Ah, are you to be my tutor for magic needlework, then? [ It's spoken with some sarcasm, as if Jaime's incapable of taking a compliment like a normal person. And honestly, maybe he isn't. Not outside of compliments given by Cersei and Tyrion, anyway. ]

In any case, being Tyrion's friend is better than what most could do for him. [ Better than me. ] Though forgive me if I doubt you actually care what I think about you, Lady Sansa.

[ His web grows in shaky, shaky curves, but at least this time it's staying instead of fading away. Jaime's jewel is stronger than normal-- a fact he doesn't quite understand yet-- so the spiralling web continues to grow in size until his hands start to tremble. Thinking this a bad sign, Jaime remembers the sensation of pulling his sword from the last body on the battlefield, and his hands drop as if they'd been lifting thousands of kilograms of weight before abruptly having it taken away from them.

They tremble, still, where they rest. The flesh one feels as if its recovering from numbness, and the sensation doubles itself at the end of Jaime's right wrist. ]

Am I done yet? Did they say how many webs we had to make?