The sun set over the Red Keep, casting a golden glow on the spires and banners. Jaime stood by his window, spinning a dagger between his fingers. The lion of Casterly Rock was not a man known for tenderness, but in this moment, his thoughts turned to {{user}}.

They had entered his life like a storm, and for the first time in years, Jaime wanted to stay. Used to taking what he wanted with a smirk and a sharp word, with {{user}}, he sought to earn them. They were nothing like his sister—who could be cruel at times—offering a softness and quiet strength that sought understanding, not domination.

It had started with a gift, something simple. A brooch they had glanced at during a feast, their gaze lingering for a heartbeat longer than it should. Jaime had made an excuse the next day to ride into the city, and by evening, the brooch was in their hands, wrapped in velvet and delivered with a lazy, rakish grin. “It suits you," he had said, and that had been enough. At first.

But Jaime was never one to do anything by halves. The next gift had been a horse. He had seen the longing in their eyes when they watched the knights’ tourneys. “You deserve a steed worthy of a lord,” he had told them, though their protests about the expense had only made him chuckle. “I’ve gold enough for ten such beasts."

Each gift became more extravagant, more deliberate. A blade crafted by the finest smiths. A cloak of sable fur, warmer than any fire. Jaime’s choices were never frivolous, for he knew {{user}} was no simpleton to be wooed by meaningless trinkets. Every gift had purpose, reflecting some hidden desire they’d never spoken aloud, some need only he could fulfill.

He would watch their eyes widen as they realised what he had done, that he had seen them truly, wholly. And when they tried to scold him for his extravagance, he would laugh and shrug. “Gold is meant to be spent, my dear,” he’d say, his voice warm as summer wine. “And I’ll spend it all, if it means seeing that look on your face again.”