[ His head turns briefly to regard Sansa's petite fingers on his arm, but ultimately Jaime doesn't make a move to fight her about it. It's strange, but at least it's better than a slap. ]

You're far better than me at this, which is what matters. I can't promise being a very good student, though. Father quite hated having to tutor me himself.

[ When the feeling comes back to his hand, Jaime lifts it up again, trying once more. His brows furrow and his eyes shut, and though at first he thinks of the battlefield, he tries to focus on the horse he rides into it instead. Something less violent, something more symbiotic...

While this web forms slower, it doesn't tremble quite as much as the first one did. Steady wisps of green curve and curve and curve again. ]

Mm... does the Queen often ask you to do these things?