The man in black fled through the desert and the gunslinger followed.

A distant shape blossomed with detail as he rode. A way station. He wondered if his quart had stopped. Regardless, he needed water. The delay could not be helped.

A light patina of dust covered the square panes of the windows. The gunslinger scouted around the building and found the blackened remains of a fire. He had been here. And not one hollow in the dust, but two. The closest thing he had ever had to confirmation that he was right. 

A faint smell of dust hit his senses and he spun, the gun in his hand and ready before he had completed the movement. A boy stood but a few feet away. He had crept close before kicking up the dirt, frighteningly close had it been anyone but a boy. Brown hair, brown eyes, as brown and honest as the dirt. He holstered the pistol. I have not yet forgotten the face of my father. 

“You saw the one who made camp here?” He did not ask if the boy had been seen. He would not be alive if he had.

There was a nod. 

“When?”

“Two nights ago.”

There was uneasy silence and then the boy cocked his head to one side, bird like, and the gunslinger was uncomfortably reminded of his dreams of late. 

“I’m Bran.”

“A fine name.” It had been a lifetime since he had spoken with a child, since he had tried to gentle the fire that drove him. “Jaime of… Of Casterly.” That was a place so far back in his memory now that the name was a dream, and one it hurt to conjure. 

“There were two of them,” Bran volunteered. “I dream…”

“The Rose?” he asked quickly.

“A bird. A bird who sings in my dreams. But sometimes she’s the lady who was by the fire.”

“She can be many things.” She’s my last chance now. For honour’s sake.

“The man in black… I didn’t like how he looked at h-“

The ground opened beneath their feet, a great crack splitting the earth. Jaime found his feet quickly and reached a hand to the boy, but Bran had slipped and was clinging to the rock, a few feet into the chasm. He didn’t cry out but looked imploringly up at the gunslinger. 

He dreams of the Rose, as do I. We are ka-tet. He dropped to his stomach and reached down to grasp Bran’s hand. Before he could close his fingers about the small wrist, another hand flickered in his peripheral vision. 

Slender, white fingers gripped the rock. She had burned. She had burned until there was nothing left but that hand… It was so real. She hung against the rock. She didn’t beg, for that would not have been her. Cersei had never begged. Not even while she burned. She looked at him with eyes that matched his own and he reached for her. It was an unconscious movement, though if he had been aware, he would have done it anyway. She couldn’t be real. She couldn’t be more than a memory. But he couldn’t take the chance. 

The boy cried out once as he fell. The outline of his body against the black chasm as he fell would haunt Jaime’s dreams for nights to come, twisted with visions of the Rose and of Cersei, laughing in the flames.

(Source: tygettlannister, via girlwholovesherwords)

girlwholovesherwords jaime x sansa tora art

If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.

(Source: klarolinelannister, via lainelannister)

jaime x sansa

lainelannister said: Don't know if this is too specific, but figured I'd try! Jaime/Sansa, Arthurian AU: Sansa disguises as Cersei in order to seduce Jaime. (Based on the Lancelot/Elaine/Guinevere legend.)

girlwholovesherwords:

Hopefully my HTML will hold for this as I’m typing and posting on my phone and can’t preview….

I’ll add tags later since can’t do that on phone either.

Sansa looked down at her hands. The red woman had promised the glamour would hold. It was like looking at a painting of long white hands, with a few of the creases that came with age, overlaying an earlier sketch that the artist had discarded. She could still see the shapes of her fingers and she wondered what she would do if she was caught, or rather, if she was caught too soon.

It is no easy thing, to trap a lion, and in spite of her planning it all rested on Jaime’s honour. If he had any. But she was left with little choice. She couldn’t hope to hold Winterfell herself and if she did not find herself a husband, one would be found for her. If she had to wed, it would be a man of her own choosing. Fate had left her nothing but a narrowing pool of options and it had taken a long while to reconcile herself to Jaime Lannister. But still, a man who has little interest in power and less interest in Winterfell. Unfortunately, also a man uninterested in any match.

She had learned subterfuge and how to conquer from within at the hand of a master. A match would be made, if Jaime had any honour left.

Her thoughts were ruthless, driven by survival, but she couldn’t stop her cheeks burning. She wondered if the glamour blushed with her.

The door sounded hollow when she knocked and there was nothing but confusion on Jaime’s face.

"Why aren’t you at King’s Landing? What-"

"Shhh. I’m here. Isn’t that enough?" She stepped in quickly, brushing him to one side as she imagined Cersei might do.

There was a different kind of puzzlement now and she realised the glamour did not extend to her voice. Too late she remembered the red woman’s warnings of the limitations of the illusion. He must not have time to think about it. He must not have time to notice her height, her manner, the million other things that no glamour could hide. She must do what Cersei would do.

She plunged one shaking hand into his hair and kissed him, using her tongue aggressively. I have missed him, it has been an age. This is my one love. This is Florian and Jonquil. This is every romance I ever read. How can he believe it if I don’t?

His fingers were in her small clothes and she struggled not to squeak in surprise. It was surprise she told herself. There wouldn’t be real pleasure in this deception. But oh, there was, and it made it so much worse.

We will share another kiss on our wedding day and he will hate me. He will hate me for the trap, for not being her. I am to be trapped in another hateful marriage for Winterfell. All my own doing but I will have Winterfell to rebuild and perhaps I can turn this to love. With years and patience and all the grace of my mother.

That was the final shock to her; that she wanted a loving marriage, as her parents had, even if it was with a Lannister, this Lannister. Especially if it was this Lannister, spoke a treacherous little voice as Jaime bit at her neck. The question still remained. Was he an honourable man?

jaime x sansa

deal-is-our-always said: Jaime/Sansa, of course. Um, anything but angst. :-)

lainelannister:

I mean, there’s a little angst…but this is mostly smut.  :P

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jaime x sansa

starssight:

What do you want me to do? Kidnap my sister-in-law and take her where?

jaime x sansa

thelovehater:

dawnofthedusk:

There she is.
Yes. There she is.

When this scene happened…my immediate thought was, “what is lainelannister feeling?” 

Not going to lie…I screamed when this happened. 

jaime x sansa

(Source: aloneinmycage)

jaime x sansa

Oh hey, it’s my Smutty Westeros fic!

lainelannister:

Jaime/Sansa/ALL TEH ANGST, duhhhhh.

Come, seeling night

jaime x sansa
viraqocha:

ACEO Number 33
Jaime lannister x Sansa Stark

viraqocha:

ACEO Number 33

Jaime lannister x Sansa Stark

jaime x sansa

Fic: All our yesterdays have lighted fools

lainelannister:

Title: All our yesterdays have lighted fools

Rating: Explicit

Pairing/Characters: Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark, implied Jaime Lannister/Cersei Lannister, Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth

Summary:  There is to be no sleep, no rest, no end.  Not until she has it exact…not until she has it right.

Notes/Warnings: This story contains explicit oral sex and coercion.  It’s also just really weird.  The title comes from William Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

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jaime x sansa