Game of Thrones - One Shots/Imagines: Part Two (Completed)

100,000 Reads special - Jaime Lannister x Reader

A/N- Just before I introduce the actual imagine I wanted to say a massive thank you for the 100,000 reads that we've had on this book. These books are such a huge deal for me and have been one of my favourite parts about the last three or so years of writing. With that being said, this piece is in celebration and is based on the song Keeping Your Head Up by Birdy. It's a little short but I hope you all enjoy it.

It had been months since your husband had been taking captive by the Starks. Three endless months of mental anguish as you thought of whether he would ever be returned to you. In fact, your mind was beginning to get the better of you; it was as though you saw Jaime everywhere. You could hardly walk five feet outside of your chambers before your imagination would get the better of you. Every tall man in armour appeared, to you, to have morphed into the man you loved, and you would march towards them until you got close enough to notice your mistake. 

You could not share your worry. Cersei wasn't exactly the chatty type and had always had little time for you. Tyrion, on the other hand, was somewhat too chatty, you could barely get a word in edgeways and would often decide against opening up to him by the time you got a chance to actually speak. 

If it weren't for the thought of Jaime returning you probably would have gone entirely potty. The idea of him holding you again kept you sane and so you clung to it with both hands, imagining that moment over and over again, until the day he returned.

He was a mess. Covered head to toe in dirt, or perhaps something worse, and so weak that he could barely keep his feet. But you had run to his side as quickly as your feet would carry you, holding him close to your chest as he struggled. 

"I'll have the maids run you a bath-" you told him softly, brushing his, once blonde, matted hair out of his face, "-and they will bring you something to eat."

"Y/N." Even his voice seemed somewhat weaker, shaking as his hand gripped your arm, tighter than you had thought him capable of. You glanced down, looking from his hand to the other arm, where there was nothing but a bloodied bundle of rags. 

Your lip quivered, but you bit back tears as you steadied your breath. "Fetch the Maester," you called out to one of your maids, your eyes momentarily meeting hers as your brows furrowed, "be quick about it." 

*Time Skip*

Jaime had slept for most of the day, huddled under the blankets. When he was awake, he sobbed. You pretended not to hear him, biting down on your bottom lip to keep from doing the same; he was not one to cry publically and often struggled to do so, even with only you as his audience.

"Y/N?" You wiped away the few tears that lingered on your face when he called out to you.

"Yes, My Love?" All of your acting could not have hidden the lump in your throat that left your voice thick and uneven. You got to your feet, moving around the bed to kneel beside his head. You forced a small smile onto your lips when he opened his eyes, reaching forward and brushing your fingertips across the skin of his cheek.

He paused as you touched him, still so tender after everything that had happened since you had seen him last. "Let me hold you." He shifted, creating just enough space for you to crawl into beside him.

You nodded, climbing under the sheets with your face so close to his that you could feel his breath on your skin. "I missed you," you told him softly, as his arm moved to slide under your middle, his fingers splaying against your hip. His bandaged arm lay between you, lifeless and limp, but you reached for it, pulling it to rest on top of your body. 

He almost began sobbing again as you smiled at him, so sweet and full of love. When he had returned he had been certain that he would be unwanted, some damaged thing that no one would need anymore, but here you were encouraging him to love his damaged limb. "I missed you too," he answered you softly, shifting to press his forehead against your lips, as he always had before he had gone to war. 

You let out a contented sigh, lifting your hands to hold his head in place and pressing a soft kiss to his temple. 

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