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“I’ll die before I do it,” she’d said, and he knew it was the truth.
She was seventeen and stronger in will than anyone he knew, even Arthur Dayne, and he knew she would do it. And he couldn’t just allow that to happen. He also wouldn’t allow her to waste away in the frozen North. The world deserved to know the beautiful gem that was his sister. His soul.
And him, well, he was stained, he was nothing, he was released from the vows he betrayed and his sworn brothers were dead or disdained him.
(And he was still slim enough to pass if his hair was long enough.)
So they planned, plotted, conspired , and when the time came, whole family present in the Godswood—excepting his sister, who was playing sick in his room, fake retching into a chamber pot—and he was wearing the exact replica of the gold and crimson dress they’d commissioned alongside her own, with a cloth-of-gold veil covering his poorly made wig and sharper jaw, freshly shaved, and a Lannister wedding cloak disguising the broadness of his shoulders.
They’d done it.
They’d done it .
For true, the words were said, spoken in a demure whisper the crowd thought to be a young bride’s wedding nerves and he supposed was , a bit.
They had exchanged cloaks and no one had noticed anything; it was too dark, the evening lit by candlelight that barely penetrated the gloom of the haunting Godswood. Had the groom noticed the width of his shoulders, just growing to a man’s, underneath the frippery they’d designed on the dress specifically to hide such a thing? He had held his breath, waiting to be revealed, but the groom said nothing, his father said nothing, his brother said nothing (though surely he knew; his brother seemed to know everything, even at ten) and it seemed they had gotten away with it.
And then came the kiss.
If his veil was lifted, the ruse was up.
Before the groom could even reach for the cloth-of-gold, Jaime thrust his hand out and turned his head away shyly, the gold curls of the wig rustling. He felt the brush of lips on his hand and rough laughs echoed around them. Northmen, surely, and his father was probably furious at Cersei—at him —for this little show of bashfulness. Lions do not cower before sheep.
But this was no sheep; this was a direwolf, and this was his husband, now, officially.
Ned Stark was not so dour looking, up close. His eyes were a grey so dark they looked black from afar, his hair a mousy brown, light stubble lining his jaw. He wasn’t classically handsome like his older brother had been or Robert Baratheon. But he was comely in his own way, even with the serious look on his face and thick, furrowed brows.
He was also a man of few words, Ned Stark, even among his bannermen and friends, letting the men at the feast make the noise for him rather than participate in it himself. He held his arm out tentatively and let the bride loop his own around it before leading those gathered into the feast hall where lavish decorations had been strung up in just a day. Never let it be said that a Lannister would allow his child to marry in anything less than the finest, even in the dreary North.
Jaime kept waiting for the moment when he would have to lift up his veil and nearly shook from it, slight tremors making their way down his arm and to his—his husband.
“Are you alright, my Lady?”
Ned was frowning at him, stopping their trek to the high table.
“Nervous,” Jaime replied in his highest-pitched whisper. It was something Cersei would never admit, not even to Jaime, but it made him feel better to say out loud.
It earned him a small smile. This close, it stunned him.
“I admit to being a bit nervous myself, my Lady,” he said, “I haven’t done this much before.”
“Be married?” Jaime said, and it was pitched high enough it did sound like Cersei at her shrillest.
“ Lead ,” Ned corrected, and started walking again. He guided them to the table and pulled out a chair for the bride.
All around them people were taking their seats, but Jaime paid closer attention to the lord next to him. He suddenly saw the stiff movements for what they were: awkwardness and uncertainty. The serious look may be a permanent resident on his face, begrudging a smile or two, but it probably hid worry and fear. This was not what Ned Stark was born to do; his father obviously had not taught him how to be a lord, let alone a Lord Paramount, and Jaime burned suddenly with the unfairness of it all.
At least I avenged them for you, he thought, even if you despise me for it .
A sudden movement from his side made him realize that he would be sitting next to not just his husband but another person as well, and he prayed it wouldn’t be his father; his father would deduce in a moment what had happened, and the whole thing would be over. But glancing through the thick veil, he saw that it was only Tyrion on a stuffed cushion, the ten-year-old bookended in by himself and Benjen Stark, and that Tywin Lannister was seated on the other side of Ned.
Poor Ned , he thought, but didn’t feel badly enough to switch places with him.
The rustle of people finding their seats and shouting across the hall as they greeted each other, the servants bustling back and forth as they filled water goblets and wine glasses, it was all loud enough that his little brother took advantage of it to lean over and speak to him.
“You make a lovely bride,” he said, “ Jaime. ”
“Dearest brother, whatever could you mean?”
“What were you thinking ?!” Tyrion hissed. His mismatched eyes flicked back and forth between the veil covering Jaime’s face and the servants moving around them, but they weren’t overheard.
“I was thinking I look rather fetching in this dress,” Jaime tried to play it off.
“Do you think this is a game?” Tyrion spoke with far too much vitriol for a ten-year-old.
“Actually, you’ll find I’m taking this all rather seriously–”
“Then what happens later when you get undressed and Ned Stark discovers he married you instead of Cersei?” Tyrion rolled his eyes. “Did you think you would just bend over and he wouldn’t notice the cock hanging between your legs?”
“Tyrion!” He knew he shouldn’t be, but Jaime was surprised at his brother’s capacity for knowledge, especially the lewd kind.
“What happens when Father finds out?” And that had Jaime gulping.
“I admit I hadn’t actually thought that far ahead,” he said, voice shaking, and Tyrion looked at him sadly.
“I know what you’re doing,” his little brother said.
“Saving my dear sister from an unwanted marriage in a desolate wasteland?”
“Saving yourself . Trying to, at least.”
They couldn’t speak more after that, as a man seated next to Lord Tywin had stood up and was clearing his throat. He was old and willowy and by the sigil on his doublet Jaime figured him to be Jon Arryn. Ned’s foster father, he remembered, who went to war for his foster sons. Jaime didn’t think his father would go to war for his own sons, let alone a foster. Ned was actually beaming up at the man. It was a good look on his husband’s face.
“My lords, my ladies, we gather here today to celebrate the marriage between two great houses,” Jon Arryn said, and Jaime thought of the little babe in the nursery that had been named after him. Cersei had raged when she heard of the bastard, but what could be done?
The Lord of the Eyrie droned on and on, and each time he said Cersei’s name instead of Jaime’s it drew a visible wince from Tyrion. Jaime elbowed him; Tyrion elbowed him back, and soon they were trying to hide the tussle beneath the table as they tried to pinch and slap at each other.
A hand covered his free one, stilling him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ned Stark still smiling at Jon Arryn, but his eyes were glinting with amusement when they slanted over at Jaime. He had the sudden and desperate urge to turn his hand over and entwine their fingers, so he did.
Only too late did he realize the man could then feel all of his sword callouses.
He waited to be revealed, breath held tight in his chest, but nothing happened. There was only a finger tracing the side of his own and a gentle squeeze as his husband listened to the speech while the words were a haze that Jaime couldn’t begin to decipher.
“To Lord and Lady Stark!” Jon Arryn finished with, and a resounding cheer came from the room. A flush went to Jaime’s cheeks.
Even Tyrion muttered a “huzzah” and downed half his goblet of wine, far enough from their father that he could get away with it. Steaming platters of food were served and once again Jaime’s fear of lifting off his veil ate away at him. He’d always had a healthy appetite and despite the food not being quite up to the Lannister standards, it looked good, and smelled even better. He hadn’t eaten since early that morning. He was going to have to lift his veil to eat or drink, he knew it. And then he’d be discovered and humiliated and dragged out and–
“My Lady, are you well?” His husband asked. He was just mustering up a response when his savior came in the form of his favorite brother.
“You’ll have to forgive my sweet sister, Lord Stark, I fear her nerves have overtaken her and she’s a tad too overwhelmed to eat,” Tyrion said. Jaime nodded vigorously.
His husband frowned down at his empty plate and full goblets but let it be, sliding into stilted conversation with Jaime’s father and Lord Arryn, sat on Tywin’s other side. The crowd grew boisterous as more wine and ale were served, and once the food had been eaten, tables were pushed aside and a few musicians came out. The music began and the crowd looked to them to lead a dance, and Ned stood and held out his hand. Jaime gulped and slid his fingers into his husband’s hand as daintily as he could, and Ned led them to the floor for the first song.
The music swelled as more couples joined them, crowding the floor. One of Jaime’s hands was in his husband’s, the other on his shoulder while Ned’s was placed lightly on his waist, and there was a respectful distance between them.
How could he not feel the calluses on his hand? How did he feel the firmness of his waist, as slight as it was, and not think: he’s a man! He’s a man! He’s a man!
Ned Stark must just be less observant than anyone thought. How he was such a good swordsman, Jaime didn’t know, but he would love to spar with him–
But that wouldn’t be happening, would it.
A darker mood overtook him as he began to ponder the future.
How would this go? Would they have the marriage annulled? Perhaps if it was dark enough in the bedchambers–no, he didn’t think he could get away with that. His father, on Cersei’s behest, had proclaimed there to be no bedding, all a piece of their great plan, but had they really thought they would get away with this? That Ned Stark would just accept his male wife and live side by side with his husband and have no heirs?
He was thinking so long and hard that he didn’t notice the songs passing, but his feet were tired when he was finally led off the dance floor. Ned had had a look of concentration and was glancing at his feet the whole time, clearly not a very confident dancer, but Jaime could teach him–no!
He wouldn’t be doing anything .
It was too late when he realized he wasn’t being led back to the high table, but out of the hall entirely. Stone walls lined with flickering sconces looked all the same. His breath came faster, his hand still clutched in his husband’s. Ned was flushed and Jaime knew it wasn’t from the ale, for he’d had only one cup. They passed into what must be the family wing, far from the feasting hall, where the music and voices of the crowd couldn’t even be heard anymore. Ned stopped before a door.
This was it.
They would go in and he would have to reveal the truth of himself.
“My Lady, I don’t…” Ned started, “Let’s go in.”
Jaime simply followed. Even though he knew it wasn’t going to happen, he felt a heat building in his head and his stomach, wishing, wishing, as he saw a large room with a huge hearth at one end, and a large bed covered with furs at the other. Ned had paused at a dressing table and was ringing out a wet cloth, wiping the back of his neck.
“I won’t make you do anything,” his husband said. “I promise, my Lady.”
He wouldn’t?
Then maybe…
Maybe this ruse could go on a little while longer, maybe just for the night, and they could blow the candles out and go to sleep side by side, and perhaps Ned would hold him, unaware, and in the morning they could face the truth but for now they could have just a little bit of fantasy.
The door banged open and startled them both.
Tywin stormed in, dragging Cersei behind him. A few of the Northern lords and Jon Arryn waited in the hall.
“You foolish child! Show him what you’ve done!” Tywin shouted, and no one moved.
Slowly, carefully, Jaime reached up to unpin the veil. It wouldn’t be enough, though, so he made sure the wig came off as well.
A gasp came from the hallway. Jon Arryn looked as if he would faint.
“A boy, ” one of the Northern lords growled.
“Not just any boy,” Tywin said, glowering, “my son. ”
Jaime could not look at his husband. He knew what he would find. Disgust, hatred, anger; he was familiar with those looks. He was as familiar with them as he was with his new name; Kingslayer.
Tywin released Cersei’s wrist and strode across the room to where Jaime stood.
“Do you know what you’ve done? Are you happy with yourself? You stupid, ungrateful–”
His father struck him across the cheek. The blow was hard enough it jerked his head to the side, cheek burning with pain and humiliation, and when he glanced back up he saw the hand raised again to strike him once more. He closed his eyes but the blow never came.
“You will not hit my wife—my… my um,” Ned said. Jaime opened his eyes to see Tywin’s hand in his clenched fist, held aloft.
“After what he’s done to you?” Tywin said, and Ned’s cheeks flushed with humiliation.
Oh , Jaime thought, I didn’t want this.
Jon Arryn pushed his way past the Northern lords and into the room. Cersei cowered against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible; it was not typical behavior for her but he could see the swelling red marks on her cheeks and understood the urge.
“We’ll have the marriage annulled. As soon as a Septon arrives, we can have it annulled and with the witnesses here, we’ll marry the girl to Ned and no one will be the wiser ,” Lord Arryn said pointedly, looking between all in the room and the small group of Northern Lords in the hall. They shuffled their feet.
“No!” Cersei cried, “I won’t!”
“Silence, girl! You will do as I say!” Tywin ripped his arm from Ned’s grasp and just turning towards Cersei made her shrink.
“Actually,” Ned began to mumble.
Jaime was the only one paying any attention to him. He rubbed his chin, the stubble having grown darker and thicker, and making him even more handsome. Jaime wanted to thank him, to curse him, to get down on his knees and beg him for forgiveness. All the heat had fled his body, to be filled with icy dread, but he wouldn’t regret his moments as Ned Stark’s bride.
“Can the maester do it?” Jon Arryn wondered.
“No, only the Septon, and he’s gone for the night. We’ll summon him at first light,” Tywin said, seeming more appeased with this plan. He was still getting his way.
“Actually,” Ned said, louder this time.
“What, boy?” Tywin snarled.
“What is it, Ned?”
Ned cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with having so much attention on him suddenly. The grumbling of the Northern lords in the hallway had gone quiet, and even Cersei was watching him with wide eyes.
“Even with the Septon,” Ned started carefully, “we said our vows in front of the heart tree. They can’t be annulled. Lord—Ser Jaime and I are married. For good.”
The room was silent for a long moment, and then it burst into noise.
“What?!”
“Ned, dear boy–”
Tywin and Jon Arryn started shouting a slew of words at the same time. But Jaime’s heart was thudding painfully in his chest. For good..?
He looked up to find Ned already looking back at him, face inscrutable. His eyes were dark and heavy, and Jaime’s breath was caught in his throat.
“Ned, you can’t be serious,” Lord Arryn protested. He had a hand out as if to reach and hold the younger man, but Ned stood firm where he was across the room. In front of Jaime.
“I won’t stand for this sham, this mockery of a marriage!” Tywin spat. But in the hall, the small contingent of Northern lords were rumbling.
“T’is true, Lord Lannister, Lord Arryn. To make a marriage vow in front of the heart tree, in front of the Old Gods, it’s unbreakable,” a very tall, bearded man said that Jaime had paid so little attention to earlier he couldn’t recall the man’s name now.
“That may work for a normal vow in the North, Lord Karstark,” Tywin began, and Jaime thought, Lord Karstark, I’ll be grateful for you forever for being the first to stand up for us . “But this is a marriage ceremony, and men break that oath all the time. The man already has a bastard son.”
Tywin sneered, speaking of the babe in the nursery just down the hall.
“Aye, but they remain married while they do it,” Lord Karstark replied, and the other Northmen rumbled in agreement and nodded.
Jon Arryn was rubbing his chin and looking thoughtful, rheumy eyes unfocused on the scene in front of him.
“You did mention your trees, Ned,” he said carefully. Jaime’s father would never sputter with rage, but a vein in his temple was throbbing visibly and his face was flushed with fury.
“I won’t stand for this. Jaime is my heir!”
“You have another son,” someone called out, and it stopped Tywin short.
He couldn’t just admit his plans to disinherit Tyrion to the whole North, now could he? Jaime knew he was stuck. Hope was planting its seed in his chest and was blooming by the minute, brighter and stronger and sending tingles through his body.
“I’d like a moment to speak with my wi—my um, with Jaime,” Ned stumbled over the words.
Jon Arryn shooed everyone out of the room, and even his father went willingly, caught up in the shuffling of men physically bigger than him with much louder voices. He dragged Cersei out with him, and shut the door so firmly that not even a peep of the thunderous Northern lords’ voices could be heard.
“So,” Jaime began, utterly unsure where this conversation was going to go.
“Was it your intention to humiliate me?” Ned asked him. No obfuscating around, then.
“No! No,” Jaime cleared his throat of the whisper he’d used all night, allowing his natural, charming seventeen-year-old voice to come through. “That wasn’t it at all.”
“Then you must have intended to humiliate your father?”
“No—”
“Or perhaps the both of us, well done—”
“It wasn’t like that! It was for Cersei!”
“You think I would force a woman to marry me who clearly did not wish it?”
Jaime had no answer for that. The Ned he had known even before this evening, honorable, stalwart and true would not force a bride.
“You wouldn’t. But my father would,” he answered.
“So you sought to save your sister,” Ned’s lip curled in a way Jaime was accustomed to seeing on many people's faces in the last year. “How… noble of you.”
“Honorable, one might even say,” Jaime tossed in weakly.
“What would you know of honor?” Ned said archly.
“More than you know,” he said, but the hope in his chest was wilting.
“What honor can the Kingslayer possibly have? The oaths you made tonight, are they just more to add to your long list of broken vows? ‘Honor thy husband.’” Ned had turned away from him.
“I do ,” Jaime pleaded, but once again like in the throne room, Ned did not see. This time however, he could tell him.
“There’s wildfire. Under the city, caches of it everywhere. Enough to burn the whole of King’s Landing to the ground and kill half a million people in moments. That’s why I killed Aerys; because he commanded… burn them all! He’d said. Burn them all.”
Ned didn’t turn around for a long while. He had picked up a goblet of wine and was twisting it in his hand, looking down at the depths of the liquid. Jaime’s story had some impact on him, he knew, but what it was Jaime could not yet tell.
“Who knows of this?” Ned spoke finally.
“No one. Just me.” He added, “and you.”
“Why not tell everyone? Anyone?! You wouldn’t be branded the way you are now,” Ned turned to face him so quickly wine droplets sloshed out the side of the cup. “You wouldn’t be called Kingslayer but savior. ”
“I broke my oaths,” Jaime said. He was suddenly very, very tired. His dress was pinching his skin, and he no longer felt beautiful in it. The magic had all worn off.
“But—”
“I broke my oaths, and that’s all that mattered, then.” He could tell the rest of it to Ned sometime later. The constant strain under the watchful eye of Aerys while the king spat out insults to his family. Being forced to stand outside the queen’s chambers. Watching Rickard Stark roast in his armor and Brandon Stark strangled…
Ned set the wine glass aside and reached out to take his calloused hand. Jaime hadn’t realized they were close enough, but the night was getting to his head and he was hungry and tired. He wanted this over and done with.
“Do you intend to break these oaths?” Ned asked quietly, looking down at the golden-skinned hand in his, running fingers over the back of it.
“No,” Jaime whispered, then said it again, stronger, “ No .”
“Do you want to be here?”
“More than anything,” Jaime said, forcing all of his emotions into his voice. Hoping that Ned would understand.
“I won’t make you stay,” Ned said after a long moment, “but I won’t let them make you leave, either.”
“Thank you, Lord Stark.” He breathed out the words sincerely.
“Of course, Lady Stark.”
The words were clearly meant in a teasing manner, but they had Jaime’s breath hitching in his throat and his heart thudding loudly in his ears. His face must be terribly flushed for the way the smile dropped off Ned’s face and he dropped his hand, letting it hang in the space between them. Ned reached up and brushed a stray lank of hair off of Jaime’s forehead, long enough it was getting in the way, then let his fingers tangle in the gold hair.
His other hand came up and cupped his jaw, drawing him forward until their lips touched.
Jaime kissed him with all the passion he could muster—which was a lot—and clung to his shirt at the shoulders. Ned’s lips ranged from tentative to unmoving beneath his, his hands still, when Jaime realized that this was perhaps his first kiss. The thought only made him groan and put more fervor into it, licking at the seam of Ned’s lips until they parted and Jaime could taste him. He pressed as much of his body as he could against the other man’s.
Ned finally got the picture, using the hand on his jaw to tilt him to better angles as he followed along the motions Jaime started. They would have time to teach him kissing, to teach him all the kisses, and they would all belong to Jaime. Ned pulled on the strands of hair entwined with his fingers and Jaime whined, thoughts flying from his head as he pulled back to breathe.
“Oh, Gods, Ned,” he panted as Ned trailed kisses down the side of his neck, and he knew what to do there . Sucking hard enough to make him moan and wriggle but not enough to leave a mark, but Jaime wanted a mark. Ned only hummed against his throat in response.
He had to bring the hand down from his jaw to wrap around his waist, supporting Jaime’s weight from how he threatened to topple over with each kiss and the gasps drawn forth.
“Excuse my, I’d like my son —”
“By the Gods, Ned—”
“Well that answers that question, then.”
(That had to be Lord Karstark again, lovely man, Jaime thought, he’d have to send him a basket of… something suitably Northern. Leather, maybe.)
“What about heirs, Ned?” Jon Arryn asked when the two had pulled apart enough to see the crowd forming in the doorway again.
“Benjen is my heir. And his children will be my heirs, when they are ready,” Ned replied simply. The noise that Lord Arryn’s jaw made as it snapped shut was supremely satisfying to Jaime.
“Am I to have no say in this?” Tywin muttered darkly.
“Take heart, Father. This way you can still have Cersei marry the King,” Jaime said, unwinding himself a bit from his tight grasp on Ned. Not completely, though.
“The King is a stick-thin boy more dour than your dear husband, there, and has a Tully betrothed,” his father replied, speaking of Stannis Baratheon, first of his name, and the bride-to-be, Lysa Tully.
“I’m sure you’ll find a way around that.” Jaime waved off his concerns, “You’re supposed to be good at things like that.”
The group was starting to wander off in dribbles, Jon Arryn leading the Northern lords away and down the hall, back to the feast (where surely an announcement would have to be made, eventually.) He thought he heard his father mutter “I am good at things like that,” while pondering the proposed idea, an excited-looking Cersei trailing after him, and too soon (not soon enough) he and his husband were alone again.
“Well,” Jaime said.
“That was finely done,” Ned admired, which made Jaime preen. He’d never been particularly praised for his politicking skills, but it was nice for them to be noticed.
“All in the name of love, dearest,” he said airily, swanning off with a hand to his face when he realized what he’d said. His blush couldn’t be brighter.
Ned caught him before he could go too far.
“Not so fast,” he said. “There is still the question of the… consummation.”
“I thought it didn’t matter to you and your trees?”
“It doesn’t. But it does to your Septon.”
Jaime grinned.
“Help me out of my dress,” he said.
*
EPILOGUE
“Now that we’re properly married, in the eyes of all the Gods and men, I have a few questions for you,” Jaime said, circling his finger on his husband’s chest.
They were tucked underneath the furs in bed, naked as their nameday, Ned flat on his back while Jaime curled into his side like a great lounging cat. Like a lion . The flames had flickered low but their body heat and the furs kept them warm enough.
“Hm?” Ned’s answering hum was half-asleep.
“Wake up,” Jaime whined, prodding his pectoral more sharply. He waited until Ned sat up a little and wrapped his arm around him.
“What question?” Ned asked. When Jaime turned to look, his eyes were light and the corners of his lips turned up.
“I just can’t believe we—Cersei and I, I mean—got away with it until my father stormed in and well, I’d say ruined everything, but I’m rather pleased with the results,” Jaime pondered aloud. Ned just shrugged.
“You didn’t notice my shoulders? Or that my waist was particularly hard and muscled? Or the sword calluses on my hands?! I thought for sure you’d noticed that, and after the whole time barely speaking, not eating—”
Jaime stopped suddenly, catching sight of the pink rising on Ned’s cheeks. He poked his exposed ribs until he gave in.
“I thought you just had a broad frame, or it was the dress—have you met any of the Mormont women? They have rather wide shoulders—”
“That doesn’t explain the rest,” Jaime urged him on.
“Your waist really is quite thin,” Ned answered. Jaime huffed.
“And the calluses?”
“I didn’t… I’ve never.” He couldn’t meet Jaime’s eyes as he mumbled, “I’ve never held hands with a woman, I couldn’t assume what they would feel like.”
Jaime guffawed then hushed himself for laughing at Ned’s embarrassing admission, then laughed again.
“So it was all luck?!” Jaime pressed his grin into Ned’s side as Ned just shrugged amiably.
“I thought you were just shy. I don’t know any southern women,” he said, chuckling lightly at himself.
Jaime paused then. If Ned hadn’t… and they had just… then how?
“If I was your first kiss, then how are you so good at sex?”
Ned eyed him warily, as if wondering how much he should tell him.
“Aye, you were my first kiss. Or any experience I’d had with a woman—I thought . But I never said you were my first tumble with a man,” Ned replied stoically, holding his gaze as Jaime’s jaw dropped.
“ Who ?!”
“Well, it can get quite lonely in the Eyrie…”
“Are you telling me you’ve slept with Robert Baratheon?! ” Jaime shouted. “The man was notorious for all the women he slept with!”
“Well aye, he did that too,” Ned said. Jaime stared off into the distance, mind askance.
“Who knew…” Jaime wondered.
“Stop thinking about Robert and come back here,” Ned said, tugging him back down on top of his chest. Their shins dug into each other’s and their knees bumped, and they were happy. At least, Jaime was happy.
“Are you happy?” He asked, drawing away from Ned’s lips.
“I am,” Ned replied. “It’s not what I expected. But I am happy.”
Jaime smiled.
“Me too.”
END