queen; and Rickon is happiest free with his direwolf and Sansa does not have the heart to make him a pawn in the game she plays.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t be asked to share my throne.”
That was the crux of their current problem. Tyrion has made it clear he wants nothing to do with the crown, and the Dragon Queen approves the match, but the north is not ready to accept the union. Nor is Sansa for that matter, and Jaime will not push one more thing on her. It leaves them with the accomplished northern lords and their handsome sons who come to see her each day lusting after a crown, and willing to take the girl to get it.
Jaime never wanted to play this game, and yet here he is, the golden hand that guards the queen’s crown. He wonders if it is easier to be a father protecting a daughter’s heart.
“I could swear an oath like Brienne, and only marry the man that bests her with a sword.”
“Take my word—such oaths are incredibly inconvenient.”
At this Sansa does giggle, and Jaime sees a twinkle of the girl that she was before his son killed her father. She and Pod were the only witnesses to his haphazard proposal, Brienne’s awkward refusal, and the messy end of Brienne’s oath. Jaime is certain his rash behavior ruined both their young hearts.
“Maybe I should name you my champion, at least until she gets back, since you will go to such lengths to ensure another’s oath.” Jaime knows Sansa’s mood is improving, if she is willing to tease him.
Brienne never doubts his honor, but Sansa is willing to trust him to make the right choice, not the honorable one. She has never asked him to swear and oath to her, and he is not sure that she would accept his word. His oath to Brienne is enough for her. It’s an odd faith she has in him, and one Jaime finds impossible to betray.
“My bones are too old for that. I would suggest young Pod, or at least his youthful enthusiasm for such romantic foolery.”
Sansa’s eyes darken again, and Jaime curses himself. He should have known any mention of romance would set this conversation back. It is beyond Jaime to understand how this young woman can still believe in love, but he knows she wants a marriage of equals, of happiness, mutual trust, and true love.
He wishes he had just a bit of his sister’s ruthless ambition. If he did, he might be willing to push this wolf into his brother’s bed. But, he was a student of romance and love, and now he is paying for all the trouble he caused. If his father was alive it would gladden his heart to see Jaime in this position.
“My queen, I have found that great romances make for tragic endings.”
“Your love for Brienne is no tragedy.”
Jaime can’t decide if its sweet that Sansa thinks he and Brienne have a great romance, or concerning that she is ignoring the tragedies he has committed for love.
“Sansa, our story has not ended yet.” He does not say the rest. She knows that his death is a forgone conclusion, this respite to pay his debts is the only compromise the Dragon Queen could offer the Kingslayer. Brienne is the one that does not understand he has already lost this game, and he is not brave enough to teach her how to read the board.
He was a fool to marry Brienne and she was a fool to say yes. It is no better to be the Kingslayer’s Wife than the Kingslayer’s Whore, and his love won’t help when she is the Kingslayer’s Widow. He only hopes that she will not be a fool when he does finally lose his head, and that Sansa, Pod, Myrcella and Tarth will hold her to her duty.
“Please don’t let love make a fool of you too, goodsister.”
Sansa nods. Of course she hears the real meaning of his words. Tyrion is the best choice she has available. He is cunning enough to protect their children and her crown without stealing it from her, and he will not hurt her even if he does not love her the way she wants to be loved.
Jaime wishes she could be a naive sheep, but she is the Wolf Queen instead.
She puts her empty goblet on the table, and hands him the wineskin. He sees her hesitation, usually she moves with graceful efficiency, and then she bends over and kisses the top of head lightly.
“Goodnight, Ser Jaime. I hope you dream of your lady love.”
Jaime wonders if she use to kiss her father goodnight like that when he sat in this same chair and worried about his children’s future.