Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones
Characters/Pairings: Sansa, Jaime; Jaime/Sansa; mentions of Joffrey and Cersei
Word count: 463 words
Warnings/Spoilers: AU, so no spoilers. Alludes to abuse, but nothing explicit.
Summary: For the asoiafkinkmeme prompt: Jaime/Sansa - Sansa tells herself that she doesn't believe in songs anymore being in King's Landing has taught her better, but when ser Jaime Lannister crowns her Queen of love and beauty-even when she has a bruise on her cheek and a bloody lip, she allows herself to dream. For one moment she's the maid from one of her songs and he the knight who has come to save her.
She ducks into the shadows of the tent as soon as she sees Ser Jaime glance their way, for she knows the eyes of every other observer, high- or low-born, will soon follow him. They will not be able to see the bruise on her cheek, for the powder she applied conceals it well except upon close inspection, nor the split lip she sports either, but she would rather their gaze fall on the queen instead. The Queen Regent, she reminds herself. She is queen now, however little she feels like one.
Sure enough, Ser Jaime reigns in his horse and heads towards the royal tent, and hundreds of heads turn to follow. Queen Cersei basks in their gaze, sitting that bit straighter and prouder as she watches her brother claim the crown of flowers that is his prize. Even if she were not the queen she is his sister, and as a knight of the Kingsguard he has no wife or lover – at least none he can publicly acknowledge – to give the wreath to.
And so when Ser Jaime Lannister looks straight past his sister to Joffrey’s young Stark queen, it seems as if all of King’s Landing gasps in shock. Cersei’s jaw drops imperceptibly, and she whips her head around to glade daggers at her son’s bride.
Sansa sees nothing of this, her blue eyes wide as she stares straight at the knight before her. The colour that drained from her cheeks when she realised his intentions comes flooding back, and she feels herself flush so hard her face must surely match her hair.
Unsteadily, she rises from her seat, past her husband with his mouth agape, past her mother-in-law with her undisguised fury, and up to the handsome knight in his golden armour and pristine white cloak, gleaming in the sunlight. She holds out a shaking hand for him to kiss and smiles as she removes the gold circlet from her brow so he might lay the crown of flowers on her hair. If he sees the bruise on her cheek or where her lip is split and bloody – are he surely must at such close quarters – he gives nothing away, and for that she is grateful. More grateful than for the honour he does her with his crown.
Cheers ring out as he steps back, and she thanks him warmly. He is no Florian and she is no Jonquil, she knows that – knew that even before they forced her to wed her monster of a husband – and this is no song for foolish girls to dream about.
But here and now he is her knight in shining armour and she is his Queen of Love and Beauty, and she cannot help but hope their song is not yet over.