The Lions and the Wolves

Chapter 5: We Meet Again

*This is my first GoT fic so I do apologise if there are any incorrect statements etc. I am still currently reading the books so there is definitely room for error. I'm trying my best lol but mostly I just thoroughly enjoying writing this. Please, enjoy!*

She was hateful. He knew this. It wasn't news to his ears but that didn't stop him from laying awake in the dank room for most of the night thinking a thousand terrifying thoughts. Their evening had definitely soured after that conversation. Despite his upset, he was relieved when she'd finally succumbed to the stew. She looked green with illness after finishing it but at least she was fed. Now she lay next to him, snoozing softly. They were cramped in the miniature, straw-stuffed bed but it was comfier than a woodland floor, both could agree on that much. She was right. There was no plan, just pure panic and blind running. If Tyrion was unable to help them with whatever magical news he had, they were right back to square one. As the lands know, a Lannister always pays his debts and so in exchange for sparing himself and Jaime, Tyrion had kept his promise and Highgarden was now home to Ser Bronn and whatever other misfits he would host. Mostly whores, Jaime imagined. Highgarden was their only shot. He was firing in the dark and it had absolutely no guarantee of safety, but where else where they supposed to go? The longer they wandered Westeros, the more danger he was putting them in and clearly he couldn't protect her. Even from one man. He'd let her down, despite his best efforts. His jaw clenched, the horrible scene fighting it's way back into his mind. Stealing a glance at her, she looked oddly peaceful in spite of the circumstances. She had her back curled into his side, facing away from him. She hadn't uttered a word about the baby or made any sort of hint that she was even still pregnant after the trauma she'd endured. When she was behaving the way she was tonight, he knew there was nothing to be gained from questioning her. So he let her dine and sleep, hoping she'd be more reasonable when the sun came up.

He must have dozed off shortly after his midnight monologue for he woke with a start, sweat beading on his forehead. The room was lit up with the early morning sun peeking over the hills beyond their dainty Inn window.

"Why didn't you wake me?" He asked, his voice rough with morning fatigue. "We should have left already." She was stood looking out of the window, toying with Myrcella's lion pendant. Thinking deeply.

"You looked tired, I didn't want to disturb you." She sounded genuine, a good sign so far. Turning to look at him, she put the pendant back into her under clothes. She was still wearing the thief's attire, only now she'd tied it in a way that helped it to fit better. Starting to sit up, he slid his legs off the side of the bed and exhaled shakily.

"I slept like the dead-"

"Why must you always lie?" She asked curtly, it was as though she'd gone from sunshine to thunderstorm in less than a second. "You never slept well, even when we were young you were always restless and unsettled. I would feel you tossing and turning all night, the same as last night." Walking towards him, she knelt down to look him in the eye, face to face. Her gaze was concerned . "You have a fever." She brushed the back of her hand up against his glistening forehead, pushing his hair back as she did so. He shut his eyes slowly, relishing in her loving touch before she pulled away and peeled the blanket from his torso. He was silent. The wound on his side was positively ghastly. The bed linens were stained heavily where it had oozed and wept all night. "You should have let me burn it in the Kingswood. Now it's festering."

"It's nothing, I'll be fine-" He tried to conceal it from her view.

"And if you're not? What will happen to us then?" Her free hand landed gently on her midsection, causing his throat to constrict with emotion. His eyes drying at the unsightly blackened, purple bruising that had formed on her wrists. Travelling his gaze up towards her face, he saw more of the same bruising on her delicate neck. All at the hands of a Dothraki. All because of him. He was salty and sullen, as much from his own self-pitying as he was from her behaviour towards him before they'd slept.