As the eldest Stark daughter, Jaime had been assigned as your sworn sword—courtesy of Cersei given that his twin sister already had a watchful eye over Sansa.

Obviously, it was all part of Cersei’s ploy to keep things under control. With Robert nearing death and Ned kept in the dungeons for an act of treason, he hadn’t blamed the Queen for her choices.

All was well until one night, he assumed you’d be tucked underneath the lavish covers by now and yet, you just walked past him. The sight of you dressed as a peasant boy confused him.

“Lady Stark, are you hurt?” Ser Lanister asked with an undertone of concern, leaning close to the door of your chambers.

After vocalizing that he’d alert the Lord Commander, he was surprised to see how quick you opened the door. Let alone nab his helmet that was once tucked safely under his arm.

It took a mere second for Jaime to figure out what you were doing, he didn’t have time for games at this time of night.

“My helmet,” he said, extending his arm out, giving you a chance to return it.

Unfortunately it hadn’t gone as Jaime hoped, he hadn’t known what you were attempting to get out of this. He watched as you scurried about your chambers, his helmet barely a breath away each time he reached for it.

To say that the knight was frustrated was quite an understatement. He felt a bit foolish just standing here, practically being bested by a young woman.

He let out an exasperated sigh, his expression unamused as he looked at you. “You finished?” Jaime asked, tilting his head.