#got jaime

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (to let go)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the hopeful

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis

The Sept of Baelor was heavy with silence, the kind that seemed to seep into the bones and weigh down the soul. The flickering candlelight cast specters on the marble walls, illuminating the somber faces of the Seven carved in stone above. At the center of the Sept, Joffrey Baratheon’s body lay on a slab of white marble, his golden crown resting beside him. His once-smirking face was now cold and lifeless, his lips tinged with blue.

Jaime stood a few steps away from the bier, his gaze fixed on his son—no, the king. He forced himself to think of Joffrey as the king, as he had always been told to. But the boy lying there wasn’t just the king. He was also the child of his and Cersei’s forbidden union, the boy who had grown into something monstrous under their watch.

Cersei stood at the head of the bier, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her knuckles white. Her golden hair fell loose around her shoulders, and her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at her son’s lifeless form.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said finally, her voice low but cutting. She didn’t turn to look at him, her gaze fixed on Joffrey’s face.

“This is my place as much as it is yours,” Jaime replied, his tone calm but firm.

Cersei let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Your place? You abandoned your place the moment you left the Kingsguard. The moment you decided that she was more important than us.”

Jaime tensed, his jaw tightening. “Don’t do this, Cersei.”

“Do what?” she snapped, finally turning to face him. Her green eyes blazed with fury, and the grief etched into her face only made her anger more potent. “Speak the truth? If you had been where you were supposed to be, if you had done your duty, Joffrey would still be alive.”

He stared at her, unflinching. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” Cersei hissed, stepping closer. “You left us, Jaime. You left me. For what? For her? For some pathetic notion of redemption? You’ve betrayed everything we were for a Stark—a Stark, of all people!”

“This isn’t about her,” Jaime said, his voice rising slightly.

“Isn’t it?” Cersei shot back. “You think I didn’t see the way you couldn't keep your gaze away from her? And now, you’ve abandoned everything we’ve built for her. You’ve made yourself weak.”

Jaime took a step closer, his golden hand glinting in the candlelight as he pointed it toward her. “You don’t get to blame this on me, Cersei. Not this time.”

“Why not?” she demanded, her voice cracking. “Everything else is your fault. Why not this too?”

“Because Joffrey wasn’t killed because I left the Kingsguard,” Jaime said firmly, his voice cold. “He was killed because he was a monster. And that wasn’t my doing, Cersei. That was ours.”

The words hit her like a slap, and for a moment, Cersei was silent, her chest heaving with the effort to contain her rage. Her eyes darted to Joffrey’s body, and for a fleeting moment, her face crumpled with grief. But she quickly masked it, turning her fury back on Jaime.

“You’re a coward,” she spat. “You’ve always been a coward, hiding behind that armor of yours. But now? Now you don’t even have that. You’re just a broken man clinging to a girl who will never love you.”

Jaime’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze steady as he met her glare. “And what does that make you, Cersei? A queen who’s lost her kingdom, her son, and her grip on reality? Blame me all you want, but it won’t bring him back. And it won’t change the fact that you’ve destroyed everything you’ve touched.”

The words hung heavy in the air, the silence between them thick and suffocating. For a moment, it seemed as though Cersei might strike him, her hands trembling at her sides. But instead, she turned away, her shoulders trembling as she faced Joffrey’s body once more.

“You don’t understand,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve never understood what it’s like to be powerless. To watch everything you love slip through your fingers.”

Jaime took a step closer, his voice softer now. “I understand more than you think.”

Cersei didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on Joffrey’s lifeless face. The room felt colder, the weight of grief and anger pressing down on them both.

After a long moment, Jaime turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the vast space of the Sept. The golden hand at his side felt heavier than ever, a constant reminder of the things he had lost—and the things he was still trying to hold on to.

But as he stepped into the fading light of the afternoon, Jaime couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of clarity. Cersei’s accusations stung, but they no longer cut as deeply as they once had. The strings that had bound him to her for so long were fraying, and he was beginning to see the shape of a life beyond her—a life he wasn’t sure he deserved, but one he couldn’t stop himself from wanting.

And for the first time, he didn’t look back.

The dungeons of the Red Keep were damp and suffocating, the air thick with the stench of mildew and decay. Jaime descended the steps slowly, his hand brushing against the rough stone railing as he made his way toward his brother’s cell.

He hadn’t wanted to come here. Seeing Tyrion like this felt wrong, unjust, and it stirred something bitter in his chest. But he had to see him, to hear from the man himself what had truly happened at Joffrey’s wedding.

When Jaime reached the iron bars of Tyrion’s cell, his brother was seated on a crude wooden bench, his hands resting casually on his knees. Despite his predicament, Tyrion looked remarkably composed, his eyes gleaming in the low light.

“Ah, brother,” Tyrion said, his voice dripping with mock cheerfulness as he leaned back against the wall. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit? Come to see the family disgrace wallowing in filth?”

Jaime ignored the jab, his expression neutral as he stepped closer. “I came to see how you’re holding up.”

Tyrion let out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, splendidly, thank you. The accommodations are as luxurious as ever, and the company…” He gestured to the empty space around him. “…absolutely riveting.”

Jaime’s lips twitched into a faint smirk despite himself. “You’ve always had a way of making the best of things.”

“Ah, yes,” Tyrion said with a flourish. “A talent I inherited from our dear father, no doubt. Speaking of whom, I hear he’s been busy planning your grand wedding.”

Jaime stiffened slightly, but Tyrion pressed on, his voice laced with mock sincerity. “I must apologize, brother. It seems I won’t be able to attend. A shame, really. I’m sure Tywin’s been dreaming of this day for years—his golden son marrying the last Stark. A union to secure the North further and stroke his ego all at once. How wonderful.”

Jaime sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t what I wanted, Tyrion. Not like this.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, his tone softening slightly. “No? Then what do you want, Jaime? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re letting Father pull your strings just as easily as he pulls mine, now that you accepted to be his heir.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. “This isn’t about me. Or you. It’s about what’s best for the realm.”

For her. But the words stopped in Jaime's throat.

“The realm,” Tyrion repeated with a bitter chuckle. “Yes, of course. Father’s favorite excuse. Tell me, Jaime, do you really believe that? Are you just trying to convince yourself that you’re still the honorable one in this family? Or are you are still pretending not to have feelings for the daughter of late Eddard Stark?”

Jaime didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “You didn’t poison Joffrey.”

Tyrion’s smirk faded, his expression hardening. “No. I didn’t.”

“And neither did Sansa,” Jaime added, meeting his brother’s gaze.

Tyrion leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. “You’re certain of that?”

Jaime nodded. “She’s gone. Disappeared from the Keep after the feast. If she were guilty, she wouldn’t have fled without a word. Someone helped her escape.”

Tyrion exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall once more. “Gone, you say. I suppose that’s for the best. She’s safer away from here, away from Cersei.”

Jaime frowned, stepping closer to the bars. “Tyrion… who do you think did this?”

Tyrion let out a low, bitter laugh. “Oh, take your pick, brother. The list of people who wanted Joffrey dead is long and distinguished. Perhaps we should start with his dear, grieving mother. Or maybe his loving grandsire, who saw him more as a liability than an asset.”

Jaime’s frown deepened, but he said nothing.

“Don’t look so shocked, Jaime,” Tyrion said, his voice softening. “You’ve always known what this family is capable of. You just never wanted to admit it.”

For a moment, Jaime felt the weight of those words settle heavily on his shoulders. Tyrion’s accusations weren’t entirely baseless, but Jaime couldn’t bring himself to believe that Cersei or Tywin would stoop to something like this—not with Joffrey, at least.

“I’ll find out the truth,” Jaime said finally, his voice firm. “And I’ll make sure you’re not punished for something you didn’t do.”

Tyrion tilted his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Ah, the noble Jaime Lannister. Always trying to do the right thing, even when it’s too late. But thank you, brother. For whatever that’s worth.”

Jaime nodded, turning to leave, but Tyrion called after him.

“And Jaime?”

He paused, glancing back.

“If you ever figure out what you actually want, I hope it’s worth the trouble you’re going through for it.”

Jaime didn’t respond, his footsteps echoing softly as he made his way back up the stairs, the weight of his brother’s words lingering with him long after he’d left the dungeons.

The room was small and dimly lit, a faint haze of smoke curling in the air from a nearby lantern. The soft shuffle of cards broke the quiet, followed by the occasional clink of a goblet against the wooden table. You sat across from Bronn, your expression unreadable as you studied your hand. Jaime sat beside you, his golden hand resting heavily on the table, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he watched the game unfold.

Bronn leaned back in his chair, his usual swagger on full display as he swirled the wine in his goblet. “Not bad, Stark,” he drawled, glancing at you over the rim. “But I wouldn’t get too comfortable. I’ve been known to wipe out entire armies at this game.”

You didn’t even look up, your tone dry as you placed a card on the table. “That’s funny. I didn’t know armies played cards.”

Jaime chuckled softly, earning a stern glance from Bronn. “Careful, Lannister,” Bronn warned, though his grin betrayed his amusement. “Your little bride-to-be’s got a sharp tongue.”

You finally looked up, fixing Bronn with a withering stare. “And you’ve got a big mouth. Pity neither one will win you this game.”

Bronn blinked, clearly caught off guard. He opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out, leaving him uncharacteristically speechless. Jaime leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the exchange as his smirk widened.

“Well, this is new,” Jaime said, glancing at Bronn. “You’ve actually managed to render him silent.”

Bronn recovered quickly, raising his goblet in mock salute. “Well done, my lady. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I didn’t think you had the ability to think at all,” you replied smoothly, placing another card on the table. “Seems we’re both full of surprises.”

Jaime laughed, shaking his head as he reached for his own goblet. “You’re wasting your time, Bronn. She’s not easily impressed.”

“Clearly,” Bronn muttered, his gaze narrowing at you before turning to Jaime. “I’ve got to say, you’ve got strange taste in women, Lannister.”

Jaime’s smirk faltered slightly, though he recovered quickly, his tone casual. “And yet here you are, sitting across from her, trying to win her favor.”

“I’m just here for the game,” Bronn said, raising his hands defensively. “And the wine. The rest is just entertainment.”

You rolled your eyes, returning your focus to your cards. “If this is your idea of entertainment, I pity the company you keep.”

Bronn barked a laugh, leaning forward as he placed his cards on the table. “I like her,” he said to Jaime. “She’s got fire.”

Jaime glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “She certainly does,” he said quietly.

You caught the look and frowned, shifting in your seat as you addressed him. “What am I doing here anyway with the two of you? Don’t you have better things to do than sit in a smoky room losing at cards?”

Jaime leaned forward to met your gaze. “Father’s orders,” he said simply. “He wants me to keep an eye on you. Especially after what happened to Joffrey.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you placed another card on the table. “Of course. Tywin Lannister, ever the vigilant warden. Tell me, does he think I poisoned Joffrey as well, or am I just a convenient excuse for his paranoia?”

Jaime’s smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t take it personally. He’s paranoid about everyone.”

Bronn laughed again, pouring himself more wine. “Well, if you’re stuck with him, Stark, you might as well make the best of it. Could be worse, you know.”

“Could it?” you replied, raising an eyebrow as you glanced between the two of them. “I’m not so sure.”

Bronn opened his mouth to reply, but you held up a hand, cutting him off. “And before you say anything, yes, it could be worse. I could be married to you.”

Jaime nearly choked on his wine, coughing as he laughed. Bronn stared at you for a moment before shaking his head, a wide grin spreading across his face. “You’re brutal, Stark. I’ll give you that.”

“I try,” you replied with a faint smirk, turning back to your cards.

The game continued, the banter flowing easily between the three of you. Despite yourself, you felt a small flicker of amusement at Jaime’s exasperation and Bronn’s failed attempts to rattle you. For a moment, the weight of your circumstances seemed a little lighter, though you knew it wouldn’t last.

But for now, you allowed yourself to enjoy the rare reprieve, even if it came at the expense of the two men seated across from you.

The mood in the room shifted subtly as Jaime leaned back in his chair, the smirk on his face fading into something more contemplative. He swirled the wine in his goblet absently. After a moment, he cleared his throat, drawing your attention.

“There’s something else,” Jaime said, his tone unusually subdued.

You placed your cards down, leveling him with a skeptical look. “Let me guess—another Lannister edict I’m meant to obey without question?”

He quirked an eyebrow, his lips twitching faintly. “You’re not entirely wrong. Tywin has started preparations for a feast.”

Your frown deepened. “A feast? For what? Joffrey’s funeral was hardly three days ago.”

Jaime hesitated, his gaze flicking briefly to Bronn, who raised an eyebrow in silent curiosity. “For our betrothal,” Jaime said finally.

The words hung in the air like an unwelcome specter, the weight of them pressing down on the room. You stared at him, your expression caught between disbelief and anger.

“A betrothal feast?” you repeated, your voice steady. “So soon after Joffrey’s death? Is your father so eager to celebrate while the rest of the city mourns?”

Jaime sighed, setting his goblet down with a faint clink. “You know my father. He doesn’t waste time on sentiment. This is about securing alliances, appearances, and ensuring the realm sees stability.”

Bronn leaned forward, his grin faint but amused. “He’s not wrong, Stark. Lannisters don’t dawdle, especially when it comes to marriage. They’ve already got a new king to crown, too—young Tommen. And you’d best believe they’re moving quickly to tie up every loose end.”

You folded your arms, your gaze narrowing at Jaime. “Tommen’s to be crowned already?”

Jaime nodded, his expression guarded. “Soon. Father’s made it clear that there’s no time to waste. The realm needs a king, and Tommen…” He hesitated, his voice softening. “Tommen’s a good boy. He’ll be a better king than Joffrey ever was.”

Bronn chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Not a high bar to clear, is it? And then there’s Margaery. The queen widowed twice over but still determined as ever to keep her crown.”

You turned to Bronn, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Bronn smirked, gesturing vaguely. “Oh, she’s not wasting time, that one. Already making eyes at the little king, I hear. Determined to go three for three in royal husbands.”

Jaime shot him a warning look. “That’s enough, Bronn.”

“What?” Bronn said, shrugging. “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking. The Tyrells didn’t come all this way to leave empty-handed. Margaery’s no fool—she’ll do whatever it takes to secure her position.”

You snorted softly, leaning back in your chair. “Of course she will. And why not? It seems to be the way of things in King’s Landing—scheming, marrying, and killing your way to the top.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached for his goblet, taking a slow sip before speaking. “It’s not always like this,” he said quietly. “Or at least, it shouldn’t be.”

You glanced at him, noting the faint shadow of regret in his eyes. “And yet, here we are,” you said pointedly.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of the conversation settling over the three of you. Bronn broke the tension with a low chuckle, leaning forward again.

“Well, Stark,” he said, his tone light but teasing. “Looks like you’re in for quite the celebration. A grand feast, a shiny new betrothal, and a front-row seat to all the madness this city has to offer. Should be fun.”

You gave him a withering look, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I can hardly wait.”

Jaime sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Bronn, maybe you should focus on the cards instead of stirring the pot.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Bronn quipped, tossing a card onto the table with a grin.

You shook your head, returning your attention to the game, though your thoughts lingered on Jaime’s words. The idea of a feast in your honor felt absurd, especially with the weight of recent events pressing down on the city.

Still, a small, defiant part of you wondered how much chaos you could cause before Tywin Lannister’s perfectly laid plans unraveled.

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet as Jaime escorted you back to your chambers. His steps were unhurried, his demeanor unusually light. He walked beside you, his golden hand resting casually at his side, and every now and then, he glanced your way with a faint smirk.

“You know,” Jaime said, breaking the silence, “I should probably be careful around Bronn.”

You raised an eyebrow, not bothering to look at him. “Why is that?”

“Because he might try to steal you away,” Jaime replied, his tone laced with amusement. “He seemed quite taken with you during that game. I’ve never seen him so… speechless.”

You scoffed, your tone dry. “Bronn isn’t the type to ‘steal’ anything unless it’s worth a considerable amount of gold. I assure you, I’m far from his idea of treasure.”

Jaime chuckled softly, his smirk widening. “I wouldn’t be so sure. You’ve got a way of leaving an impression, whether you mean to or not.”

You rolled your eyes, your voice laced with irritation. “If this is your idea of flattery, Lannister, it’s as unimpressive as your swordsmanship with your left hand.”

He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense, the gesture only accentuated by his golden prosthetic. “You wound me, my lady. And here I thought we were finally getting along.”

“Getting along?” you repeated, giving him a sidelong glance. “Let’s not get carried away. Tolerating your presence is a far cry from liking it.”

Jaime laughed, the sound softer and more genuine than you expected. “Tolerating is a start. I’ll take what I can get.”

You didn’t reply, your gaze fixed ahead as the corridor stretched into shadows. Despite yourself, you couldn’t entirely ignore the faint warmth in his tone, the way his usual sharpness had softened around the edges. It was… disarming, and you hated that it unsettled you.

When you finally reached your chambers, two Lannister guards were already posted outside, their expressions stoic as they stood at attention. Jaime slowed to a stop, turning to face you fully as you approached the door.

“Well,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I suppose this is where I leave you for the night.”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “How gallant of you.”

Jaime smirked faintly, stepping closer, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your stomach twist—not entirely unpleasantly, though you refused to admit it. “You know,” he said, his tone softer, almost hesitant, “you surprised me tonight.”

You frowned slightly, your guard instinctively rising. “How so?”

“You didn’t bite my head off as much as I expected,” he said with a faint chuckle. “I might even dare to say you enjoyed yourself, if only a little.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, your tone sharp. “Don’t mistake tolerance for enjoyment, Jaime. This doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to entertain this farce willingly.”

His smirk faltered slightly, though his gaze remained steady. “I know,” he said simply, his voice quieter now. “But… it’s nice to see you without your walls up, even if it’s just for a moment.”

Your chest tightened, the unexpected sincerity in his tone catching you off guard. For a fleeting second, you thought you saw something raw in his eyes—something vulnerable. But you quickly pushed the thought aside, straightening your posture.

“Don’t read too much into it,” you said curtly, stepping toward the door.

Jaime nodded, stepping back as you reached for the handle. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he said softly.

You paused, glancing back at him briefly before opening the door. “Goodnight, Jaime,” you replied, though your tone was more neutral than warm.

As the door closed behind you, Jaime stood there for a moment. Despite your words, despite your warning, he couldn’t help but feel the faintest flicker of hope.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough.

The chambers Jaime now called his own were vast and ornate, the sort of luxury befitting the heir to Casterly Rock. Yet, as he lay awake in the massive bed, staring at the carved canopy above him, the grandeur felt hollow. The gold-threaded curtains, the fine linens, and the roaring fire in the hearth offered no comfort.

His golden hand rested on his chest, its cold, unyielding weight a stark reminder of what he’d lost. The stump where his hand used to be ached faintly, a dull throb that seemed to echo the turmoil in his mind. He flexed his left hand absently, as though trying to remind himself that he was still whole in some way.

Jaime sighed, turning his head to look at the window. Moonlight streamed through the glass, casting pale patterns on the stone floor. The city beyond was quiet, but his thoughts were anything but.

He’d spent his entire life as Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, the golden lion of Casterly Rock. The son who had defied his father’s wishes, who had stood at the side of kings and queens, wielding his sword with confidence and precision. He’d been many things, but he had never imagined himself as this: a lord, a husband.

The thought made his stomach twist.

Jaime had never wanted to be Lord of Casterly Rock. That role had always been Tywin’s, looming over him like a shadow, the unrelenting standard against which he’d always been measured. And now, with Tywin’s decree, the title was his to inherit. He would oversee the Westerlands, the mines, the bannermen. He would bear the weight of the lion’s legacy, a burden he had spent most of his life avoiding.

But it wasn’t just the title or the lands that haunted him. It was the marriage.

You.

Jaime turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow as he stared into the flames of the hearth. He thought of your wit, your unyielding defiance, the fire in your eyes that never seemed to dim. You were nothing like the women he’d grown up around—nothing like Cersei.

And that was what unsettled him most of all.

Cersei had been his constant, his twin, his other half. Their bond had been unbreakable—or so he’d thought. But now, as he lay in this unfamiliar bed, he found himself thinking less of her and more of you. He still wasn't sure what he felt. But it was something, something he couldn’t quite name.

He thought of the way you’d looked at him earlier, your eyes full of anger and defiance. Even now, you refused to yield, to let him in. And yet, there had been moments—fleeting, fragile moments—where your guard had slipped, and he had seen something else. Something softer.

Could he truly be a husband? The idea felt foreign, almost laughable. Jaime Lannister, the husband. Jaime Lannister, the father. He let out a humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

The door creaked open slightly, and Jaime turned his head, his muscles tensing. A servant stepped inside, bowing deeply before speaking.

“My lord,” the servant said quietly. “Do you require anything before the night’s end?”

Jaime shook his head, his tone curt. “No. Leave me.”

The servant bowed again and retreated, the door clicking softly shut behind them.

Jaime leaned back against the pillows, exhaling slowly. The silence of the room was oppressive, pressing down on him like a physical weight.

For years, he had lived without thought for the future, content to be the sword at someone else’s side. Now, the future loomed before him, uncertain and vast. He thought of Casterly Rock, the sprawling fortress he had left behind so many years ago. He thought of his father, of Tywin’s cold, calculating gaze as he handed down orders that would shape the rest of Jaime’s life.

And he thought of you.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth as Jaime closed his eyes, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Jaime Lannister dared himself to wonder if there might be something beyond the Kingslayer. Something worth fighting for.

[doe-drawz]

A Lannister always Drinks and Knows Things or Something like that

🐺STARKS OF WINTERFELL DRAWING HERE

They are all terrible but I love them all so much, they’re consistently making me laugh.. maybe not Cersei too much in the later seasons but Peak Lannister is season 2 in my opinion so! Here’s some season 2 lannisters! (Except Jaime since I’ll have a new post in the future with Prisoner Jaime ) So! Take Jaime in his goldcloak uniform instead!

[visenya-targarye]

it's always a lannister beefing with a child

(honorable mention)

[foudreika]

Game of Thrones 3D keychain designs 💅

In case you're not familiar with what I do, I'm also a merchmaker and used to make various merch of stuff I like :D I've been wanted to do GoT merch for years but was too afraid before because I didn't have the skills etc...

But not anymore!! 😼 So here's the designs I've been working on for a while. It was quite a challenge but I'm happy with the result, the backgrounds were the most challenging part lmao!!

I'll post pics of them when I'll have them and ready to be purchased on my shop! 🤸‍♀️ For now, hope you'll like the designs! (I also have some HotD charms that I'll post later, but did months before so I'm less happy with how they look lmao)

[duckysprouts]

please read the books for my boy jaime lannister who speedran his character arc when he realized that 99 percent of his problems can be cured with buff girl tiddy

[i-smoke-chapstick]

saw that you're in your got era so perhaps jealousy headcanons for the got or hotd characters? 👀 literally anyone from these characters - robb, jaime, margaery, oberyn, theon, cersei or ramsay, I'd love to see your interpretation on any of them ! ( or aemond, alicent, aegon, gwayne, OTTO !!, larys, daemon or mysaria for hotd, again whichever era you feel like it !!) and just for future reference, do you write for asoiaf characters or mainly the shows?

'LOVE CAN KILL, [jealousy! hcs]

-GOT / HOTD CHARACTERS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Robb, Jaime, Margaery, Oberyn, Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay, Tyrion, The Hound, Aemond, Aegon, Alicent, Gwayne, Daemon

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; jealousy, and how some characters deal with it ;)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOT and HOTD!characters x female reader. SFW! But naturally, some of these characters get a bit suggestive! Possessive behavior, canon typical violence, etc. Please send in more GOT/HOTD requests! Apologies this took so long, this is more characters in a post than I've ever done lol. Unfortunately I'm not super familiar with Otto, Larys, Theon, or Mysaria, so I decided to pick some characters I'm more familiar with! (Joffrey is my #1 favorite of all time, my sincerest apologies.) Whew, 14 characters ! For right now I'm only writing for the TV shows! (i've only read book 1, lol)

𝑅𝛰𝐵𝐵 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐾

♫ “I wasn't thinking when I told you to stay.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

With Robb, it's all about the body language. And boy, he's horrible at hiding it.

He can have a hard time placing the feeling as jealousy. He was raised to be honorable. But feelings of...neglect run deep with him. Oldest child syndrome, if you will.

Which is why his jealousy most likely manifests in subdued, quiet behavior. Part of him will recognize he's being ridiculous, while another part of him is silently fuming. Fists clenched, he'll send you an intense stare as he watches you converse with another lord.

His emotions leak through his expressions. When he catches you staring back, his gaze will flit down, and he'll wait patiently for you're time. Or...in most cases...he'll march right up, placing himself between you and the man. Maybe a small, "I'll take it from here." If the lord is offering to help you with something.

A subtle touch on the small of your back. It's a small claim, a subtle "back-off."

A lot of his jealousy also transforms into protectiveness more than anything. He'll offer to accompany reader to places he wouldn't normally be concerned about. He's close by, and he's reminding her wordlessly, he's watching over her and any threat.

Finally, when you two are alone, will he drop down that guard of his. Covering up that burning pit inside him with casual humor, you can sense the underlaying seriousness of his voice in his light teases.

"You’re quite popular these days. Should I be worried that I’m not your only admirer?"

He certainly beds you, having something to prove. And only afterwards when you are in his arms, sweaty and warm from the candlelight, wrapped in furs...will he calm down.

"It’s not that I don’t trust you… It’s them I don’t trust. Some men don’t know how to keep their place." He'll whisper, holding onto you firmly.

𝐽𝐴𝐼𝑀𝐸 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “You don't know that you're in over your head.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Jaime's jealousy is burning. It's simply the way he was raised. And gods, you are his.

Numerous sarcastic remarks flow between the two of you and the man who he believes has essentially stolen your affections. His taunts are offhand, dry remarks, often directed towards his "opponent" or even you, if he's feeling bitter enough.

"I didn’t realize he was such a comedian. Maybe I should ask him for pointers." He'll say, with that sarcastic drawl. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make me jealous. Not that it would work, of course." He chuckles, but his gaze is sharp.

Depending on the offense, Jaime's reactions differ. If you simply have an admirer, a few...well chosen words are directed towards them. His confidence allows him to not be too bothered. Maybe standing closer, clearly showing off to whatever poor soul thought they had a shot with you.

It's a different story if you are friends with the person involved, or entertain their advances even mildly or jokingly.

That's when the uncharacteristic tension comes out, full of small twitches in his jaw and curt, smug responses. His visible annoyance is uncontrolled.

We saw how he was with Loras when it came to Cersei. If he feels truly threatened, whether it's by another pretty boy, or just someone he feels could...hypothetically...have the upper hand...He'll corner them when you're off somewhere else. And give a small warning, from the Kingslayer himself.

"You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with, so let me remind you." He leans in just close enough for his words to sink in. "Whatever you think you might be to her… you’re not. Let’s keep it that way, hm? I'd hate to see you make any...lasting mistakes."

𝑀𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝐸𝑅𝑌 𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “It was just too hard to push you away.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Margaery is smart with her feelings. She knows how to play the game, and play it well. Instead of showing her jealousy openly, she's a touch more composed than most characters on this list.

She recognizes just how precious you are, and admires that. She doesn't necessarily blame others when they become...attached to you.

When jealousy arises, she views it more as a small problem in need of being handled. And she knows how to handle things.

She embraces the graceful competition, subtly outshining anyone who seems to get in the way of her goals. Her goal being you're affection, of course. You're already hers, and she sees no problem in working to keep it that way.

This appears in gestures of strategic sweetness to keep you close, perhaps wearing your favorite gowns on her, and offering that charming smirk. She doesn't shy away from manipulating you, just a teeny bit.

"They’re certainly captivated by you. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to keep your attention." She teases, "Besides, who could ever compare to us?"

Her words carry a playful undertone, but she makes her point clear. Laughing charmingly, threading her arm through yours.

Very rarely does she think she's in any serious danger. She prides herself on being yours and knowing how to keep you on a tight leash. Though...if she feels genuinely worried, she expresses her feelings quite clearly but still gently. She reminds her lover of their shared goals, and all that they've built together.

"My, you do attract admirers easily, don’t you? I’ll have to start guarding you more closely." She gives you a playful look, though her touch on your arm will linger just a bit longer than usual.

𝛰𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑌𝑁 𝑀𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “Let me go, but you won't let me go.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oberyn doesn't feel insecure. How could he? He knows, deep down, that you're his. Jealousy isn't something he confines himself too, he views it as an ugly emotion, capable of getting rid of the true wonders love has to offer.

That being said...he is only a man. And he is fiercely protective. If anyone were to flirt with you and you were clearly uninterested, it would be a swift death, or at the very least, he'd make his point clear with a blow or two and a cutting edge remark. Especially if they are a Lannister. He enjoys you being admired, but only to a certain extent.

"Your efforts are wasted, they’re far too captivating for someone like you. I’d suggest you find someone more... suited to your charms." He begins, hand itching for his spear, "Consider this your first and last warning."

Yeah, he means business.

Most of the time, he spins the situation to show-off. Showcase his own passion and devotion to you. If it's simply a friend of yours, he may even offer them to join in. If not, he'll spend the entire night practically worshipping you, promising that he's the only one who could ever make you feel like this.

Similarly to Margaery, he teases you lightly.

"You have a lovely laugh. But I must admit, it’s much better when it’s for me alone."

Oberyn doesn't shy away from PDA either. It's that assertive reclaiming he seems to favor, pulling you close, whispering something that affirms your affections for each other. He'll revel when he watches the other mans face fall in dismay.

He might get cocky, and push it a bit far. By the time he's done, the 'competition' will be utterly humiliated and embarrassed. He'll be smirking at his own quips.

"I assure you, my friend, my lover favors...more substantial things." He motions to the poor mans crotch.

You're gonna have to give him a slap on the arm.

𝐶𝐸𝑅𝑆𝐸𝐼 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “Consequence of loving me can be cruel.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Cersei's jealousy is intense and multifaceted, to say the least. It manifests in a mix of cold fury and harsh threats, channeling that anger into much more controlling behavior.

Deep down, she is terribly insecure. Once another man or woman as your attention, and she catches on, she's coolly lashing out. And she catches on quickly.

At first she may appear indifferent, but if you look close enough, you can see the subtly giveaways. The way her lip curls, her nostrils flare, and her knuckles go white gripping her wine chalice.

If you're the first one to confront her, and attempt to reassure her, you'll save yourself some trouble down the line. Guaranteed, she'll deny it, but still make a passive-aggressive remark here and there. But eventually she'll calm down, edges softening.

That rare moment of vulnerability that you're not sure is manipulation or not. She'll look towards the ground, running her thumb over you're hand on her cheek. She'll sit on the edge of her bed, jaw clenched.

Now, it's a whole different story if you don't catch on to the early signs. If you don't manage to reassure or call her out in time, that jealousy implodes.

She may confront you first, anger bleeding through her. She runs on it. She may even threaten you, oblivious to the potential consequences her words might have.

“You think you can charm your way into my affections by paying attention to that little fool?" She's standing up, loathing distorting her features. Her voice raises. "Perhaps I should throw a feast in her honor. Let’s see how charming she is when surrounded by my people."

It's threats and threats and more and more threats...which can be especially worrying if the person she's jealous of is a friend of yours.

Almost every scenario ends with you having to comfort her, treading carefully with the words you say.

Now, when it comes to confronting the competition, she makes it very clear. Though, these threats are often much more impulsive. A swig of wine, and she gracefully moves towards them when you're out of sight.

A faux compliment or two, before she whispers, close.

“You’ll find that my guards are quite loyal to me. A simple command, and they’ll ensure you never breathe the same air as her again.”

It only makes her feel a bit better. But, regardless, she's smiling smugly, feeling proud of herself when the offenders face turns white.

𝐽𝛰𝐹𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑌 𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸𝛰𝑁

♫ “Too much love can kill.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh, Joffrey. I'm obsessed with him.

Yeah. He has the worst jealousy issues out of everyone on this list. It's baaaaad. It's a cocktail of insecurity, possessiveness, and entitlement. As someone who has been raised to believe he is above others, and has been coddled his entire life...it infuriates him.

It's the same feeling you get as a child, when someone steals one of your toys. You belong to him. He never grew out of that mentality, or that feeling.

Be prepared for plentiful outbursts of anger. He's a tantrum personified, especially if he feels disrespected. Insecurity grips him tight and refuses to let up until he's either been heavily reassured...or the other person is... taken care of.

And even then, after reassuring him for hours, it may not be enough. You know how he hired a knight to take out Tyrion in the Battle of Blackwater? Yeah. That person will be paid a little 'visit.'

When reassuring him, similar to Cersei, you really have to be careful what you say, or it might make the situation even worse. At that point, he's seeing red.

"I’m the king! You should be grateful for my attention, not chasing after scraps!" He's huffing, pointing to himself as his breathing increases. He'll look at you with an ice cold glare, nose wrinkled in distaste.

He might even force his hand around your face, harshly grabbing you. He looks dead into your eyes, voice clear and low. "You're mine. You belong to me." He's seething.

If he notices you simply looking at anyone else too long, he'll feel beyond threatened in both his masculinity and position as king. Especially if you laugh at another mans jokes, or simply attempt to be friendly with a commoner or lord.

"What’s so amusing? You’d think you’d find better entertainment than that fool." He mutters under his breath harshly, bad habit of picking at his fingers. He'll shuffle uncomfortably. He'll look to you expecting agreeance. It's 100% that mentality of 'Friends? You don't need friends. You have me.'

Yeah, he keeps the very blunt insults coming. Petulant name calling is not above him. Includes, but is not limited too, "Degenerates, Idiots, Commoners, Peasants, or Cretins" which he may describe as being "Stupid, Disgusting, Repellent, Sickening, or Revolting." He's got a LOT of those angry remarks in the bank.

While he may not directly confront the offender, (he doesn't have time for idle threats.) He has his own ways of dealing with them. And that is a public humiliation ritual, making a mockery of any rival. And if they disobey ANY whim of his, they're gone. That one scene with Tyrion at his wedding? That "Kneel!"? He's commanding the same of any man unlucky enough to have threatened his claim on you. Oh, and they're going to be his cupbearer.

Even if they do as he asks, by now his anger will have transformed into that renewed sense of cruelty. "You're fingers or your tongue?...Or I could just cut your throat."

𝑅𝐴𝑀𝑆𝐴𝑌 𝐵𝛰𝐿𝑇𝛰𝑁

♫ “You're gonna suffer now, whatever you do.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

His jealousy may not be as overtly intense as Joffrey's, but it certainly is the scariest.

In his own words, he prefers being an only child. That same kind of mentality certainly carries over to his relationship with you. He prefers to be the only one you see that way.

He loves a good game, and that's what this is. If anything, it's quite exhilarating for him. Though, he is a huge hypocrite. For a man who thinks jealousy is boring coming from you, he feels it quite freely.

Sees it as a means of asserting dominance, whether that be through intimidation or overt manipulation. He doesn't deny it like most characters on this list. When he's feeling jealous, he says it. It's a small warning for you not to go any farther, lest worse things occur for you or the perceived threat.

He'll go up to whoever you are talking too, saccharine and honorable smile on his face. He'll casually interrupt, introducing himself as Lord Bolton's successor. Despite his calm demeanor, there is a tightness in his face, and a wicked look in his eyes, that only you can recognize. It will make you shiver.

If the rival persists, he'll find it all too amusing.

"You're bold, I'll give you that." He says with a boisterous laugh, and you already know the mans fate is sealed.

Looks like his hounds will be having another meal tonight. He'll have his men go out looking for the man, and he'll question him more...privately, when you aren't there to witness his tortuous taunts.

But for now, his focus is on you, and your loyalty to him. When he excuses the both of you, his hand is gripping yours painfully tight.

By the time you're in his chamber, he's on you, ripping your clothes off with a harsh intensity and pushing you to the wall. His nose is twitching in barely kept anger, forcing you to look at him.

We all saw that scene between him and Myranda when she threatens to marry someone else, and it was not pretty. His eyes are borderline bloodshot, and he can't keep his hands off you or your throat.

"You're mine." He leans forward, through gritted teeth. It's better you don't put up a fight, because he'll be having you and your attention one way or another.

Que the numerous kisses and bite marks soon to follow. And he is not gentle when he's inside you.

You'll never hear from the flirtatious lord again...and if you do, it's only in the prayers of his grieving family.

𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐼𝛰𝑁 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “My love, you are not safe with me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Now, Tyrion's jealousy is more subdued and introspective versus some characters on this list. He has a good sense of self-awareness, and he's intelligent to figure out what he's feeling quite quickly.

At first he'll dismiss it as nothing more than an annoying feeling of insecurity he attempts to cover up. But...it doesn't last long. Especially when someone else makes you laugh. Or when Bronn makes a taunt with a half smirk, that some other fancy lord has taken a keen interest in his lady. (Bronn, you instigator!)

As such, Tyrion resorts to his usual humor to deflect any unpleasant feelings he may have when he's jealous. Similar to his brother, these witty remarks are are subtle intimidation technique, meant to dryly convey his displeasure.

"Ah, the sound of laughter. How quaint. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to earn your amusement." He forces a smile, masking his discomfort. "I didn’t realize I was competing for the title of Court Jester."

These feelings of inadequacy manifest in more self-deprecating ways for Tyrion, given his anger is more controlled. He might opt to drown his sorrows, so don't be surprised if you catch him drunkenly waving his chalice around, doing poor impressions of the so-called-lord that had your attention.

This doesn't mean he won't confront the rival, though. Quite the opposite. While he won't seek the man out, (For his sake, he isn't privy to seeing the tall handsome lord in person. He's not a masochist.) If he happens to come across him flirting with you first hand, or sees him during a feast, he'll make sure to throw one or two gibes out there.

"Desperation looks unflattering on you, my friend. Perhaps you should tone it down a notch." He speaks carefully, nodding to Bronn as a subtle warning. "Or at least the best you can manage..?"

If the rival flirts with you blatantly and in front of him, I can 100% imagine him putting them down. After a flirtatious remark directed towards you, he'll make a dry comment, "Flattery is wasted on me, but do go on; I’m always entertained by those who think they can win my affection." As if it was directed towards him. Probably shuts the man up for a moment.

When the two of you are alone, he'd be very grateful if you could just hold him. Give him that reassurance he craves when his carefree facade breaks. That moment of vulnerability means the world to him.

𝑆𝐴𝑁𝐷𝛰𝑅 "𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝛰𝑈𝑁𝐷" 𝐶𝐿𝐸𝐺𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “I need you to go, don't fight me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Listen up, Sandor doesn't take shit.

Jealousy isn't an emotion Sandor is particularly used too. In fact, he didn't think he'd find anyone to love in his lifetime, so the feeling is foreign and unpleasant. And, like a mean dog, Sandor's first reaction is to growl.

He doesn't like it. Says it's constricting, and it pisses him off. Not just the pretty boy lord flirting with you, but the whole situation in general. Makes him feel vulnerable, and weak.

Naturally, his first reaction is to distance himself. He may avoid you, grumbling, spitting out vile and vulgar comments to get you to run with your tail between your legs. It's better for the both of you that way.

"You think they’re worth your time? Just a pretty smile to distract you?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "You could do better. But then again, you always choose to suffer." He motions at himself, and it's a glimpse of that self-depreciation he buries.

But you love him for a reason, and you know that won't end well. Best way to handle him when he's jealous is to be gentle, and to listen.

He doesn't want empty reassurances. He's complicated that way, even if they are genuine. He isn't one for flowery words or overt displays of emotion, so the best way to comfort him would be to give him some space, but continue to take care of him.

It will still frustrate him, but eventually he'll cave. He'll rejoin you, silently, eventually. Won't offer any apologies, but maybe a gruff nod, and you two will commence whatever it is you two have.

In future instances, he becomes much more brutally honest with how he feels. Doesn't sugarcoat it. If he doesn't like someone, even if they are a friend, he expects them gone- or he'll take care of them regardless. That kind of possessive behavior is just something you'll have to work through.

I can imagine him silently brooding if he witnesses someone flirting with you first hand. Typically his size and reputation is enough to scare whoever away. He's looming over them, eyes dark, and ready to defend what's his.

When you take your leave, he'll confront the person with a very explicit threat or two.

"If you don’t back off, I’ll find a nice dark corner to stuff you in- preferably with a pile of shit." Or, "Get any closer, and I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it down your throat."

𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁𝐷 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “Get swallowed by the weight.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aemond has the most...complex jealousy out of everyone on this list. It's layered, and the outcome may be unpredictable. It's an emotional and volatile nature that's been building up for years since he was a child.

He often had feelings of jealousy for his brother, his nephews, etc. That trauma is deeply rooted in him, and it's hard to let go of old habits, given it's been present all his life.

You'll watch his head bow in distaste when you make small conversation with other lords. How his eye will gaze at you, almost warningly. His jaw will be clenched tight, and he'll avoid eye contact, looking off to the side in anger. He doesn't want to watch.

If it's a friend of yours, he can be a bit mean, questioning your loyalty a bit harshly.

"Friendship? Is that what you call it?" He speaks, angrily. A thinly veiled threat is directed to you, "It seems more like a prelude to betrayal."

He'll brood in the corner, silently waiting. That is, unless, he deems the man goes too far.

In the scene where he gets his eye put out by Lucerys, the conversation that starts before it happens pretty much sums his jealousy up. He's firm with his claim to Vaghar, and the same goes for you.

When Rhaena states that Vaghar was hers to claim, Aemond responds in kind, "Then you should've claimed her." And puts up a hell of a fight to prove his point. That same possessiveness carries over to his relationship with you. He doesn't back down. You're his.

He has no problems getting in between you and the man he feels threatened of. He offers a blunt threat.

"I could have you torn apart, limb by limb, and I’d sleep soundly at night. Be certain of that."

Guaranteed, mixed feelings of insecurity will rise to the surface. When you two are alone, he'll continue to brood silently, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and body language tight.

Please do reassure him. He needs it. His eye will soften, and he'll place his hand over yours, leaning into your touch. With a soft huff of an air, a final warning slips past his lips.

"Don’t make me remind you why I’m the only one worthy of you."

𝐴𝐸𝐺𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “I wanna hold on tightly.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aegon handles jealousy poorly, much like he seems to handle everything else.

It's like throwing gasoline on a fire. Once that feeling in his chest flares up, it's shown through erratic behavior, sarcasm, and attempts to assert his claim in juvenile, insecure ways. Unlike his brother, he lacks the restraint to simply brood.

No, be prepared for plenty of mocking comments directed towards the man he's threatened of, and showy displays to prove he's the better choice.

Everyone knows he is unpredictable and reckless, and possessiveness drives him to act out. He certainly overindulges to cope with his insecurity, (getting shitfaced) and will gladly push your boundaries to get your attention back on him.

Not to mention the belittling comments he'll make.

"Oh, is that who you’ve chosen to entertain now? I didn’t realize your taste had grown so dull."

Prone to acting overtly clingy, almost like a restless cat. He will attempt to slide over into the conversation, resting an arm around you, or even pulling you away. He doesn't care if it's 'improper.' He probably brings up his status, his bloodline, acting over-the-top.

He's also no stranger to outbursts. His temper may make him lash out impulsively, whether that be towards you or the man whose got your attention. If he's in a particular mood, be ready to deal with a screaming Aegon, threatening to slaughter and burn said rival. His fist will come down hard on the council table.

He also doesn't care if he's making a show of it in front of the council members. Que Alicent or Otto attempting to placate him. He needs to have a cooler head if he's going to be ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and this type of behavior isn't very becoming.

He definitely thinks he's owed some make-up sex, if only to quell the insecure storm raging inside him.

"You think they could satisfy you? Truly?" He says, firmly, as he steps closer. Anger is burning in his words, volume raising. "They wouldn’t even know where to begin."

And he plans to show you that he's right.

𝐴𝐿𝐼𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝐻���𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “I'm afraid I'll pull you over the edge.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Alicent experiences jealousy complexly, just like Aemond. It gnaws on her until she's at her breaking point. Rather than overt displays or confrontations, she attempts to employ more strategic distance...but it always ends up resorting in icy politeness.

She's making her displeasure known through restrained, pointed remarks. Out of duty and pride, she'll attempt to avoid direct confrontation, but she wears her jealousy on her sleeve.

I imagine her withdrawing from the situation at first, if not for anything but her own sake. Her gut reaction, out of insecurity, is to escape the situation. It honestly makes her feel sick.

Unless she's forced to stay...then she'll begrudgingly offer a tight smile. Her responses are carefully measured, and she slips into that role of "queen" rather than a lover.

A part of it stems from passive aggressiveness, and another part of it is purely subconscious.

Speaking of passive aggressiveness, she'll make some pretty cutting remarks, either questioning your loyalty or purposely feigning ignorance to the situation.

"Perhaps I’m mistaken. But I know loyalty when I see it. Or when I don’t."

It's an all bark, no bite threat towards you. But it serves as an aggressive reminder of your connection with her, and that you are now apart of her duties.

If she does interfere beforehand, she'll make indirect remarks about the person causing her jealousy, but will most likely frame it as merely her own curiosity.

Maybe just a touch of self-depreciation, unintentional manipulation. Years of Otto's techniques have rubbed off on her.

"It’s of little consequence, truly. I simply thought I was the one you preferred to spend your time with. I may have misjudged."

𝐺𝑊𝐴𝑌𝑁𝐸 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “Hurts to say it over, over again.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

In contrast to Alicent, Gwayne has no problem when he feels threatened to step in. He's a member of a powerful house, and a knight no less. Those two things have taught him to be prideful and honorable.

He will defend your honor whenever he deems in necessary, and there are no exceptions. He certainly has a flash of a temper, but he believes he's much more restrained than others, given his training.

If he thinks someone is crossing a line, he'll interfere. He'll position himself quite closely to you, making his presence known.

He offers the man a silent warning, offering a cool, assessing look. It would be enough to communicate his disapproval.

And if the man persists...well...they'll end up with the end of a sword pointed at them.

Similar to Robb, Gwayne's jealousy appears more in his heightened protectiveness. He insists on staying close for your safety.

"Do they need to be reminded that you’re already spoken for?"

Obviously, his noble pride carries on. If he gets pushed, his jealousy will show more openly, taking the man aside, and telling them that he is more worthy of her time and attention. Might throw in a comment about his noble standing.

He'll take you aside when everything is said and done, reminding her his intentions are honorable. Everyone else is just...unworthy.

"You may not see it, but I know men like him. If he truly respected you, he wouldn’t need to linger around someone else’s beloved."

𝐷𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ "No matter how you feel." Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh boy, you'll have to keep this man on a tight leash when his jealousy flares up. It's as intense as he is, and he shows it openly.

He'll deny it, or embrace it, depending on the severity of the perceived offense. It's closely tied to that desire for power within him he can't seem to shake. Any affront to your loyalty is an affront to his own standing.

He switches from possessive protectiveness to outright hostility. There's really no in between. It's a raw and unfiltered fury that makes his hand shake and his eye twitch.

He doesn't tolerate rivals, and he's very upfront that he's the only one fit to be by your side. This comes through when he has you all to himself on his bed...

He'll confront the person whether you want him to or not.

"If they value their limbs, they’d remember you’re mine." He mutters casually, pacing around the room.

He carries that hard glint in his eyes. He may even mildly appreciate the sheer balls of the man stupid enough to attempt to flirt with you, but he'll shut it down quicker than anyone on this list.

"You’ve got a bold tongue. I wonder if I should cut it out..?" He'll look to you for permission. It's up to you if you wanna let the dragon loose!

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID in ALT] I've made posts before about Talia/Dick co-parenting Damian moments (will never happen but let me dream) and this came to me in a vision. Took me ages to finish for some reason 😭 and then even longer to post

[francy-sketches]

cringe ass family ❤

[kudriaken]

House Lannister. My fanart series for the Great Houses from the ASOIAF. I wanted to make this for the longest time.

[maiapoetica]

[irlplasticlamb]

“blue is a good color on you, my lady,” jaime observed. “it goes well with your eyes.” she does have astonishing eyes. brienne glanced down at herself, flustered.

prints + merch + commission info

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: sins

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The cold air bites at his face as Jaime Lannister dismounts his horse, his armor catching the pale Northern sunlight. Around him, the bustling retinue of the royal procession begins to settle, attendants scattering to prepare for the King’s arrival. Yet, as his gaze sweeps across the courtyard of Winterfell, Jaime’s mind is far from the cold, far from his duties, and even far from Cersei.

You stand by your family, a quiet and poised figure amidst the wolves. Your dark cloak, trimmed with fur, clings to your shoulders, framing the soft lines of your face. Your hair glints in the light, a rich hue reminiscent of autumn leaves, and Jaime’s breath catches in his throat. There’s something about the way you hold yourself, the proud tilt of your chin, the quiet intensity in your eyes as you watch the King approach your father.

For a man who had once thought himself incapable of wanting anything beyond what he already had, this moment feels like a betrayal of everything he believed about himself.

He shouldn’t look at you, yet he does. He shouldn’t think about you, yet he knows, already, that he will.

The evening feast is lively, as all gatherings in Winterfell tend to be. The great hall is warm with roaring fires, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filling the air. Jaime sits among the knights of the Kingsguard, a golden lion among his brothers in white, but his eyes stray across the room to where you sit at the high table with your family.

You laugh at something Robb whispers to you, your smile lighting up your face. It’s not a smile meant for him, but gods, how he wishes it were. He tells himself it’s a passing fancy, that you’re nothing more than a pretty distraction in a dreary northern hall. Yet, when your gaze briefly flicks his way—entirely by chance—his heart jolts. You look away almost instantly, oblivious, but it’s enough to set his blood aflame.

“You’re staring, brother.” Tyrion’s voice interrupts his thoughts, sharp and laced with amusement. The younger Lannister leans back in his chair, his mismatched eyes gleaming with mischief as he follows Jaime’s gaze. “And at the Stark girl, no less. A dangerous game, wouldn’t you say?”

Jaime tears his eyes away from you, scowling at Tyrion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” Tyrion replies with mock innocence. “But if you did, you might consider that our dear queen wouldn’t take kindly to your… wandering attentions. Nor, I suspect, would her father. And let’s not even think about Lord Stark. I hear he has a way of parting men’s heads from their shoulders.”

Jaime’s jaw tightens. He knows Tyrion is right, of course. Whatever this strange, sudden longing is, it’s not something he can act on. Yet, as he glances back at you, he finds himself wondering what it would take to make you look at him the way you look at your brother.

Later, as the hall begins to empty and the fires burn low, Jaime finds himself wandering the courtyard. He tells himself it’s for the fresh air, but deep down, he knows better. The truth finds him soon enough when he sees you there, standing by the kennels with your direwolf pup at your side. The creature is a pale, ghostly thing, its eyes sharp and intelligent as it watches him approach.

“Ser Jaime,” you greet him politely, your voice soft but steady. There’s no fear in your tone, only curiosity. “What brings you outside? The warmth of the hall doesn’t suit you?”

He smiles, a practiced, easy expression that hides the turmoil beneath. “Perhaps I needed a break from the noise. The North has a way of making a man appreciate silence.”

You nod, stroking the wolf’s fur absentmindedly. “Winterfell is quieter than King’s Landing, I imagine. Though I’ve never been.”

The way you say it, with a hint of longing, makes him pause. “You’ve never been to the capital?”

You shake your head. “No. My father prefers to keep us here, close to home. My mother says the South isn’t meant for wolves.”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, though he can’t help but think how wrong that is. You would shine in the South, your beauty and grace unmatched by any courtier or queen. The thought of you in the Red Keep—so near, yet so far—sends an ache through him.

You glance at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Do you miss it? The South, I mean.”

He hesitates, caught off guard by the question. Does he miss the South? The warm sun, the endless intrigue, the weight of his family’s expectations? “Sometimes,” he admits. “But there are things worth appreciating in the North.”

It’s a simple statement, but the way his eyes linger on you as he says it betrays his meaning. You tilt your head slightly, studying him, but before you can respond, the direwolf lets out a low growl, breaking the moment.

Jaime chuckles, taking a cautious step back. “It seems your wolf doesn’t trust me.”

“Winter is protective,” you reply, patting the pup’s head. “But he’ll come around.”

Jaime isn’t so sure. The wolf isn’t the only one he’ll have to win over, and he knows it. Yet, as he watches you disappear back into the warmth of the castle, he can’t help but think that you might be worth the risk.

The next morning, Jaime finds himself once again in Winterfell’s training yard. The clang of swords fills the crisp northern air, accompanied by shouts from young men sparring under the watchful eyes of Jory Cassel. Jaime usually enjoys watching such displays, though they pale in comparison to his own skill with a blade. Today, however, his attention is elsewhere.

You stand on the edge of the yard, wrapped in a dark cloak to ward off the morning chill. Winter, your direwolf, sits dutifully at your side, her fur gleaming in the pale sunlight. Jaime notices the way your gloved hand absently strokes the wolf’s head as you observe your younger brothers practice with wooden swords. There’s a faint smile on your lips, one of quiet pride, and it’s enough to make his chest tighten.

For the hundredth time since his arrival, Jaime curses himself for this weakness. You are a Stark, born and bred, and your father would sooner see him dead than allow him to so much as glance your way. Yet his gaze strays to you regardless, drawn like a moth to flame.

“Are you going to keep staring, or will you finally say something?” The voice belongs to Jon Snow, who stands a few paces away with his sword in hand. His tone is quiet, but his grey eyes are sharp, a touch of irritation flickering behind them.

Jaime straightens, masking his surprise with a smirk. “Staring? I don’t know what you mean.”

Jon’s lips press into a thin line. “You’ve been looking at my sister since you arrived.”

At that, Jaime’s smirk falters. He glances toward you, but you’re still focused on the sparring match, oblivious to the conversation. Winter, however, seems to sense the tension and looks toward him, wolf's icy blue eyes meeting his.

“I think you’re mistaken,” Jaime says smoothly, though his pulse quickens. “Your sister is a lovely young lady, but I assure you, I have no improper intentions.”

Jon’s expression darkens. “You’re a Lannister. Everything about you is improper.”

The accusation stings, though Jaime hides it well. He steps closer, lowering his voice so only Jon can hear. “Careful, Snow. You might have Stark blood in your veins, but you’re still a bastard. Don’t presume to lecture me on propriety.”

Jon bristles, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. For a moment, Jaime wonders if the boy will strike him. Instead, Jon takes a measured breath and steps back, his gaze still burning with suspicion.

“Stay away from her,” he says simply before walking back toward the training yard. Jaime watches him go, his jaw tight.

The day drags on, and Jaime finds himself more restless than ever. Every time he catches a glimpse of you—walking with Sansa in the godswood, speaking quietly with Maester Luwin, laughing softly at something Arya said—his resolve weakens. By the time the evening feast begins, he’s resigned himself to another torturous night of stolen glances and unspoken desires.

The great hall is alive with laughter and conversation when Jaime enters, though he barely hears it. His eyes immediately seek you out, finding you seated beside your mother near the high table. You look radiant, even in the simple Stark colors, your hair falling in loose waves over your shoulders. He forces himself to look away, focusing instead on the goblet in front of him.

“Still pining, are we?” Tyrion’s voice cuts through his thoughts, low and amused. The younger Lannister has appeared beside him, a knowing smile on his face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaime replies, his tone clipped.

“Oh, come now, brother,” Tyrion says, pouring himself a generous helping of wine. “You’ve been staring at her as if she’s the Maiden herself come to life. It’s quite unlike you.”

Jaime glares at him. “Drop it, Tyrion.”

“Gladly,” Tyrion says, raising his goblet in mock surrender. “But you might want to be more careful. The Starks are an observant lot, and I doubt they’ll take kindly to a Lannister coveting their eldest daughter.”

Jaime doesn’t respond, his jaw tightening as Tyrion saunters away. He risks another glance at you, only to find your brother Jon watching him from across the hall. The boy’s expression is unreadable, but the weight of his scrutiny is unmistakable.

Later that night, Jaime finds himself wandering the courtyard again. The cold air bites at his skin, yet it does little to extinguish the fire raging within him. He curses himself under his breath, berating his foolishness. How could he allow his thoughts, his eyes, and now even his heart to betray him? A Stark of all people—a wolf, untouchable and pure in her Northern pride.

He’s so lost in his turmoil that he doesn’t notice your presence until Winter’s soft growl cuts through the silence. He looks up sharply, finding you only a few feet away, the wolf standing protectively at your side. The moonlight catches in your hair, casting an almost ethereal glow around you, and Jaime feels his chest tighten.

“Ser Jaime,” you greet him, your voice soft yet steady. There’s a hint of curiosity in your tone, as if you’re surprised to see him here.

Jaime straightens, his heart stuttering at the sound of your voice. He bows slightly, forcing himself to maintain his composure. “Lady Y/N,” he replies, his voice smooth despite the turmoil within. “Out for a stroll?”

You nod, your breath forming faint clouds in the cold air. “I could ask the same of you, Ser Jaime. Though I didn’t think knights of the Kingsguard wandered alone at night.”

He chuckles lightly, the sound hollow to his own ears. “Even knights need a moment of quiet now and then,” he says, his hand tucked discreetly behind his back. “The North, for all its chill, does have its charms.”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him as Winter’s piercing gaze mirrors your own. “And what charms would those be?” you ask, your tone light, but your eyes keen.

Jaime hesitates, his smirk faltering for the briefest moment. The truth lingers on the edge of his tongue—that it’s you, your presence, the way you make the world feel brighter even in the dead of winter. But he swallows the words, masking his emotions as he always has.

“The stars, perhaps,” he says smoothly, gesturing toward the clear night sky. “King’s Landing rarely grants us such a view.”

You glance upward, and for a moment, your expression softens. “They are beautiful,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “The North feels closer to the heavens.”

Jaime watches you, his eyes tracing the curve of your profile. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, fearing that his voice will betray the yearning he’s so desperately trying to suppress.

After a moment, you glance back at him, your expression unreadable. “Goodnight, Ser Jaime,” you say simply, a polite smile gracing your lips. There’s no hesitation as you turn and begin walking back toward the castle, Winter padding silently at your side.

Jaime doesn’t move, his gaze fixed on your retreating figure. The ache in his chest grows heavier with every step you take, but he remains rooted in place, unwilling to call after you. He knows this desire is foolish—impossible, even—but gods help him, he can’t seem to let it go.

As the shadows swallow you whole, Jaime exhales slowly, the cold air burning his lungs. He turns back toward the castle, his mind a tangled mess of longing and guilt. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears Tyrion’s voice again, mocking him for his weakness, warning him of the consequences. And yet, for the first time in his life, Jaime finds himself wanting something he can never have, and he’s not sure he can stop.

The air inside the old tower is thick and stifling despite the chill that permeates Winterfell. Jaime paces restlessly, the sound of his boots echoing against the stone walls. His white cloak feels heavy, a constant reminder of the weight he carries—not just from his duty but from the turmoil in his heart. The torchlight casts specters across the room, but none darker than those in his thoughts.

Behind him, Cersei leans against the table, her arms crossed, her green eyes fixed on him with a mixture of irritation and suspicion. She looks as regal and dangerous as ever, her beauty as dangerous as a dagger. But tonight, it does nothing to soothe him. If anything, her presence feels suffocating.

“You’ve been different,” she says finally, her voice low and accusing. “Distant. Distracted. You barely look at me, Jaime.”

He stops pacing, turning to face her. “We’re in the North, Cersei. It’s not exactly a place for… indulgences.” His words come out clipped, and even as he says them, he knows she won’t accept them.

Cersei’s eyes narrow. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve known you all my life, Jaime. I know when your mind is elsewhere.” She steps closer, her tone softening, though the edge remains. “Is it that Stark girl? The one you keep staring at when you think no one notices?”

Jaime’s heart pounds in his chest, a flush of guilt and anger rising to his face. “Leave her out of this.”

Her laugh is cold and sharp, like the crack of ice. “Oh, how noble of you. Is that what this is, then? You’ve decided to play the gallant knight now? To pine for some Northern wolf pup who’d sooner slit your throat than look at you twice?”

“Enough, Cersei,” Jaime snaps, his voice harsher than he intended. “You don’t understand—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” she interrupts, stepping closer until they’re nearly face to face. Her voice drops to a venomous whisper. “You’re mine, Jaime. You’ve always been mine. And now, in this frozen wasteland, you’re letting your mind wander to some girl who wouldn’t even know what to do with you.”

He exhales sharply, taking a step back. “This isn’t about her. It’s about us. About what we’ve become.” He gestures between them. “Do you even remember who we were before all this? Before the lies, the secrets?”

Cersei’s face twists in fury. “Don’t you dare lecture me about lies. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for us. For our family. And now you’re standing here, acting like you’re above it all.”

Jaime shakes his head, his voice dropping. “I’m tired, Cersei. Tired of living like this. Of hiding. Of lying to myself.”

For a moment, there’s silence between them, broken only by the distant howl of the wind outside. Then Cersei steps forward, her hands reaching for him, her expression softening into something almost pleading.

“We don’t have to lie, Jaime,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing against his chest. “Not here. Not now. It’s just us.”

But as her hands move to pull him closer, Jaime steps back, gently but firmly pushing her away. The rejection is immediate and cutting, and he sees the fury ignite in her eyes.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice firm. “Not tonight, Cersei.”

Her face hardens, her voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. “You’re a fool if you think you can walk away from this. From me.”

Before Jaime can respond, a faint noise catches his attention—a soft creak from above. His eyes dart to the window, and there he sees it: a boy, perched precariously on the ledge, his wide eyes staring down at them.

“Bran Stark,” Jaime mutters under his breath, realization hitting him like a blow.

Cersei follows his gaze, her expression darkening with panic. “He heard us,” she whispers, her voice frantic. “He’ll tell.”

Jaime feels his heart race, a thousand thoughts colliding in his mind. If the boy overheard their argument, their secret could unravel everything—their lives, their children, their fragile hold on power. He takes a step toward the window, his movements measured.

The boy’s gaze flicks between them, fear etched across his young face. “I didn’t see anything,” Bran stammers, his voice shaking. “I swear, I won’t tell anyone.”

Jaime’s chest tightens. He knows the boy is lying. He would run straight to his father, to the honorable Eddard Stark, and the consequences would be disastrous.

“Jaime,” Cersei hisses, her voice sharp and urgent. “You have to do something.”

He looks back at her, then at Bran. His mind feels like it’s splintering in two, but deep down, he knows what must be done. Slowly, he moves closer to the window, his expression unreadable.

“The things I do for love,” he murmurs, the words bitter on his tongue.

Before Bran can react, Jaime reaches out, his hand striking with calculated force. The boy lets out a startled cry as he loses his balance, tumbling backward out the window and into the void below.

For a moment, there’s silence. Jaime stands frozen, his heart pounding as he stares at the empty window. Cersei’s breathing is heavy behind him, her hand clutching the table for support.

“It had to be done,” she says finally, her voice shaky but resolute.

Jaime doesn’t respond. He feels hollow, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a mountain. As he turns away from the window, he catches his reflection in the light—the face of a man who has just crossed another line he swore he never would.

The days after Bran Stark’s fall are cloaked in a heavy silence, broken only by the whispers of servants and the occasional sob echoing through Winterfell’s halls. Jaime feels the weight of it everywhere he goes. He had known the boy’s fall would ripple through the Stark family like a shockwave, but seeing the grief firsthand is something else entirely.

He avoids the godswood, where Lord Stark retreats daily, his shoulders heavy with unspoken blame. He avoids the Great Hall, where the Starks’ laughter has been replaced with quiet murmurs and somber meals. But he cannot avoid you—not when every time he catches a glimpse of you, his chest tightens with guilt.

You are a ghost of yourself now, a shadow lingering by Bran’s chambers. You rarely leave his side, seated by his bed with your mother, Lady Catelyn, as the boy lies in his endless sleep. The firelight from his room casts flickering shadows across your face, accentuating the hollowness in your eyes, the pallor of your cheeks. Jaime has never seen you like this, and it tears at something inside him.

On the third day, Jaime makes a decision he knows he shouldn’t. He tells himself it’s for appearances, to offer his condolences like any dutiful guest, but deep down, he knows it’s more selfish than that. He hopes, foolishly, that speaking to you—seeing you—might ease the gnawing guilt clawing at his chest.

He climbs the tower steps slowly, each creak of the stone beneath his boots echoing louder in his ears. When he reaches Bran’s chamber, the door is ajar, allowing him a glimpse of the scene within.

Catelyn sits closest to the bed, her face pale and drawn, her hand gripping Bran’s small, lifeless fingers. Beside her, you sit silent and still, your gaze fixed on the boy’s face. Winter and Summer curled at your feet, their fur dull in the dim light. There is something devastating about the stillness of it all, as though the grief in the room has frozen time itself.

Jaime clears his throat softly, stepping into the doorway. “Lady Stark,” he says, his voice measured, “Lady Y/N. I wanted to offer my condolences.”

Catelyn looks up abruptly, her blue eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and suspicion. You, however, don’t move. You don’t even glance in his direction, as if his presence isn’t worth acknowledging. It’s as though you know, and the thought sends a jolt of unease through him.

Catelyn rises slowly, her movements deliberate as she steps toward him. She doesn’t bow, doesn’t offer him the courtesy one might expect toward a knight of the Kingsguard. Instead, she crosses her arms, her voice cold as the northern winds.

“Your words are noted, Ser Jaime,” she says, her tone sharp enough to cut. “But they will not wake my son.”

Jaime swallows, keeping his composure. “I understand. I only wished to—”

“To what?” she interrupts, her voice rising slightly. “Ease your conscience? You’ve done nothing for this family but bring conflict and mistrust. My son lays in that bed, and you think your words will bring us comfort?”

Jaime doesn’t flinch, though her words land like blows. He glances past her to you, still seated by the bed, your expression blank as if you haven’t even heard him. His chest tightens further.

“I only wanted to offer my sympathies,” he says quietly. “For what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth nothing,” Catelyn says firmly, her eyes blazing. She steps closer, lowering her voice. “You are a Lannister, and I would have you far from my family’s grief. Leave this room, Ser Jaime, and don’t come back.”

Jaime hesitates for a moment, his pride and guilt warring within him. Finally, he nods, stepping back into the hallway. Before the door closes, he allows himself one last glance at you, but you don’t even look up. If anything, your stillness feels more damning than Catelyn’s fury.

He retreats to his chambers, the cold stone walls offering no solace. The memory of your grief and your mother’s anger churns in his mind, mixing with the echo of Bran’s fall. For the first time in his life, Jaime wonders if he truly is the monster people whisper about.

Tyrion finds him later, pouring himself a generous goblet of wine as he takes a seat by the fire. “You look troubled, brother,” Tyrion says, his tone light but his gaze focused. “Let me guess—our hosts aren’t quite as warm as you’d hoped?”

Jaime doesn’t respond immediately, staring into the flames. Finally, he exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I went to see the boy.”

Tyrion raises an eyebrow. “A bold choice. Let me guess—Lady Stark wasn’t particularly welcoming?”

“She threw me out,” Jaime admits, a bitter edge to his voice. “And she’s right to. What business do I have there, playing the role of the concerned guest?”

“None,” Tyrion says bluntly. “But I suspect it wasn’t Lady Stark you wanted to see.”

Jaime’s jaw tightens, his silence telling Tyrion all he needs to know. The shorter man studies him for a moment before speaking again, his voice quieter now.

“You’re not yourself, Jaime. Not here. Not around her.”

Jaime doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the fire. He knows Tyrion is right, just as he knows the truth of what he’s done will haunt him for the rest of his days. But the image of you by Bran’s bedside, broken and silent, refuses to leave his mind.

And for the first time in his life, Jaime Lannister feels truly powerless.

The day of departure dawns cold and gray, the kind of day that seems to stretch endlessly over the North. The royal procession is bustling with activity in the courtyard as servants load carriages, horses are saddled, and final preparations are made. Jaime Lannister stands near his mount, but his thoughts are elsewhere.

You are nowhere to be seen.

He tells himself he shouldn’t care. You have no reason to be here, no reason to bid farewell to those who brought tragedy to your family. But he had hoped—foolishly, selfishly—that he might catch a glimpse of you before they left. Even just a glance, a fleeting moment to reassure himself that you hadn’t vanished completely from his world. But the absence is palpable, heavy like the northern winds.

Instead, he watches as the Stark family fragments around him. Lord Eddard, ever the dutiful man, stands by King Robert, his expression as stony as the walls of his home. The young Stark girls, Sansa and Arya, hover nearby, each reflecting their own feelings about the journey ahead—Sansa’s excitement barely contained, Arya’s irritation unmistakable.

Robb Stark lingers at the edge of the courtyard, his eyes cold and watchful, flanked by the hulking presence of Grey Wind. His gaze catches Jaime’s for the briefest moment, and the hostility there is unmistakable. Robb knows nothing, but the tension between them has grown like frost on the castle walls.

Jaime turns away, his attention drawn to Jon Snow, who stands near the castle gates with Ghost at his side. The boy’s expression is unreadable, though there’s a certain heaviness to his movements. Tyrion, standing beside him, chats animatedly, his tone light despite the weight of the day.

Jaime moves toward them, if only to distract himself from the ache in his chest.

“Ah, brother,” Tyrion greets as Jaime approaches, his voice tinged with amusement. “Come to bid me farewell? Or perhaps you’re here to remind me not to fall off the Wall.”

Jaime smirks faintly, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m here to ensure you don’t disgrace the family name. Though I suppose that’s a futile effort.”

Tyrion laughs, clapping Jaime on the arm. “I’ll do my best to uphold our reputation. By which I mean, of course, drinking my weight in wine and pissing off the edge of the world.”

Jon Snow remains quiet, his eyes flicking between the brothers. Finally, he speaks, his tone low and wary. “I thought knights of the Kingsguard stayed close to the King.”

“I thought bastards didn’t speak unless spoken to,” Jaime retorts smoothly, though there’s no real venom in his words. The boy is too much like his father—stubborn, proud, and entirely too serious for his age.

Jon stiffens, his hand brushing against the hilt of his sword, but Tyrion interjects before the tension can escalate.

“Come now, let’s not start a duel before we even leave Winterfell,” he says lightly, though his gaze sharpens as he looks at Jaime. “We wouldn’t want the wolves feasting on a lion before we’ve even reached the capital.”

Jaime exhales, forcing himself to step back. He glances at Jon, then at Tyrion. “Be careful on the road,” he says finally, his voice softer now. “The North doesn’t take kindly to outsiders.”

Tyrion raises an eyebrow. “Neither does the Wall, I’m told. But I appreciate your concern, brother.”

Jaime nods, though his mind is already drifting elsewhere. As the final calls for departure echo through the courtyard, he finds his gaze sweeping the castle walls one last time, hoping against hope to see you there.

He doesn’t find you, but his thoughts linger on you regardless as the procession begins its journey south. The sound of hooves and wheels fades into the distance, leaving Winterfell behind. Jaime rides near the front of the column, his armor catching the occasional glint of sunlight, but his mind is far from the road ahead.

The memory of you at Bran’s bedside is seared into his mind—the grief in your eyes, the silence that cut deeper than any words. He can’t shake the feeling that you knew, somehow, that he was responsible. That you had looked through him, seen the guilt he tried so desperately to bury.

The road stretches endlessly before him, but his thoughts remain in Winterfell, lingering in the cold halls and shadowed chambers where he left a piece of himself behind.

And in the silence, he wonders if he’ll ever truly be free of it.

[blusandbirds]

anyone who says the blue beetle movie is a basic origin story is lying to you. in a normal superhero movie they get at least a day or two of fun hijinks—sticky fingers, zappy powers, quippy one liners—meanwhile jaime reyes over here is speedrunning the worst 48 hours i’ve ever seen anybody experience.

[copperpipes]

Same shit, different flavors.

[foudreika]

Day 22 - Oath

Or the weight of our words

[robynnnn311]

i know the kingsguard lodging situation hit a sexually repressed 15 year old jaime lannister like a truck