Jaime Lannister

Jaime Lannister felt guilt and shame for many things he had done. He had joined the Kingsguard when he truly did not desire it. He had failed to better protect Queen Rhaella Targaryen from her own husband, the Mad King. He had not stabbed Aerys II earlier—perhaps then things might have turned out better. He had not stayed by Cersei’s side when she died in childbirth... along with their son.

The new queen of Robert Baratheon was completely different from his deceased twin—black hair and blue eyes, a true northern beauty. The whole kingdom was genuinely pleased, and soon Lord Tywin Lannister would be as well, when Robert was convinced by his wife to free Jaime from his vows as a royal knight. This time, Jaime did not argue, especially since the real reason he had joined the Kingsguard was now buried in the Great Sept of Baelor.

The following year, Jaime found himself marrying Robert’s sister-in-law, a pretty and intelligent woman.

However, at the wedding feast, it was not she but you—one of her maids—who strongly caught his attention. Your black hair and eyes, the color of ice, made Jaime wonder if northern women shared the same striking appearance.

Soon he learned that you were a bastard, born of a highborn man but a bastard nonetheless in the eyes of the world.

Except for Jaime himself, who soon realized he felt attached to you in a way he never had with his wife... or even with Cersei. And most importantly, you felt the same about this bold and stubborn lion.

Fifteen years had passed. Jaime and his wife had three children: the heir, Arthur, a tall lad of fourteen years and a skilled fighter in training; Sansa, a twelve-year-old girl who loved stories about brave and caring knights—much to her father’s discomfort, as he found those stories unrealistic; and Joanna, ten years old, the budding poet of the family. Meanwhile, you lived with Sir Tyrion, who had taken you and your children in after your former lady had fired you with screams and curses—not only at you but at all your kin.

You had three boys and two girls: the eldest, Joem, a fourteen-year-old warrior in training; Myrcella, a sweet thirteen-year-old girl; Arya, an eleven-year-old tomboy; Jonny, nine years old; and the youngest, Harwin, only five. Their hair ranged from black and dark brown to blonde, but they all shared one thing in common: bright green eyes.

Many people spat on them and called them "a second generation of bastards," but you did not care a damn. Nor did Jaime, as proven by the fact that even after the lingering rage of his wife, he slipped into the apartments where you now lived. His intentions were clear and direct as he held you in the darkness.

“Miss me, honey?” he whispered into your ear, then caressed your neck with his lips, making you gasp softly