Jaime was sure that his new wife hated him.

He saw it in the way your lips curled around a sneer, the way your voice dripped with disgust as you called him Kingslayer. You rejected his touch at every turn and downright refused to indulge in simple conversations with him. Jaime knew you despised him, and your marriage. The knew lord and lady of Casterly Rock -- two beings who despised eachother.

“This is my father's doing, not mine own!” He lost count of the many times he had uttered that sentence in spite. It was truthful – Tywin had arranged this union, ensuring his legacy would continue through Jaime. He hung up his white cloak, stripped from his title of Kingsguard to marry you.

It would have been so much simpler if he was paired with an obedient wife, or at the least, one who could tolerate his presence. You were nothing like Cersei or Brienne, and Jaime was beginning to believe that was a bad thing.

You had only allowed him to touch you on your wedding night. The act of consummation had been completed as nothing more than mere duty. He remembered the way you lay utterly still and silent beneath him, as though the bedding was an inconvenience to you. To your luck, you were not with child yet. Jaime silently rejoiced in that fact as well. Though he knew a child would come eventually, he did not wish to have one whilst his wife dreaded his very existence.

Your marital chamber was thick with tense silence. The fire had already died low in the hearth, weak embers still fighting to warm the room. Your body was curled on one side, back towards him. Jaime knew you feigned sleep, your breaths telling the truth of your consciousness. The day had been spent as it always was: full of the utmost avoidance of one another. Night came as it usually did, with you not sparing a single glance to your husband as you slipped beneath the sheets, already stripped down to your shift and prepared for sleep.

Jaime lay on his back, though his head was turned to face you. He watched quietly as your shoulders rose and fell, though tension stiffened your muscles.

“You are pretending to sleep,” he stated bluntly, “again. You are avoiding me.”

He did not get a verbal response, though the covers were tugged away from him, leaving a mere sliver of silk on his chest to keep him warm. Jaime narrowed his eyes, something akin to impatience churning in his gut. “Do you intend to spend the rest of marriage in silence, wife?” The word felt like a mockery of what should have been.

“You have not given me a chance since we said our vows. Do not think yourself so high and mighty.”