The Wolf Of Casterly Rock

by WickedTheRedHorse

Summary:

The solemn girl he met the day before their wedding didn't match up with the stories he'd heard of the she-wolf of Winterfell. His little wife's wild looks seemed somewhat strange when paired with her subdued personality. She spoke clearly but quietly, and though she repeated her courtesies, if a little coldly, she did not smile, nor did those words sound natural from her mouth. She was her brother Ned in every respect, solemn, serious and reserved. And it didn't suit her one bit.

"Just count yourself lucky I won't put up the same fight for you I did for him," She tossed her hair slightly, dark curls dancing in the warm candlelight, an old, proud defiance that was clearly familiar to her returning. It suited her better than the dead shell she had been up until this point. Jaime said nothing. He didn't doubt for a moment that this woman had put up a hell of a fight.

*

If Lyanna Stark survived but was married off to Jaime Lannister.

Chapter 1: Part I

She was a fierce thing, for all her appearances at the ceremony. Jaime hadn't been sure what he'd been expecting from a girl whose kidnapping had sparked a rebellion that ended in the downfall of a dynasty, but whatever he imagined, Lyanna Stark wasn't it. She wasn't especially beautiful, considering how many great lords had gone to war for her, though she wasn't unattractive. Her dark curls, long face and grey eyes leant her a certain hard, wild northern beauty, but she couldn't even begin to compare to Cersei. It was likening a candle flame to the sun itself. However, Jaime really didn't care what his wife-to-be looked like; she wasn't his sister, she wasn't his other half, and never would be. For that reason, she would always be lacking. 

The solemn, quiet girl he met the day before their wedding - held shortly after Robert and Cersei's - did not match up with the stories he'd heard of the she-wolf of Winterfell. His little wife's wild looks seemed somewhat strange when paired with her subdued personality. She spoke clearly but quietly, and though she repeated her courtesies, if a little coldly, she did not smile, nor did those words sound natural from her mouth. She was her brother Eddard in every respect, solemn, serious and reserved. And it didn't suit her one bit.

Jaime wondered if she'd been like that before the war. Gods knew he'd changed enough after spending the past three years of guarding the Mad King and witnessing everything that came with that. Lyanna Stark had spent that time at the mercy of Rhaegar, who'd taken her from her family, forcefully impregnated her with his bastard son, then left her in the mountains of Dorne to go off and get himself killed at the Trident. Said bastard had then been taken from her after her rescue, and was due to be sent to be raised in the cold, frozen north with his uncle, the equally cold, frozen Lord Stark. Truly, he didn't blame the girl for looking so empty. 

That didn't mean he had any patience with her, however, because Jaime was angry. No, furious. He had wasted three years of his life guarding a madman, a cruel, sadistic bastard who was protected by the name Targaryen and the title of king. No man had deserved death more than Aerys, and Jaime had killed him, but people shamed him for it. Called him Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, man without honour. And thus he had been dismissed from the Kingsguard, with not only the support of many of the rebellion leaders - Eddard Stark foremost amongst them - but also his own father. Jaime knew Lord Tywin had never wanted him to become a Kingsguard, had resigned his post as Hand of the King in fury when Aerys appointed him, but he stupidly underestimated how far the man would go to get his heir back. Jaime was angry and humiliated. No doubt his name would go down in the White Book as the worst knight in history. Ser Jaime Lannister: joined the Kingsguard to fuck his sister in case she ever became queen, killed the king he was sworn to protect with his life, then became the first knight to be stripped of his white cloak. A legacy to be proud of for sure.

And there was another matter. Cersei. He'd joined to be close to her, only to separate them entirely. For months he'd sat through Aerys' burnings, going away inside to thoughts of his sister. He had dreamed of the living hell in the Red Keep all being over, of being back with Cersei in his arms, of Aerys being dead, and finally, finally that had happened. But as it turned out, all it meant was that they were switching places. Now Cersei actually was the queen, married to that oaf Robert Baratheon, Jaime was to be sent back to Casterly Rock with the girl the king desired but couldn't have. 

Robert now hated him, for having what he couldn't. Jon Arryn and every other lord had been very insistent on the fact that the new king could not marry the whore of Rhaegar, mother of his bastard. The importance of the queen being a maiden had been stressed during those talks, which had only amused Jaime when they agreed upon Cersei. His smirk had been stopped not by the icy glare of Eddard Stark - assuming he was mocking Lady Lyanna - but by his father announcing that Jaime would make a good match for the Stark girl. A fitting pair, he had heard one lord mutter, well out of the hearing of Lord Stark and the king. The Kingslayer and the Dragon's Whore, both as soiled as each other. Jaime could have run him through for that, but instead found himself once more darkly amused. 

He hadn't bothered to speak to his betrothed before their wedding. He had spent much of that time travelling to and from Casterly Rock as part of Cersei's honour guard, but in the week after he returned to King's Landing, he made no effort to seek her out. From what he did see of her, though, he could tell that the Stark girl clearly wasn't best pleased with the match either. After what the last man had done to her Jaime couldn't imagine she wanted any match at all. That was somewhat similar to how he felt. He hadn't got anything against her personally - yet - apart from the fact she was to marry him. 

Jaime woke up on the morning of his wedding in a foul mood. He had tried to go to his sister the previous night, but she had scorned him, as she had ever since they reached the Red Keep and she found out he was to be wed. Go marry your northern whore, she had said coldly, shutting the door in his face, and no matter how much he had pleaded that he could still be with her, that they could run to Essos and live freely, she had still eyed him with nothing but contempt. For the first time, the traitorous thought came to his mind that she didn't love him as much as he loved her. We are two halves of the same whole, sister, as you're so fond of saying, but it seems you've forgotten. It didn't pass him by that Cersei would've been perfectly content for him to stand outside the door as a Kingsguard listening to her being fucked by the king. And she had the nerve to claim that he was possessive. 

He and Lyanna Stark said their wedding vows in the Great Sept that afternoon, mechanically and unenthused, both well aware they were only there because of the expectations of others. There was no love between them. The girl stood before him dressed in a Stark grey gown in the northern style, dark hair flowing down her back. Her brother had given her away with a stony expression on his face, clearly reluctant even now. As the ceremony wore on, Jaime began to tire of Stark's glowering. It was as if the man hadn't agreed to the match his foster father Arryn suggested, knowing full well that no other lord would accept a ruined wife even if she was a Stark. Jaime glared back. You might call me Kingslayer, Stark, yet that won't stop the fact that I'll fuck your sister tonight. He didn't relish in that prospect, like another man might. He desired no one but Cersei; Lyanna Stark could've been the most beautiful woman in Westeros and he would have still only wanted his sister. As he fastened the Lannister red bridal cloak around his bride's shoulders, his mind was elsewhere. He doubted he'd ever get the chance to sleep with his sister again. The thought sent hot rage through him, and pressing sadness, which was only heightened by the memory of their last conversation the previous night. 

They hadn't spoken much at the feast, but they were far from the odd ones out. The atmosphere at the high table was an unpleasant one. The king and Ned Stark were not speaking to each other, Robert clearly still angry at his friend for agreeing to marry his former betrothed to the Kingslayer. The king was also ignoring Cersei, who sat haughty and proud beside him in silent resentment - Robert must've done something woefully bad for his sister to hate him this much already, given the way she'd eagerly awaited her own wedding - and Cersei was ignoring Jaime. Lord Tywin seemed content to sit in silence, watching the hall, particularly Jaime and Lyanna. His father seemed rather satisfied with the whole situation. Jaime supposed he would be, given that everything had turned out exactly how the man had always wanted. 

The only two people speaking to each other seemed to be Ned Stark and his sister, until Robert drank enough to lose the few inhibitions he had anyway and roared for the bedding ceremony, making a beeline for Lyanna who, Jaime was amused to see, slid deftly behind her brother, wearing an unimpressed look. That was all he saw, however, before the gaggle of giggling and shrieking ladies descended on him. Cersei was not one of them. That would hardly raise any questions - few ladies would choose to see their brothers unclothed, after all - but to Jaime, her cold stare held a terrible finality. Fine, sister, have it your way. He made sure to turn his attention to the women around him, joining in on their bawdy comments and making sure his best smile never left his face.

He soon stood before his new wife in their new, shared guestchamber. He wore nothing but his breeches, whilst she was down to her smallclothes, and was breathing heavily though trying to hide it; he had seen the wild look in her eyes as those men carried her through the door, leering and groping, the king first and foremost amongst them. For a moment they had locked eyes and she had looked like a cornered animal, like nothing would please her more than to take a swipe at Robert Baratheon's face with long nails. But then the door shut, the bawdy comments and laughter died away, and now that blank look was back. Neither of them said a word, though they both knew what they were meant to do. Expected to do.

"Go on then," Her voice wasn't completely mechanical now, as it had been in front everyone. No, now it held a hint of bitterness, and resignation, like she couldn't be bothered to keep up the farce any longer. "I am your wife, to do with as you please," She spread her arms slightly at her sides. The gesture was mocking but weary.

"That's not true," He replied. "If I could do with you what I pleased I would send you to your frozen north for the rest of your days and never have to see your face again," She laughed at that, humourlessly, too jaded by far for sixteen. But then, he was only eighteen himself and any pleasant ideals he had once held were now crushed to nothing by cynicism and hard reality.

"If only," She said honestly. "But if I've learnt anything, husband, it's that we rarely get to do what we want," He caught a glint of something in her eyes, but it was gone as soon as he saw it. It might have just been a flicker of the dim candlelight.

"You don't seem very afraid," Jaime remarked. "For one so unwilling," She raised a darkly amused eyebrow.

"You forget I've done this before," She said. "I'm well used to not being willing. This way's just more acceptable to everyone, as they all agreed on it beforehand. Just count yourself lucky I won't put up the same fight for you that I did for him in the end," She tossed her hair slightly, dark curls dancing in the warm candlelight, an old, proud defiance that was clearly familiar to her returning. It suited her better than the dead shell she had been up until this point. 

Jaime said nothing. He didn't doubt for a moment that this woman had put up a hell of a fight. She tilted her head slightly, stepping closer. Not out of anger or desire, more curiosity. 

"You've done this before too," She said thoughtfully, but then laughed that bitter laugh again. "I mean, of course you have," She glanced at his bare chest, and he felt his lips twitch. "As you're not at all eager, and you don't strike me as the type for nerves, you must care for her, whoever she is. This shall be quite the experience then. Both of us unwilling. You can call me by her name if it makes you feel better," Jaime was suddenly angry again. Memories of Cersei, how cold she had been to him, and now this girl daring to speak to him of her. Without thinking his hand snapped out and grabbed Lyanna's wrist, pulling her roughly against him. She stared at him for a moment, breathing shallow, the same anger that ran hot through him coursing through her too. It was like she was daring him. Go on. Do it. Prove himself worthy of the hate she feels to everyone and everything. He let go, and she didn't move.

"I won't call you her name," Jaime said lowly instead. "If you won't call me his," The thought of being called Rhaegar was... distasteful. A wolffish grin - sharp, and all teeth - spread across her face, and he couldn't help but grin humourlessly himself.

"Understood," He pressed his lips to hers.

*

They left for Casterly Rock the next day. Robert was still angry that Jaime had Lyanna whilst he was stuck with Cersei - if only he knew Jaime would've traded in a heartbeat - and Lord Tywin wanted them both back at the Rock as soon as possible. For Cersei's benefit, in a fit of rather petty defiance, Jaime made sure to appear at least friendly and comfortable with his new wife, who eyed him sharply and with some degree of confusion when he placed a hand on her lower back as they walked to the courtyard. She said nothing, however, which he was glad for. Her cold mask was up again, as she thanked the king politely but blankly, smiling blandly at Cersei, who wore a smile of her own, one with barely concealed daggers.

Lyanna took one look at the grand wheelhouse that had been prepared for the new Lady Lannister and made a small derisive scoffing noise, her mask flickering with scorn. Ned Stark, there to bid goodbye to his sister - and also holding her bastard son (the boy could've been his if Jaime hadn't known better, they looked so alike) - seemed amused by this, smiling a small nostalgic smile to himself in the background as stablehands hurried to find his sister a horse to ride.

"Apologies, milady Lannister," A nervous looking groom approached leading a large steel grey destrier, more suited to a knight than a lady. Lyanna rounded on him, attention almost instantly going to the horse. "This is the only one left who'll make the journey at pace," Jaime considered stepping in then, to tell the girl to just sit in the goddamned wheelhouse and not delay them any longer, but for whatever reason he stayed back, wanting to watch how this turned out. Lyanna just eyed the horse up critically, then placed a hand on its neck, rubbing it up and down. For a moment, the faintest of smiles graced her lips, then vanished.

"He'll do," She said simply. "Thank you," The groom gaped at her, even more so as she put her foot in the stirrup and mounted the large horse herself, springing easily into the saddle and settling like she was born there, one leg either side with her skirts bunched up around her pale legs. Jaime raised an eyebrow. 

"Lya," Ned Stark said a little reprovingly. "Shouldn't you - " She eyed the man icily and he broke off with a sigh; he clearly knew when to give up. "Here," He passed the baby up to her. Jaime hadn't seen her with the boy before, and was surprised - he didn't know why - by how carefully she handled the child, holding him close and whispering something into his tiny ear. He saw a dark look cross her face as she handed the bastard back to her brother. Anger and sadness. But that was the ultimatum Robert and his small council had given her - never see the boy again, or insist on keeping him and condemn him to death. And the king claimed to love her. What a sweet song that would make.

"You look after him," She said to her brother, voice cracking slightly. "Don't let him be treated badly. Don't let him come to any harm. You raise my son to be a good boy, a good man, like you. Promise me, Ned," Stark nodded solemnly, covering his sister's small hand with his own as a wordless vow. Jaime found himself inexplicably looking away.

Then Stark stepped back and Lyanna dug her heels into the destrier's sides. The great horse reared, causing cries of alarm from the nearby men, but a reckless, grim smile had overtaken his wife's expression and she merely leaned into the rear before kicking again, sending the horse off at a fast canter across the courtyard and out of the gate, enormous iron-shod hooves clattering on the cobbles. The guards hastened to catch up. Jaime nodded to Cersei and his father - who was staying in the city to take his position of Master of Coin, which he was far from pleased with but it gave him considerable influence at least, and he would surely work his way upon a matter of months - in farewell, getting no response from either of them, before kicking his own horse forward and following the rest of the party. Hopefully they'd catch up with his wife before she decided to turn north instead of west. Honestly, if she tried, Jaime suspected he might just let her. 

*

It took little over two weeks to reach Casterly Rock. They stayed in inns, minor holdfasts, lords keeps, but his wife seemed to prefer sleeping under the stars as opposed to in a feather bed. Even when they did get a room for the night - they often had to share, due to there not being space otherwise, and Jaime wasn't so selfish as to insist someone else give up their room so he didn't have to share - she insisted on sleeping with the window open, despite the spring air being bitingly cold at night. Where his men huddled under furs at night, Lyanna didn't seem to feel the chill the same way. Perhaps it was true that the Starks had ice in their veins.

Jaime and his wife had conversed on the journey, of course they had. It made no sense to travel in an awkward silence. She was as guarded as ever, often as blank as before, but for the most part she seemed to relax a little more the further they got from the city and the people in it. He saw more hints of her old defiance, and she often showed a wry humour much like his own that he found himself appreciating. All in all, Lyanna was not a bad travelling companion. She seemed used to conversing with men either way, and cursed like the best of them. This amused many of the soldiers, who after a while seemed to forget she was their lady as they ate together, rode together, made crude jokes together. She also didn't hesitate to act like the wolf on her family sigil whenever anyone got too friendly, or pissed her off at all, which gave the men a healthy wariness and respect of her. After she reduced a young knight almost to tears, after his hands wandered helping her onto her horse, there were a few joking mutters - out of earshot, of course - that it was Rhaegar they felt bad for now.

They reached Casterly Rock in the early evening on the sixteenth day since they'd left King's Landing. Despite herself, Lyanna's eyes had widened at the sight of the great castle, and Jaime had smirked.

"A little more impressive than Winterfell?" He asked her. 

"Yes," She replied. "And ten times as grand. But I'd still rather be a day's ride from home than here,"

*

Tyrion had been there to greet them proudly as host, with uncles Kevan, Tygett and Gerion standing beside him, along with their wives and Jaime's growing hoard of cousins; Lancel was walking now, twins Martyn and Willem were in the arms of nursemaids and Tyrek was being held by his mother. Jaime had been genuinely happy to see his little brother, despite having seen him little over a month ago when he came to the Rock to escort Cersei back to King's Landing. Before then, he hadn't seen Tyrion in three years; the small boy of seven had become a slightly less small boy of ten. Jaime had dismounted his horse and gone to hug his brother, lifting him off the ground and making him laugh as he had done before. Behind him, Lyanna dismounted herself and approached without invitation, lowering her hood and turning all heads her way. She made no effort to speak, nor to smile, walls back up again. 

"This is the Lady Lyanna," Jaime said, slightly grudging that she was a part of the family reunion, waving a careless hand her way. He couldn't bring himself to say the words 'my wife' out loud, not here. On the road, it had been easy to pretend she wasn't. 

Uncle Kevan greeted her with a polite nod, Tygett with a stiff bow, Gerion with a charming grin and a kiss on her hand that did make her smile slightly for a moment. Dorna and Darlessa, his uncles' wives, had been introduced in turn. Lyanna had nodded to each one. Jaime noticed how she greeted Tyrion exactly the same as the others - as though she barely saw him - seeming to not notice the obvious fact that he was a dwarf. His sweet, friendly wife was guided to her rooms by a servant with scarcely another word to any of them. Which suited him just fine.

*

Jaime barely saw Lyanna in the next week or so. She kept to her rooms mostly, doing gods knows what. Many times he saw her, she was just stood staring out of the window; her bedroom faced north. He himself spent most of his time in the practice yard. Training didn't help his anger like it had when he was a boy, but back then he had had Cersei. No amount of knocking guardsmen and squires to the ground would help his rage at being the first knight dismissed from the Kingsguard, at losing his sister, at being saddled with a lordship he didn't want and a broken wife as cold as ice.

One morning, so early the sun had scarcely risen, he was training on a dummy when he caught a glimpse of a dark figure out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see Lyanna watching him, and gave her a questioning look.

"I got bored. I always watch - used to watch my brothers fight," She said by way of explanation. "I used to try and join them. Until my father stopped it and sent me to learn to sew," He caught a hint of that derisive scorn again. Jaime paused for a moment, considering her size and shape, before grabbing a smallish tourney sword from a nearby rack. He threw it to her, and she caught it, giving him a confused look. He snorted slightly.

"Good start," She looked at him in mild disbelief.

"Seriously?"

"Go on," He gestured to her to move. That wolffish grin returned and she struck immediately. He deflected it easily. She was faster than he expected, though was clearly no swordsman. Her attacks were fairly weak and predictable, and she grew more and more frustrated when she couldn't land a hit on him. Which was fairly amusing. It wasn't surprising really, considering she was wearing a dress. She might have messed around with swords with her brothers, but she had clearly had no proper training. She wasn't bad though, considering. Better than a lot of new squires.

Eventually he put her out of her misery and flicked the sword out of her hand. He thought that was the end of it, that the fight was over. He didn't expect her to act like a true wolf and literally throw herself at him, catching him off guard and sending them both tumbling to the floor. He let out an incredulous breath of laughter as she wrestled with his sword arm, kicking and punching. But he was far stronger, no matter how savagely she fought, which was very. He would certainly have his share of cuts and bruises, as would she; there was no way he was taking an attack like that lying down. He roughly wrestled her off of him, trapping her securely in his arms as he knelt, her back to him as she struggled and squirmed. His sword was then at her throat and she stopped at last, breathing heavily. Her hair was a birdsnest, her body was sweating and when she turned round to peer at him he saw her pale face was streaked with dust and dirt. But her steel grey eyes were what caught his attention. They seemed truly alive for the first time since he'd met her.

"You're vicious," He said, slightly awed, feeling the sting of the many minor wounds she'd given him. She didn't seem to mind the ones he'd given her, and laughed breathily, chest heaving against his arms.

"I've got three brothers," She said by way of explanation, then the smile dropped and she corrected herself. "Had three brothers," Her good humour vanished as quickly as it had come. Jaime let her go, and she turned to face him. "Thanks. For letting me fight," She said somewhat awkwardly. "You didn't have to,"

"If only other men gave their wives a sword," He said. "I'd rather fight you like that out here than with words in there. This I understand," She smiled faintly.

"I'll remember that,"

They dined together for the first time that night. Or rather, she came and joined the family for the first time as they ate together in the hall. Jaime noticed how no matter how many times she was offered wine, she refused it. Having drunk quite a lot himself, he found himself asking her about it as he walked her back to her chambers after.

"I don't trust wine," She'd said simply, then hesitated. "When he realised I wasn't going to stop fighting him, he started slipping sweetsleep in my drink whenever he wanted to..." Jaime raised an eyebrow as she broke off, glowering at nothing.

"And people say Rhaegar would have made a wonderful King," He said lightly. She laughed in dark agreement.

*

Several weeks later, Jaime was walking past the library and heard laughing from inside. Curious, he entered the cavernous room and saw his brother and his wife together before the fire. Any other man might have grown angry at that sentence, but Jaime merely wondered if he was having some sort of strange dream, because the sight that met his eyes was beyond ridiculous. Lyanna was stood on her hands against the wall, trying to stay upright as her skirts slowly slid over her head. Tyrion was laughing madly, and she righted herself just before revealing far too much in front of the ten year old boy. Her clothes were crumpled, her face red, her hair a mess but she was grinning, as Tyrion looked ready to piss himself laughing as he turned around to see Jaime standing there looking bemused. Lyanna's grin grew wolffish as she saw him.

"Your brother is quite the talented teacher," She said. "I'd never done acrobatics in my life, but now look," She promptly stood on her hands again, walking a few shaky steps before collapsing in a heap as Tyrion cackled, looking at his brother's incredulous expression as his wife acted more like seven than near seventeen. Lyanna stood up and grinned proudly, taking a small bow.

"Go on," She nodded to the little boy. "Show him how it's really done," Tyrion eagerly obliged, skilfully walking on his hands around the room before finishing with a somersault, earning an applause from Lyanna.

"Did Uncle Gerion teach you that?" Jaime asked, amused. Tyrion grinned.

"He did," He said. "How did you know?" Jaime, a fit of recklessness overcoming him, promptly did the same, walking on his hands for a dozen strides, making his brother clap his hands and start laughing again. Lyanna's grin returned.

"You're better than him," She nudged Tyrion, who looked delighted at the comparison which, Jaime had to admit, did not come often. "He didn't do a somersault," She was quite probably insane, his wife, he decided as she threw herself down on the rug before the fire, lounging without a care. Tyrion did the same, and Jaime found himself following them.

"The Lannisters of Casterly Rock," He said dryly. "Practically a circus troupe. Father would love that,"

"He could be a lion tamer," Tyrion said, amused by the thought. "With a whip and a big hat," His little brother grinned wickedly. "And Cersei could be the bearded lady," Jaime laughed loudly.

*

Some point in the coming months, Aunt Genna had decided it would be appropriate to commission a portrait, of Jaime and his wife. Apparently his parents had had one too, Genna had shown them, though judging by his father's expression in it he thought it was waste of time. Jaime wasn't exactly enthused by the idea either, Lyanna even less so, but his aunt was hard to say no to. You'll thank me later, she'd said, when you're old, fat, grey and want to remember being young and beautiful. This found the two of them stood side by side as the irritating Oldtown painter fussed over them, seeming to forget who he was talking to, or perhaps just not caring, such was his assurance in his own skill.

"No, stand closer together," The little man snapped. Jaime just glared at him. Whilst he and his wife did not dislike each other, and even enjoyed the other's company on occasion - they were, daresay, friends - they were far from close. They hadn't so much as kissed since their wedding night. All their physical contact came from trying their best to knock each other to the ground during training; if only they could get a portrait done of that. Jaime smirked at the thought. "Put your arm around her waist, my lord," He suspected Lyanna would snap his hand right off if he dared. "You both look too wooden, too stiff,"

"I thought it was a painting," Jaime said. "They're not supposed to move," Lyanna snorted beside him, and he smirked.

"That is it!" The painter exclaimed, making them both jump. "Keep that look, my lord,"

"Arrogant, self satisfied ponce?" Lyanna said slyly, having peered around to see his expression. "Should be easy enough,"

"My lady!" The painter gasped dramatically in shock. Lyanna turned to him with a raised eyebrow, tossing her hair, only for the man to quickly stumble over his words, again, and start painting hurriedly. "That - stay with that expression Lady Lyanna, it is perfect, it truly shows you at your best,"

"And what is that?" Lyanna asked him, with disdain to rival Lord Tywin.

"Sadistic wolf bitch," Jaime suggested.

"That look..." The man said distractedly, furiously painting. It looked like he had a twitch in his hand. "Scorn... and pride, like... no man is good enough. Or ever could be," Jaime laughed loudly and his wife scowled.

As they left the airy tower room the painter had been given for his work hours later, Lyanna surprised Jaime greatly by turning to face him and gripping the front of his tunic with both hands.

"No man is good enough?" She seethed, a wild look in her eyes that she'd seen many a time before. "Who does he take me for, an arrogant princess like your sister? I'll show him," And with that she promptly kissed him, roughly.

He was so taken aback that he didn't react for a second or so, but then responded with the same vigour; he had not been with a woman for months, he told himself, and Lyanna was his wife. He didn't even mind that she was doing it out of anger, to prove a point. He was doing much the same. I hope you're happy with your kingly husband, sweet sister.

"I'll come to your chambers tonight," Lyanna murmured in his ear after breaking the kiss. It wasn't an invitation for him to come to hers. This was on her terms, for sure.

"Do I get a choice?" He asked. She rolled her eyes, but grinned grudgingly.

"Are you saying no?"

"Who am I to deny my lovely lady wife?" He smiled his most dazzling smile, which he knew would make her defensive, instead of swooning like most ladies. He'd tried it before.

"Fuck off," She scowled at him.

"At least I smile," She was silent for a moment, and in that time he had an uncharacteristic flash of concern - was that pushing their fragile friendship too far? - only for her lips to twitch.

"He was a moody bastard, wasn't he," She admitted. Jaime laughed, with a hint of relief.

"I think they call it melancholy,"

*

Jaime waited for her in his chambers that evening, feeling some level of anticipation, more than he had expected. She came in wearing the same dress she'd worn to dinner - that steely shade of grey would've looked drab on most women yet somehow suited her - but her hair was loose from its previous rough plait. He was about to say something, not offer wine because she wouldn't accept, something else, but Lyanna cut him off by striding across the room and kissing him with even more intensity than she had on the staircase earlier. He didn't protest, twining his fingers in her hair, the other hand around her waist, pulling her tight against him. She was different to Cersei from her height (shorter), to her body (slimmer), to her smell (just different, not as sweet), but to his surprise the differences were refreshing rather than off-putting. 

Lyanna pulled him by the front of his tunic to the bed, and they sat down on the edge without breaking the kiss, her in his lap. She gasped slightly as he trailed kisses down her neck, and helped him unlace the top half of her dress, but when his mouth moved lower to her newly exposed breasts she pulled away slightly.

"What are you doing?" She asked. Jaime looked at her, a little surprised, then he suddenly understood. He wasn't sure whether to laugh; strangely, he felt a little irritated, and not at her.

"Rhaegar just fucked you, didn't he," He said bluntly. "In, out, done soon as possible. Probably quite quickly," He couldn't help but add. His wife glared at him, understanding the jibe and disliking his crude description. She didn't understand his point, however, and he could tell that irritated her. Lyanna did like to know everything.

"What else is there to do?" He raised an eyebrow. "What? Don't look at me like that, in and out is all you did on our wedding night," She took on the expression of a petulant child - Jaime imagined her father used to spoil her as a girl - and he couldn't help but grin.

"Imagine that," He practically purred, smugly. "Lyanna Stark, as innocent as a rose-cheeked maiden," That earned him a sharp slap to the chest. He just laughed. "As sweet as a Reach girl in summer," She hit him again. "As pure as a septa who - "

"Stop mocking me," She said, but was biting back a slightly embarrassed smile despite herself. Jaime shook his head, enjoying having one over on his little wife. She hit him harder.

"You're violent, that's what you really are," He said, falling back to lie down without warning and pulling Lyanna with him, making her yelp in surprise. Before she could protest, he was on top of her, trapping her hands and stopping her abusing him any further. Lyanna wriggled underneath him, to no avail, he wouldn't move, and when he just grinned, she childishly stuck out her tongue. It wasn't hard to understand how he often forgot she was a mother.

"You deserve it," She muttered, eyeing him warily as he resumed where he'd left off before, kissing her breasts and moving down lower, pulling her dress down as he went, and her eyes widened. "Really, what are you - " She gasped as he reached between her legs. "Jaime, what - Jaime," Hearing her say his name, indecently like that, only encouraged him and before long his wife was gasping and twitching, legs wrapped tightly around him. It took longer than it would've with Cersei for Lyanna to gasp his name and shudder in pleasure at her release, but Jaime knew his sister far better than his wife. He knew every inch of Cersei, as she knew every inch of him. They'd had years together, not just one mediocre night. But Lyanna wasn't used to this, and that was somehow thrilling in itself.

As she lay there in the aftermath of her release, he edged back up to face her, kissing her lightly on the lips and pulling back, smirking. She looked at him through half lidded eyes, lips slightly parted, breathing heavily.

"'What else is there to do?' she asks," He put on a high pitched voice and a northern accent to mimic her own, and a breath of laughter rippled through her. He had never laughed like this when he was with Cersei, he realised, and neither had she.

"Arrogant... Southron ponce," Lyanna spoke in insults, though there was mirth in her voice. "You think you're so clever,"

"Come on, you enjoyed that," He said in his own voice. "It certainly sounded like it. 'Jaime... oh, Jaime'," He mimicked her again and she smacked him - again. At this rate his chest would be mottled with bruises, but he grinned regardless.

"Fuck off," She said lazily.

"Why don't you?"

"Because you're heavy, and lying on top of me, as you know full well,"

"My apologies, do you want me to move?" She fixed him with a look, and there was silence for a long moment, the smiles falling off both of their faces, before she slowly pulled his face down to hers and they kissed once more. This kiss was fiercer, and they couldn't seem to get close enough. Hands were everywhere, and both of them groaned slightly when he wrapped her legs around his waist and slowly entered her. After watching her for a few moments - she had winced in expectation of pain that never came - he began to move, and soon both were rocking their hips in time with each other. He surprised Lyanna again, by flipping them over so she was on top. She seemed unsure at first, so he grabbed her hips and moved her himself, but she soon took over, which she seemed to enjoy a great deal. Jaime finished when she did for the second time, and after she collapsed against his chest, just lying there for several minutes with a leg draped over him as both of them got their breath back. Then she tilted her face up to him.

"Why haven't we done that before?" It was a good question.

*

He didn't love her. And she didn't love him. But there was friendship there, which was only building, and, coupled with their nights together, Jaime could not complain. What he liked about Lyanna was that she didn't care about what people thought of her. Cersei was constantly worried about looking her best, appearing powerful, strong and proud, always wanting to give the right impression no matter how much she would deny caring about the opinions of the sheep (his father's analogy). Lyanna, however, would happily appear at dinner in her training clothes - the fact she didn't care what people whispered about the heir to Casterly Rock teaching his wife to use a sword in the first place said everything - and if she ever heard anyone muttering about the 'Dragon's Whore' she would simply laugh in their faces.

Despite this unsavoury title, his wife was very popular amongst the smallfolk of Lannisport. On her regular rides out on horseback, Lyanna would often visit the city and endear herself to the people by simply talking to them, making conversation, like a friend would instead of a noble lady. She said that was what they'd done in the North, and didn't see any reason not to do so in the Westerlands. Recently she'd started giving out small favours; the occasional coin to a beggar, offering an orphan a job in the kitchens of the Rock, paying for a blacksmith's burial when his widow needed the money.

Of course, the world did not just consist of Casterly Rock and Lannisport. Soon the invitation came, requesting their presence in King's Landing to celebrate the birth of Prince Steffon, first child of the new king and queen. Jaime had received the news numbly. He thought he would be devastated at the thought of Cersei bearing Baratheon's children, and though some part of him was, he found himself not nearly as distressed as he imagined. He was somehow... separate from it. Like it didn't matter nearly as much as it should've.

Needless to say, Lyanna was not pleased to hear they were going to King's Landing. Though she was now no longer the icy woman she had been when they married - at least not most of the time, she had her moments - there were still times when Jaime caught her gazing sadly out of the window or into the distance, the picture of melancholy with her solemn expression. He'd learned not to bother her in those moments, and she'd probably rather die that talk to him of all people about it, but it just went show how she had far from forgotten the events of the past. She had a son, he had to keep reminding himself, a son who she would never know.

The day before they were due to leave, Lyanna disappeared. She wasn't at dinner, her horse was still in its stable so she wasn't on one of her rides and soon the whole castle was looking for her. A guardsman ran up to Jaime, yelling that she was in the Godswood - a rarely used part of the castle, that Lyanna occasionally visited but not often enough for that to be the first place he'd look for her - and Jaime followed. 

He found his wife knelt before the heart tree, a weirwood with a commanding, almost haughty expression, head bowed, and then realised with some shock that she was crying, tears falling from her eyes and onto the ground before her. Lyanna didn't look round at the sounds of people. He sent the guard away, unsure of what to do - he had little experience with crying women, he could count the number of times he'd seen Cersei sincerely cry on his right hand, and he'd never seen Lyanna shed so much as a tear before - so settled for kneeling beside her in front of the tree, not saying a word. This seemed to be the right thing to do, for a few minutes after his legs started to ache she spoke without looking at him.

"They died three years ago today," She said, voice thick, then she trailed off into nonsensical mutters, of which he could pick out only a few clear words. "... all my fault..." Jaime frowned. He remembered the deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark all too well. Pretty hard to forget.

"You got kidnapped by a prince and a Kingsguard," He said. "Which yes, ended in the deaths of your brother and father. But how was that your fault? It wasn't like you could've stopped them. I'd be hard pressed to beat Arthur Dayne, and no offence but you'd even struggle to beat any of my pisspoor replacements to the Kingsguard," Lyanna looked at him then, her grey eyes wild, bloodshot and her pale face gaunt. It was like she hadn't even heard him; he'd been expecting (hoping) to provoke at least a glare for that last remark.

"You don't understand," Was all she said. After that, Jaime couldn't get another word out of her. Perhaps his comforting skills were lacking. Perhaps there was more to it.

*

The next day, it was like the incident in the Godswood never happened. Lyanna didn't mention it and neither did Jaime. She smiled as usual, japed with the men as usual, hugged Tyrion goodbye (their father had forbidden him from coming with them) and mocked Jaime as mercilessly as she always did, clearly wanting normalcy. Jaime followed her example, giving as good as he got without concerning himself that she might start crying again anytime soon. He didn't believe she'd cry in public, anyway.

The ride to the city was easy enough. Just them and a dozen mounted guardsmen made for quick travel; Lyanna packed light for a woman, all her belongings she was taking fit into the - admittedly large and many - saddlebags of her grey destrier, which she'd insisted on keeping for her own after arriving at the Rock despite there being a dozen horses in the stables far more suited for a lady. The big grey destrier somehow seemed to suit Lyanna Stark more, however. 

Cersei's cold glare was fixed on both of them for the entire duration of their stay. But Jaime had nothing more to say to her. She'd made her choice, she couldn't have it both ways.

His sister's viciousness only increased when the news of Lyanna's condition was made public. Jaime hadn't even known himself before they arrived in King's Landing. However, he had been watching his wife dressing - they shared a room, it was unavoidable - and noticed that her usually flat belly was definitely far rounder than usual. She had recently been quite sick, and then they'd been travelling, so he hadn't had as much of a chance to see her bare as before, but now he couldn't help but notice.

"You're getting fat," He said idly. His wife turned around to look at him, unimpressed.

"Fuck off," He grinned, not really caring but knowing it would rile her if he pointed it out. "I'm pregnant, you twit," His grin dropped abruptly.

His father had been grimly satisfied. Cersei, on the other hand... best not discussed. Robert too looked mutinous when he was told the news. They were scarcely out of the room before they were hearing the king bellowing to Jon Arryn about 'that kingslaying Lannister cunt fucking my Lyanna'. Jaime had raised an eyebrow at his wife, and she had scowled.

After that, Lyanna had kept as far from Robert as possible, which made Jaime oddly angry. At the king, not at her. Robert's lecherous glances towards his wife were far from hidden, and Jaime could do nothing about it unless he wanted to push the man into leaping at him with that great ugly warhammer he still insisted on keeping with him. Jaime personally wouldn't have been adverse to trying his luck - Robert was stronger than he was certainly, and fiercely quick, but Jaime was quicker - but that may have caused more trouble than it was worth. Lyanna had suffered worse.

However, that didn't stop Jaime from taking great pleasure in crowning Lyanna Queen of Love and Beauty in front of the whole court after winning the joust in the tourney. It was with a mocking smile that he offered the crown of red and white roses to her on the end of his lance, and she took it, seeming just as amused as he was, both of them understanding the irony in more ways than one. Lyanna Stark placed the crown on her head instead of her lap this time, almost daring anyone to say a single word as she beckoned her husband closer and pulled him in for a fierce, borderline indecent in public kiss. People muttered, people disapproved, as they always did and always would. Jaime couldn't bring himself to care. There was a certain beauty in the Kingslayer and the Dragon's Whore rubbing it in everyone's faces. Jaime certainly wasn't protesting, even if the looks Cersei gave them both were positively poisonous.

Lord Tywin wanted them to remain in King's Landing until the baby was born - even at this early stage he did not want to even slightly endanger the future heir of Casterly Rock - but neither Jaime and Lyanna had any desire to stay in the city a second longer than necessary. They left the day after the tourney, at dawn before most had even woken yet, and were back at the Rock within two weeks. This time as they saw the great castle rising up from the horizon, he looked over and saw a faint smile on Lyanna's face.

*

Those months of pregnancy seemed to be the longest in Jaime's life. Lyanna was a nightmare. As the child grew and grew until it seemed like she would burst, she was unable to do anything she liked - namely fighting, riding or running - so was in a permanent sulk, moody and snappish, liable to bite anyone's head off. Aunt Dorna got it into her head that she was scared about the birthing, and spent a painful few weeks trying to 'put her mind at ease' whilst Lyanna glowered at the well-meant but seemingly oblivious woman. Jaime was one of the few that seemed to appreciate that she was irritable because of the memories being in this condition must drag up. His wife had never spoken of her time as Rhaegar's prisoner beside a few bitter comments every now and again, but Jaime knew all too well the lasting effects of remembering things you'd much rather forget. He himself still couldn't look at a fire without smelling the charred remains of Rickard Stark, hearing the creaking of his blackened armour, and the echoes of his screams. He didn't tell Lyanna that though. He didn't think it would help much.

He and his wife were getting on perfectly with the careful avoidance of asking too much of each other. One day, however, his curiosity got the better of him, and he asked her if she was scared, or even nervous at the thought of birthing a child. Women die in childbirth, after all. Both their mothers had. He regretted pointing that out. In hindsight, he should've been able to tell that that probably wouldn't help much either.

"I did this before," She had just shrugged in response, seeming genuinely unbothered at the idea of pushing out a whole person. "All on my own. I can do it again surrounded by the best midwives and Maesters Lannister gold can buy,"

"He left you on your own?" He had frowned at that. "Wasn't that...?" He trailed off, glancing at her.

"The most terrifying experience of my life," He didn't expect her to reply at all, let alone with such blunt honesty. "I thought I was going to die. But I didn't," She paused. "Nothing can compare to that," That was the end of that conversation.

Jaime was surprised at how calm he himself was about the whole thing. He never expected to be anyone's husband, and especially never anyone's father, and he suspected that the idea hadn't fully sunk in yet. It was only when he came across Lyanna moodily stabbing a needle through some white cloth whilst sat with his aunts, that the reality hit him.

"There's a sight I never thought I'd see," He smirked as she glared up at him, clearly very displeased by her current situation. "Lady Stark doing her needlework like a good little wife," People had told him that she was technically Lyanna Lannister, but it seemed wrong to refer to her that way, even in his head. She looked thoroughly miserable with her hugely swollen stomach, slouching in the chair, and glared up at him resentfully.

"I'm so fat I can't do anything but sit here," She said. "Even this is better than nothing," She looked distastefully at the mess of fabric.

"What is it?" He couldn't work it out. She shrugged.

"Gods only know," She said. "Some sort of frock, I think. Darlessa cut it out for me, I'm just sewing it together," He peered doubtfully at the tangled web of thread.

"Are you?" She didn't slap his arm, which surprised him. Instead she stabbed him with the needle. "Ow!"

"Now you know how I feel, I've done that the times in the last hour," She sulked, but smirked at him as he rubbed his arm. "Come on Lannister, you've had worse wounds than that,"

"You really are a vicious bitch sometimes, aren't you?"

"Jaime!" Aunt Dorna exclaimed reproachfully, like he was ten years old and in trouble again, not a man of nineteen. "That's no way to talk to any lady, let alone your wife. You should apologise," Lyanna grinned, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"My humblest and most sincere apologies, sweet and gentle lady," Jaime said sardonically, then grinned. "I should never have distracted you from your favourite pastime,"

"Fuck off," Lyanna glared. Aunt Dorna sighed despairingly.

"How many times have I told you Lyanna?" She scolded. "I don't know what they teach you in the North but a Lady of House Lannister does not swear like a common fishwife," Lyanna just laughed.

"I've almost tempted you to it a few times, though, you can't deny it," Aunt Dorna's lips twitched, and Darlessa openly chuckled.

"Oh get on with your sewing," Dorna said, trying not to look amused or fond, and Lyanna gave a dramatic sigh.

"The little monster better be grateful,"

"It's for the baby?" Jaime was surprised, for some reason. She looked at him flatly.

"No, it's for you," She held up the minuscule garment, which was shorter than his forearm. "Of course it's for the baby. I've half a mind to ask the maids if they kept any of Tyrion's baby clothes, or even yours or Cersei's, so I don't have to make any more frilly little things like this," She paused. "No, not Cersei's, I'm not that desperate. It might be contagious," Aunt Dorna gave a very unladylike snort. Aunt Darlessa was too kind, and bit her lip instead.

"You wouldn't be able to tell mine and Cersei's clothes apart until we were four," Jaime said without thinking. Lyanna's eyes lit up.

"Speaking of which," She said, her wolffish grin making an appearance. "I heard, from one of the maids, the old one, that you and Cersei looked so alike when you were children that you used to swap clothes and pretend to be each other for the day. She'd dress in your tunic and breeches and take your sword training, and you - "

"Would sit in her Septa's lessons," He finished for her and she raised an eyebrow.

"Wearing?"

"Her dresses," She roared with laughter as did his aunts. "It was her idea, not mine. Safe to say it stopped after I had to sit through a talk about what to expect from your first flowering,"

"I never had that," Lyanna mused after she'd stopped laughing a while after. "We didn't have a Septa, and Mother died before I was old enough to be told. I'm not sure what Father thought she'd managed to teach me by the time I was six, but I no one ever explained it to me. I was in such a panic the first time I woke up, I thought I was dying and ran to Ned's room, he was on a visit home. He didn't know what to do with me, poor boy, he was fifteen and I was eleven," She grinned. "He did explain it, though. Not very well, I went to one of the maids later, but good on him. Brandon would've laughed in my face, and told me it was a fatal condition," It was Jaime's turn to laugh at the thought of Ned Stark having that conversation.

"They talk of great lords," Darlessa said, giggling. "But no one ever knows that about the Lord of Winterfell,"

"And no one knows that the future Lord of Casterly Rock used to wear his sister's dresses," Dorna smirked, and the three women burst out laughing again, like a group of cackling witches.

*

Jaime would admit to himself that he was more worried than he had expected to be. Lyanna's labour pains had started that morning, and come nightfall she was screaming. He had gone with her to the birthing chambers, her leaning on his arm as she insisted on not being carried (her exact words had been 'I'm so fat I'll break your skinny arms'). He had gone in with her too. When the head midwife - a tall, thin but formidable woman with a hawklike face - had given him a stern look and informed him that the birthing chambers were no place for a man, he had smiled and asked which one of them proposed to keep him out. Lyanna had let out a breathy laugh at that even as she winced, screwing up her face in what must be considerable pain. The screaming had started shortly after. She cursed and swore like a sellsword, using every foul word under the sun, her imagination and knowledge impressive. Especially when cursing Jaime, which she did a lot, colourfully, and in graphic, violent detail. He didn't begrudge her any of it, and it even made the younger midwives giggle.

The worst of it was seeing her in such agony. He had seen her sad, he had seen her angry, but he had never seen her like this before, so vulnerable and pained. And he could do nothing about it. Jaime knew that birthing was a long and bloody business at the best of times, but even so, unbidden memories of the screams of his mother as she lay dying after Tyrion's birth came to the forefront of his mind. He forced those thoughts away. Lyanna was fine. She was too bloody stubborn to be killed by a baby, of all things. And neither the midwives nor the maester were acting like anything was out of the ordinary.

It was when Lyanna's eyes blearily closed and she started muttering about dying that Jaime's blood ran cold. He looked sharply at the head midwife - who was very efficient and know what she was doing if nothing else - and the woman shook her head.

"Everything is fine, milord," She said. "It's common for first time mothers to panic," But this wasn't her first time, and Lyanna wasn't one to panic, so what was going on? Then Lyanna started calling for 'Ser Oswald' and 'Ser Arthur' and Jaime realised what was happening. She'd gone back. To the last time she gave birth, delivered a child alone in a tower in a place a thousand leagues from home, whilst her three guards fought her brother and his men outside.

"You're not there," He lowered his voice and spoke into her ear, so no one could hear but her. "Remember. It's over. Lyanna. Lya," He'd heard her brother call her that once, and hoped it would calm her. Her eyes flickered open then, and she seemed to come to her senses, seeing him again. Though he'd been sat beside her on a chair the whole time, when he reached out and took her hand then, that was the first time he had touched her. He squeezed it lightly, and she let out a slightly disbelieving laugh at his uncharacteristic niceness, only to almost break every bone his hand as her face contorted in pain again and she squeezed like a vice. Jaime regretted offering the hand; at least it was his left one.

Then came the cry. Lyanna stopped screaming, her breaths coming in great gasps as the midwives hurried to wrap the red little bundle in cloths. Jaime stared at it, unsure of how to feel as the head midwife turned to him.

"You have a son, milord," She said. "A strong and healthy boy," But the birthing wasn't over yet. "Another one? Here we go," The midwife didn't even seem surprised as Lyanna let out one last agonising scream, although Jaime was surprised into silence, and another ugly, red, wrinkled little bundle was carried away.

"Twins," A younger midwife smiled broadly, a slight gap between her front teeth. "A handsome boy and a beautiful girl. Just like you and your sister, milord," Jaime stared at her dumbly, speaking without thinking.

"Gods I hope not,"

*

Lyanna was fine. Asleep, just resting. She'd been exhausted after the birth, but stayed stubbornly awake long enough to see her children. Jaime was now stood in the nursery, where his son and daughter lay in the crib that had once been his and Cersei's, then Tyrion's. So small, so young, so new, yet Jaime and his sister had once been like that and look what had happened there. He knew that what he and Cersei had was not the norm between twins - far from it - but it just seemed too much like tempting fate.

Never mind. It was too early to tell. And his children were not completely identical. Their hair was the same, both had a dark brown tuft, the same colour their mother's. And they did both take after the Lannisters in other looks. However his son's eyes were Jaime's own green, whilst his daughter's were stormy grey like Lyanna's. With their eyes shut, they were very difficult to tell apart, but Jaime hoped beyond hope that his children did not end up like him and Cersei.

It was odd, because he had never once regretted his own relationship with his sister. He didn't find it wrong, or disgusting, and couldn't care less about the Faith's teachings of sin. It had just always been Cersei and Jaime. Jaime and Cersei. They loved each other, and what was wrong or disgusting about that? Yet now he found that he never wanted that for his own children. He wouldn't be able to put it into words why, and had no desire to try, but he just didn't.

*

When the raven came two months later announcing the birth of Cersei and Robert's second child, another boy, named Joffrey, Jaime wished his sister happiness. Truly wished it. There was no residual anger or frustration or feelings of injustice anymore. He simply hoped that his sister was happy with her husband and children. That was all. She was queen now, with a strong and handsome king, that's what she always wanted. Jaime had never wanted his own wife unless it was Cersei. He hadn't wanted Casterly Rock. Hadn't wanted children. Yet now he had all three, and strangely enough he found that he didn't mind it.

He came to that realisation as he sat on the rug in front of the fire in the library, on the rug, with Lyanna and Tyrion like they had all those months ago. They were all a year older, and now there were two six month old babies with them. Lorcan, the eldest by two minutes, was sat up on his own next to Lyanna, concentrating hard as he built a tower from the dozen or so small books that Tyrion had got for him; he had plenty of proper toys in the nursery, but no one could be bothered to get them, or even have a servant bring them, and the baby didn't seem to mind. His sister, Tya, was happily the centre of attention, crawling - she'd just learnt how - in the centre of their little circle, and giggling as she rolled onto her back, making Lyanna and Tyrion laugh. She happily righted herself, only for Jaime - who was lying stretched out on his side - to prod her lightly with his toe and make her fall over again. Tyrion laughed as Lyanna smacked his foot away.

"Stop bullying the baby," She scolded.

"She likes it," He protested, and sure enough his daughter was giggling again. Lyanna couldn't help but smile.

"Strange child," She shook her head. Tya was crawling over to Lorcan, a big grin on her chubby baby face as she happily trampled her brother's tower, knocking it over. Lorcan definitely glared at her then, as much as a baby can, and he looked so like Lord Tywin in that moment that Jaime burst out laughing. Tyrion obviously saw it too, as he joined in. "What?" Lyanna asked curiously, as Lorcan leaned to push his sister over himself, making her cry out in anger, and they only laughed harder.

*

She'd been wanting to go back for years, Jaime knew. The twins would stay behind, one year old was far too young to be travelling such a distance, especially in autumn. Jaime tried to point out that travelling for anyone in the North in any time but summer was a mistake, but he didn't try too hard to convince her. Lyanna hadn't been home for almost four years, since she set off to Riverrun for her brother's ill-fated wedding to Catelyn Tully.

It was with a small party of guards that Jaime and Lyanna left Casterly Rock, riding north at good pace through the Westerlands, into the Riverlands. The route they took meant it was necessary to use the crossing at the Twins, which Jaime regretted doing the moment they were summoned to an audience with Walder Frey, a truly repulsive old man with a wife sixty years younger than him yet who still looked Lyanna up and down when they entered.

"Ser Jaime Lannister and his wife, Lady Lyanna," The herald announced.

"You've grown up a bit," Frey wheezed, ignoring Jaime in favour of his wife. "Last time you passed through here you were a slip of a girl. Though that didn't stop the Dragon Prince from... heh," He wisely reconsidered saying it from the looks on both their faces, but his laugh was suggestive enough. For moment it seemed like Lyanna would draw her sword on him - she insisted on carrying one at her hip when they travelled, which Jaime thought was fair enough - and Jaime felt like doing the same, but she restrained herself and merely settled for a look of loathing.

"We want to cross your bridge," She said bluntly. "Let us through. We won't be staying the night,"

"And what will you give me for letting you use my bridge?" Frey asked. Jaime raised an eyebrow. He wouldn't dare have tried that if it was Lord Tywin asking. But then again, Lord Tywin never asked. He ordered. "You have a daughter, do you not? Surely to grow as fine as her mother, or even better, her aunt. Heh," Lyanna bristled. "Betroth her to one of my sons - I have many - and you can cross," Jaime didn't know what Frey thought he was doing. Tywin Lannister still deeply resented the fact his sister Genna had been married off to a Frey, a second son at that. Lord Walder was playing a dangerous game that he had no hope of winning. Jaime opened his mouth, but Lyanna beat him to it.

"You arrogant, decrepit old lecher," Her eyes flashed dangerously, and she stepped closer, looking every bit the wild wolf of Winterfell. And all her claws were out. "The day I let my daughter marry one of your weasel-faced brood is the day hell freezes over. How dare you stand before Houses Stark and Lannister and insult us by asking for my daughter in exchange for a bridge? I would never even let my daughter near this castle, let alone allow let any of the filthy, scraping rats you call family lay a finger on her. Now, if you do not let us cross this minute I will ensure that the fury of the North unleashes hell upon you and your home, and that the Rains of fucking Castamere play over the smoking ruins,"

There was a long, heavy silence. Jaime turned to the old lord with a grin. She'd said everything he was thinking. 

"Let them cross," Walder Frey ground out, resentment and hatred clear in his voice. He could not do anything else, because no one even considered that Lyanna was making empty threats. His father would be furious to hear of Frey's disrespect to the Lannisters and wouldn't hesitate before following up on it. And though he didn't believe Eddard Stark was a violent man - though given his reputation, Frey might - any attempt to keep his sister from going home would surely not be met well.

Jaime smirked as they crossed the bridge as perhaps the first people who didn't have to pay a toll.

"You're something else," He turned to her where she rode on her grey destrier. She grinned.

"I haven't told anyone off like that in years,"

"Enjoy it?"

"Gods, yes,"

*

Winterfell was a grey and grim castle, vast and sprawling and undoubtedly ancient. It stood in the wild and bleak moors and mountains of the North, the slightly foreboding Wolfswood on one side, yet the frozen land had a certain beauty to it, as did the castle. Strangely enough, the castle itself was not cold, and Lyanna eagerly explained about the hot springs under the castle that were pumped through the walls.

They had scarcely ridden through the gates before she had jumped off her horse and run into the arms of Ned Stark. Then she had thrown herself at a long faced, dark haired boy of perhaps thirteen - that must be her younger brother Benjen - for even longer; they hadn't seen each other since before the rebellion. She had greeted Lady Catelyn politely, seeming a little unnerved to see the beautiful woman standing beside her second brother big with child - it had been Brandon Stark the woman was meant to wed, not Eddard - but smiled warmly nonetheless and waved at the little boy stood beside her, who was introduced as Robb. The child grinned broadly at her, asking if she was Aunt Lyanna.

Jaime had hung back a little whilst she greeted her family, but Lyanna dragged him forward. The greeting between himself and Lord Stark was cold - the man disliked him for killing Aerys and Jaime disliked him in turn - but he made sure to smile charmingly at Lady Catelyn as Stark glowered beside her. The young Benjen clearly shared his brother's distaste for him, but little Robb eagerly asked him if he was a real knight. Jaime laughed and said he tried to be.

Then Lyanna saw the other little boy, hiding slightly behind Lord Stark's legs. Everyone quietened, even Robb. Catelyn was watching Lyanna with a sad smile, but Eddard and Benjen were watching Jaime even as Lord Stark nudged the boy forward.

"Here you go, Jon," He said encouragingly and surprisingly softly. "That's your mother, there. Go over and meet her," The boy stepped forward, and gods, there was no trace of Targaryen at all in him. He looked more Stark than Robb, and that had probably saved his life, for had he been silver haired and lilac eyed - had he looked like Rhaegar's son - Robert certainly would have been far less forgiving. His face was long and solemn even at two, his hair was the same colour as the twins' and fell to his shoulders, and his eyes were the same shade as Lyanna's.

"Hello Jon," Lyanna smiled, her tone gentle as she knelt in the snow and held out her arms. There was a pause, but then the boy flung himself towards her, wrapping his little arms around her neck, and she took him in her own, hugging him tightly like she'd never let go. She tried to hide the tears streaming down her face, but Jaime saw them anyway, as she murmured into her son's ear.

They stayed in Winterfell for two months. Lyanna would've stayed longer if she hadn't been missing the twins. As it was, she spent as much time as possible with Jon before they had to go. Jaime laughed to see her with him and Robb in the yard, training with sticks they'd found in the Godswood (an unnerving place that set Jaime on edge, even though all the Starks seemed perfectly at home there).

"You're teaching them wrong," He sauntered up to her, and she looked up, rolling her eyes.

"Here we go," She said to the children and Benjen, who was watching. "And what does the great Ser Jaime Lannister think the two year olds should be doing better?"

"Nothing," He said. "It's you. You're teaching them how I taught you, which is how to fight someone bigger than you. Because let's face it, anyone you'll ever have to fight will be," She made to hit him with her stick, but he caught it and pulled it out of her grasp. She stuck out her tongue as he grinned.

"You taught her to fight?" Benjen Stark asked, disbelieving.

"Teaching," Jaime said mildly; the younger Stark hadn't ever been openly rude towards him, but his dislike of Lannisters was evident. "It's a work in progress. She's not very good," Without warning, he made a slash at Lyanna with the makeshift sword, seeing that she'd picked up another stick, and grinning when she yelped in surprise but got the stick up in time to parry. He considered her for a moment, moving in a circle around her. "Though she is getting better," He lunged again, slashing once, twice, three times, and she blocked them all. Then she attacked him and the fight began in earnest. Lyanna was lasting longer against him now, she was far better than she had been a year ago, but it was always only a matter of time before he beat her. When he flicked the stick out of her hand, she did what she hadn't done in a while and leapt at him, using her whole bodyweight to try and force his sword arm down. They stood frozen for a moment - his arm wasn't moving and she wasn't giving up - and looked up at him and he looked down at her, grinning challengingly. Jaime let her try for a time then put her out of her misery and hooked his leg around hers, taking them out from under her but catching her just before she hit the floor. They remained like that for a moment, Lyanna glaring at him, him grinning unapologetically, before he let her go and she fell with a thump the remaining short distance to the ground. The sounds of children giggling made both of them remember that they weren't alone.

"Jaime!" She was on her feet in an instant, marching furiously over. He just laughed at her, catching both her wrists as she moved to hit him and pulling her close, kissing her quickly. Little things like that, kissing her in public without caring who saw, was something he'd never had before. 

They broke apart to see Benjen looking at them, so incredulous and disgusted that Jaime might as well have been kissing Cersei.

*

He had known his wife was physically pleasing since he saw her. Known that her face was fair enough, her body was slim but quite curvaceous and, on occasion, thought she had nice eyes. In all honesty, he hadn't ever really thought about her looks. In the beginning, he wouldn't have paid any more or less attention to her if she'd been gorgeous or looked like a troll; she wasn't Cersei, and anything but Cersei was all irrelevant to him. Cersei was beauty itself, the Light of the West, as dazzling as the sun. Who could even begin to compare? Certainly not a dark haired Northern girl, cold and damaged. Of course, things had changed. Jaime had changed. Distance from his sister, a fresh perspective, had helped him see things clearer. He loved Cersei, he always had and probably always would. She was his sister. He would've loved her as more than a sister forever, if she'd let him. 

But she hadn't. And now he had Lyanna. When he and his wife had started to get close - actually acting like they were married, rather than tentative, if unlikely, friends - the attraction between them hadn't ever been about looks, more the fact that they were both just there and wanted someone to share a bed with. Then after that... he hadn't really thought about it. The point was, though he had noticed Lyanna was hardly unattractive, he had never paid much attention to her looks. He hadn't had to.

It was only now that he fully appreciated for the first time how truly beautiful she was.

It was a strange moment to realise it. Honestly, in that moment his thoughts should have been about anything but how lovely his wife looked. Anger, fear, panic. That would all come later. Right now, all he could do was stare.

He'd felt it in his gut that returning to King's Landing would not end well, even though they had no choice but to obey his father's request for a visit; Lord Tywin was, as predicted, Hand of the King by now, Jon Arryn having returned to the Vale with his wife to get an heir on her. Lyanna had been annoyed at having to leave Lorcan and Tya again, but the twins were still too young to travel such a distance. And Robert had been bad enough last time, acting like a spoilt child who had his favourite toy taken from him and given second-rate replacement. 

This time, he seemed to have gotten over that anger and resentment, which both Jaime and Lyanna would've thought would be cause for celebration, but after a week or two in the Red Keep they were longing for its return. Robert was even more raucous and rowdy, getting drunk at every meal and groping at the serving wenches. It would've been bad enough, for king to be embarrassing himself and Cersei - and by extension the Lannisters - in public like that, if his drunkness hadn't also come with countless highly inappropriate comments made towards Lyanna, in front of large audiences. 

Jaime had never imagined that he would feel protective over Lyanna - in the beginning he simply didn't care, and now he knew she could more than take care of herself - but the king's comments started making his blood boil simply because of the reaction they caused from his wife. He'd heard comments like that be directed at her before, made in jest by other men, and she always carelessly laughed them off, giving twice as good as she got. Robert, however, went further than that. It wasn't quite lighthearted enough to laugh off, and Lyanna merely smiled blandly whenever it happened, her eyes going blank, her mouth completely silent, her body completely still. It was like when they were first married. It didn't suit her any more now than it had then. Not at all.

Then there was the feast, held a week before Jaime and Lyanna were meant to return to Casterly Rock, to celebrate the arrival of Lord Whatshisface from Who-Knows Where. Robert loved any excuse for a feast. The king had been particularly bad that night, kissing Lyanna's hand far too long to be decent and practically undressing her with his eyes all night, not even bothering to hide it. Therefore, Jaime did not protest when Lyanna muttered to him that she was going back to their chambers slightly earlier than normal. As she walked out the hall, Jaime realised with a jolt that all had gone oddly quiet from the middle of the table. Cersei was still sat there, looking as beautiful and sour as ever as she hissed some complaint to their father, but more importantly she was sat there alone. Robert, where was Robert?

It may have been an irrational conclusion to jump to, but Jaime immediately feared the worst. No way would the king leave a feast early without a good reason. He got to his feet, ignoring the questions of those around him, and quickly left the hall, hand on his sword hilt. He wasn't exactly sure what he was thinking. Even Robert wouldn't be that stupid. He was a womaniser, yes, a drunk, yes, but a rapist? Jaime doubted it. And Lady Stark too, his best friend's sister, he wouldn't, he couldn't -

"Get your dirty hands off me," Shit. He'd recognise that voice anywhere. Jaime ran around the corner, to see the great hulking form of Robert Baratheon stood there as a small figure advanced on him, hand raised. He was just in time to see Lyanna slap the king fully round the face, the sound making Jaime want to wince from experience, but on this occasion he smirked. 

He should be feeling angry. His wife's hair was messed up, her dress was askew and she'd evidently just been backed into a wall against her will by a man three times her size. He should be afraid, that his wife technically attacked the king, for which the penalty was death. But in that moment, he couldn't help but notice that she looked truly beautiful. Her hair was a wild mane around her long, pale face. Her eyes were alive with ice and fire, stormy grey and dangerous. She moved like a wolf advancing on its prey; a rather large prey for such a small wolf, admittedly, but that made the scene even better. 

"Get it in your stupid, fat lump of a head," Lyanna was seething. "I never wanted to marry you. The thought of your hands on me makes me sick," The king was actually backing away. The Demon of the Trident, backing away from an angry woman of barely five foot four. "It you dare even think about laying a finger on me again, king or no king, I will take that finger, hack it off with a rusty spoon and shove it so far up your royal arse you won't ever shit the same again," Jaime couldn't help it. He snorted, loudly, catching both of their attention. Robert glared, furious and red faced already, Jaime's presence only making it worse. Lyanna looked over, eyes flashing, breathing heavily.

"You're incredible," Jaime clapped his hands slowly at his wife, grinning widely. "Completely mad, but incredible," Lyanna's furious expression faltered, and her lips twitched.

"You're a bit late," She said.

"Like you needed me," Jaime shot a mocking glance at Robert. "I'm just glad I got to see the show,"

"Fuck off, Kingslayer," Robert grunted. It probably wasn't wise to piss off one of the deadliest warriors in the kingdoms, especially as that man had the power to behead him on a whim, but Jaime was beyond even that. The use of the name Kingslayer snapped something in him, and the grin abruptly fell from his face. Fuck it, he was one of the deadliest warriors in the kingdom. And he hadn't earned the name Kingslayer for nothing.

"I'm sure Ned Stark would love to hear of the hospitality you treat his beloved sister with," He looked at the man, suddenly sharp and threatening. Robert riled at the threat, but Jaime didn't back down. "You know, Ned, your old friend, the man who fought a rebellion to save the same sister from the last brute to rape her," Robert looked ready to hit him with the same force as his last blow on Rhaegar Targaryen, his worst and clearly still very much hated enemy who he very obviously loathed being compared to, but then Lyanna stepped between them and the king's face fell.

"Lyanna, I didn't mean - " He tried, but one look from her was all it took to stop him. It was pathetic really. The woman was looking for a fight. If it was Jaime she was arguing with they'd both be fighting on the floor by now.

"He always said he didn't mean it," She gave him a look of purest disdain, and the king flinched like he'd been struck. "Like that made it any less of a torment," She glanced at Jaime, then back to Robert. "We're leaving. Back to Casterly Rock, tomorrow. As early as possible. I can't stay here with you. Now, if you'll excuse me," She grinned wolfishly. "I'm going to fuck my husband. Goodnight, your Grace," She took Jaime's arm and lead him towards their rooms, not looking back once at the heartbroken, humiliated and furious face of Robert Baratheon stood alone in the hall.

Jaime did look back. Met the king's eyes, raised his eyebrow and smirked his most deliberately infuriating smirk, as the door closed behind them. There might be hell to pay in the morning, but, for now, that didn't matter. He turned, only for Lyanna to throw her arms around him and try to bury her face in his chest. His smirk fell and he held her, hand in his hair, the other round her waist. The encounter had upset her. Jaime had seen it, even if others wouldn't have. Upset at being reminded of the worst years of her life. Anger, at being treated like property, like anyone had the right to her. Embarrassed, for letting it happen again. She was wild, she was ferocious, she was strong, but she was also human.

"I did mean that," He murmured into her hair.

"What?" She looked up at him, grey eyes rather bright.

"You are incredible," She rolled her eyes and hit him lightly, but smiled nonetheless. He smiled too. "Honestly. I know we don't do compliments, but this has to be an exception. What you said about his finger... I'll treasure the look on his face forever," She chuckled then, and he grinned. They just looked at each other for a moment, a long moment, then she buried her head in his chest again and he held her tight. "You're beautiful," He spoke into her hair again, so quiet even he could barely hear it. She heard it, and he felt her squeeze a little tighter in acknowledgement. There was a pause.

"You're not bad yourself," She murmured, and he laughed at the hint of mocking, feeling her smirking against his chest. It wasn't I love you - it might never be I love you - but it was enough for both of them. They'd gone from strangers to husband and wife, then husband and wife to friends, who then became lovers as well. Then after that, well. Neither of them quite knew what they were now. That was their relationship. Hard to explain. He hadn't told her about Cersei, or Aerys, and there was definitely something she wasn't telling him about Rhaegar Targaryen. What that might be, he had no idea, but there was something, of that he was sure. In all honesty, he didn't really want to know. And she certainly didn't want to know about him and Cersei. Jaime was happy like this. Happy to settle for friends.

"Careful," He said sarcastically. "I might blush," She chuckled at that, and he felt the vibrations through his chest. He found himself smiling. In this cruel, hard, generally shit world, at least they could still laugh.

 

Notes:

I want to do a second part to this. I've thought out their entire lives together (they have three more children for a start, and Lorcan and Tya grow up to be quite interesting characters). I also wanted them to open up to each other about Cersei and Rhaegar - that wasn't really the point of this part, the point is that it's not a perfect, loving relationship - but it's just finding the time to write it. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading and all the kudos/comments.

Chapter 2: Part II

"Why did you kill Aerys Targaryen?" Jaime raised his eyebrow at his wife, having been halfway through taking a long, needed swig of water after coming in from training all morning. He made a point of ignoring her, finishing his drink - for longer than necessary - before turning to face her. She stood with her arms folded, unimpressed at his pettiness. Like she wasn't just as bad. She was a mother of three, soon to be four, and yet the previous day she had thrown her sewing at him in a fit of petulant rage; he'd pointed out that she would scold Tya for acting like that, and laughed when she scowled, so he wasn't much better. 

Needless to say, Lyanna hated being pregnant again, and acted like it was all Jaime's fault. It takes two, little wife, it takes two. And I didn't hear you complaining at the time.

"Ask your brother," He didn't want to explain himself, not now and not to her. They'd been married three years without this matter being discussed, and Jaime fully intended for it to stay that way.

"I don't need Ned to tell me to know you're a glory-seeking, arrogant arse," Lyanna said, in typical delicate fashion. "Again," Jaime smirked.

"You forgot oathbreaking, traitorous cunt who deserves to rot at the Wall," Lyanna snorted.

"Don't be unfair," She said. "Ned has never called you a cunt," Despite himself, he laughed, heading back inside. Of course she went with him. She was irritating like that. 

"Why are you here, anyway?" He asked, nodding to the servants who muttered 'milord' and 'milady' as they passed. "I know you're not welcome back in the sewing circle after your tantrum yesterday, congratulations on that,"

"It was a mutual agreement," Lyanna shrugged. "Dorna thought it best for everyone. Apparently I scared that visiting Marbrand girl, Darlessa's niece. I'm glad, I despise sewing,"

"Only now you've realised there's nothing else to do, hence why you're trailing after me like a lost pup," She glared at him, a look which anyone else would've stepped back from. Jaime just grinned, knowing he was right. 

"You still didn't answer my question," He stopped in the empty corridor and turned to face her, making sure to use his own height and her lack of it to his full advantage and look down at her.

"I'll answer that question when you tell me what you've been hiding about Rhaegar Targaryen," Because she was hiding something, he knew that much. Things weren't quite right about the story she offered. Jaime didn't even particularly want to know, but it served its purpose. Lyanna seemed taken aback by his rather sly move.

"Fuck you," She soon recovered. He smiled grimly as they began to walk again. "I'd have expected that from Cersei, or even Tyrion. Not you,"

"I'm not as lackwitted as my sweet sister likes to think,"

"No," Lyanna frowned slightly, even though he meant it in jest. "I don't think you are," At her rather odd comment - which noticeably lacked any of her usual bite - he took the chance whilst she was distracted to change the subject.

"Where are the twins?"

"Lorcan's with your brother," She said. "Tyrion seems to think he's teaching him to read already. The child's only two, I told him it was impossible,"

"Tyrion learnt at three," Jaime shrugged, although he had to admit his brother was a rarity.

"What about you?" Lyanna grinned. She knew that he didn't enjoy reading, and often liked to point out that his handwriting and understanding of grammar was scarcely better than a child's.

"Ten, maybe eleven," He said with a grin, and she laughed loudly. "I think it's safe to say I spent more time in the practice yard than with the Maester. Father made me learn in the end, he taught me himself. Which was... pleasant," He pulled a face. Lyanna was silent for a moment.

"I used to be afraid of horses," She said, and he looked at her with disbelief. "I know. I was very small, only five, but I'd seen a stable boy get kicked in the face, and when Brandon found out I was scared he traumatised me even more by picking me up from horseback and galloping off, with me kicking and screaming. He found it hilarious, and I suppose it must've been, but I was furious at the time. Ned actually taught me first. He made me sit in front of him on his horse, and we just walked through the Wolfswood. Then he gave me the reins and let me steer. Soon I was outriding them all," Jaime smiled wryly.

"My father sat me down in front of his desk and made me read his letters," He said. "Three hours a day, pointing out exactly what I was doing wrong. The letters never stayed still on the page, I could never make sense of them, and the Maester said he couldn't change that. But he made me learn anyway,"

"Lovely man, your father," Jaime hummed in agreement and they fell into silence.

"What about Tya?" He asked. Lyanna grinned.

"She pushed Lancel over, so Dorna sent her to her room without lunch," Jaime snorted.

"The little shit probably deserved it," His cousin Lancel was a whingy, rather spoilt child. He didn't know how his strict Aunt Dorna could tolerate it. She certainly hadn't put up with any nonsense from him or Cersei when they were younger, despite only being ten or so years older than them. And Cersei aged twelve was considerably more formidable than Lancel.

"He took her sword," Uncle Gerion had given Tya her most treasured possession for her second birthday a few months ago, a little wooden sword. It had been intended as a joke, and would probably have ended up going to Lorcan when Tya lost interest, but the little girl never did, and rarely let it out of her sight. Let alone let her cousin steal it.

"She really is your daughter," Jaime said. "Pushing around boys twice her size,"

"Let's hope she's more yours," Lyanna laughed, and he grimaced.

"I'm not so sure," He muttered. Lorcan and Tya were almost exact opposites in personality - his son was fairly quiet, careful and calm, though rather demanding, whereas his daughter was brash, dauntless and full of energy - but they were already rather too attached to each other. One of the few times Lorcan had gotten into trouble was hitting and kicking the young son of a visiting bannerman after the child had pushed Tya over. And Tya was always delighted to be with her brother, hugging him and climbing all over him; Lorcan wasn't likely to tolerate that from anyone else, but did with his twin. Jaime had made sure his children had separate rooms since they were old enough to walk. If anyone had found his insistence odd, they said nothing, although he got several knowing looks from Tyrion. 

"What was that?" Lyanna asked. He shook his head, telling her not to worry.

*

Jaime had never been a religious man, but he was prepared to get down on his knees and offer eternal gratitude to the Seven, the Old Gods and whatever deity existed that his father was on the other side of Westeros when he found Tyrion three weeks after the boy had gone missing. He couldn't believe his little brother had been quite so stupid as to marry the crofter's girl they had saved on the road, yet couldn't say a word about it because he himself knew plenty about loving the wrong person. 

He also couldn't believe that it had come to this, sneaking through his own castle in the dead of night like a criminal, smuggling the peasant girl into Casterly Rock without being seen by anyone who would report to his father. The three of them were soaked after riding since evening in the pouring rain, and left a trail of drips of water onto the floor. Both the children - for children was what they were, no matter how much older Tyrion pretended to be - were shivering. His brother had given the girl his cloak, Jaime noticed.

"Finally," He muttered as they emerged from the secret passage - one of many that littered the Rock, he and Cersei had spent their childhood exploring them - and into his chambers. His and Lyanna's chambers, they might as well be called, for she rarely slept in her own room even if it was the next one along, with an adjoining door. The girl, Tysha, let out a small squeak as the pale figure in the bed sat bolt upright at the sound of intruders, vigilant as ever. Before his wife could reach the dagger he knew she kept tucked under the mattress, Jaime had grabbed her and clamped his hand over her mouth to stop her calling the guards. She struggled furiously, and he quickly hissed into her ear. "It's me, you idiot, be quiet," She stopped, and he let her go. She glared at him, rubbing her heavily pregnant belly irritably as he lit the candles.

"What the fuck are you doing?" She then noticed Tyrion stood there. "Tyrion!" She exclaimed in surprise, having been worried for the boy these past weeks. "He found you, thank the Gods," Her eyes moved onto Tysha and narrowed. "Who's that?" Jaime smiled humourlessly.

"Tyrion?" He turned to his thirteen year old brother with a mocking tone.

"She's my wife," The boy at least had the grace to look a little abashed under Lyanna's stare. When Jaime had found them in that little cottage and told him he had to return home, Tyrion had been nothing but defiant and decidedly sulky. As Jaime had gone alone, not wanting to take any risk of this getting found out after the Septon who had married the pair came crawling to Casterly Rock to confess for fear of Lord Tywin's retribution, he had had to talk Tyrion into coming with him. That conversation had taken far too long for him to be in any sort of good mood now.

"Your wife?" Lyanna's eyes widened, and she turn to Jaime. "The crofter's daughter from the road?" He nodded, and she looked at Tyrion and the girl, getting out of bed, not caring she wore nothing but a nightgown. She approached Tysha, who had been looking at the floor ever since they arrived, and surveyed the girl, who was dark haired, slender and fairly pretty, though hardly a great beauty. "You're a pair of idiots," Lyanna turned to Jaime, then to Tyrion. "Smuggling her here in the middle of the night. She must be terrified," She turned to the girl. "What's your name?"

"Tysha, milady Lannister," Tysha mumbled, shifting uncomfortably and not raising her eyes. Jaime wasn't sure why she was so afraid; yes, the girl was only thirteen whilst Lyanna was nineteen, but they were both about the same height. Perhaps it was him making her anxious, as she was obviously comfortable with Tyrion. Jaime hadn't exactly gone out of his way to be friendly - he'd been a sarcastic bastard, actually, mainly for his brother's benefit - and the last time they met he had been standing over four dead bodies with a bloody sword and an exhilarated grin. 

Of course, what she overheard of the argument between him and Tyrion probably didn't help. In trying to convince his brother to come back with him, Jaime had spoken of what Lord Tywin had done to his own father's mistress, after Lord Tytos' death. Paraded the woman naked through the streets of Lannisport, forced her to confess to everyone she met that she was a whore and a thief, then exiled her for the foreseeable future. Tyrion had gone white as a sheet at that, and Tysha had looked ready to pass out. It had worked, though, and they were on the horses within ten minutes.

"Just call me Lyanna," His wife pulled a face. "I'm still not used to being Lady Lannister, even after nearly three years," She grinned. "I suppose that's you now, too, if you married the little brother. Tysha Lannister," The girl let out a strangled sort of giggle, half incredulous, half absolutely terrified. Tyrion smiled - a kinder, less cynical smile than Jaime had seen on his brother in a long time - and rubbed circles into her hand. He supposed that was meant as a comfort.

"See," The boy said. "I told you Lyanna was nice,"

"Nice?" Jaime snorted, moving to stand beside his wife. He couldn't help but notice that Tysha shrank back from him slightly. "Hardly. She doesn't hit you,"

"Fuck off," Lyanna snapped at him idly, without any real bite. Tysha's eyes widened at her language, and the faintest ghost of an uncertain smile crossed her face for a split second. "Both of you, you're not helping," She looked at Tyrion, who opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again under her glare. Lyanna was the only person Jaime knew, save perhaps their father, who could get his brother to shut up.

"I think you're forgetting whose room this is," Jaime smirked, knowing exactly how to annoy her.

"No, I'm just throwing you out of it," She said flatly. "If you want to feel useful," She looked pointedly at Tyrion. "Go to my rooms and get a dress that would fit your wife, we're about the same height. Her clothes are dripping wet," The same height they may be, but Tysha was as thin as a stick, whereas Lyanna had the curves of a woman and was lean with muscle from training, even when she wasn't pregnant. Jaime wasn't sure she possessed any clothes that would fit the girl.

"Milady, I couldn't," Tysha mumbled, mortified even as she shivered with cold. "I'm but a crofter's daughter, I can't wear a noble lady's dress,"

"Most of them are quite plain," Lyanna looked a little uneasy for the first time that night. Jaime knew she didn't like to think of herself as a lady, especially when faced with the smallfolk. "None of them fit me now, anyway, I'm too big. The green and white wool one, Tyrion, with black stockings. Jaime'll know which it is. Get a shift too, she must be soaked through,"

"Come on," Jaime grabbed his little brother's arm before he could protest anymore, pulling him through the door leading to Lyanna's chambers. He wasn't especially tactful as a rule, but knew that his wife wanted to talk alone with the girl and knew better than to go against that. He told Tyrion so, and after they found and delivered the requested dress they both sat against the door, waiting to be allowed back in.

"I love her, Jaime," Tyrion said miserably. "And more importantly, she loves me. She doesn't mind that I'm a dwarf. She doesn't want Lannister gold. She doesn't care that I'm ugly. What other woman alive could there be like that?" Jaime sighed.

"Father can't ever know," He said. "You know what he'd do to her,"

"He doesn't care what I do," Tyrion said angrily. "He'd celebrate if I ran away and was never even again. We could've stayed in that cottage, Jaime, we could've been happy,"

"If you think Father would let that happen as long as there was breath in his body," Jaime said. "You're not half as smart as I thought you were," As much as it saddened him to disillusion his brother, he was glad that Tyrion seemed to acknowledge that that was true. He knew it all along, Jaime suspected, he was too smart not to. But love made him blind and foolish, as blind and foolish as it had once made Jaime when he made a promise to his beautiful sister, as they lay together in an inn in King's Landing, her borrowed roughspun dress crumpled on the floor. He had thrown away his life to join the Kingsguard, all for her, because she was his life. That had been six years ago. Six years. He'd seen Cersei barely half a dozen times since that night at the inn. 

He thought of Lorcan, with his small smiles and quiet nature. He thought of Tya, making him lift her up and swing her round by the arms. He thought of Lyanna in the next room, talking to a girl Cersei wouldn't have given the time of day to, as their third child grew in her belly. His sister had been his life once, he decided, but she wasn't anymore. The thought was strangely liberating.

When they returned, Tysha looked a little happier. She was even smiling, albeit still quite uncertainly, as she and Lyanna sat on the end of the bed; the younger girl sat gingerly, hardly daring to touch the fine material of the blankets, even as Lyanna lounged carelessly, one leg folded under her. Tysha wore Lyanna's green and white dress, which was indeed rather plain and simple - his wife favoured her clothes that way - but was of higher quality than anything the commoner girl would have ever worn before. She didn't fill it quite like Lyanna did, but it did seem to suit her, better than her own roughspun, slightly-too-short one had. Jaime saw Tyrion thought so too.

"Tyrion," Lyanna addressed the boy. "You've got to listen to me on this. I've talked to Tysha, and we both agree that you cannot acknowledge her as your wife. No, let me finish," She cut off his hurt, angry retort. "Your father would do Gods knows what to her if he found out - and thank you Jaime, for putting the fear of the Gods in her," She gave him a weary look, and he just shrugged. "You can't let that happen. That would be selfish," Tyrion looked mutinous. "But," Lyanna continued pointedly. "If we arranged to buy a small but comfortable house in Lannisport for her, and you were subtle about your visits... if both of you kept your heads down and never let on that she was your wife to anyone," Tyrion looked up, not daring to believe what she was suggesting. "I'm sure you could still see her whenever you wanted," 

For a moment Tyrion stood there, mouth slightly open that anyone who wasn't Jaime would be so kind to him. Then he threw his arms around Lyanna, hugging her tightly. Jaime heard him muttering 'thank you' over and over again, apologising when he squeezed her bump too hard, and couldn't help but smile slightly. He caught sight of Lyanna and Tysha sharing a glance. There was more than gratitude that the younger girl was directing there. It could have been... understanding? Jaime didn't know. He wondered what had been said when the two women were alone.

*

Damon Lannister was born two and a half years after the twins, and was far bigger at birth than his elder siblings - all three of them, according to Lyanna - making for a long and difficult labour. Jaime had stayed beside his wife the whole time, unconsciously offering his hand again, which she unconsciously took. Apparently he hadn't learned from last time; he didn't think his left hand would ever be quite the same again. Spiteful woman, no doubt feeling it necessary for him to experience pain like she was, even only some small measure of it.

"He looks like you," Jaime said, eyeing the bundle his wife held in her arms as she sat up in bed, propped up by countless cushions.

"Are we seeing the same child?" Lyanna said incredulously. "Come on, sit down here and look again," She shuffled up despite his half hearted protests that the Maester said for her not to move, and Jaime found himself sitting gingerly on the bed next to her as she handed over their son. He muttered an apology when he accidentally jarred her arm as he took the child. "I'm not made of glass," She said, and he rolled his eyes, nudging her so sharply with his elbow that she yelped in surprise and almost fell off the other side.

"That better?" He snickered as she glared, though she was biting back a smile. "He does look you," Jaime reiterated. Yes, the baby was blonde, but his eyes looked closer to grey than green, and his face was more Stark than Lannister.

"Hm," Lyanna tilted her head, peering at the baby over Jaime's arm. "I don't see it,"

*

His wife found out eventually.

Jaime had hoped she never would. In the beginning it had been a matter of practicality - he would have to keep her quiet if she found out, somehow, or gods knows the consequences - but now it was different. In the beginning he wouldn't have cared one bit about seeing the disgust and hatred in her eyes. Now, the idea hurt him more than he was willing to admit. He realised, as she stood there, that for all their exchanged insults and jokes, he didn't actually want her to think badly of him. Especially as she was meant to be leaving on a visit to Winterfell in two days.

"Your sister," Lyanna had said flatly, having entered his rooms without knocking. Somehow her bluntness was worse than yelling. "The woman you love is Cersei. You fucked your twin sister,"

"Who told you that?" For the first time since he met her, he struggled to hold her stare, but held it regardless and forced an expression of amused disbelief onto his face, acting unconcerned even as his stomach lurched. She looked on, unimpressed, seeming to see straight through him.

"Don't patronise me," She said, arms folded. "It wasn't a question. I already know,"

"You shouldn't listen to slander," He said carelessly. "You of all people should know that," He knew exactly how to make her angrier, for better or worse. Likely worse. She glared daggers at him, but unsettlingly did not rise to the bait.

"I spoke to one of your mother's old handmaids," She said. Jaime's blood ran cold but he kept his expression of mild disinterest. "She told me about when you were children. You couldn't keep away from each other,"

"We were close once, believe it or not," He said. "There weren't any other children our age then. Which, of course, means I wanted to sleep with her," The sarcasm came naturally. Jaime had spent so long lying about this that he could flick a switch in his head and it never happened.

"She said she found you kissing when you were eight," She continued, ignoring him. "Properly, not just like children playing. Your mother moved you to your own room when she found out, but then she died. After that, the maid was the only one who knew, and she kept it quiet. Of course she did, your father would have her head if he heard her suggesting anything like that about his precious golden twins. But she knew all the same. She knew Cersei would sneak to your room at night. She noticed the hidden touches, the way you acted around each other. She heard you. She saw you. You had dozens of beautiful girls falling over themselves for you, but you never showed a single interest in any of them. And when you heard that Cersei was to go to King's Landing, it just so happens you got named to the Kingsguard," His smile had been slowly falling as she spoke.

"Gods, you actually believe it," Jaime said, frowning now and feeling the falsehoods spill from his lips with well-practiced ease. If he tried hard enough, he could almost believe it himself. "This woman is likely just a disgruntled servant. Did she happen to have any proof?" Lyanna's smile was grim.

"I got proof," She said, and he didn't doubt it. Fuck. "I went to the Maester. Cersei was consistently stealing moon tea from his stores since she was twelve. He didn't tell your father for similar reasons,"

"And you immediately came to the conclusion that Cersei was sleeping with me, her twin brother?" He asked. "Not a friendly guard? A handsome hedge knight? A lucky stable boy?"

"As if your sister would lower herself like that," Lyanna snorted derisively. "What better man for her than the one she saw when she looked in a mirror," She understood Cersei well, Jaime thought bitterly. "That wasn't what convinced me from the moment I heard the words out of the maid's mouth, though," She smiled slightly sadly now. He raised an eyebrow and she continued. "Our wedding night. I promised not to call you his name, if you promised not to call me hers," His smile fell altogether.

"Yes?" He practically hissed.

"It was only once," She said, and he was getting to his feet. "It was strange at the time, but I brushed it off, thought you must've said something else, because the alternative was so ridiculous, so wrong, that it wasn't even worth considering," She stood her ground as he stalked towards her. "But I heard right. You spoke her name," Lyanna was looking up at him now, head tilted back with how close he had got. There was a moment where they just stood staring at each other, watching, waiting. Then she pulled back her lips in an unpleasant smirk. "Cersei,"

In an instant Jaime had her pinned against the wall, one hand roughly gripping her throat. He wasn't thinking, it was instinct, to protect the dirty little secret - the dangerous secret - that he had hidden his entire life. That had once been his entire life. His wife struggled with his hands, eyes flashing dangerously, but he was bigger than her, stronger, and pushed her back again. He wasn't trying to hurt her, some part at the back of his mind registered. He only wanted to make her stay, stop her running away before he had the chance to explain and telling everyone who would hear it. Of course, looking back, he was sure that those intentions didn't exactly come across in the moment. 

"That was before," He said lowly as she breathed heavily, eyes wild but stilling slightly. "Listen to me, or we're all as good as dead. That - was - before," She laughed, cold and slightly mad.

"Before what?" Lyanna taunted, looking undaunted up at him. "You fucked your sister! Whether it was before anything that doesn't make it fucking right. Before what?" She repeated again, not taunting now, angry. "Before you swore your marriage vows? Before she swore her marriage vows, to the king?" Jaime smiled humourlessly.

"I lay with my sister on the morning of her wedding," He said with vicious vindication. "I fucked the queen the morning after, when Robert had left to go hunting and she told me he called her Lyanna all night. I tried to fuck Cersei the evening before my wedding," He felt his wife stiffen under his grip, and he relished in his next words. "But she threw me out. Told me I could either have her, or my new Stark whore, as good as spat in my face. I haven't touched her since, and now find I have no desire to. Now look at me - look at me," Lyanna would hate him for this, he was vaguely aware as he forced her chin up to face him and she braced against him, with good reason. "If anyone else discovers this, anyone at all, I am dead, she is dead, the Lannister family disgraced, and where do you think Robert will look for a new wife? Jon Arryn barely saved you the first time from a life of being a trophy queen in King's Landing, a life of that man violating you every night and parading his whores in front of you during the day,"

"You don't need to threaten me," She snarled, twisting her face out of his grasp. "I know what it means if I tell anyone. I am not a child, I am not a fool and I have never been anyone's fucking trophy. If you let me speak, husband, I was going to say I had no intention of breathing a word to anyone. That I would gain nothing from seeing your head on a spike. That I have no reason to want that to happen. That you are my husband - my friend - and I would never betray a friend,"

Jaime stared blankly at her, his grip slowly loosening, before he released her altogether. Neither of them moved, standing there in a thick silence, both breathing heavily. Perhaps neither of them were that good at making their intentions known. 

"Why?" He asked after a moment. She raised an impatient eyebrow. "You've just discovered that I slept with my twin sister for most of my life. Why are you being so... rational?"

"Rational?" Lyanna scoffed slightly. "That's me all over," He suddenly, absurdly, found himself forcing back a smile. Hardly the time.

"You're about as rational as I am," He said flatly. "And I just threw you against a wall. You can see my concern," Her lips twitched.

"It's not like you done that before. Different circumstances, I'll admit," He bit his lip, but then she grinned. It was a small grin, but it was her own all the same.

She jumped slightly when he suddenly reached towards her again - Jaime ignored that for now, even as he felt a stab of something that might have been guilt - but relaxed slightly as he drew her close in a hug. He was grateful, more than grateful, and didn't have the words to show it. She was tense initially, but then he felt her arms snake around him as she returned the embrace, and was more grateful still.

"Of all the embarrassing things I've found out about you since we married..." She murmured into his shoulder, trailing off. He raised an eyebrow.

"Embarrassing?" He said a little faintly, as they broke apart. "This is hardly wearing my sister's dress to a sewing lesson,"

"You want the truth?" His wife asked, sitting down on the bed. "It's not even that she's your sister that bothers me,"

"It isn't?" He asked disbelieving.

"Well, yes, it is partly, but you can't blame me for that," Lyanna admitted wryly. "But what truly repulses me is the fact it's her. Imagining you, with that poisonous, cruel bitch of a woman... makes me feel sick,"

"I don't know what to say to that,"

"You're not meant to say anything," She said. "You're meant to shut your big mouth for once and listen. You owe me that, after I didn't scream down the whole castle about your little secret. I'll let you know now, I don't appreciate having Cersei Lannister's seconds," Jaime couldn't help it, he laughed at that. She gave him a sharp look, which softened slightly. "Come here," She said a little heavily, and he sat beside her on his bed, a reasonable distance apart until she shuffled closer and rested her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her out of habit, and they sat there in a not entirely awkward silence for a minute or so.

"I suppose it's too much to ask if you'll stay here tonight," Of course he had to ruin it, but it was worth a try. He wasn't even asking for those reasons, either. Well, mostly. Lyanna gave him a flat look.

"You lied to my face, slammed me against a wall, choked me, then told me you tried to fuck your sister on the eve of our wedding," She said. "You've got some nerve, Lannister. Better hope Ned never finds out. He'd declare war for less,"

"Fair enough," Jaime couldn't begrudge her that. "For what it's worth... sorry. I - "

"Panicked?" She suggested, smirking slightly. "I don't think I've seen you panic before. Or heard you apologise, for that matter,"

"I've never done anything that needed it," He said. "To be clear, the sorry was for strangling you. I won't apologise for Cersei," Lyanna looked hard at him for a moment.

"Fair enough," She said after a while. He raised an eyebrow, and she grinned wolfishly. "Honestly? I think I'd rather fuck Ned or Brandon than Robert," Jaime let out a bark of surprised laughter as she stood to leave.

She left for Winterfell two days later.

*

Lyanna took the twins on her visit to her old home, deeming them old enough at three to travel that far and wanting to see her bastard son Jon again; the boy would be four now. Jaime hadn't planned to go with them before, and didn't go now. He had no desire to see any other Starks, and besides his wife felt guilty for leaving Damon behind. He had pointed out that they left the twins when they were that age, and she had said some nonsense about them having each other at least. Either way, he was staying at Casterly Rock whilst his wife travelled with an escort of Lannister guards to the North. He doubted that she'd have any trouble with the Lord of the Crossing this time.

He knew her visit to her childhood home was not a result of what she had discovered about him and Cersei - it had been planned long before that - but he suspected that she was at least partly glad to have some time away. Lyanna had acted mostly the same as normal towards him in the two days after the revelation, but Jaime had caught her eyeing him when she thought he wasn't looking, and whenever Cersei's name was mentioned by anyone she tended to exhibit some form of reaction like looking up sharply, or glowering at nothing in particular. Though they had shared a bed, they hadn't shared a bed, and he had even caught her with suspiciously red eyes after she left the Godswood the night before her departure, though he couldn't say if that was related to this particular issue or not.

This was probably the longest time they'd been apart since they were married. Jaime had been away for a week or two at a time before - visiting bannermen, going after bandits, sorting out land disputes (he had to admit his unsavoury reputation as the Kingslayer certainly helped with this aspect) etcetera - but Lyanna had always been back at the Rock, or within a day or two's ride if she was visiting one of her friends, various other women of the Westerlands. Now she was hundreds of leagues away. It wasn't that he was missing her. She drove him mad sometimes, and he knew he did the same to her. It was nice to have the whole bed to himself, without his fidgety wife wriggling and tossing and turning, constantly, all night, beside him. It was pleasant to be able to train with the men without getting heckled - often in a highly insulting and/or inappropriate manner - by Lyanna as she watched. He also enjoyed not being outdone by his wife when he rode a horse, and not always having the windows open letting in freezing air from outside.

But as the weeks without her dragged on, Jaime did have to admit that he was bored. He did not miss her, but he did find himself missing having to come up with creative insults to hit back at her with. And even though she wasn't the best swordsman, she was fun to fight with, and he even had to acknowledge that he enjoyed teaching her; especially, but not necessarily, when fighting turned into another kind of physical activity. More than once, at a dull meeting with another dull lord, he found himself turning to his right mutter a sarcastic comment to a woman who wasn't there. He hadn't appreciated how boring everyone else was when she wasn't there with him.

He did miss the twins, he'd admit that. He missed being amazed that Lorcan was beginning to understand letters, missed Tya's antics, missed seeing more and more of himself and Lyanna in them every day. He missed his son's small smiles and his daughter's wide grins. He missed taking them riding, showing them the secrets of the Rock, laughing with Lyanna as they watched their children.

Fuck it, he missed his wife.

It wasn't that he loved her. Not in a Florian and Jonquil kind of way. Not in a Jaime and Cersei kind of way either. Jaime was having to acknowledge that he cared for her, but in a way she acted more like a sister than Cersei ever did, with the benefit of not actually being a blood relative, which had to be a good thing, didn't it? They antagonised each other, they amused each other, they fought, they laughed. And they loved their children.

Jaime received a letter from Winterfell, six weeks after Lyanna had left. She hadn't written at all before then, but they were never in the habit of writing to each other, both of them not having the patience for it. Her letter now was short and simple. She was pregnant again. Despite himself, Jaime smiled at that. It also said she was travelling back to Casterly Rock now, before she got too fat to ride a horse, so not to reply as she wouldn't get it. He had to laugh at her eloquent wording. She finished by saying that the twins missed him.

He was there to meet her in the courtyard when the party arrived in the early evening. Though clearly weary from the long time on the road, Lyanna's eyes were still bright and she dismounted without assistance, lifting down Lorcan who rode in front of her, whilst Tya rode with one of the guards, both too young to have their own horses. The twins were both tired too, but Tya ran up to embrace Jaime, with Lorcan following at a calmer pace. His daughter began talking eagerly about her cousins, her half brother Jon Snow, the Wolfswood, the crypts, the First Keep, the Broken Tower, as Lyanna approached after giving her horse to a stable hand.

"Hello," She smiled at him, and Jaime straightened up from the children, smiling back at her, both a little hesitant but not willing to admit it. His wife turned to the nursemaid, instructing the woman to make sure the twins had baths and got clean clothes before bed. The children went, though Tya protested at first. Then it was just the two of them.

"How was Winterfell?" Jaime asked.

"Good," She nodded. This was strange. Far too nice for either of them. They'd never bothered with niceties, not even when they were strangers. "How was... here?"

"Dull," He said bluntly. "Boring. Monotonous. Take your pick," Lyanna smirked slightly as they walked inside.

"Well if you insist on staying at home to take care of the baby..." Jaime looked down at her with a raised eyebrow.

"I could say many things to that," He said. Lyanna laughed, grabbing onto his arm like she often did. His grin grew when she didn't let go. This was better. More natural, more like them.

"Why don't you?"

"This is the first time I've seen you since I learned you're pregnant with another one of my children," He said. "I have to be at least polite, don't I?"

"Polite?" His wife pulled a face. "Now that's boring. But you can't even claim to be polite, Jaime. Don't think I haven't noticed where we're going," Jaime took a split second to realise that they were walking to their bedchamber.

"Would you believe me if I said that wasn't intentional?" He asked.

"If that was true," She was grinning her wolffish grin. "I'd be very disappointed,"

Needless to say they didn't waste any time getting to their chambers, nor once they were there. They'd barely kicked the door shut before her lips were on his. As to the rest, they didn't even make it to the bed.

A while - a long while - later, they were both sat on the edge of the bed, Lyanna leaning her head against Jaime's shoulder, his arm around her.

"I forgave you, you know," She murmured. "I forgave you the day I heard it, even though there was nothing to forgive, not really. I mean, you never broke your vows to me. And even if you had, I could barely stand to look at you when we were first married so I doubt it truly mattered anyway," Lyanna broke off. "I forgive you," She repeated again, quieter, sounding a little... he didn't know. He just squeezed her waist, pulling her closer to him. There was a pause. "Especially after the welcome you just gave me," Jaime looked at her, and she looked at him. Her lips twitched. And then she started to laugh, and her laugh was so contagious that he couldn't help but grin with her.

*

It was just over a year after the birth of Damon that they welcomed their fourth child, a daughter named Alarra, a Northern name for a Northern girl. Despite her green eyes and golden hair, her long face was entirely Stark, unlike Damon - who held a mix of Stark and Lannister features - and the twins - who were all Lannister apart from their dark hair and Tya's grey eyes. She cried the least of all their children, and Jaime was often unnerved to see the solemn look of Eddard Stark on the face of his infant daughter.

"Tya," Jaime smirked as his eldest daughter - now almost four years old - jumped out of her skin, whirling around to face him where he stood at the door to the nursery. She was stood on a haphazard pile of cushions, on her tiptoes peering into Alarra's crib, and as the pile wobbled at the sudden movement she leapt, catlike, to the floor ahead of it all falling down.

"I'm not doing anything troublesome," The little girl said immediately, getting to her feet. Jaime snorted at her echoing the words of her Aunt Dorna. "Letty said I could go," Jaime knew her nursemaid had not let her go, as the poor woman had come running to him terrified that she'd lost little Lady Lannister.

"You're always up to something troublesome," He said, easily picking her up and resting her on his hip, moving closer to the crib so she could see Alarra properly. She grinned, reaching out to run a hand through her sister's blonde hair, already growing in thick tufts.

"She looks like Mother,"

"She does," Jaime agreed.

"Who do I look like?" She tilted her head to one side, curious.

"Lorcan," Jaime couldn't help but grin at her glare. "But with longer hair,"

"I know that," She said impatiently. "I meant you or Mother,"

"You look like me, apart from your eyes and hair," He said. She pulled a face, and he laughed aloud. "What, that's not good enough for you?"

"If I look like you, that means I look like Queen Cersei," Tya pouted. "You're twins, and everyone says you look the same,"

"Why don't you want to look like Cersei?" Jaime asked - whatever else his sister was, it couldn't be denied she was one of the most beautiful women in Westeros - then paused. "Has your mother told you she's fat and ugly?" He wouldn't put it past her. Lyanna had had a strong dislike for his sister even before she found out their past.

"No, that's what Uncle Tyrion said," Tya said in perfect seriousness. "But I don't care about that. I like Uncle Tyrion, and he's ugly. But I know Mother doesn't like Cersei. What if she doesn't like me?"

"She won't not like you just because you look like my sister," Jaime said, amazed at the child's logic. "She likes me well enough, doesn't she?" Enough to make you and your siblings, anyway.

"Sometimes," Tya said doubtfully, and he had to laugh.

*

Jaime was sparring in the courtyard with Uncle Gerion - Damon eagerly watching them - when he heard the alarm bell sound from the tallest watchtower of the Rock. In answer to it, the bells of Lannisport began to dolefully toll in the distance, creating a dreadful, foreboding chorus. Immediately he scooped his young son up onto his hip and hastened to find out what had happened; he only remembered those bells tolling once in his life, and that was the day Joanna Lannister died. It needed no explanation, however, when he looked out towards the Sunset Sea and saw the countless longships with the black and gold kraken of House Greyjoy boldly emblazoned on the sails. The Iron Fleet, heading straight for Lannisport.

"Has Greyjoy got a death wish?" He asked in disbelief as he stared out to sea, raising his voice as men began to shout their shock all across the battlements. It appeared the man did, for Lord Tywin had destroyed men for far less than a brazen attack on the largest city of the Westerlands, scarcely an hour's ride from Casterly Rock itself. But that did not solve their current problem. However much Greyjoy would regret this, that would not stop the raid from happening. It was a low move, attacking an unprepared city, out of nowhere. He knew there had been mutterings from the Iron Islands for a while, but even his father's spies and informants had not let on that anything of this magnitude was coming.

But there was no time to lose. He quickly began barking orders, his uncles Kevan and Tygett appearing and doing much the same, trying to gather as much of the Lannister army together as possible in the unlikely hope they would make it to aid the Lannisport city watch in time. All at the same time as trying to get into armour.

"Father," Jaime glanced down at the interruption as he felt a small hand hanging off his tunic. He saw Lorcan there, his face pale but set, rather grim for a four year old. One of the few times Jaime could see the Stark in him. "Mother's there,"

"What?" He stopped dead.

"She rode out this morning," The boy was trying to hide his worry. "To Lannisport," Jaime swore loudly.

"Change of plan," He announced loudly, making sure Uncle Kevan heard him. "I'm leaving with as many mounted guards who can be ready in the next five minutes. Lady Stark is in Lannisport," His usually mild mannered uncle swore too, albeit under his breath.

"Go," He said grimly. "Tygett, Gerion and myself will lead contingents of the main force. I'll make sure Tygett's leaves to back you up as soon as possible," Jaime didn't need telling twice. He ran to the stables, and mounted the first tacked horse he saw, along with the requested soldiers, who numbered about three dozen. Without waiting to see if the others were behind him, he dug his heels into the horse's side and galloped recklessly down the steep causeway that joined the Rock to the mainland. He had done this countless times before, knew every twist and turn, but never before with such urgency. It was made twice as risky by the frozen ground and patches of ice - it was still winter, even though it was nearing its end - but Jaime was lucky enough to have picked a surefooted horse that followed his commands at only a touch of his hands on the reins or his heels against its sides.

They were halfway to Lannisport when the first screams reached their ears, and the first spirals of smoke could be seen from the docks. The ships. As damning as the inevitable destruction of the entire Lannister fleet would be, as unbelievably furious as his father would be (no doubt he would receive a portion of the blame, too, as though he could've foreseen this), Jaime couldn't bring himself to care much at that moment. For once, woman, just keep your head down and gods sake keep your mouth shut. Lyanna didn't look like the Lady of the Casterly Rock, at least not when she rode out. She wore high quality but plain breeches, a simple cloak and tunic, and her hair would only be in a rough braid if it wasn't loose. The people loved her for it. If she was sensible, she wouldn't draw attention to herself. If she was smart, she would use her clothing to her advantage and pretend to be a commoner man, or even a fishwife. If she was afraid, she would hide, stay out of the way. But she was none of those things. She was reckless, daring and dauntless. Too much like him, he realised, knowing full well that he would die before he ran and hid whilst reavers raided the city. Cersei may look like him, but he and Lyanna shared the same instincts.

The city was chaos when they arrived. People screaming and running, some trying to fight and getting cut down by merciless Ironborn, doing their best to get their hands on anything valuable in sight. The city watch were doing their best - his father had always made sure they were well trained and highly disciplined, and Jaime had been sure to do the same - but there were far too few of them, and they had been taken completely by surprise. The sea was a raging inferno, the Lannister ships all up in flames as the smaller, swifter Ironborn longships darted in between them.

"Help them," He ordered his men. "Two of you with me. Everyone else, drive the reavers back to the sea, kill any that don't run," The others hesitated to leave him. "Go," He yelled impatiently, already riding off. He ground his teeth in frustration as the hordes of terrified, fleeing people made navigating the streets painfully slow. Not to mention that every reaver who saw him made a beeline straight for their group of three. Jaime cut through each and every one like they were butter. As concerned as he was for his wife, the song of the battlefield began to overtake his mind; the adrenaline, the rush of not knowing which second would be your last, the flash of his sword, the satisfaction of blood spurting from the wounds it made. The guard to his right had fought bravely but was dragged from his horse by three Ironborn. The one on his left was felled by an axe to the face. His blood spurted across Jaime's face, hot and wet; he realised then that in his haste he had not remembered to put on a helm. Fuck. No wonder he was an obvious target, he thought not wearing the golden armour would be enough. Jaime smiled grimly. He'd just have to make sure no one got close enough to land a blow.

He didn't wait to see what had become of the guardsmen, continuing to push through the chaos on the horse, who he had increasing respect for as the beast did not falter at a thing. Then he saw her. Her back was against a wall as she and one of her guards fought off four reavers, and Jaime had never been more glad he taught her to use a sword. She had been learning almost five years - nearly as long as they'd been married - and though she had improved greatly from the poor fighter she had been, she was only an average swordsman; she was very quick, with good reflexes, yet she was not very strong, especially compared to the brutes she fought now. She also had little more experience than a green boy, obviously never having fought any true battles before. Now, with her back against the wall, she could not move no matter how quick she might be. In a position like that, it was strength and experience that won. As one of the reavers smiled nastily, raising his sword for the killing blow - her guard had fallen seconds before - she practically snarled at him, though Jaime recognised the cornered wolf look in her eyes, wild and ferocious. In one last reckless push, she darted forward and slashed the face of the reaver that threatened her, a move she knew would leave her open and cause the others to kill her instantly in retribution, but Jaime well understood the idea of wanting to go down fighting. But then he was there, in one smooth swing of his sword opening the stomach of one Ironborn, who roared with pain and collapsed to the ground to bleed out, whilst his blade continued on to block the vicious swipe of another that surely would've split Lyanna in two. In less than a second, the man was dead, as was the last of Lyanna's attackers as she had taken advantage of the distraction and stabbed the man whilst his attention was elsewhere.

Jaime quickly pulled his wife into a narrow alleyway, slightly away from the chaos in the streets, and quickly ran his eyes over her. Her face and clothes were bloodied and dirty, and she bore several fairly minor wounds, but otherwise she was unharmed, if shaken. Only then did he allow a grin to spread over his face, let the true rush of the battle take over. She grinned a little hesitantly back, though he knew it was sincere.

"I never thought I'd be so glad to see your smug face," He laughed at her.

"Your first real combat," He said. "How did you find it, Lady Stark?"

"It was going alright until those four came along," She said. "I took down three before them, probably only because they didn't expect me to know how to use the sword," She grinned. "Bet you loved playing the gallant knight rescuing the fair maiden,"

"I see no fair maiden," He grinned. "Only a wild wolf, wearing very tight breeches," She rolled her eyes, but didn't lose her exhilarated expression.

"I enjoyed it," She said. "I understand what you meant about being in a battle. Even when I thought I was about to be cut in half by an axe-wielding madman, I have never felt more alive," He laughed aloud.

"I told them I'd ride ahead to get you," He said. "But now I'm here, I fear I am needed to help defend the city. You won't be too upset if we stay a while longer, my lady?"

"Not one bit," Her eyes glinted.

They fought side by side, back to back, for who knows how long. Jaime's own fighting was hindered slightly, as as well as dealing with his own opponents he also had to watch out for the less experienced Lyanna, but it was worth it to see the life dancing in her eyes, behind the grim Stark look of determination on her face. Jaime's own sword was singing a merry tune as he cut through man after man; whilst a life of marriage and lordship was not the monotonous misery he had expected, there was nothing quite like a fight for your life. The closest he'd got since the Rebellion was the fights he had when they rode out to deal with bandits, which was hardly the same. More and more Lannister soldiers kept arriving, as Jaime and his uncles gathered the army together, and the Ironborn were soon pushed back to their ships, any who remained lying dead in the streets. Most, however, escaped beyond the still burning ships that were all that remained of the proud Lannister fleet. 

Of course, the folly of forgetting his helmet paid its due before the day was out, as Jaime was sliced unexpectedly across the face by a particularly quick reaver's blade. It stung like hell, and the dripping blood was a nuisance, but though it would surely scar it did not feel fatally deep. He could still see, smell and taste at any rate. It was hard to tell in battle how bad your wounds were until you checked, which he had no time for. 

By evening, the raid was over, all Ironborn either dead, captured or gone, but Jaime - whilst he had enjoyed himself - was under no impression that the Lannisters had won. The Ironborn raid had gone exactly as Balon Greyjoy had planned; their ships were destroyed, their supplies looted, many guards and townspeople dead, even more wounded, robbed and terrified. Jaime made sure to speak to the people of the city himself, Lyanna beside him, just as battered and bloody as he was. The reaction to the Lady of Casterly Rock fighting alongside her husband had shocked a great many people, but few had questioned it after seeing her wild appearance and the bloody blade in her hand. The few that objected soon regretted it after the less than delicate words they received. When Jaime finished his short speech, Lyanna stood and said a few words as well, and there was a ragged, if enthusiastic, cheer from the exhausted townsfolk as they walked away. They rode back to the Rock together, Lyanna sat in front of him.

She dismounted first, only to be accosted by a dark haired blur as Tya flung herself at her, not caring for the blood, sweat and dirt. Lorcan hovered uncertainly in the background - he wasn't as giving with his affection as his twin - but when Lyanna held out her arms for him he hugged her too. Little Damon toddled up, and Jaime lifted him onto his hip, as Tyrion followed behind him.

"Glad you survived, brother," His brother said, grinning at Lyanna and the twins, though there was concern in his eyes. "Did you see - "

"She's safe," Lyanna said before he could say any more, and Jaime was glad that she at least had remembered to check on Tysha in her small house in Lannisport. Tyrion nodded gratefully, clearly relieved, then his smile twisted wryly. 

"Now, who wants to tell father?" There was an unpleasant silence.

Jaime stood in front of the mirror later that evening, fingers brushing at the wound the reaver had given him that day. Now it had been cleaned, it could clearly be seen as a livid red line, crookedly slicing from the bottom of his left cheek, across the bridge of his nose (where it was deepest), finishing dangerously close to his right eye. It certainly wasn't a grievous wound, but it would scar, and his face certainly would never be as pretty again. Cersei would've hated it; it made him look less like her. He wasn't quite sure what he felt about it himself yet.

"You know," He turned around as Lyanna slipped into his chambers, moving towards him. "That makes you look a little bit less like a delicate Southron flower,"

"You like it," Jaime accused, grinning.

"It's not bad," His wife shrugged, but her eyes betrayed her, flicking up to the wound. He laughed. Perhaps he could like the scar after all.

*

Lord Tywin's rage was something to behold. The Maester had sent a letter to King's Landing before Jaime had returned from Lannisport, warning him of the attack and that there may be heavy losses. Uncle Kevan followed up hours later with his own letter. They worryingly received no reply for days, until a rider reached them saying Lord Tywin was several days away from the Rock, with the king's army a week or so behind him and with promised help from Eddard Stark in the North. They had received reports of Ironborn raids against Seaguard, and a letter from Jason Mallister confirmed that it had been less successful than the one on Lannisport, mostly because it was not a complete surprise. Balon Greyjoy's eldest son Rodrik had been leading the attack, and had been slain by Lord Mallister's own hand. It turned out that Victarion Greyjoy had led the attack against the Westerlands, though it had been orchestrated by his brother Euron, a vicious cunt if ever there was one.

Tywin Lannister had ridden through the gates and marched to the Lord's solar without a word to anyone. Jaime and his uncles, along with several high ranking officers in the Lannister army, stood in front of his desk in silence as he ordered Uncle Kevan to explain fully what had happened the day of the raid. A tense silence fell when he finished, as Lord Tywin glowered at the table, no one daring to interrupt. His father then abruptly slammed his hands on the desk, making several men jump, and raised his head to glower at each and every one of them, before outlining exactly how they would annihilate Balon Greyjoy and every single Iron Islander that lived. They were all dismissed after that. They all went.

Jaime was the first to leave, and to his horror, he opened the door to see Lorcan stood listening outside it. He tried to conceal the boy with his legs, but Lord Tywin had already seen him.

"Everyone out," His father said in a steely voice, then turned to Jaime. "Bring the boy in here," His heart sinking, Jaime nodded to Lorcan, who slowly stepped into the room as everyone else left. Uncle Gerion gave him a sympathetic look.

"He didn't mean anything by it, Father," Jaime said, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "He's four years old,"

"I think he did," Lord Tywin looked down his nose at the little boy. "I also think he is old enough to speak up for himself," Lorcan looked up, meeting his grandfather's eyes. He had only met the man several times before, as Lord Tywin rarely left King's Landing more than once or twice a year, and even when he did visit had little time for infants; he had been satisfied with a glance over Lorcan, as the eldest son, proclaiming him healthy and barely looking at the others. "Well, boy?"

"I wanted to hear the plans," He said, a little quietly but clearly enough.

"You did?" Lord Tywin raised an eyebrow. Jaime winced, knowing that look and that foreboding tone. "And why would a child of four feel that he is entitled to know what I plan to do with my army?" Lorcan paused, but Jaime didn't think it was a nervous pause - none of his child were ever nervous - more a thoughtful one. As thoughtful as a four year old can be.

"It'll be my army one day," He said. "I wanted to hear how you did it,"  Well the boy was more accepting of his future lordship aged four than he himself was at four-and-twenty. Jaime watched as his father considered his son, who to his credit didn't shift, fidget or look away, as Jaime knew he himself had often done when fixed with that look as a child. Then Lorcan opened his mouth again, to the surprise of both men. "I saw the fires," He said. "In Lannisport. I saw the ships burning and heard everyone screaming. I wanted the Ironmen to burn instead," As the silence stretched on, the boy became visibly uneasy for the first time, looking to Jaime for guidance as his grandfather didn't say a word.

"Very well," Lord Tywin spoke in his usual controlled tone, but Jaime could almost (almost) hear a note of approval in his voice. "You may go," He spoke to Jaime as well as Lorcan, and Jaime led his son towards the door. Both of them were stopped however, by his father's voice once more. "Jaime, I never wish to hear of the Lady of Casterly Rock dressing up in in chainmail and fighting alongside her husband again. Be sure to pass that message on to your wife," She had no armour that day. Jaime nodded once to acknowledge the warning.

"Yes, my lord," Lord Tywin waved a careless hand. They both left.

*

"It isn't fair,"

"A dutiful wife would mean that in the sense that she fears for her husband," Jaime smirked as she leaned against his shoulder where they sat together on the nursery floor, legs in front of them as they leant against the wall. Baby Alarra was in Lyanna's arms. Tya was laughing, nimbly dodging away from Damon and his toddler steps as the boy tried to run after his wooden knight she had stolen. Lorcan was shakily tracing the letters Tyrion had taught him with a quill and parchment, even as he peered at his twin with a small smile. None of them paid any attention to Jaime and Lyanna.

"Oh, you'll be fine," Lyanna said carelessly and he laughed. "I wouldn't waste my energy worrying, you've said enough times that you're the greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. Of course I didn't mean I was worried for you. It's not fair that you get to go and fight whilst I'm sat on my arse here doing nothing,"

"Arse," Damon suddenly said accusingly, glaring at his sister who cackled with laughter; she knew that word already. Jaime turned to Lyanna with a raised eyebrow, and she bit her lip.

"And there's another new word he'll never forget," She couldn't help but grin with him. "It can't be said that our children don't get a rounded education,"

"Between you, me and Tyrion they'll all be swearing like sellswords by the time they're five," Jaime agreed.

"The twins are nearly five," Lyanna said, a little disbelievingly.

"Surely not," Jaime joked. "They were screaming, wrinkled and ugly only last week," Lyanna hit his arm and he laughed, even as she smiled ruefully.

"Don't listen to him," She said to Lorcan and Tya, both of whom had looked up together. "You weren't ever ugly,"

"I know," Tya said, and Jaime laughed.

"Well said,"

"You'll miss their nameday," Lyanna realised.

"Not to worry," Jaime said, grinning at Tya. "I'll bring you back an Ironborn axe as a gift to make up for it,"

"Really?" His daughter said eagerly. Lyanna rolled her eyes but chuckled.

"So long as you give Damon his knight back," Tya practically threw the toy at her brother, bounding over to sit on Jaime's lap.

"There," She said. "Please, Father," It was Cersei's face but Lyanna's eyes that stared up at him.

"Don't use it on Lancel," He said. She grinned in triumph, and Jaime looked to Lyanna, amused. "Are we bad parents?"

"They're happy," She shrugged. "What will you give Lorcan,"

"He can share my axe," Tya said. Jaime raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry for believing you're not very good at sharing," He nodded to Damon and his knight.

"I am too," She glared at him.

"She shares with me," Lorcan said. "Just not babies,"

"Lancel is older than you, and Tya doesn't share with him," Jaime's eldest son looked back at him with perfect seriousness.

"Lancel is a bigger baby than Larra," The boy said, and Tya burst out into giggles.

*

Defeating the Greyjoy Rebellion was a bloody, ferocious, if not entirely difficult affair. The Iron Fleet, led by Victarion Greyjoy, was smashed by the Redwyne fleet, ships from Oldtown and Stannis Baratheon - Aeron Greyjoy was captured off Fair Isle and sent as a prisoner to Casterly Rock - allowing the combined forces of Stark, Lannister and the Iron Throne to cross from the mainland to the Iron Islands. Barristan Selmy took Old Wyk, Stannis Baratheon took Great Wyk, whilst Jaime advanced with his father, the king and Eddard Stark on Pyke. Even Jaime was surprised by the scale of the destruction during the short siege on Pyke, as after Botley castle and the town was destroyed, Robert's forces assaulted the southern wall with siege engines, shattering the main watchtower and bringing parts of the surrounding wall down, killing the heir, Maron Greyjoy. The fighting was fierce but the Ironborn had no hope of victory, and soon Balon Greyjoy was dragged in chains to kneel before Baratheon and Stark.

When there was fighting, Jaime let himself go into the battle fever that made him feel so alive. He made it through, unharmed apart from the usual minor bruises and wounds; the worst he got was a small injury to his rib, a nasty mottled bruise but nothing too harmful, and a fairly deep cut to the back of his right hand that made swinging a sword sting in an irritating way. He was, however, very glad Lyanna was not there, as was Eddard Stark, whom he had told of the assault on Lannisport that Lyanna had been caught up in. Jaime was expecting the man's disapproval for not sending his sister away the moment he arrived, but to his surprise all he got was a grim smile, and Stark grudgingly thanking him for teaching her to fight. He seemed to understand as well as Jaime that the woman wouldn't have let herself be sent away, and it was better she fought with him where he could keep an eye on her, than sneak back on her own.

"What's that for?" Stark asked him, eyeing the reaver's sword he had fastened to his belt. To Jaime's displeasure, the man was accompanying him on the ship back to Lannisport, wanting to see Lyanna and meet the rest of the children before continuing on to return his family in Winterfell. 

The Northman did not take to the seas at all well, though tried to hide it, even though his knuckles were white as he gripped the handrail. Jaime was under no doubt that Stark didn't want to talk to him as much as Jaime didn't want to talk to Stark, but with all the sailors busy navigating the rough early spring seas, there was little other option for conversation. His wife's brother didn't seem to like conversation much either, but Jaime supposed it was better than sitting alone feeling like death in his cabin as the ship lurched.

"It's a gift," Jaime said with a small smirk.

"Not for - ?" Jaime's smirk grew as Stark's eyes widened.

"It's not for Lyanna,"

"Who then? Surely your brother wouldn't - "

"It's a nameday gift for Tya," He cut the man off, laughing at his expression.

"You'd give your five year old daughter an Ironborn sword?" Stark said in disbelief. "Do you want her to have a scar to match your own?" As well as the one on his face, he nodded to the wound to his hand. "You're lucky. That could've crippled your sword hand," Jaime shrugged.

"She wanted an axe," He ignored the last part. 

*

"Ned!" Lyanna threw herself into her brother's arms as he and Jaime dismounted upon arriving in the courtyard of Casterly Rock.

"Lya," A rare smile graced Stark's face, as his sister was already dragging him to meet the children. Only to see that they weren't behind her where she'd left them. Alarra remained in the arms of the nursemaid, but the twins and Damon had all run immediately to Jaime, and he was assaulted by three small children flinging themselves at him the moment his feet touched the ground.

"Are you hurt, Father?" Lorcan asked, noticing he winced as Tya grabbed his hand.

"Only a few cuts and bruises," He told his son. "Nothing worse than you mother's given me," That was a lie, but the boy gave a rare grin, just like his twin's.

"Did you kill lots of reavers?" Tya asked eagerly.

"Lots and lots," He assured her. "I got you a present," She mirrored his grin as he unfastened the short, notched sword from his belt, reaching out for it but he held it away from her. "One condition. You only have it when someone's there to stop you impaling yourself on it. Otherwise it stays with me," She nodded solemnly as he fastened it back to his belt.

"I want a sword!" Damon exclaimed.

"You're only three," Tya said scornfully.

"Well you're only a girl,"

"You look like one,"

"Children," The children all turned as their mother approached, beaming as she led Stark by the arm. "Meet my brother, your uncle. Ned, this is Lorcan," The boy nodded seriously in greeting, mimicking his grandfather. "Tya," The girl grinned toothily, swinging off Jaime's arm as he tried not to wince. "And Damon," The boy peered up at Stark from behind Jaime's legs, half in awe. Stark actually smiled as he saw them all, though it was clear the sight of them gathered around Jaime threw him a little. Of course my own children like me, Stark, no need to act surprised.

"Are you Lord Stark?" Damon asked.

"I am, lad," Stark said surprisingly kindly, leaning down to his level. Jaime remembered the man had two children himself, and wasn't his wife pregnant with a third? Damon grinned.

"You saved Mother from the tower," He said. "And beat the dragons at the Trident," Stark chuckled.

"That I did, with a lot of help," He said. "But I don't know how much saving your Mother needed. I hear she's quite the fearsome warrior," His words were good humoured, but he did give Lyanna a pointed look, no doubt about the trouble in Lannisport.

"She is," Tya said proudly. "And Father is the best sword fighter in the Seven Kingdoms," Both Lyanna and Stark looked at Jaime with identically raised eyebrows.

"I actually didn't tell her that," He smirked as Tya continued, oblivious.

"I'm going to be even better than Father, when I'm bigger,"

"I don't doubt it," Jaime grinned, clapping his hand on her shoulder.

"I will too!" Damon protested.

"You're too little," Tya taunted.

"I'll be as tall as Father one day,"

"Well I'll be taller,"

"Lorcan will be taller than both of you," Lyanna cut in, making their eldest son smile a little smugly. "He takes after your father. Damon, you're more Stark, you'll be nearer your Uncle Ned's height," Damon considered Stark for a moment.

"Alright," He shrugged, then gave Tya a mischievous look. "You'll still be smaller,"

"Bloody children," Lyanna threw up her hands in defeat, leading the way inside as Jaime snickered, hoisting Tya onto his hip and resting his hand on Lorcan's shoulder as Damon trailed after Stark, asking countless questions.

"Gods, you've got heavy, girl," He said to Tya, who grinned.

"I've been eating lots and lots," She said.

"Too much," Lorcan muttered, "You'll get fat," He gave a small grin when Jaime cuffed the back of his head.

"I told your Mother she was getting fat once," He said idly to his son. "Turned out she was pregnant with you two," Behind him, he heard Stark hastily stifle a snort.

*

The air of the tourney at Lannisport was jubilant. Robert was basking in the glory of his victory over the Ironborn, even though he bemoaned the fact that Stark had left to return North the day after the king and his men arrived. Cersei wasn't there, which Jaime was glad of. He didn't think Lyanna would be able to get through a visit from the queen without mentioning something. 

Any concerns he had about the king and his wife were for naught, also. Whilst Robert still blatantly desired her, and could be seen staring after her with barely concealed longing when she left, to her face he seemed to have grown up a little, treating her with a courtesy that was slightly more familiar than he acted with the other ladies, but was far better than any alternatives they had experienced previously. Why, you seemed to have finally earned his respect, little wife. Threatening to remove the man's fingers with a spoon had, miraculously (hilariously), worked.

Lyanna didn't give Jaime a favour to wear in the joust, she never did. She didn't watch from the stands with the other nobles, either, she was down near the tilts, waiting with him as he prepared to ride in his first match. She held Alarra's hand, whilst Damon and Tya excitedly chattered about how and when he was going to win, and Lorcan idly stroked his grey destrier's flank as he listened to his siblings. Whilst Eddard Stark despised tourneys, his sister seemed to love the excitement and danger, and it seemed the children did too. Even Lorcan, who seemed generally disinterested with fighting unlike his brother and sister, was watching with keen green eyes as his twin whooped and clapped beside him.

Jaime won match after match after match. Finally he was faced with Ser Jorah Mormont, a newly made knight from the North, who was surprisingly a considerable challenge, riding with steely determination and intense focus. No doubt there was a woman he was riding to impress. Jaime wasn't riding to impress any particular woman - just the rest of the world - which was perhaps why they broke eleven lances before he finally managed to unseat the man. Mormont looked mutinous and ashamed at coming second, but Jaime couldn't bring himself to care.

Instead of offering the crown of red roses to anyone on the end of his lance, he rode to where Lyanna stood with the children and, getting what he was thinking, she lifted Tya up onto his horse in front of him. He crowned his little daughter Queen of Love and Beauty, riding once around the arena, not bothering to hold the girl on as she was just as natural at riding as her mother (as all the children seemed to be). Tya loved the attention. Of all his children, for all she looked like Cersei, she reminded him the most of himself. Damon was as adventurous, but too sweet and kind. Lorcan shared the same sarcasm, but was too clever and reserved by far. Alarra it was hard to tell, but she was rather shy and quiet, and looked so much like a Stark that it seemed strange to imagine her acting like a Lannister.

Tya, on the other hand, though like Lyanna in many ways - even Jaime hadn't been that defiant and stubborn as a young child - was more like him; the way the girl grinned at the crowd, delightedly soaking up the attention, as well as smugly enjoying the king's displeasure as Jaime paraded his dark haired, grey eyed Lannister daughter who rode like a Stark and wore a crown of red... that did not come from her mother. Their children were Lannister lions as much as they were Stark direwolves. The blood of the Kings of Winter ran through their veins, as did the blood of the Kings of the Rock. And people would do well not to forget it.

 

Notes:

Well there it is, part two. It took less time to write than I thought, I suppose I already had so many ideas in my head about these two it's just easy to put into writing. I'm already thinking of a part three, so hopefully that will be up fairly soon. Thanks for all the reviews and comments on the previous part, I love receiving them and every one inspires me to write more. By all means comment if there's any particular scene you want to see in part three, I'm more than happy to include any good suggestions.

Chapter 3: Part III

Jaime had not been looking forward to this visit to King's Landing. Partly because they were to bring all the children along with them - by royal command, and his father's, which was essentially the same thing - but mostly due to the fact that this was the first time Lyanna would be meeting Cersei in person since she discovered the truth about how they used to be. Neither woman was the type to back down easily, or take an insult lying down, and the two already had a significant level of mutual dislike between them beforehand. It wasn't going to be pretty whichever way you looked at it.

The journey had not been as bad as he feared, though. Small mercies... The twins were seven, and rode well, as did Damon on his pony. Alarra had a pony of her own too, but most of the time rode with Lyanna as she was rather too young at four years old to make such a long journey on horseback; Damon was only a year older, and therefore he too often rode with Jaime, or one of the guards. Jaime was more than thankful that none of the children were whingers when it rained for most of the journey. It was bad enough trudging on horseback through the mud and puddles; if they'd had to do it with four squalling children in tow, Jaime might just have killed someone. Thankfully, they barely seemed to notice the rain, even when they were soaked through and mud-splattered. That must be their Stark blood showing, used to bloody awful weather. Lyanna didn't seem to mind it much, either, and Jaime had to smile when he saw her cantering through the column of miserable looking guards, a grin on her face even as sheets of rain plastered her hair to her head and made her dress cling to her. During the one thunderstorm they had, her eyes were as wild as the sky itself, vibrant and alive.

No one dared attack a party of Lannister men, so they made it unmolested to King's Landing. Lord Tywin was there to greet them at the top of Aegon's High Hill, as cold and calculating as ever, and after they had dismounted they were taken to the throne room to be presented to the royal family. Robert sat on the Iron Throne, looking as sulky about it as ever; Cersei stood at the base of the throne, radiant and beautiful even as she eyed her nieces and nephews disdainfully. Her own children stood beside her. The eldest, Steffon, was the only one that resembled Robert at all, with his dark hair, blue eyes and square jaw. The other three were Lannister through and through, all blonde haired and green eyed; six year old Joffrey, a year older than Damon, Myrcella, a year younger than Alarra and Tommen, a chubby toddler who beamed widely at them all. Despite their looks, Jaime couldn't help but think that his own dark haired twins seemed far more like lions than Cersei's precious golden children.

Introductions were made. The children had been ordered to be on their best behaviour, and even Tya curtseyed like a proper lady - she was quite capable of doing so, when she wanted, and she was in awe enough of the legendary Demon of the Trident to want to then - and though Alarra spoke too quietly to be heard, as was her habit in front of strangers, it couldn't be denied that she came across a sweet little girl. The royal children, of course, were the very picture of courtesy, though Jaime did not like something about the look in young Joffrey's eyes. Robert, thank the gods, made no fuss out of greeting Lyanna, though he did scowl slightly when she returned to Jaime's side and he slipped an arm around her waist, a casual gesture but very deliberate. The king was genial enough with the children, however, even if they were all unmistakably a mix of Stark and Lannister. 

It was clear that Cersei was not pleased with the scar Jaime had gotten on Pyke. Her eyes kept flickering to it, and her expression as she greeted him was one of distaste. He found that he cared very little, however. What really disturbed Jaime most about the whole thing was Lyanna's smile as she greeted Cersei. It mirrored the sickly-sweet false politeness his sister did so well exactly. 

It was at the welcome feast that night that the inevitable happened. Jaime was sat beside Cersei, with his wife to his other side, a less than desirable arrangement for everyone involved, which was made even worse when it became clear that Lyanna was out to cause trouble from the start. Cersei being Cersei hardly helped matters, however. 

"You must love my dear brother very much," His sister was saying, her voice practically spelling resentment and loathing to Jaime even though it sounded gracious and polite. "To have so many of his children,"

"We get along. Don't we?" Lyanna turned to him with a wolffish grin. Jaime smirked slightly, taking a sip of wine as his wife continued. "That's about as good as can be expected, given we were married because I was spoiled goods and he was the Kingslayer, not for love. Although," Here she shot Jaime a look that made him rather panicked inside. "It's inevitable, is it not, that a husband and wife grow closer over time. Now, I suppose you could say I love him, well... like a brother, your Grace," Jaime choked on his wine, glaring at the wicked woman even as he coughed. She just kept grinning. Cersei threw him a poisonous look, though he doubted she realised exactly how much Lyanna knew; she was merely angry at him for reacting suspiciously. 

"How charming," His sister said, in a tone that suggested it was anything but. "Jaime seems well pleased with the arrangement," There was slight accusation in her tone, directed at him, but he was beyond caring what she thought of him by this point. She had hardly protested being married to Robert, and had expected him to remain at her side listening to the great oaf fuck her every night, so had little to complain about When Jaime himself got along with his wife. 

"He merely puts up with me, I fear," Lyanna's smile remained unchanged. "Such is the nature of a political marriage. I might amuse him, but I'm sure you know Jaime loves himself more than he loves me. Why, I'm sure he would kiss his own reflection, if he was able," Cersei's carefully sculpted expression flickered for a split second in shock.

"So kind for my wife to speak of me like I'm deaf and dumb," Jaime cut across her, laughing for everyone else's benefit but giving her a flat look, which made her grin even wider. "If I am allowed to get a word in, let it be known that I am aware of my own shortcomings, but also that dear Lyanna has a multitude,"

"Oh, of course," Lyanna said. "I can be rather rude at times, as you've surely seen by now,"

"Yes, I have noticed," Cersei smiled dangerously, though Jaime could read the apprehension on her face behind the poison look as though he was feeling it himself. Two halves of the same - no. Not anymore. Cersei had said that, and Cersei was wrong. When his sister next spoke, her voice was lowered and twice as sharp. " I suppose it is all I can expect from a wild Northern savage who wormed her way into my family after she was deemed unfit to be queen," Jaime would've expected Lyanna to yell at his sister there and then for that comment, even slap her, or walk out at the very least. He didn't expect stony silence. 

"Cersei, stop," He spoke when it became clear Lyanna wasn't going to say anything, and his sister turned her vicious glare in his direction. She was about to turn on him, he could tell, but Lyanna beat her to it. 

"Now, Jaime," His wife smiled coldly, voice icy, twice as cold as Cersei's. "We mustn't speak to the queen like that, it would not be proper. Her Grace's upset at my rudeness is understandable; we both know how much she loves her family,"

*

"Are you out of your mind?" They had been walking in silence back to their guest chambers in the Red Keep. The rest of the meal had been spent in the same tense silence. Cersei had left the feast after Lyanna's last remark, and Jaime knew his sister was surely plotting exactly when and how to kill his wife as slowly and as painfully as possible. He himself was angry, angry at Cersei for being Cersei, at Lyanna for being Lyanna, and rather apprehensive too. 

His sister wouldn't harm him, even now he didn't believe that, but she would enjoy causing Lyanna pain, and - though it disturbed him to admit it, even to himself - he wouldn't put it past her to harm the children in some way either. This woman who claimed to be his sister was not the sister he had once loved. Cersei had once been beautiful, a girl full of fire, ambition and life. Now she was bitter, cruel, hateful. Or maybe that was how she had always been, and he had just been to blind to see it. 

He stood before Lyanna now, as different to Cersei as night was to day, but somehow she reminded him of her a little. Neither of them bow to any man's will. The moment the door shut behind them, Jaime rounded on her and she folded her arms, immediately leaping into a fight.

"Don't you say a word," She snapped angrily before he could speak. "I can say what I like. You aren't the kind of husband who wants his wife to be seen and not heard. And even if you were, I wouldn't give a shit,"

"She's the queen!" Jaime said, unable to understand how she didn't see that.

"She's a vile, poisonous viper disguised by a pretty face and a silk gown!"

"I know she is," He ran a hand through his hair. "But she hated you already. Say what you like, but Cersei is cunning. She'll be plotting and scheming right now for the perfect way for you and your whole family to die, and because she's queen she has the power to do it,"

"That woman doesn't scare me," Lyanna riled at the suggestion.

"She should," He said. "I can't protect you all the time - "

"Protect me?" She laughed incredulously, glaring dangerously. "How dare you even - "

"No, you just listen, for one fucking minute," Amazingly, she fell silent at that, though her angry glower would surely burn a hole right through him if she did it long enough. "Believe me when I say this is not me thinking you a delicate little wife. But she hated you before, on principal, because you married me. Now it's personal, she hates you for a reason, and even worse, that reason is because you know something that could get her killed. Then you as good as told her about it. Like I said before, are you out of your mind?"

"Says the man who fucked his sister," Her silence broke with a vicious vengeance. "I think you're overlooking what caused this in the first place,"

"Will you stop holding that against me?" He exclaimed impatiently. She scoffed in disbelief, opening her mouth, but he cut her off. "You forgave me that, you can't deny it,"

"I said the words," She practically snarled at him, and he laughed in disbelief. 

"Don't pretend to me you lied," He said mockingly. "You're a Stark, I don't think you can. And besides, I know you. You forgave me that, and we both know it," She was about to yell, he knew, but after a few tense seconds the anger seemed to leave her all at once. She stepped back, lowering her arms, and her glare faded away.

"You're an arse," She said, sounding more weary now. "An arrogant, idiotic, amoral arse. Who fucked his sister. But you're right. I did forgive you,"

"And now?" There was a pause. 

"You're still forgiven," They fell into silence again. "It's not even that she's your sister," She admitted eventually, grudgingly. "Not that that isn't disgusting on every possible count. But quite honestly, she's just a woman you fucked before we were married, which is not exactly uncommon. The reason I'm angry isn't that you fucked your sister, it's just... her," She looked up and met his eyes. "She's truly the worst person I have ever met. She's a manipulative, selfish, conniving bitch, particularly in the way she treats you. Turning on tears and acting afraid to gain sympathy, rewarding you with small favours, expecting you to do everything she says. Was she always like that?" His mouth opened automatically to defend his sister, the girl he had loved. But then he used his head, and closed it again. 

"Yes," He was surprised by the complete honesty of his own answer. 

*

Jaime stood at the edge of the yard, half hidden in the shadow so few noticed him there.  The twins and Damon were training with the boys and knights of Casterly Rock. Ser Benedict Broom, the Master-at-Arms, was teaching the children to fight, as he had taught Jaime when he was that age. Jaime respected the man not only for that reason, but also because he seemed to completely overlook the fact that Tya was a girl. For all he acted, the twins might as well have both been born boys.

There had been a great deal of disapproving muttering from most people when Jaime had allowed his eldest daughter to train with a sword alongside her brother. Only with a sword, however. Jousting was not allowed, and even permission to use a sword had only been granted because Tya had begged (the girl had her father wrapped around her little finger, he was unashamed to admit). There still was discontent even now, two years later. Uncle Kevan far from endorsed this, and Uncle Tygett, before he had died a couple of years ago of illness, had been dead set against it, believing it to be indulging the whims of a foolish child. Gerion would have approved, though; Jaime still mourned his favourite uncle, whose return seemed more and more unlikely with each passing day. 

Lord Tywin had yet to find out, and Jaime wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. 

He did not regret giving his daughter a sword. So many times when they were younger, Cersei had often complained about being given a needle instead, and she had gradually become more and more resentful of the fact she was born a woman. Jaime did not want that for Tya. She started training aged six, the same time as Lorcan, and surprised everyone by immediately displaying a natural affinity for swordsmanship, not unlike Jaime had at that age. 

On the other hand, Lorcan had started off being dreadful, but they had soon discovered that he fought better with his left hand, which was odd as he wrote his letters with his right. Now he was a fair fighter for his age, but had to work hard to be good at it, and though he made no complaints he clearly only did it because he was expected to, rather than because he particularly enjoyed it. His talents lay in intellect and learning, which Jaime supposed was good for the future Lord of the Westerlands, and it wasn't like he was bad with a sword. In fact, he was better than average when he set his mind to it, only his sister was leaps and bounds ahead. 

Damon had just started to learn, and though it was probably too soon to tell, Jaime suspected that he too would be a gifted swordsman. He was certainly enthusiastic enough, anyway, and he had no such love of books and lessons like his brother. 

He watched the twins now as they stepped up to fight each other. Physically, they were very similar. Smooth black hair to their shoulders, the same face, the same height, the same lean build. They even wore similar clothes, dark breeches and a cotton tunic. Jaime could easily tell which twin was which just from their stances, however. Lorcan was more guarded, sharp and wary, assessing his opponent with green eyes that knew his sister better than he knew himself, predicting the move she would make, relying on his intellect as he did in everything else. Tya appeared more casual; she was grinning as she circled her brother, but her grey eyes were just as sharp, except more focused on the best way to attack. 

It was fascinating watching the twins fight. They were evenly matched in strength and reach (for now anyway) and knew each other so well it was like watching a man trying to surprise himself. In the end, they were so evenly matched otherwise it usually came down to raw skill, and that would always go to Tya. This round was no different. Lorcan took defeat by his sister remarkably well, so well in fact that even the other boys couldn't mock him for losing to a girl. Although that might be down to the fact that Tya had beaten all of them at some point, too.

Jaime watched as a boy of around ten, a young lordling new to Casterly Rock, scoffed as he was asked to fight Tya next, loudly announcing that he deserved better opponents than little girls, even though the eight year old Tya was of a similar height. Jaime grinned as his daughter answered that by cracking the little shit across the knuckles with her wooden practice sword, making him drop his own with a yelp. Angry, he picked it up again, going straight in for a vicious swipe aimed vaguely at her head; Jaime's daughter easily dodged, had danced behind him before he could blink and had again knocked the sword out of his hand, to gales of laughter from the other boys. 

Despite having humiliated most of the yard in fights, and often had a ruthlessly sharp tongue, Tya was oddly well liked. She had few female friends - she disdained all the young highborn ladies sent from various lords to act as her companions - but got on very well with most of the young squires and pages, even the servant's children. She could often be seen racing around the halls in the company of the scrawny daughter of one of the washerwomen, and the stableboys always enjoyed it when she spent time there. 

That would have to end soon, of course - Jaime would give her a sword, but he knew what being alone around lowborn boys did to a girl's reputation - but for now, aged eight, it seemed harmless enough. If only she could stay eight forever. 

*

It was the anniversary of the deaths of Lyanna's father and eldest brother, and though she was otherwise not overly religious, she always spent that entire day before her Northern gods.

He found her at sunset, knelt before the heart tree. The sinking sun was casting a golden light and long shadows over the entire godswood, the summer evening air warm and the sounds of the sea crashing against the base of the cliffs far below. His wife had been there all day, as she was every year. 

Lyanna's dark head was bowed when he approached, and her face as solemn as her brother Ned's. She didn't look up when he sat on a rock nearby, neither of them saying a word. He had learned not to talk to her when she came here, unless she spoke first. 

Jaime was not a believer in the old gods, nor the new gods, not really, but even he could appreciate the sacred nature of remaining in silence and just... sitting. It was like another world in the godswood, separate from the castle and its bustle, the noise and shouting of men, the distraction of the children. All four of their children had been here at some point in the day - Lyanna made sure that they came one at a time to pray with her on this day, and all of them did - but they were gone now, most likely getting washed and scrubbed before dinner. Only their mother remained, kneeling where she had knelt since daybreak. 

Jaime knew that her knees would be red, raw and aching by the time the sun finally set and she came inside, and had suggested in the past that she bring a cushion or something to ease the strain, but she had refused every time. She never complained about the pain, or the cold when she did this in the depths of winter, and never shed a tear. Just gritted her teeth and bore it. It made little sense to Jaime, but she did it all the same. Every year since they married, without fail. It was like a penance, though for what he did not know.

"I should - " Her voice was dry and cracked from lack of use all day, but in the silence of the godswood he heard it crystal clear. She broke off, seeming to regret speaking at all, but he had heard her.

"You should what?" They locked eyes for a long moment. He could see the struggle going on within her. Finally, one side seemed to win.

"It's all my fault," Lyanna's voice was scarcely more than a whisper. The waves far below them were louder. He frowned. 

"You've said that before," He said, but remembered thinking even then that there was more to that. He continued regardless. "And I'll say again what I said then. You couldn't have stopped him, it can't have been your - "

"I could," Jaime stopped, and she closed her eyes briefly. "I could have stopped it," He wanted to tell her she was being ridiculous, and to get inside and let her handmaid bathe her knees, but the words stuck in his throat. 

"How?" He dared to ask. His wife looked at him imploringly, and he said nothing, offering no way out. She looked away, at the tree, then back at him. 

"I could have said no," Her voice was crystal clear. There was a pause. 

"Do you mean - ?" He broke off as she nodded jerkily. He vaguely noticed her eyes were wet, through the roaring in his own ears. Jaime had realised what she meant, and she knew he knew, but he had to ask anyway. "He didn't take you. You went with him," Her silence at his accusation said it all. Lyanna looked away, furiously wiping at the tears welling in her eyes. Jaime just sat there, watching her, too stunned, too shocked, to speak.

"Harrenhal," She began, with a bitter laugh mixed with a sob. "He helped me," His wife turned to him with a wry, twisted, humourless smile. "I was the Knight of the Laughing Tree. I'm sure you heard about that," 

Any other time, Jaime would've laughed until he cried to hear that. Now, he was distracted by the countless things rushing through his head. He let her speak. 

"The prince found me trying to get out of the armour in the godswood. Aerys wanted the knight dead, of course, you know better than most how paranoid that man was. But Rhaegar helped me hide it, promised not to tell. I didn't believe him, thought he'd blackmail me or something later, or even go back on his word and tell the king. I spent that night sleepless, terrified I'd be dragged from my bed before the king and burned alive for treason. But he didn't go back on his word. He just killed me a different way, with a crown of blue winter roses," She shook her head. "I was furious at the time. Embarrassed, humiliated, angry. I had to defend my honour to Brandon, who was convinced I'd fucked him. Believe it or not, I meant to marry Robert Baratheon at the time. I have honour," The fire in her eyes dared him to say otherwise. "I am a Stark, I do my duty. And Robert was hardly so bad. I had no great trust that he would honour our wedding vows and keep to my bed, but I believe we could have been friends, at least. Even though I wouldn't have been happy. But Rhaegar sullied my betrothal. People called me a whore behind my back, and the Dornishmen as good as spat at my feet for the hurt he had caused Elia. I was furious that a man caused me that pain, it was unnecessary, humiliating, to me and his wife.

"After the tourney, things were worse. Me, Brandon and Benjen went to Riverrun, to spend several months there with Brandon's Tully bride before the wedding. Brandon was still angry, and I was a child. You know me well enough to understand that anger makes me stupid. I suppose I began... considering Rhaegar, just to be defiant. My brother already thought so low of me, what was the harm in living up to it? But the more I thought about it, the more attractive he became. He was handsome, his music made me cry, and though he was a reckless fool living in his own world, he would surely treat me better than Robert ever would. Harrenhal seemed almost romantic now I had distance from it, and had let myself forget exactly what it had meant at the time. Like I said, I was a child. A stupid child," 

Lyanna paused briefly. "After an argument with Brandon, I rode off into the woods, alone. Rhaegar found me. Ser Arthur Dayne was with him, and looked uneasy, though at the time I didn't understand why. Rhaegar spoke to me. Convinced me, filled my head with meaningless pretty words. Said some shit about a prophecy, and loving me more than his wife. I believed it, and I went with him, out of anger and defiance more than anything else. I wanted to choose my own path, even though I knew at the time it was a stupid one. It was having the choice that mattered. I didn't care in that moment whether I loved Rhaegar or not, I just acted. Surely I could go back whenever I wanted, it was just an adventure. What was the harm?" She let out a strangled laugh. "I didn't know that by making that choice, I threw all my others away.

"I was getting cold feet several days later, worrying, as everyone no doubt thought I'd been abducted, and I didn't know the way back. He said we would write to my family and tell them not to fear for me, but he never stopped anywhere where that was possible," She paused again, smiling bleakly. "We only stopped at a Sept," Jaime's blood ran cold at those words. "My son isn't a bastard," His wife continued, looking straight at the heart tree and anywhere but him. "His name is Jon Targaryen, and he was another choice I wasn't allowed to make. I love him despite that, as I love our children," Lyanna turned to him at last, seeing his face. "He has no claim to the throne," She reminded. "Robert won it through conquest, any Targaryens out there are obsolete. But that doesn't change the fact I was Lyanna Targaryen before I was Lyanna Lannister, and I curse the fact every day,"

"Stark," Jaime mumbled without truly thinking. "You're Lyanna Stark," She gave him an odd look, and her eyes softened for a second, before she cleared her throat and continued. 

"We ended up in Dorne, to some blasted old watchtower in the middle of nowhere, deep into the Red Mountains, and he fucked me every night. I hadn't known where we were going. I suppose I thought King's Landing, but I'd never been there. I knew the tower wasn't right, though. He stayed there a while, with no one else there but me and Dayne. I kept asking to write to my father, but he told me he already had. That was when I knew he was a liar. I outright refused him that night, for the first time," Her eyes darkened. "He ignored it, and fucked me anyway. I heard Dayne arguing with him about it later that night, but he brought up that prophecy again. 

"That was when I realised that he was truly mad. He wanted a third head for the dragon, or something equally insane. Another child, is what he meant. He wanted a Visenya for his Rhaenys and Aegon. And Elia Martell was not up to birthing again. That was why he took me, to be his broodmare," There was loathing in her eyes. "Every time he had me after that, whenever I fought him, whenever I screamed and cried, he would always talk about that damned prophecy, I think more to assuage his own guilt than comfort me. He was obsessed. I wanted to go home. 

"When I heard about Brandon being taken prisoner, I got down on my knees and begged him, if you can imagine that," Jaime didn't want to even think of it. "Father and Brandon died, and I think I died inside a little too. War broke out. I had helped to tear the realm apart through my own foolishness, and now innocent people were bleeding, hurting, dying. My sweet, quiet brother was leading a rebellion. Ned had raised the North, married Brandon's Tully bride, was going up against a dynasty, all to get me back. 

"Rhaegar started to drug my wine, and I started to drink it. He'd have me regardless, was my thinking. I hate what I became then. It wasn't me, it was some shell of a girl who wore the name Lyanna like an ill-fitting gown. Then one day, he left for war and never came back. I dreaded the day my belly swelled, but when it did I felt nothing but love for the child, none of the loathing I felt for its father. I hoped it was a boy just to spite him, prayed for it to be a boy so he wouldn't get his blasted Visenya. Two more of the Kingsguard arrived to join Dayne, Hightower and Whent, to protect the child his prophecy claimed would save us all. I should hate them, but they're just three more dead men. Rhaegar died at the Trident, and I drank to good fortune and cried for my child.

"They didn't send for a Maester, or even a midwife. I was sixteen and scared, I pleaded with them that I couldn't do it on my own, but to them secrecy and security was more important. I told them that I could die, that we could both die, me and the baby, and the Lord Commander looked at me. I remember his words even now - 'the babe will not die, my lady. You have my word on that'. I threw a goblet at him and swore like a sellsword. 

"I saw the riders hours before they arrived, and I knew Ned was coming. I gave birth as they fought the Kingsguard outside the tower, screamed in blood and agony whilst Northmen fell. I thought I was going to die that day. I've never been more afraid in my life, as I've told you before. But I didn't, and neither did Jon. We lived, where Kingsguard knights and hardened soldiers had fallen. Me, Jon, Ned and the crannogman Reed. They buried the men, whilst I lay in a bed soaked with my own blood, and then we rode north. A month later, my son was taken from me and I was your - your wife," 

Lyanna began to cry in earnest now, not bothering to wipe away the tears. "I love him, Jaime, more than anything, as much as I love our children. And he's being raised by another woman, I've barely seen him half a dozen times since I gave him away, and he's my son," She wept the last two words in anguish. "My son," Her voice was broken, lost, silent tears falling from her eyes and dampening the earth on which she knelt. 

Jaime did not know what to say to any of it. So many revelations, in such a short time, it was too much. Who knew how this would turn out? Once they left this godswood, he did not know what he would do with all she had told him, did not know how she would act around him. This was the most vulnerable Lyanna had ever been around him. He'd seen her cry, but never like this. This was a raw wound barely scabbed over, painful and fresh.

For now, though, he said nothing, merely got on his knees beside her in the dirt and held his wife close. At first that made her cry harder, and soon the shoulder of his shirt was completely soaked. Jaime didn't know how long that stayed like that, but the sun had set completely and his wife's tears had run dry by the time they wordlessly got to their feet. He could barely see her face; the clear sunset had given way to a cloudy night, with a sliver of a crescent moon casting the meanest of light down on them.

"I told you, years ago," It was his voice that was hoarse from disuse now. "That when you told me your big secret about Rhaegar Targaryen, I would tell you why I killed his father," She made a strange sound, half hiccup, half snort.

"You did," She said, smiling a weak, watery smile and sniffing. "Today is the day for confessions, I think," She paused for a second. "Gods, I didn't even tell Ned or Benjen that much. He still doesn't know exactly how foolish I was, or that we were married," Best leave it that way, perhaps.

"Well I haven't told anyone this," Jaime said. He probably shouldn't even tell Lyanna, but she had bared her soul to him tonight so he might as well do the same. "Especially not your brother," She waved for him to continue, and he did. Jaime spoke of the atrocities of Aerys, the burnings, the paranoia, the brutal raping of his wife, all of which the Kingsguard were expected to stand by and watch whist doing nothing but protect the king. He spoke of the king's overheard conversations with the pyromancer's guild, of the enormous caches of wildfire hidden beneath King's Landing, and then of the fateful day the Lannister army sacked the city. Aerys' demand to bring him Lord Tywin's head, and his chilling words to Rosshart, burn them all. He spoke of how he'd killed Rosshart, then went to the throne room with a Hand's blood on his sword, ready to kill a king. Aerys had run, but Jaime had been faster, stronger. The last Targaryen king had squealed like a pig as Jaime had driven his sword through his back on the steps of the Iron Throne. Kings should die harder than that, he remembered thinking. Then he had sat on the throne, Ned Stark had arrived to claim it for Robert, and he had given it up. All of it. His honoured Kingsguard white cloak, his honour itself, all was gone, and now he was merely the Kingslayer.

His wife had surprisingly listened without interrupting, and looked thoughtful as he finished. 

"I'm glad you lost your white cloak," Lyanna said slowly. "You might not be famed as honourable or heroic, but I..." She trailed off. "I don't know. Knights like Arthur Dayne and Gerold Hightower were thought to be honourable, good men. I suppose they were dutiful, at least. Their honour compelled them to listen to me being raped, again and again, and not lift a finger to stop it. Is it so wrong that I prefer your definition of honour over theirs?"

More than anything, he wanted to kiss her then. So he did. 

They still knelt in the dirt, but Jaime didn't care and neither did she. He could still feel the tears damp on Lyanna's cheeks, but she pulled him closer just as hungrily as he did. Soon it got too heated for the Godswood, even in the near darkness, and his wife gave a small protest as Jaime got to his feet, then squeaked in surprise as he lifted her clean into his arms. Even after having six children by the age of twenty-five, she was still easy to lift, slim from regular training with a sword. 

The door to their chambers was scarcely closed before she was pulling at the laces of her dress behind her. Jaime batted her hands away, turning her around and doing them himself. Normally she would make a joke, something along the lines of a man had no business being better than her at unlacing a dress, but there was no such talk that night. 

The gown pooled around her ankles on the floor, and Lyanna was left standing there in nothing but her thin cotton shift. Rather than moving around to face her, Jaime pulled her back to him, breathing in the smell of her hair and feeling her shiver - not from cold, she never felt the cold- as he glanced his hands up her sides. She wasn't a tall woman, five feet four inches to his own six foot two, and leant her head back against his chest as one of his hands moved higher. He rather liked the height difference, he considered, as he tilted her chin upwards, to the side, and leant down to kiss her, hand remaining at her jaw. 

Lyanna let out a small noise as he brushed her dark hair out the way and his lips moved to her neck. In response he tightened the hand on her waist, pulling her more roughly against him, closer, though not close enough. 

She abruptly turned around to face him, bringing both hands to the back of his neck and kissing him with such ferocity that he almost staggered. He quickly responded in kind, only pausing to slide her shift over her head, as she undid his own jerkin. Soon he had backed her into a wall, and she had wrapped both bare legs around his waist, and he found himself breaking the kiss, staring down at her. 

"What?" She asked, breathless, impatient, and he smiled slightly, shaking his head of the thought that had sprung to mind. 

"Nothing," He met her lips again, silencing them both.

*

"With child?" Jaime tried to keep himself from looking overly surprised. It wasn't a surprise, not really, but still... he hadn't ever considered what would happen if it ever came to pass. Things had been going smoothly for over six years, after all. 

"I know," Tyrion only nodded at his poor attempt at hiding his shock, giving a rather dark chuckle that only spoke of his misery. His little brother was drunk, Jaime could tell, and as in as worse a mood as he ever got. He plastered a smile on his face nonetheless, however. 

"Well, brother," He said rather wryly. "I believe congratulations are in order. Although by the smell of you, you've been celebrating for hours already,"

"Don't, Jaime," Tyrion snapped, the dam suddenly breaking. "This is awful! She's been taking moon tea for years with no problem, but according to the midwife in Lannisport it turns out it isn't foolproof," Gods, Jaime thought with some level of horror at the idea of the same thing happening to Cersei in all the years they'd had before she married Robert. "I've never wanted a child,"

"I didn't either. It's not as bad as all that," Jaime said mildly. "Especially for you. You don't even live in Lannisport, there won't be anyone trying to foist screaming infants on you in the middle of the night,"

"Gods sake, just think about it," His brother started to pace. "Chances are, the child will be a dwarf. And a bastard at that. Not only will it be scorned and ridiculed all its life, what happened when our mother gave birth to a dwarf, Jaime?" Jaime sobered at that. He'd hoped to keep Tyrion's mind away from that rabbit hole, but of course he'd been too late. "And our mother had already had two children! This will be Tysha's first birth, and likely her last - " His voice cracked. 

"There's no guarantee it'll be a dwarf," Jaime said carefully, searching for an example, but the only dwarf he had ever known was Tyrion himself. "Tysha isn't. At worst, it's half and half, there's been worse odds," His brother let out a small moan, pushing himself up into the chair opposite him and placing his head in his hands. 

"But what if she dies?" He looked sick at the thought. "It was a chance in a million that I found her in the first place. I love her, and it sounds awful, but if she died then who else would ever..." He shook his head, his meaning clear. Jaime grimaced. 

"If you're both this worried, then there are ways to - "

"That was the first thing I suggested," Tyrion said. "Tysha wouldn't hear of it. She's so stubborn, she won't even consider the possibility that this could go wrong,"

"Well you can't force her to take it, or trick her, or she'll despise you forever," Jaime said simply, and his brother gave him a look that said 'well, obviously'. "Speaking of. You can't let father find out about this," Tyrion's face went from ruddy red to grey.

"Gods," He said. "I hadn't even thought of - he'd have his men force tansy tea down her throat before he let a bastard of mine be born," Jaime nodded. 

"Do you think he knows about Tysha?"

"I'm quite sure he just thinks I'm visiting a whorehouse twice a week like everyone else in this castle," Tyrion shrugged. "He's barely even here, he can't know,"

"Well, keep it that way," Tyrion was nineteen now, far from the scared and lonely thirteen year old who Jaime had helped hide the ill advised marriage of, but he looked just as lost as he had done then. "Look, you won't persuade her to kill her own child. For better or worse, there's nothing more you can do,"

"You're right," Tyrion stared broodily at the wall. "Doesn't make it any easier, though," 

"No, it doesn't," Jaime nudged the tankard of wine towards him. "Drink up,"

*

Jocasta was born shortly after the twins turned nine. Where Alarra was almost entirely Stark aside from her hair, their fifth child was almost entirely Lannister. Golden haired like Damon and Alarra, green-eyed and fine-featured like the twins, yet with thin Stark lips. Of all her siblings, the baby seemed to be the most similar to Damon, always smiling and laughing, a very happy child. Alarra had been fairly quiet, whilst the twins had just screamed for most of the first few months.

The birth had been frightening, though. Jaime had been with Lyanna every time she birthed one of his children, and birthing Jo had been something else altogether. With the amount of blood that was there, it was more like being on a battlefield, and the sharp, hurried orders of the head midwife - clearly very concerned, though hiding it well - had made Jaime grip Lyanna's hand almost as hard as she was gripping his. It was long, far too long, almost two whole days. For a very tense few hours, no one had been sure whether the baby or the mother would live. Then the child was born, and Lyanna collapsed back in exhaustion, her eyes closing; the midwife had told Jaime there was bad news, and his heart was in his mouth thinking that she was dying, but all she said was that Lyanna would bear no more children. 

He could have cried in relief.

Unlike any of the other children, Lord Tywin was in Casterly Rock at the time of Jocasta's birth. Jaime sent a servant to his father's solar to announce the birth of his daughter out of courtesy alone, and to his surprise the messenger returned with his father himself. Lyanna's eyes widened a fraction when the man entered - she was still exhausted, though her maids had cleaned her up and changed her gown - but she hid the surprise rather well considering the ordeal she had just been through.

"I hear the birth was difficult," Lord Tywin addressed her, eyes coldly assessing her without bothering to pretend otherwise. The whole castle had heard. The few times Jaime had briefly left the room to change or eat, he had heard his wife's screams even from the other side of the Rock. He had glared daggers at two servants he heard muttering darkly about this one being 'just like the Lady Joanna'.

"Yes, my lord," She said, to her credit graciously. "I won't bear any more children, I'm afraid," She herself didn't seem to concerned about that (though Jaime supposed five - six - children was enough for anyone, especially a woman who never wanted any at all) but everyone knew how obsessed with the legacy of House Lannister his father was.

"No matter," Lord Tywin said neutrally, glancing at the baby Lyanna held, who already had a head of thick golden hair. Jaime might have been surprised, but he could imagine why his father was not angered by this; more children was always good, but any more boys than an heir and a spare became a liability - finding positions for younger sons was a notoriously trying matter - and three daughters were more than enough to marry off and forge alliances with. Jaime might have been angry that his father saw his children as nothing more than pawns, but he honestly expected nothing less. "What is the girl's name?" He turned to Jaime.

"Jocasta," He said. "In honour of mother," A strange look crossed his father's face, but he merely made a hum of agreement. From that moment, though it wasn't obvious as he showed little love to any of them, Jocasta became Lord Tywin's favourite grandchild.

*

"She's alive!" Tyrion burst into their chambers without knocking one morning, not even stopping to register the scene before him as Lyanna gave an unladylike yelp of surprise as she jumped from Jaime's lap, hastily pulling her nightdress down before she realised the intruder was her goodbrother rather than one of the children.

"Excellent timing, brother," 

"Tyrion!" Lyanna exclaimed, rounding on him in anger and giving Jaime a chance to lace up his breeches again. "Haven't you heard of knocking?" He barely seemed to notice her less than dressed state, a big smile stretching across his face. 

"Tysha had the baby," He looked happier than Jaime had ever seen him before, practically skipping. "She's normal, Jaime, she's not a dwarf,"

"What?" Lyanna's eyes widened in surprised. "Tysha was pregnant?" She turned to Jaime. "Did you know?" She spoke before he had the chance to answer. "Oh who cares, that's wonderful news! I wondered where you were all day yesterday. A girl, did you say,"

"A girl," Jaime couldn't help but grin; his brother looked giddy. "A beautiful girl. She hasn't got much hair yet, but it looks to be blonde, and her eyes are brown, like her mother's,"

"Oh that's brilliant," Lyanna looked nearly as happy as Tyrion. "I'll have to come and see her as soon as Tysha feels up to it," Her face fell slightly. "Your father doesn't know, does he?"

"No," Tyrion's face darkened. "And he won't for as long as possible," Lyanna nodded, relieved. 

"What's her name?"

"Lorna," His smile was back. Jaime wondered if he'd looked like such a happy fool for any of his children's births. "Named after Tysha's mother. She'll be Lorna Hill, but knowing she's not a dwarf, that doesn't seem to matter so much,"

"Will you accept my congratulations this time, brother?" Jaime smiled, and Tyrion returned it. 

"Yes. Thank you, Jaime, truly," 

"What did I do?" He had to laugh. "I believe Tysha did most of the hard work,"

"I don't know," Tyrion just grinned. "Stopped me from pitching myself into the Sunset Sea, I suppose,"

*

The townhouse was fairly small. It was on the end of a row of terraces in Lannisport, two stories high, made of bricks and oak beams. The windows had shutters rather than glass, and several tiles were missing from the roof, but Jaime supposed that modest and nondescript was what Lyanna had been going for when she bought the house. 

His wife had arranged for Tysha to live here shortly after the eventful midnight adventure - involving, amongst other things, sneaking into his own castle - but Jaime had never seen the place himself. It looked to be simple, modest, and rather small, but comfortably so, not one of the finest dwellings in the city, but a far cry from the houses in the poorer areas. Most importantly, it was out the way, far from the sea and towards the edge of the city, a quiet area where, hopefully, few would notice that what appeared to be a rather stocky boy in a hooded cloak liked to visit at least twice a week.

It was less likely that people would fail to notice Tywin Lannister's golden heir and his wild northern wife visiting the house often, however, so this was the first time since Tyrion's child had been born that Jaime and Lyanna had come to see her. Both had worn simple clothes, and had taken no guards with them; as far as everyone at the castle knew, the pair had simply gone out riding together, where Jaime alone was more than sufficient to counter any risk posed by bandits and the like. They were recognised, of course - they always were in Lannisport - but it was evening, the time when most were travelling home for dinner, and they were able to slip into the backstreets without attracting too much notice. 

"Here," His brother pushed open the front door, and they stepped into a low-ceilinged kitchen, a fire burning in the hearth. It was very basic, but spotlessly clean, with a jar of wildflowers on the wooden table. As Tyrion led them both inside, a telltale wail could be heard from the next room.

"Gods," Jaime grimaced. "She's loud, at least," 

"Here me roar," Lyanna muttered. He grinned, turning to his brother. 

"You're lucky you get to scurry off back home whenever you feel like it,"

"Thanks for the fatherly advice," Tyrion said dryly. "Through here," They entered what seemed to be the living room. 

"Milord Lannister, Lady Lyanna" Tysha hastily struggled to her feet as she saw them, bobbing a clumsy curtsey and handing the still whimpering baby in her arms to a younger girl dressed as a maid, who Tyrion must have hired to help. Tysha had clearly dressed up for their visit, and scrubbed the house clean too if he wasn't mistaken, and the young woman looked exhausted. That didn't make her any less nervous around them, however; she still wouldn't meet him in the eye, and was constantly fiddling with the sleeve of her dress. Jaime saw the flash of regret cross Lyanna's face at how anxious she was. His wife would likely have been quite happy as some farmer's daughter, given how little she enjoyed the reaction from people that the title of lady gave her. 

"It's lovely to see you again," His wife swept forward and wrapped the younger girl in a hug, which Tysha hesitantly returned after a moment's shock. Lyanna drew back, glancing at the baby in the nursemaid's arms. "Do you mind if I see her?" Jaime raised an eyebrow at the eagerness in her voice - Lyanna was never one to gush over babies like many other women - but he supposed Tyrion's first child was different to Aunt Dorna's latest screaming brat. It was good to see how happy his brother was, with something he never expected to have, a healthy child and loving mistress. 

"Of course not, milady," Tysha hurried to take the baby from the nursemaid, seeming to relax a little the moment she held her daughter again, smiling down at the little face peeking through blankets and swaddling clothes. "Her name is Lorna," Lorna Hill. The girl would be a bastard, but would hardly want for anything, much like Uncle Gerion's girl Joy, whom he believed was soon to come to the Rock to serve as a ladies maid to one of his aunts. In some ways, Lorna's future was better than that of Jaime's own daughters; she would be able to stay at her home forever, marry who she wanted and yet be guaranteed a comfortably, if not luxurious life as a Lannister bastard.

"She looks like you," Lyanna smiled at Tysha. "Blonde hair, though. She's beautiful,"

"I was surprised as anyone," Tyrion pulled a face, but his usual dry wit was spoiled slightly by the big grin taking over his face. Jaime peered over his wife's head at the child, his niece. She was a pretty baby, with tufts of golden hair and big doe-brown eyes; the pupils were ringed with gold, he noticed with no small amount of amusement. Just like father's. Lorna was also rather small, but the twins had been small too, and the girl did not share the same oversized head and malformed legs Tyrion had had at that age. 

"You were certainly an uglier baby," He said to his brother, and Lyanna elbowed him, only for Tyrion to laugh, taking his daughter from Tysha's arms. The baby's chubby little hand immediately reached up to grab at his curly hair. 

"I should hope so,"

It didn't seem like anything could spoil his good mood when they were in this house, and Jaime didn't blame him. 

When it was time to leave, he asked his brother if he would be riding back to the Rock with them. It was near nightfall, and riding as a group would likely be safer than riding alone. But Tyrion had just smiled and shaken his head, saying he would be back early the next morning. Their father would just believe he had been in a whorehouse. Jaime couldn't fault that logic, and clapped him on the shoulder as he and Lyanna stepped back out onto the street. 

*

"Come on, boy, use your brain," Jaime could hear his father's sharp voice as he approached the room. He heard another voice, quieter so that he couldn't make out the words but unmistakably his son's, response. "And then what would you do?" His father asked. Another reply, then a short silence. "Hm. Quite," It wasn't quite a tone of approval, but it was getting there. Jaime knocked then entered the room.

"Father," He nodded to Lord Tywin, sat behind the huge writing desk. Lorcan sat before him, tall and lanky for his nine years of age and looking rather disconcertingly like a combination of his grandfather, in his stiff posture and hard green eyes, and his uncle Ned Stark, in the solemn expression on his face and his dark hair.

"Jaime," Lord Tywin said shortly. 

"How are the lessons going?" He asked.

"As ever, I am questioning how you and the Stark girl managed to create a son who may have a hope of being a competent lord one day," His father replied flatly. Jaime didn't thank him. It wasn't a compliment. The ghost of a smile flickered on Lorcan's face, but he quickly suppressed it. Lord Tywin's eyes glanced at him - he'd seen it - but he said nothing.

"It's beyond me," Jaime said with a careless grin, and his father looked unimpressed.

"Do not take that as a compliment, Jaime," He said sternly. "The others are far less satisfactory," Lorcan glared at his grandfather at that, though thankfully the man's attention was elsewhere.

"I didn't, do not fear," Jaime smiled wryly. There was a heavy pause.

"As I told you when you were your son's age," His father said. "Your cheek and perceived cleverness impresses no one. Whilst your eldest seems to understand that, it does not seem to have been taught to the others,"

"How so?" Jaime asked, though he knew already. His father would say it regardless.

"Tya is wild and wilful," Lord Tywin said disapprovingly. "Consorting with servants and ruffians, getting into fights and allowed to train with a sword like a boy. It is not fitting for a daughter of House Lannister. She will not make a good wife,"

"She acts properly when necessary," Jaime said flatly. And she fights with a sword better than any of the boys. He did not appreciate his father criticising his children. He gave Tya a sword because she reminded him greatly of himself, and if he had not been allowed to fight as a boy it would've destroyed him.

"She acts properly when it suits her," His father corrected. Jaime could not argue with that. "Damon is too much your son. He is reckless, foolishly idealistic and irritatingly attached to honour," Damon was like Jaime in that he often acted impulsively, was talented with a sword and had little patience for mind games and etiquette. He was also very kind hearted, honourable and bravely and stubbornly fought against injustice, about as opposite to Jaime as it was possible to be. This, predictably, led him to disagree with his grandfather on many things.

"Damon is more Lyanna's son than mine," He said. "He looks more like a Stark," Yet another thing that angered his grandfather; apart from his golden hair, Damon's eyes, features and stockier build were all more Stark than Lannister.

"He does," His father said. "Alarra is a mouse of a girl. Plain and dull. She - " Jaime had had enough.

"Alarra is the most well behaved of the five," He said. "Including the baby. She is clever and loves to read. She is diligent in lessons - both with the Maester and her septa - courteous to everyone and doesn't run around with swords or get covered in dirt and dust like her sister,"

"The girl barely speaks," Lord Tywin said coldly. That's because you terrify her, and with good reason, you scared me to death at that age and I was a brazen little shit. "At least her sister has the ability to be charming," And beautiful, that's what you meant to say. Tya had the Stark colouring but the Lannister looks, all beauty and grace despite her wild temperament. Alarra had Lannister green eyes, but her face was long, Stark and solemn. Lyanna had said she looked very similar as a girl, before she grew into those strong features somewhat. Unlike her mother, however, Alarra was a quiet girl by nature, but once you got her onto the subject something she liked, she would happily talk for hours. Tyrion was better with that than Jaime, as they both shared a love of books.

But despite that, to Lord Tywin, Jaime's daughters were pawns to be married off to secure alliances. Fewer men would want a serious, plainer girl than a beautiful, charming one. But honestly, who would turn away a bride with the Lannister surname and dowry even if she looked like a troll? 

"She's six," Jaime settled with saying. "You can hardly expect her to be an engaging conversationalist. Lorcan certainly wasn't," He glanced at his son, whose lips twitched in a slight smile, that faded as his grandfather looked his way too. "If you'll excuse me, Father. I promised Tya I'd spar with her. Lorcan, you're welcome to join, later,"

He left without another word, feeling his father's glare on his back. 

*

"Are they nearly here yet?" Tya was impatient, craning her neck to try and see out of the gates. She wasn't the only one. Damon was fidgeting and asking Lyanna much the same questions that Tya had been bothering Jaime with for the past hour or so. Even Lorcan and Alarra were more restless than usual. Lyanna wasn't exactly setting the best example. If anything, she was acting worse than Tya.

"Don't ask me, I don't know," Jaime said. "Eowin might, though, ask him," He directed his ten year old daughter to one of the younger guardsmen, one of the ones she often pestered for conversation like she did to many of the staff at Casterly Rock. The poor man didn't know any more than Jaime did, but at least it gave Tya a distraction.

All five children had been in a state of anticipation for weeks, ever since they heard that Lady Catelyn Stark, after visiting her father and brother in Riverrun, would be travelling on to Casterly Rock. Accompanying her would be her eldest son Robb, and his cousin Jon Snow. The twins had seen their cousin and half-brother many times over the years - Lyanna usually made the journey to Winterfell to see her family and firstborn son every year or so since that first time, even though Jaime had only accompanied her a few times - as had Damon and Alarra, who had gone north with their mother ever since they were old enough to ride with her. They all loved their Stark cousins, far more than their Baratheon ones, though they rarely saw Cersei's children despite living half the distance away. They were especially fond of their bastard (or not, as it turned out, but Jaime wasn't telling a soul) brother. Even the one year old Jocasta had picked up on the excitement from her brothers and sisters, and was chattering happy nonsense to Lyanna, who held her on her hip.

The castle had been manic and busy for the past few weeks, too. This was not merely a bannerman or minor lord come to visit, this was the wife and heir of the Lord Paramount of the North. The kitchens had been stocking up in preparation, and the servants had been making the whole castle spotless, or more spotless than it already was. Most of this was done under the direction of Aunts Dorna and Darlessa, but Lyanna had been surprisingly particular about Jon Snow's room. She insisted he have a proper guest chamber, like his cousin Robb, even though he was a bastard. And because Lord Tywin had returned to King's Landing some months ago, she got her wish.

"Here!" Damon cried as the procession made their way through the gates. Catelyn Stark, as beautiful and austere as ever, rode with her son and his cousin to her right. The boy Robb had the Tully look, red-haired like his mother, though he held himself like his father. Jon Snow (Targaryen, gods) on the other hand, aged one-and-ten, was all Stark. He looked like Ned Stark in miniature, as he had done the first time Jaime had seen him, although there was a certain litheness to him that could only be from his Targaryen blood. Impossible to notice if you didn't know his father's identity. 

The boy's solemn, brooding expression could be attributed to either side.

Lady Stark attempted a courteous greeting, as did her son Robb, who was clearly under instructions to act the proper little lord, but Jaime's children had already run to their cousin and brother. When Catelyn looked to Lyanna to try and control them, she saw that the woman had already run over to embrace Jon. It was down to Aunt Dorna - as it normally was - to call after them in vain. Lancel, Tyrek and all the other Lannister cousins hung back, never having met the Starks before. Catelyn looked to Jaime, appearing disapproving when he did nothing in response to his children ignoring their aunt. He grinned at her. 

"Lady Stark," He offered his arm. "Allow me to escort you inside. Best leave them to it, I'm thinking," She allowed herself a small rueful smile and took his arm.

"I always wonder at your children," She remarked as they entered the castle. "At a first glance, they're so perfect..." She broke off, looking embarrassed. "Forgive me, Ser. I meant no offence,"

"None taken," Jaime shrugged. "I know exactly what you mean," The twins could be perfect, but only when it suited them. Damon had no patience with manners and propriety. Alarra was faultlessly polite, but was not the best at conversation beyond the expected courtesies. And Jocasta was a baby.

His children spent the majority of the Stark visit showing Robb and Jon around the Rock. Jaime saw little of them for those three months, if he was honest, except at meals. He could tell Lyanna was rather saddened by Jon not spending as much time with her as he had when she visited Winterfell when he was younger, but that was only to be expected as he grew older. It wasn't like the boy shunned her, either. His face lit up whenever he saw her, and he made no protest when she embraced him or wished to spend time with him. He was constantly asking questions about her to his half-siblings, though not in Lyanna's earshot. Jaime was walking on the battlements one day, and saw Jon sat on the edge, a clearly brooding expression on his face. He might look like a Stark, but that expression was rather like what he remembered of Rhaegar. Jon Targaryen.

"You'd better not fall from there," He said, and the boy jumped, eyes widening when he saw Jaime. "I used to jump from the cliffs when I was your age, but even I never went this high,"

"Sorry, Ser Jaime," The boy was polite enough, though Jaime could see he held no love for him and there was a hint in his otherwise solemn tone that suggested he didn't really care what he thought.

"Dont apologise to me," Jaime snorted. "Just hope your mother never finds out. Imagine how she'd grieve if her firstborn son pitched himself over the battlements," Oddly, a flash of anger appeared on the boy's face. "What?" Jaime asked, and Jon looked away. "No, I saw that. What is it?" 

"It's not like I'm her real firstborn," The boy said grudgingly, rather bitterly. "That's Lorcan and Tya,"

"They're my firstborn children," Jaime raised an eyebrow. "Not Lyanna's,"

"But they get to live with her," Jon looked up at him. "They know her. She has to love them more. Which is right," He added hastily, remembering who he was talking to. "Lady Stark says that it's only proper for Lady Lannister to put her trueborn children first, that I shouldn't expect so much as it is," Does she now? If only Lady Catelyn knew... Jon Targaryen. "They'll be lords and ladies, and I'm just a bastard," Definitely bitter. It was quite clear from that that whilst Ned Stark might act like a father to his nephew, his wife was no mother to her goodsister's bastard son.

"That may well be," Jaime shrugged. "You're still her son," He couldn't believe he was comforting the boy. He did look unnervingly like Lyanna, only with a lean, almost elegant build that certainly didn't come from the Starks. "She loves you as much as she loves her children with me, no matter what Lady Stark says. You should've seen her fussing over everything before your visit. It was rather irritating in truth, but I've never seen her fuss like that for anyone else," Jon considered that in silence. "Stop brooding," Jaime advised him. "You look too much like your father," The boy turned in anger, clearly hating the comparison, but he was already walking away, back to Lyanna and his children.

The day the Starks left, Lyanna embraced Jon as she always did, hugging him tightly and fighting back tears. Jaime watched as the boy eyed her even as she held him, still seeming mildly surprised that it was his mother's arms around him, seeming amazed she was real. 

Jaime hadn't told Lyanna what Jon had said about Catelyn Stark; she was better off not knowing, and it wasn't like the woman was truly awful. Just... slightly cold. At least the boy wouldn't grow up a pampered little prince like his father. At least he had some sense, and a care in the world for others. Jaime doubted that Jon Snow was the type to rip a kingdom apart for his own sake. They had no need for another mad Targaryen in Westeros.

*

"What are you doing?" Jaime stared at his eldest daughter, who was suspiciously holding her little sister's hand as she walked along with one of her friends. He used the term friend loosely, as generally those in her company were merely just whichever unfortunate sod she'd picked to tag along with her for the day. In this case, it looked like one of the cook's boys. 

He was suspicious as Tya normally had very little time for Jo. Although it varied sometimes; sometimes she was fascinated and treated the child like an interesting beetle, whilst at other times she hated even the sound of her sister's breathing. This was odd in itself, both of them out without a nursemaid or septa. The boy with her blanched at the sight of Jaime, stumbling into a clumsy bow with a muttered 'm-m-milord', which he ignored. 

"Taking Jo for a walk, Father," She had Cersei's smile, and Cersei's innocent look which Jaime could see right through immediately.

"No you're not,"

"No, I'm not," Tya had even less patience than his sister, though, and saw no point sticking with a lost cause of a lie. "I'm taking her to see the cliffs," She was good, that one almost had him; unreasonable and dangerous enough for him to believe she had to sneak around, but not entirely unacceptable.

"No you're not," He raised an eyebrow. "What's that in your cloak?" His eleven year old daughter scowled, pulling out a long, lethal looking dagger. He snatched it off her easily, and she made an angry protest. Beside her, the two year old Jo giggled, chattering happily in half-intelligible words. The kitchen boy looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. Jaime took pity on him, waving him away with his hand. "Go on, lad, off you go," The boy practically ran. When he had rounded the corner, and Jaime's stare had not lessened, Tya finally gave in.

"I'm teaching her to fight," She said sulkily. "I thought it would make her more interesting, so she doesn't turn out boring like Alarra,"

"She's a bit young for daggers," Jaime said with a raised eyebrow. "You are, too. Where did you get this?"

"Stole it off a guard,"

"Of course you did," He wasn't sure what to say to that. There was a pause. It was never normally down to him to deal with Tya's trouble; normally he found it amusing, laughing in the background as Lyanna and Aunt Dorna tried to deal out punishments. "You know I can't give it back,"

"What?" She exclaimed indignantly. 

"You're really surprised?" He said in disbelief. "I'll need the baby back, too," 

"You can have her," Tya let go of her sister with a look of disdain, nudging her so she toddled forward, clinging to Jaime's legs. "She's useless," He hoisted Jocasta up on his hip, as he had done with Tya not so long ago. 

His eldest daughter turned on her heel and marched off in a storm of dark hair and scowling. She's only ten, Jaime reflected with some horror. Cersei had only gotten worse as she grew older. He didn't really think his daughter was a lot like his sister, but still... Tya could use a sword.

 

Chapter 4: Part IV

Lyanna was in Winterfell when the news came of Tywin Lannister's death.

She and the children usually visited her childhood home every year or so, but this time Jaime had come with them as well, along with Tyrion, who claimed to want to see the Wall. The visit had been going well up until that raven came.

Her children and Ned's all got along nicely, as a rule. Lorcan and Tya were thirteen, a year younger than Robb and Jon. The three boys were close - though Lorcan and Jon were both much quieter than Robb - which Lyanna was glad for, as her eldest son with Jaime often came across as rather reserved, even cold, to those he did not know so well. Damon, despite only being eleven, often tagged along with that group too, though he was friends with all the other younger boys too; being as confident and kind as he was, he always did make friends easily.

Tya seemed to prefer the company of the boys as well. She was not particularly given to the ladylike pursuits Sansa favoured, aside from dancing. Though as wild little Arya had grown older, her and Tya were becoming much better friends. Both had started slipping away from the septa's lessons together, Tya even teaching her the basics of how to fight, and though it made Lady Catelyn furious, Lyanna could only find it funny. Arya reminded her a lot of herself when she was younger, though Ned's daughter was far more intelligent and practical, with none of the young Lyanna's more foolish, romantic side.

No, Sansa had gotten that, although the girl's naivety might have also had something to do with her mother and septa filling her head with pretty songs and fairytales. Lyanna did not want Sansa to grow up too fast, of course, but was thinking of having a word with Ned; there was talk of betrothing her to Robert's eldest son Steffon, and the girl would not last long as a queen in King's Landing without a more realistic outlook.

But Sansa was a sweet child, and good to Lyanna's own daughter Alarra. She and her friends brought the quiet, ten-year-old girl out of her shell a little, including her in the embroidery and gossiping. It was clear that Sansa felt a little superior to her cousin, rather sorry for her in that Alarra hadn't inherited the Lannister good looks; she looked more like Ned, Arya and Jon than Jaime. Yet it was equally clear that Alarra often thought the things her cousin spouted were ridiculous and childish, so it evened out in the end.

Jocasta was only four, but she was everyone's darling; Sansa and her friends in particular fawned over her golden hair and beautiful face, and Jo seemed to like the attention, given that Tya rarely had much time for anyone she didn't find fun or interesting, and Alarra was usually so solitary; only Damon paid his youngest sister much mind, but he was usually busy fighting in the yard or riding. It was also rather amusing watching Jo playing with Rickon Stark, both of a similar age. The rather wild little boy seemed to find her daughter fascinating, and Jo seemed to find him hilarious.

Even Ned and Jaime had not been at each other's throats; the dislike between them had faded into cold civility over the years. There had been a tense moment or two, like when Jaime had asked Ned to spar with a mocking smile; her brother was a good swordsman, better than most, but of course nowhere near Jaime's level. Lyanna had diffused the situation by dryly asking her husband if he wanted to compare cocks as well, to which he had laughed and backed down.

But then the raven had arrived, with it carrying news of the death of the Hand of the King.

Jaime had taken the news with a blank face, barely even blinking. That may have been because Ned was watching at the time, as Lyanna knew him too well to believe he was truly that unaffected. Tywin Lannister had never had much affection for any of his children, but she knew that Jaime had respected his father at least, loved him even if he rarely liked him.

It was rather a shock for them all, in truth. Lord Tywin had seemed an eternal looming presence over the Seven Kingdoms, and their family, yet now he was gone. Even Tyrion had been shaken, and he made it no secret how he hated his father, who had despised him since the day he was born.

Privately, Lyanna couldn't help but be somewhat glad, given that she had suffered enough of her goodfather's disapproval for the way she raised her children, how she fought with a sword, even how she was not a virgin when she married Jaime. But now Lord Tywin would not be there to marry her daughters off to some far-flung lord for the sake of a few hundred swords, nor would he be there to finish turning her eldest son into a younger version of himself.

"That makes you lord, now," Lyanna turned to her husband as they returned to their chambers. Jaime had spoken little since hearing of his father's death, but she was certainly not going to ask how he felt about it. He would tell her if he wanted to, and if not, asking would merely irritate him.

"Lord Jaime Lannister," He gave a hollow smirk. "Ser sounds better,"

"Perhaps," She gave a shrug. "But really, what's changed, apart from that title? We'll still live in Casterly Rock, still have responsibility for it and the Westerlands. The only difference is we won't have the shadow of Lord Tywin constantly hanging over us,"

"If you really think that's true, you never knew my father," Jaime said, darkly amused. "His shadow will still hang over Casterly Rock by the time Lorcan's grandchildren are old men," Lyanna could not deny that.

They left for the capital three days later. They had been planning on staying for another fortnight, but had been in Winterfell over a month already. In truth, it was perfect timing; Benjen had been visiting from the Wall, and Jon was to return with him the same day the Lannisters left, to take the black himself.

It was a long time coming. Lyanna had always known that her son would be sent to the Wall like a common criminal, ever since she brought the last living child of Rhaegar Targaryen to King's Landing as a babe. Those were the conditions, as Jon Arryn eloquently put it. Conditions for him to live, the man had not said. He had not had to; everyone in the Red Keep remembered the bloody corpses of Elia's children all too well, and Robert's small smile and declaration that they were not children but 'Dragonspawn' had been burned fresh in Ned's mind.

Jon likely should have gone to the Wall years ago. Ever since he turned eight, Lyanna knew that the king had been writing to Ned - one of the few royal letters Robert actually bothered to write himself - urging him to hurry up and send the boy north, forsaking his claim to the throne for certain, even if to the rest of the kingdom he was only a bastard anyway and had no claim. Ned had been stalling, but it was past time now. Jon was nearly a man, and the king would not abide him being free for much longer.

Lyanna tried not to cry as she bade her eldest son goodbye. She hated that this was necessary, hated that her boy would have to spend the rest of his life in the far north, with no hope of a wife or family of his own, surrounded by rapers, murderers and wildlings. He will take no wife, father no children, forsake any right to lands and titles. She supposed it was for the best. Better he spent his life at the Wall than died a pawn in the machinations of schemers and backstabbers, those who would see him king for their own gains.

That didn't make saying goodbye any easier, however.

"Write to me," Her eyes were glassy, but tears didn't fall - she had cried them all in Jaime's arms the previous night - as she leaned across to her son's horse and hugged him tight. "And your brothers and sisters. You're allowed to do that, at least, even though Benjen hardly does," He gave a weak chuckle.

"I'll be fine, Mother," He insisted. "I want to go. I'd want to go even if I didn't have to. It's a worthy cause, and where else can a bastard rise so high?" You could be king, if you fought for it. But Jon knew that already. It broke her heart to see him go, but she was proud that he knew better than to make the same foolish mistakes in youth that she had herself.

You're not a bastard, either. No one except her and Jaime knew that. Though how valid her marriage with Rhaegar had been, given that he was already married at the time with two children, was debatable. She'd rather he was a Snow than a Targaryen, besides. It was easy to forget who his father had been, given he looked so much like Ned, and she didn't need his name to remind her.

As Lyanna and her husband rode south, whilst her son and brother rode north, she glanced over her shoulder one last time. Only Benjen looked back at them, raising a hand in farewell. She should take that as a good sign, but it only made her sad.

*

Upon their return to King's Landing, they found, as predicted, that Jon Arryn had taken back his former position of Hand of the King after Lord Tywin's death. Lyanna had half been expecting Robert to ask Ned to take the post, but the rift between the two boyhood friends had never quite healed after the 'dragonspawn' incident, and Robert's attitude towards Lyanna when he found out she would not be marrying him had hardly helped at all. She actually suspected that Jaime had mentioned something to her brother about the king's behaviour, for in recent years, any mention of Robert was met rather coldly by Ned whenever she had brought him up.

They had taken the children with them to the city, expecting to collect Lord Tywin's bones and escort them back to Casterly Rock shortly after. However, upon their arrival, they found that the funeral had not even taken place yet, at the queen's insistence. Cersei had wanted to wait until Jaime arrived, to both his and Lyanna's dismay and disgust, and that of most of the court.

Andal tradition usually went that the body was on display during the funeral, but even Cersei could not insist on that, despite her ridiculous stubbornness so far. The month old corpse of Tywin Lannister was contained in a luxurious golden coffin, but the stench permeated the Sept of Baelor anyway.

Ladies buried their noses in perfumed scraps of lace, men tried to pretend to be unaffected, and little Prince Tommen ran away crying as his parents led him up to the dais. No one could blame him, except his furious mother; more glares were directed at Prince Joffrey, who had taken advantage of Cersei's absence to crack several cruel jokes at his brother's expense, for which Robert cuffed him round the head.

Even the crown Prince Steffon, ordinarily as stoic as his Uncle Stannis, looked faintly green. Lyanna's own children did not make sitting through the ceremony any easier. Damon spent the whole time cursing the smell under her breath, whilst Tya seemed to find the whole state of affairs amusing, for whatever sick reason. Lorcan was glowering throughout, no doubt angry that his grandfather's funeral had been reduced to this undignified farce, and Jo - ordinarily the picture of perfect manners - was fidgeting, tugging at an irritated Alarra's sleeve and looked ready to throw up her breakfast.

The torture was not even over after the service, however, as they all had to sit through a dinner with Cersei, Robert and the children. 

"Damion," Lyanna saw Jaime grimace at his cousin's son as they approached the royal apartments. Ser Damion Lannister had become his replacement on the Kingsguard shortly after they married, and guarded the door now, in his white armour and cloak. "Tell me, is my sweet sister in a pleasant mood this evening?"

"Her Grace is grieving, my lord," The man nodded, and Lyanna paused slightly at the look he was giving Jaime. Almost... reproachful? Odd. Jaime clearly noticed it too, for his smile sharpened.

"Of course," They all stepped inside. Tyrion was there too, and looked about as happy as she and Jaime did at the turn of events, pointedly pouring all three of them a large cup of wine each.

Dinner was as bad as Lyanna had expected, if not worse. Whilst her own children were close to their Stark cousins, their Baratheon ones were another matter, despite the fact that Winterfell was nearly twice the distance away from Casterly Rock than King's Landing. Steffon was always rather sulky and stoic, hardly a bundle of laughs, though he was strong with a sword and of all of the royal children, he was the one Lorcan seemed to like the best. Myrcella was sweet, bold and rather witty, so she was probably the favourite of the Lannister children, but Tommen was rather timid and cowardly, and often held back from doing anything by his mother besides.

It was Joffrey who caused the most trouble, of course. The boy was rude, arrogant and entitled, and irritated not only Lyanna's children, but his own siblings too.

"Why do you never speak?" He demanded of Alarra towards the end of the meal. Her daughter looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

"I don't have anything to say," She might have been quiet, but Lyanna's daughter was still a lion, having outgrown her shyness years ago.

"That's stupid," The prince sneered. "Are you a lackwit, as well as horse-faced?" Lyanna opened her mouth angrily, and she saw Jaime's eyes narrow, but Tya got there first.

"You little shit," She said to Joffrey, without missing a beat. "I'd rather have the face of a horse than the wits of one. Besides, you wouldn't be able to recognise a beautiful girl if she walked naked into your rooms," Robert roared with laughter at that, as did Tyrion, and near everyone else laughed as well. Even Steffon cracked a smile. Cersei, however, was predictably furious.

"How dare you speak to a prince in that way?" The queen glared sharply at Tya, cutting off her sputtering son, who had flushed an angry red colour.

"I'm always being told to act more of a lady," Her daughter shrugged carelessly. "Perhaps you should tell dear Joffrey to act more like a prince," Damon and Myrcella laughed loudly, whilst the other children smirked. Lyanna openly snorted. Cersei gave a glittering, fake smile.

"Jaime, it's a disgrace that you let your daughter get away with speaking like a tavern wench," She said, tone poisonously sweet. "It might be for the best that you send her away, to learn the manners your little wife clearly isn't teaching her. The motherhouse in Lannisport, perhaps, or even in the sept in Oldtown,"

"Perhaps you could come as well, your Grace," Tya grinned wickedly. "Brush up on a few things. Though you'd have to leave that gown behind - I can't imagine that the septas take kindly to women baring their wares," She gave a pointed look to the low-cut neckline of Cersei's dress. Robert choked on his wine, as did Jaime, Lyanna noticed with some amusement. She could come to her daughter's defence, but from the looks of things, the girl didn't need her to. And there was no chance of Lyanna telling her to stop; she was enjoying watching it too much for that, even if the girl would listen to her.

"You insolent little wretch - " Cersei started furiously, only to stop, even more enraged, as Tya just laughed openly in her face. Dauntless, my daughter is. Lyanna wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Tya seemed to go beyond Jaime's reckless confidence and Lyanna's own wild boldness, into some unholy combination of the two.

The dinner ended as dinners with the extended Lannister family usually ended, with half the table fuming and the other half desperate to leave. Robert was half drunk, still chortling about Tya's verbal sparring with Cersei, as he stumbled off to fuck some whore or other. Cersei was still angry and glaring daggers at everyone but her own children, hissing a venomous comment in Jaime's ear as she swept out of the room. And Lyanna, as funny as she had found it, was simply weary of it all.

"Your sister is a menace," She sighed to Jaime as she undressed in their chambers that night. "Honestly, if it were up to her to run things, your whole house would be a smoking ruin within the year," She saw him smirk in the mirror, from where he lay stretched out on the bed, watching her lazily.

"She thinks she's cleverer than she is," He shrugged. "Cersei always resented that I was the heir, as she's the eldest and likes to believe she's Tywin the Second,"

"More like Aerys the Third," Lyanna snorted.

"She hasn't burned anyone alive in wildfire yet,"

"She's also prone to spewing out complete insanity, thinks everyone is plotting against her and fucked a close relative for much of her life, so I'm not sure the comparison is entirely inaccurate," Jaime's smile sharpened, and she grinned innocently.

"Perhaps not,"

*

Upon returning to her chambers the day before they were meant to leave for Casterly Rock, Lyanna heard two muffled voices coming from inside. She paused, listening at the door for a moment, long enough to recognise them both, before flinging open the door and marching inside, eyes narrowed.

The sight that met her eyes was not a welcome one. Jaime was there, of course, holding his sister at an arm's reach. Cersei, clearly trying to seduce him, sprang back with a small shriek as Lyanna flung open the door, only to quickly recover and shoot her a poisonous glare.

"As I told you," Jaime was saying to the woman, remarkably coldly; when he wanted, he could actually sound a lot like his father, which was rather unnerving. Lyanna took it as a good sign that he didn't look particularly concerned by her arrival. "My wife will be coming back soon, and you know how she can't stand you. Leave, sister,"

"Are you that much of a craven that you let your horse-faced, uncivilised northern wife," Cersei spat, somehow managing to get across the words 'northern whore' without even speaking them. "Order you around? Did she take your manhood as well as your name?"

"We've got five children, what do you think?" Lyanna snapped at her, deliberately misunderstanding. She saw Jaime's lips twitch. Cersei gave her a dirty look, before turning back to her brother.

"I cannot believe you would turn your back on your family like this," The queen snarled. "Are you a wolf in lion's skin? Though perhaps a sheep would be more accurate," She gave a scornful laugh. Lyanna raised an eyebrow.

"Let's pretend, for a moment, that you're not in my chambers for a pathetic attempt at seducing my husband to get him to do your bidding," She said flatly, not mincing her words, quickly continuing as Cersei opened her mouth in outrage. "In what way could you possibly accuse Jaime of turning his back on his family, having managed the Westerlands for fourteen years, had five children to bear the Lannister name and sat through that ridiculous farce of a funeral you organised for his father without even mentioning the foul stench?"

"It is no concern of yours," Cersei waved her hand. "You are not a Lannister. And as for those filthy lies you just spouted - "

"Not a Lannister?" Lyanna laughed. "I am married to the Lord of Casterly Rock, which makes me Lady Lannister. You are the Baratheon queen. And as for lies, don't make me laugh. If I entered my brother Ned's chambers wearing a dress like that and looked at him like you were looking at Jaime, he'd be greatly concerned and call for the Maester. So I'll ask again, why are you here?"

"Cersei thinks our father was murdered," Jaime spoke over his sister before she could reply, every syllable showing how mad he thought the theory. "That Jon Arryn must have done it, or you, or Tyrion, never mind the fact that none of these people were anywhere near the city at the time,"

"Murdered?" Lyanna raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"My father was a healthy man. Healthy men do not suddenly drop dead two weeks later," Cersei snapped. "And he had many enemies. Many people stand to gain from his death. Jon Arryn, the Imp and you,"

"What in hells do I gain from murdering your father?" Lyanna stared in disbelief.

"To steal the throne for your Targaryen bastard!"

"Are you out of your mind? If I wanted Jon to be king, I'd have started by killing Robert! Which wouldn't eat up my guilty conscience, I can assure you,"

"Well there's something you agree on," Jaime muttered darkly. "Lyanna, leave it. Cersei, just leave. You're talking madness, Father was hardly a young man, and he was not murdered, least of all by Jon Arryn. Did you see the look on his face today, in court? He's old and tired. He wants to be in the Vale, spend his final few years with his wife and children. The last thing he wants to do is run Robert's kingdom for him. And if you honestly think that Lyanna did it, then you're a bigger fool than I thought,"

Cersei did not take that well.

"What happened to you, Jaime?" The queen of the Seven Kingdoms practically spat at him, turning in a swirl of skirts and looking back over her shoulder. "You're so different now that I cannot believe I ever loved you," Lyanna gave a small snort as Cersei slammed the door.

"She can't believe she loved you? A mother would struggle to love that woman," Her tone was thick with dislike, not caring if her words annoyed Jaime or not. He looked caught between amused and angry, though whether the anger was direction at her, Lyanna could not say. "Has she always been like this?"

"Probably," Her husband laughed humourlessly. "If she was, I never saw it. Ask Tyrion, he'll give you a more accurate telling,"

"No," She pulled a face. "I've had as much of Cersei as I can stomach these past weeks. No need to subject myself to picturing her as a child,"

They returned to Casterly Rock the next morning, escorting Lord Tywin's bones, and it wasn't nearly soon enough.

*

Lyanna shouldn't have been shocked when the letter came, but she was nonetheless.

Robert Baratheon was dead, after being gored by a boar on a hunt. Well, the manner of death was fairly shocking, but the king - fat, drunk and miserable as he was - was never going to live to be an old man. What was truly a surprise was that his queen was imprisoned, awaiting trial for adultery and treason.

As it turned out, it was no coincidence that three of the four royal children looked nothing like their supposed father. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were not sired by Robert at all, but by a member of the Kingsguard, Ser Damion Lannister. Cersei had been cuckholding her husband for years with the knight, her second cousin, leaving Steffon their only trueborn child.

The king had been told this information by Jon Arryn and his brother Stannis on his deathbed, having survived the ride back to the Red Keep. Robert had held onto life long enough to work himself into a fury and sign the warrant for Cersei's arrest, proclaiming his three younger children bastards. By all reports, he had died furious. A drunken hunting accident was perhaps not the best way for a warrior king to die, but Lyanna supposed that dying feeling insurmountable rage - and arranging the downfall of his hated wife- was the way Robert would have wanted to go.

She wasn't particularly saddened by the king's death, but she didn't celebrate in it either. She wondered what would have happened if indeed she had married Robert. Perhaps she would have slept with another man too, once her husband inevitably grew bored with her. Lyanna did not judge Cersei for finding comfort in a man that wasn't her husband; instead, she judged her for being a terrible person, and being so stupid as to try to pass three of her bastards off as the king's children.

Lyanna did not need to have Damion's resemblance to Jaime pointed out to her. She had met the knight on more than one occasion, and he had the typical Lannister look, like her husband but slightly shorter, and less handsome. Neither of them mentioned it right away, but it was an elephant in the room.

"If you had stayed in the Kingsguard," She asked him quietly as they sat by the fire, having made camp the night after setting out from Casterly Rock to the capital once more, heading east at a swift pace to be there in time for the trial. "Do you think you'd have done what he did?" Jaime looked at her, green eyes dark.

"I'd never even looked at any woman other than her by the time we were married," He said. "It took me months to even look at you, and even longer to not compare you to her in every way. I joined the Kingsguard for Cersei. Fucking her and fighting were the only things that made me feel alive. On our wedding day, I would have swapped with Robert in a heartbeat. Only you, and time apart, made me reconsider. To see her for what she really is. Without that..." He shrugged. "Likely Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen would have been mine. Steffon might not even have been born, and gods only know where that would leave us now,"

Lyanna could not deny that the words stung, but at least he was honest. Her husband was not the same man she had married, and she was not the same woman. Oh, he was still reckless and arrogant, more skilled with a sword than he was with lordly duties, but he had grown up somewhat. He sat through petitions and discussions on finances, he taught his sons and daughter to fight, he never looked at a woman other than his wife. The Jaime Lannister that stood before her today was racing to King's Landing for his sister's trial, not in some reckless attempt to save her (likely throwing away his own life and not even caring if he did), but to see judgement passed at last.

"War," She leant her head against his shoulder, and felt his arm wrap around her. "That would leave us at war," She felt his hum of agreement, and then smiled faintly. "I wonder who I'd have married, if not you or Robert," Jaime gave a short laugh.

"Some northman," He said. "You wouldn't have been so lucky as to find a husband who lets you fight with a sword, that I can tell you,"

"Let me?" Lyanna looked up at him in amused outrage. "If you hadn't let me, Lannister, then I'd have done it behind your back,"

"In which case, you'd still have all the skill of a green squire," Jaime smirked, stretching out his legs lazily. "More men should let their wives fight, I believe. There's nothing quite like beating your lady wife into the ground in public with no one batting an eye, not even her. Again, and again, and again - "

"Prick," She snorted, elbowing him in the ribs. "I beat you once, remember,"

"You didn't beat me," He laughed. "Even if you've managed to make me lose my sword before - through no fault of your own, mind - I could win without a blade, easily. I'm still twice the size of you,"

"Perhaps," She shrugged, then grinned up at him. "I quite like that, though," Jaime caught her tone, and a wicked glint came to his eye.

"Come on," He got to his feet abruptly, offering her his hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet, arm immediately sliding around her waist as he leant down to murmur in her ear. "There are advantages to travelling with no children," Lyanna laughed, as he led her away from the fire, many of their guards still awake. She saw the amused looks they gave them, but didn't care. Why should she be ashamed, to sleep with her husband? This wasn't the stolen kisses with Rhaegar in the deserted halls of Harrenhal. Nor was it sneaking off to Cersei's rooms in the middle of the night.

The tent was dark, and before the door had even been pulled shut, Jaime's lips were on hers, one hand on the small of her back, the other tangled in her hair. Something about being out here in the dark, the chilly wind blowing a draught into the tent, the smell of woodsmoke from the fire on her clothes and his, made a thrill run through her. Lyanna leant into him, returning the kiss hungrily, both hands gripping the back of Jaime's head, pulling him closer. He was only to happy to oblige.

*

The case against Cersei was far stronger than Lyanna had imagined. She had wondered what exactly they had on the queen, especially given the fact that Jon Arryn had only been back in the city for half a year. But not only did Arryn, the Hand of the King, and the new Lord Regent Stannis Baratheon, back up the claims, but so did Barristan Selmy, Renly Baratheon and the new king himself, Steffon, Cersei's own least-favourite son. The reasons for the way she neglected her eldest in favour of the other three had suddenly become more clear.

Other members of the Kingsguard were brought in, testifying Damion's absence at odd times, the fact they all suspected he had a secret paramour, the odd way he acted around the royal children. Servants and maids were questioned as well, and many admitted to seeing suspicious comings and goings from the queen's apartments.

The most compelling evidence was that of Robert's bastard children. Some poor sod had done a very good job of locating near a dozen children that were clearly sired by the king, bringing them and their mothers to court for the trial. All of them - from the boyish woman living in the Vale, to the blacksmith's apprentice in King's Landing, to the young whore from the Riverlands, to Edric Storm from Storm's End - were black of hair and blue of eye, unmistakably Robert's.

The Hand of the King even brought forward a book describing the characteristics of children from each house, and whenever a Baratheon had married a Lannister throughout history, the children had been dark haired. Lyanna noted that this also prevented Steffon's own legitimacy from being questioned. Jon Arryn might be old, but he knew what he was doing.

King Steffon, to his credit, conducted himself well throughout his mother's trial. He did not speak a word aside from opening and dismissing court, yet sat there with a stony expression the whole time, listening and paying attention and not showing a hint of weakness, despite Cersei's dramatics. Lyanna felt for the boy; it could hardly be easy to sit through your mother's reputation being torn apart in front of a large audience, even a mother like Cersei. Stannis, as his Regent, led the proceedings.

Cersei switched quickly through various tactics throughout. At first she acted the imperious queen, demanding to be released immediately, given that such disgusting accusations were beneath even her contempt. Then she switched to the righteously angry, indignant widow, who only wanted to grieve for her husband in peace and not embarrass her son the king through senseless accusations. This quickly changed to playing the tearful mother worried for the fate of her children, and several more acts after that.

It was only when Damion Lannister himself - looking very much worse for wear after weeks in the cells - was brought forward, confessing in a blank, dull voice the exact nature of what he and the queen had done together, that Cersei finally acted the pious, penitent victim. Backed into a corner, she confessed to having lain with another man out of loneliness, womanly weakness, having lived in constant fear of her brute of a husband who beat her and lay with her against her will. Nonetheless, she sworn that all the children were Robert's. As if anyone believed a word she said by that point.

But a confession was a confession.

"If you had merely been guilty of adultery," Stannis' face was grim and stony as he read out the sentence to the condemned woman. "Then you would have been sent to the Silent Sisters for the rest of you life for your crimes against the crown. But not only did you lie constantly to the court, you also tried to pass off another man's children as those of the king. That is high treason, for which the sentence is death,"

A ripple of shock rang through the assembled audience. Lyanna was not sure why, it was hardly a surprise. Surely they didn't think Stannis would settle for anything less than brutal justice? Why else had they all come out to see the show, to see the downfall of the golden Lannister queen, if not for blood?

She stared at Cersei, who had dropped all her acts now. The woman's green eyes - so much like Jaime's but so very different - were shining with an unmasked hatred and vicious anger. Her beautiful face had become ugly in a matter of seconds.

"You may kill me," She spat. "But let it sit in your hearts for the rest of your sorry lives that all of you betrayed me. I am your mother," She glared at Steffon, whose face faltered for a moment then became as guarded as Stannis' once more. "Your sister," She looked at Jaime, and for a heart-stopping second Lyanna was sure she was going to add 'lover' to that, and cause an insurmountable wave of trouble. "Your queen," Of course that came in highest importance. "Yet you sentence me to die like a common criminal,"

"I do," Stannis ground out, with no sympathy. "Take her away,"

Lyanna was not saddened in the least by the prospect of her goodsister's execution. She was, however, angered that Ser Damion's punishment was so much lighter; he was merely being sent to the Wall, for essentially the same crime, though at least he told the truth with far less pushing. She did not argue too much, however, given that she did not want to be the one responsible for Cersei's punishment being lessened.

The execution was scheduled for sunset the next day. Cersei's beheading was to be done in private; the new king's only request was that a spectacle not be made of his mother's death by killing her for the whole city to see. Lyanna wasn't sure what Steffon thought, given that in the end he had no real say in the matter, the final decision to kill his mother being down to Stannis as his Regent.

Private meant that only the headsman, Cersei's family, Stannis and Jon Arryn were permitted to attend. Of the family, it was only Jaime, Tyrion, Steffon and Myrcella who were there. Lyanna would have been allowed in if she wanted, but thought it best she did not. She might have not been saddened in any way by Cersei's death, but did not want anyone, least of all Jaime, thinking she was there to delight in it.

Instead she kept little Prince Tommen company - no, just Tommen, he's not a prince anymore - in her own chambers, given that his own royal apartments had already been taken from him. The boy, though forlorn and clearly sad, did not cry, which she had not expected given what a soft child he was. He had said goodbye to his mother earlier that day in her cell, and there had been a few tears then, but no more. Lyanna supposed that Cersei had not shown her children much affection save Joffrey. The only times she had seen the queen interact with her youngest son, it had been out of impatience or anger.

"Can I take my kittens to Casterly Rock, Aunt Lyanna?" Tommen asked her in a small voice. The three children were to travel west with Jaime and Lyanna when they returned. It would have been cruel to keep them in King's Landing, where they had once been royal and were now less than nothing, even if Stannis would permit it.

"Of course you can," She smiled. "You can take whatever you like,"

"Even though I'm a bastard now?" He didn't actually seem especially upset by the fact he was no longer a prince, more that he would have to leave his home.

"Even then," Lyanna said, then a thought came to her. "What name do you want us to call you, now? You get to choose,"

"Really?" He actually looked somewhat excited at that, bless him. How Cersei had managed to have such a sweet child, she did not know.

"I named my first son Jon Snow, as I am from the North, though he could have been Jon Sand, as he was born in Dorne, or Jon Waters, as his father was from the Crownlands," She explained. "You can be Tommen Waters, as you've grown up in King's Landing, or Tommen Hill for the Westerlands where your parents are from, or just Tommen," The boy thought on that for a few seconds.

"Tommen Hill," He decided. "Like cousin Lorna and cousin Joy," Lyanna smiled at that, that he remembered the names of his bastard cousins, though if she remembered rightly, he had been rather taken with Tyrion's little daughter on his last visit to Casterly Rock.

"We will look after you, Tommen," She found herself saying. "Even if your father was not King Robert, you still have Lannister blood. You can be a knight, or a maester, or a Septon if you wish. You can train in the yard with the other boys, and eat dinner with the rest of us," She only brought that up as she remembered a tense exchange she had had with Lady Catelyn, having found out her brother's wife had insisted Jon sat on the benches instead of with the rest of the family during a visit from Lord Manderly a couple of years ago.

"I want to be a knight," He said. "Like Uncle Jaime," Lyanna smiled.

"I'm sure you'll make a great knight,"

"What about Joffrey?" The boy frowned then. Lyanna couldn't help but grimace. Joffrey had not taken the news of his mother's treachery so well. Where Tommen just quietly accepted that things were changing, and Myrcella took the news with cold-faced stoicism, Cersei's second son had refused to believe the accusations at all. He still insisted furiously that he was a prince, that this was all some scheme of Steffon's to get him out of the way. The journey back to Casterly Rock was going to be very unpleasant with him in tow.

Dark had fallen by the time Jaime returned to her chambers. Tommen had been tired, so Lyanna had returned him to the temporary room he was sleeping in, so was alone by the time her husband's figure appeared at her door. He's just seen his sister die.

"Come here," She said softly after seeing the look on his face, but Jaime was already crossing the room in long strides, pulling her tight against him and wordlessly pressing her lips to his. He was hungry, forceful, pained, and she did not protest. It was likely hardly the best way of dealing with grief, but if that's what he wanted in this moment, she wasn't going to protest.

Lyanna reached around, trying to untie the laces on her dress, and partly succeeding. Clearly feeling she was taking to long, Jaime spun her around and finished undoing them himself. Her heavy overgown slipped off her shoulders and fell to the floor, following by her undergown and stays, leaving her in her shift. She turned around then, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him again, throwing both arms around his neck.

She felt him backing her towards the bed. The backs of her legs hit the edge, but Jaime kept going, pushing her onto her back and swiftly moving on top of her, hands rough and strong as they moved under her shift, grabbing her breasts until she moaned then moving a hand down between her legs. Even then he was rough, though she could hardly complain.

With every movement he made, she could tell how he was hurting. Lyanna knew that although he had not loved Cersei in a long time, she was still his sister. It was for that reason that he hadn't spoken against her in her trial. Less than an hour ago, Jaime had watched the head be cut off of the woman he had spent half his life loving, and had not done a thing to stop it. She didn't blame him for feeling as he did.

After, he rolled off her, both of them lying on their backs, side by side.

"I love you,"

"Excuse me?" Lyanna blinked, wondering if she'd heard him right, turning to see him staring up at the ceiling.

"We've been married fifteen years and I've never said it to you," He replied.

"Nor I to you," Her tone must have carried her surprise across, as Jaime snorted slightly, but she continued. "That doesn't mean I don't - " She broke off.

"Don't what?" He looked at her.

"It's been fifteen years since we married," She said. "The first year you were in love with your sister. After that we were... friends?"

"I can't say I slept with any of my other friends, but fine,"

"I should hope not, or should I be asking Addam Marbrand some questions?" A smile curled her lips. "My point is, what brought this on now?" Perhaps it was an obvious question, but she wanted to hear what he had to say, that he wasn't just saying it out of grief for Cersei. Knowing the both of them, it would have been very easy to just not say anything at all, wordlessly acknowledging what didn't need to be spoken aloud. There was a silence.

"Cersei died with her eyes full of hate," He said eventually. "She glared and cursed at me, telling Steffon and Myrcella how much they owe her and should feel guilty, just to spite the ones she knew it would hurt the most. Even at the end, she was looking out for herself, not caring what it did to her children," He paused. "All I could think of, as Ilyn Payne cut off her head, was how glad I am that I married you,"

Lyanna was unsure what to say to that. Conversation normally came easily between them, jokes, laughter, arguing. Never anything like this. She was not good with words, as a rule. Neither was he. She supposed this was hardly a flowery declaration of undying love; more a confession that he liked her more than his own sister, which wasn't exactly a scene from one of Sansa's stories. If it had been a flowery speech, from him it would have just sounded sarcastic, and she might have laughed in his face. This was... better? More meaningful, perhaps.

But what was love, truly? She loved her brothers, and for a while she had thought that that kind of love was all she and Jaime would ever have, the mutual attraction a separate thing entirely. She had never really felt a love like those in songs, only a childish infatuation with Rhaegar fuelled by frustration at her betrothal and a desire for thrill and adventure, which had faded fast when things turned sour.

But Jaime... It had been slow, but she missed him when he was gone, or when she was away. She enjoyed his company more than she enjoyed that of most anyone else. She had his children, who she loved more than anything. She delighted in seeing different aspects of him in them, alongside those from her. When she was upset, it was to him she went to. Was that love? Lyanna supposed it was.

The words were out of her mouth before she realised what she was saying, but they didn't sound unnatural at all.

"I love you too,"

*

Five years later - late 303

The wedding of Alyssa Arryn and Harold Hardyng was held in the first few weeks of winter, in King's Landing, which was the only reason the Lannisters had attended at all. Lyanna had had no love for Jon Arryn, and hadn't seen his daughter since she was a child in Lady Lysa's arms. Though she wasn't much older than a girl now, only fourteen years old - two years her brother, Lord Robert's, elder - wedding her distant cousin of one-and-twenty.

Despite the bride's young age, Alyssa surely had a happier wedding than her mother, being married to a handsome young man. She looked beautiful, dressed in a gown of shades of blue and silver, that rippled as she walked, tall and slender, down the aisle. Her father had died three years ago, and her grandparents were long gone, so her mother's uncle, Brynden Tully, gave her away.

Lyanna could see through the fairytale wedding, however. Lord Robert Arryn was a boy of twelve, weak, sickly, spoilt and frail, who clung to his mother even in front of the lords of the Vale. He had not been chosen to walk his sister down the aisle for fear he would go into one of his shaking fits. People muttered behind the young lord's back, the Vale lords in particular, that he was a weakling and a fool, that Alyssa would be far more suitable. Though apparently the two siblings cared deeply for one another.

"Look at Lysa's face," Lyanna muttered to Jaime, seeing the scowling woman. Her husband snorted quietly. There seemed to be little love lost between Lady Lysa and her only daughter. It was well known that Lysa had opposed this marriage, perhaps because it made Alyssa much more of a strong claimant to the Vale, given how the lords disdained her brother. By all accounts, the young lady was quick-witted, good with numbers and shrewd for her age; the match had been her idea, in fact, and she had gone straight to the king with it, given her father was dead; the king had approved, as had the lords of the Vale, and Lady Lysa was powerless to stop it.

King Steffon was present at the ceremony of course, his queen at his side and their little daughter Jocelyn on her lap. He was happier with Margaery than his parents had ever been together. The pair had been married little over a year after his mother's execution, shortly after he turned sixteen and became king in his own right. The wedding had been marred slightly by Petyr Baelish being unmasked as a traitor - who it was discovered, amongst other various deeds, had poisoned Tywin Lannister to destabilise the realm - and the man's execution the following day, but all agreed it had been a memorable affair.

Despite the rather bloody wedding, Steffon seemed to trust his wife more than anyone, which was perhaps unwise given how ambitious and charming the Tyrells were, but Margaery seemed to be the only one able to draw him out of his rather stoic self; Lyanna had seen the king smile more after one interaction with his queen than she had his entire life before then.

Not only that, but Margaery seemed to realise that Steffon saw right through her initial charms and manipulations, and that her new husband appreciated blunt honesty a lot more. When there was no audience to watch them, the queen dropped some of her highly polished courtesies, laughed a lot more genuinely and displayed her own sharp sense of humour. She was the queen that Cersei could have been, had she let go of her bitterness, sitting in on small council meetings, making intelligent and insightful additions to conversations and beloved by the smallfolk for her charity work.

After the wedding ceremony, the newly married couple left the Great Sept. Lady Arryn was keeping her name, whilst Harry Hardyng took hers. If that wasn't a blatant show that they were to be the next lord and lady of the Vale, Lyanna didn't know what was.

"I wish Sansa could see this," She heard Bran say. Lyanna's nephew, now thirteen, had been squiring for Jaime for the past year, and was well on his way to earning his knight's spurs. "She'd think it all wonderful,"

"Sansa would have loved it," Jocasta sighed. "Lady Alyssa looks so beautiful," Jo was nearly ten now, and already becoming a great beauty, warm and sweet and perfectly polite. Lyanna wasn't sure how she and Jaime had managed to create such a well-behaved child.

"She couldn't have possibly travelled all this way," Lyanna reminded them with a smile. "It's too far when you're with child. She shouldn't be riding at all, really," Her eldest niece had married Domeric Bolton the previous year, after she turned sixteen. He was hardly the gallant fairytale prince the girl had dreamed of, but he was quietly clever, gentle and thought the world of her. The last time Lyanna had seen Sansa had been several weeks after her wedding, and she had looked very happy.

"You sound so responsible," Jaime said, smirking. "Have you forgotten trying to get on a horse mere days after you gave birth?"

"That was only once," She flashed a grin at him. "I quickly learned my lesson," It had hurt like hell, but she had stubbornly persisted so as not to prove everyone right, then never tried riding that soon after birthing again.

"Ser Jaime, Damon said that you were there every time Aunt Lyanna had a child," Bran said, wide-eyed. "That can't be true, can it? Robb said he could hardly bear even waiting outside the door when Lyarra was born," Robb's wife was Wylla Manderly, who had quickly become one of Lyanna's favourite people when she dyed her hair sea-green for her own wedding.

"I don't recommend it," Jaime shrugged, and Lyanna rolled her eyes. "What? It's bloody, messy and you nearly broke my hand the first time. It's hardly a pleasant experience,"

The feast that night was a grand occasion, far more than expected for the wedding of a landless knight to a lady who wasn't heir to anything. Lyanna took the opportunity to speak with Myrcella; this was the girl's first time back in King's Landing since her mother's death. She had ignored the whispers and gossiping admirably, still holding herself like a princess even though she hadn't been one for five years, even though she only had the name Hill now and had to sit at the back of the sept with Joffrey, who had also come along.

Joffrey had been surprisingly... good, on this visit. He had never been convinced that he was a bastard, spending the last five years at Casterly Rock bitter and bemoaning the fact, and Lyanna had been on her guard the entire ceremony, waiting for him to do something stupid like publicly denounce the king as a liar. He had not, however, which didn't make her feel much less uneasy.

His siblings, on the other hand, had settled into their new life very well. Unlike when Lord Tywin ruled, Jaime had no issue with letting his sister's bastards dine and live with the rest of the family, rather than being relegated to the positions of servants. Tyrion had brought Tysha and Lorna up to live in the castle the moment he returned after his father's death, and Joy Hill no longer had to serve as a lady's maid.

Tommen, in truth, seemed glad to no longer be a prince. He had befriended Bran, who was the same age as he was, and the two learned to fight in the yard together, along with Damon; Tommen had little appetite for battle or adventure, however, and though he was still sweet and kind, he had grown up significantly in the last five years. He would likely become a knight by the time he was grown.

Myrcella was not so glad to lose her royal title, but coped far better than her elder brother, getting involved in the running of the castle and its accounts, proving herself good with numbers and assisting the elderly steward whenever needed, doing what no Lannister had done in centuries and working to cut down unnecessary expenses. Not that they needed to, but just for the challenge. Lyanna would make sure her niece got a good marriage to a landed knight or minor lord - when she wanted to marry, at least - as even being a Lannister bastard counted for something.

"How are you finding things?" She asked Myrcella, grimacing at the group of gossiping ladies to their left smirking behind their hands at the girl who had fallen from a high position.

"I'm bearing it," The girl gave a sharp smile; she looked just like her mother, which meant she looked just like Jaime and Tya when she did that. "They seem to delight in the downfall of a princess. Just as they delighted in the downfall of the queen," Her green eyes darkened slightly.

"You're a princess in nature if not in name," Lyanna shrugged. "I'd have lost my temper and slapped them hours ago, but I haven't seen your smile break all day,"

"Oh there are some things to be happy about," Myrcella's eyes glinted in satisfaction. "I spoke with Steffon, told him what I've been doing at Casterly Rock. He said that if I keep it up, he might make me Master of Coin later on,"

"You'd be good at that," She grinned. The girl smiled, more genuinely than she had all day, reminiscent of the sweet little golden princess she had once been.

"Thank you, Auntie,"

Lyanna loved to dance, and partnered with Jaime, Damon, the king, Tommen and many more that night. As the evening went on, she found herself missing her eldest daughter more and more; she would have danced with Tya more than any of them, had she been here, but she was far away. Her daughter had been married off to Edric Dayne at the end of the previous year.

The Lord of Starfall was a year younger than Tya was, and it was rather unusual for a Lannister to marry a Dornish bannerman, but the Daynes were a very old family, as old as the Starks, and more powerful than many gave them credit for. More importantly, Lyanna knew that Tya would do well in Dorne, given their more relaxed attitude towards what made a proper lady, and Edric seemed like a good, sensible young man. Able to put up with her less desirable traits, at least.

And of course, at a tourney held in Highgarden, Jaime had mistakenly walked in on Tya and Edric in bed together. Lyanna had arrived to see her husband's sword at the poor boy's throat, as Jaime argued with his furious, unrepentant daughter. She had managed to diffuse the situation somewhat, by yelling at them both, and later on the agreement was reached. Tya had simply shrugged when they suggested a marriage, careless as ever, and Edric Dayne had hardly seemed to object to a beautiful Lannister bride.

"I'd say that if you mistreat her, I'll kill you," Lyanna had overheard Jaime at their wedding feast, smiling sharply at the boy. "But she'd have probably got there first," Edric hadn't run from his new bride at that, which was a good sign, she supposed. Last she heard of her daughter, she was happy.

She wasn't the only one feeling Tya's absence. Lorcan was sat at the table talking with the king, but looked rather odd without the familiar dark-haired figure of his twin sister at his side or hovering nearby. Lyanna approached her son.

"Dance with me," She was shorter than Tya, and not nearly as graceful on her feet, but dancing with your mother was surely better than not dancing at all. Lorcan smiled faintly.

"If I have to," He stood, offering her his arm. He was a good dancer, her eldest son, and enjoyed it no matter what he pretended. Lyanna quickly noticed that Lorcan kept glancing over her shoulder at something or other, and gave him a questioning look. "Joffrey's up to something," He replied.

"I did think he was being too good," Lyanna admitted, following his stare to where the boy was skulking in the corner, very uncharacteristically ignoring the group of people making jokes about him nearby. "But what could he - " She broke off as she saw two royal guards marching towards him. "What the - " Her eyes widened as Joffrey tried to run and they grabbed him, forcing him to his knees.

"How dare you?" The former prince was spitting and yelling in protest, as a wave of quiet spread through the hall, the music and the chatter dying away until only muttering and whispers remained. "Unhand me at once!" Steffon had got to his feet, staring at Barristan Selmy, who was stood behind the guards backing them up.

"Ser Barristan, what is the meaning of this?" The king's eyes were narrowed. "He might not be a prince, but he is my brother nonetheless," Not that he ever treated you like it.

"Apologies, your Grace," The old knight said. "But there have been several worrying accusations tonight concerning Joffrey Hill. I believe that he poses a direct threat to your safety, and that of the queen,"

"Tell me," Steffon's expression hardened. He didn't tend to mince his words.

"A serving girl came forward, concerned that she had seen someone put an unknown substance in the pitcher of wine meant for your table, your Grace," Selmy said gravely. "She did not serve it, and took it to the Grand Maester, who tested it himself and found it contained a rare and deadly poison called the Strangler,"

"And did she see who tampered with it?"

"She claims it was your half-brother, your Grace,"

"That's lies!" Joffrey protested, furious. "Are you going to trust the word of some serving wench over your own family? I bet there's no poison in that wine at all, and it's all a set up, just another of the false King Steffon's plots against his family!" His lip curled. "Are you going to drag me off to murder under the keep, like you did with Mother?" The whole hall held its breath. The only time anyone had seen King Steffon Baratheon's temper rise to the surface was whenever anyone mentioned his mother, in any way at all. Cersei's death, done in his name, was clearly something he dwelled upon a lot.

The king was silent for a long time, his expression darkening.

"If the wine isn't poisoned," He said eventually, dangerously. "Then drink it. I trust Ser Barristan still has the pitcher,"

"Yes, your Grace,"

"I don't need to play along with this," Joffrey sneered, though his eyes darted around. "I know I'm not guilty, I don't need to prove it,"

"Drink it," Steffon said, without sympathy. "Or I throw you in the cells and pack you off to the Wall by morning,"

"I won't," Joffrey snarled, though the anxiousness in his expression was obvious now. Steffon raised an eyebrow, a last warning. "I hope you drink it, and die clutching at your throat," There was a shocked intake of breath from the watching crowd.

"Very well," The king turned to Ser Barristan with a face like stone. "Take my brother to a secure room, and make arrangements for him to be sent North at dawn tomorrow,"

*

Mid 308

That winter had been a fairly long one, well over four years. It had started with the wedding of Alyssa Arryn and Harold Hardyng, and now, as grass started to grow through the snow and the winds did not bite so hard, was ending with a wedding that everyone who knew the bride was considering nothing short of a miracle.

Arya Stark was rather old at nineteen to be unmarried, but her family had long since despaired that she would ever marry at all, and hardly noticed. Lyanna knew that Ned had not wanted to force his wild younger daughter into an unwanted match, not doubt remembering what had happened when his own father had tried that, but time had been pressing on, and Arya could not stay unwed for much longer.

It had been an incredibly welcome surprise, during a visit from Lord Karstark and his sons, when Arya had declared out of nowhere that she would marry Harrion Karstark, heir to the Karhold. Everyone had pressed her for the reasons behind her sudden change of heart on the matter of marriage, but the girl was tight-lipped, causing her mother to fear that they had slept together. But then Lyanna arrived with her family for the wedding.

"He caught me training by myself, in the Godswood," Arya told her with a wicked smile. "Jon gave me a sword, before he left for the Wall, and I've been using it in secret ever since. I thought Harrion would rat me out to Mother, but he asked me to spar instead. He didn't even ask for a kiss or anything," Lyanna had burst out laughing at that.

"Good on you," She hugged her niece, so much like she had been, but so different at the same time. By the time Lyanna was nineteen, she had been married three years and had four children. Gods, that made her feel old. She was one-and-forty now. It had been twenty-five years since she last set eyes on Rhaegar Targaryen.

Now, on Arya's wedding day, she watched as Ned led his daughter up to the heart tree, where her soon-to-be husband stood waiting. Harrion Karstark was a big man of twenty seven, well over six feet tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick dark beard. He was considered by most to be rather gruff and fierce, but there was an amused glint in his brown eyes as Arya made a mocking curtsey before him, playing the proper lady that for once she looked; Sansa, Jo and Lady Catelyn had spent the morning braiding her hair in a pretty northern style, weaving in delicate white flowers, and her dress was beautiful. Lyanna knew the girl didn't particularly like it, but she didn't mind enough to disappoint her family by turning up to her wedding in breeches and a tunic.

As for the maiden's cloak draped over her shoulders, it was grey and white, embroidered with the direwolf, the same one Lyanna had worn for her own wedding. But instead of being swept aside for a red and gold cloak with a roaring Lannister lion, it was replaced by a black one bearing a white sunburst, as Lady Catelyn wept quietly in happiness.

The six direwolves lurked in the trees, making many of the guests nervous, all watched silently. There certainly was a strange bond between the wolves and their masters. Lyanna had heard the whispers of warg and skinchanger, as had everyone else, and though none of the six spoke of it, not even her own son, they did not deny the rumours. Either way, it gave the Stark children a wild reputation, slightly feared, but in this world that was a good thing.

Everyone with Stark blood was there at that wedding. Robb, with his wife Wylla and their daughter Lyarra, now five years old. Sansa and Domeric Bolton were there too, with their four-year-old daughter Arrana, and baby Sara settled in Sansa's lap. Ser Brandon Stark, who had recently been knighted at seventeen by Jaime, and had plans to explore the wilderness beyond the Wall. Rickon, a wild boy of thirteen who reminded Lyanna of her own brother Brandon and wanted to go with Bran on his travels.

All of Lyanna's Lannister children were present. Lorcan - having married Alysanne Lefford the previous year - had left his rather fierce but very capable wife in charge of the Westerlands and brought their daughter Lorea, aged two, north for the wedding. Tya was there with her three year old twins, Arthur and Samwell Dayne. Damon, who had married Jeyne Westerling shortly after his brother's wedding, had brought his wife along, Alarra and Jo in tow. Alarra was nineteen and unmarried as well, but neither Lyanna nor Jaime was bothered about that. There were already plans in place for Alarra.

But perhaps the sweetest surprise of all was Jon Snow turning up three days before the ceremony.

Lyanna had scarcely seen her first son enough times to count on one hand since he had left for the Wall, ten years ago. Jon was four-and-twenty, a man grown, and Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, having been elected by his black brothers at the end of the previous year, following the death of Jeor Mormont. She hadn't expected him to be able to come this time, given it had only been half a year since his election, but not only had he made it to see Arya wed, he had also brought his first ranger with him. Benjen was now sat beside Lyanna at the feast that night, considerably more grey in his hair than the last time she had seen him, and his face was much more lined, but his eyes still sparkled like when they had been children sparring with sticks in the Godswood.

"We're getting old, Ben," Lyanna remarked wryly as she absently bounced Lorcan's daughter on her lap, kissing her forehead before handing her to the nursemaid, who took her up to bed. Lorea was a beautiful child, with the green eyes and dark hair of her father, but a distinct reddish tinge from her mother's red-blonde curls.

"I didn't feel old until I saw that you and Ned have three grandchildren apiece," Her brother replied. "At the Wall, time often seems to stand still. Then I come south again, and everything's different," He glanced down to where Jaime was laughing with Harrion Karstark at something. "Your bloody husband doesn't look like he's aged a day over thirty, though,"

"Some people get all the luck," Lyanna grinned. He was right. It wasn't fair that despite being two years younger than Jaime, he had far less lines on his face, and she had yet to find a grey hair on that golden head. Of course, she wasn't complaining.

"How are things at court?" Benjen asked. "I heard the king had another daughter,"

"Yes, Cassandra," She said. "I haven't met her, though. Last time I was in King's Landing was just after Prince Robert was born," That had been over three years ago, and Stannis, Hand of the King, had apparently been irritated that his nephew had named his first son after Robert - who Steffon had disliked for much of his life - rather than the man who had been his Regent and served him loyally as Hand throughout his reign. That had been when Jaime and Lyanna reached the wordless, mutual decision that they were done with the bullshit of King's Landing and the royal court.

"I don't blame you," He snorted. "I'm surprised you did so well in the south, honestly. When I heard you'd be marrying a Lannister... well, a Baratheon was bad enough, but one of those golden-haired cu - "

"Auntie," Sansa suddenly appeared at her side, beaming and flushed from dancing, and Benjen broke off abruptly. "Uncle Benjen, I'd like you to meet my daughter Arrana before she goes up to bed. Arrana, say hello," The four year old waved shyly with a three-fingered hand, then hid her face in her mother's skirts.

"A Bolton with a claim to Winterfell," Benjen raised an eyebrow at Lyanna. "Our father would be turning in his grave," He was joking, however, turning to the little girl. "You're definitely prettier than any Bolton I've ever seen. That'll be the Stark in you,"

Lyanna snorted at that. Arrana had the black hair, thin lips and pale eyes of the Boltons, but her face was almost all her mother's, which came from Lady Catelyn.

"What happened to her hand?" Her brother asked after Sansa had taken her daughter away.

"Gods, don't bring that up with Ned," Lyanna said lowly. "Or Sansa, for that matter. Come outside Ben, and I'll tell you," She and Benjen left the hall. Once they were out in the courtyard, the night air cold on her face, she began to tell the story.

Less than two weeks after Arrana's birth, the insanely cruel bastard son of Roose Bolton had broken into the Dreadfort and stolen the baby from her cradle. Ramsay Snow was found, of course, but by that point had removed two of Arrana's fingers and three of her toes. That had been the one occasion where Domeric Bolton had lived up to his house's reputation; by all reports, his bastard brother had died screaming, and laughing madly both.

"And Roose Bolton died in his sleep a month later?" Benjen raised an eyebrow. "That seems like quite the coincidence,"

"Yes, well, perhaps not," Lyanna said darkly. "It's not like anyone cares enough to find out, though," Sansa had seemed different after that. Still a perfectly polite and pleasant young woman, but behind the courtesies she was... harder, in some way. Colder. Honestly, Lyanna wouldn't blame her if she was in on some dark plot; if anyone had stolen and mutilated her child, she'd likely have done the same.

There was a silence, then Benjen snorted.

"That's not the only supposed conspiracy afoot," He said. "We had a man from the Vale take the black a couple of years ago. A knight who served at the Gates of the Moon. He seemed to think that Alyssa Arryn murdered her brother to get his lordship for her husband,"

"I doubt it," Lyanna shrugged. "The girl seemed to love her brother. I don't think there's any more to that than what it appears, that Lord Robert died of his shaking sickness in a hard winter. No one cares to look too deeply into that though, either, as Harold and Alyssa are a much stronger force than Robert was," Harold Arryn was the darling of the Vale. Many had had their doubts at how capable he would be at ruling besides holding tourneys and siring bastards, yet every decision he made was surprisingly intelligent. Having met his wife, Lady Alyssa, Lyanna was inclined to believe that she was the one working it all behind the scenes, whilst her husband was the charming face of things.

"I wonder how many murders have gone unnoticed because no one cared enough to look too closely," Her brother sighed, then his eyes fixed on something over her shoulder. Lyanna turned to see Ned making his way through the snow towards them.

"Arya's gone," Her eyes widened at his words, but then she saw he was smiling, amused, and relaxed slightly. "She snuck out of the feast early with her husband, to avoid the bedding ceremony," He turned to Lyanna. "I believe your daughter helped her,"

"I don't need to ask which one," Tya and Arya were wild enough separately, but even worse together. Motherhood and over five years of marriage had not managed to tame her eldest daughter one bit; she said what she wanted, laughed in the face of things most would run from and trained with a sword every day. Tya had travelled to Casterly Rock from Starfall before they made their way north, and had actually managed to beat her father several times when they sparred; that was no mean feat, as although Jaime Lannister was over forty, he was still one of the best swordsmen in Westeros, making up for a decrease in youthful vigour with extensive experience.

"I bet you never thought you'd see the day when that little girl willingly walked beside you to the godswood to wed," Benjen was chuckling. Ned shook his head.

"She's grown up," He said simply.

"That may well be," Lyanna grinned. "But I hardly think Arya will suddenly turn into a gentle lady who likes to sew and play the high harp and bounce babies on her knee," She couldn't help but add. "I wouldn't be surprised if she asks her husband to spar with her sooner or later," It wasn't giving away Arya's secret if it was mere speculation.

"Well it worked for you," Benjen said. "You're still not quite a lady yet, Lya,"

"Close enough that my fourteen year old self would think me very dull indeed," Lyanna laughed. "Married for twenty five years to a high lord, with six children, three of them married, and three grandchildren of my own. And I didn't even have to be dragged kicking and screaming into it,"

"You're leaving out rather a lot," Ned said. "I've seen you with a sword in hand. That's hardly dull, you dreamed of being able to fight like that when you were a girl,"

"Have you seen her spar with Jaime?" Benjen grinned. "It's a fierce fight one minute, then suddenly it turns borderline indecent and I feel like I should look away,"

"Don't watch then," She shrugged as Ned raised an eyebrow. "Oh don't look at me like that, Ned. Like I said, I've got five children with the man. Where do you think they came from?" Her little brother laughed loudly as the elder gave a grudging smile.

"Perhaps I deserved that," He sighed. "My point was, your eldest son is Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Your second will be Lord of Casterly Rock. Your daughter grew up with a sword in hand alongside her twin brother, and is good enough to beat the finest warriors in Westeros. And what was it you were saying of Castamere?" Benjen looked up in interest at that, and Lyanna gave a deliberately Lannister-like smirk.

"All in good time, Ned,"

*

Late 309

"Are you sure he's yours?" That was the first thing her husband said to his son, after seeing the newborn baby for the first time. The boy's hair was not the dark brown of his father's, nor the red of his mother's, but rather an odd colour somewhere between red and gold.

"Jaime!" Lyanna elbowed him sharply in the side. Lorcan did not look impressed, but his wife - sitting up in bed with their firstborn son in her arms - laughed.

"Look at his eyes, goodfather," Alysanne said, unbothered. "Are they not Lannister green?" Lyanna peered down at the child.

"Gods," She started to laugh, as she took in the familiar pale green eyes with a gold ring.

"What?" Jaime and Lorcan both looked as well, and then her husband joined her laughter.

"What is it?" Alysanne raised an eyebrow, clearly confused.

"He's definitely a Lannister," Jaime amended his earlier statement. "My apologies, my lady. Your son has the eyes of my late father," The woman grinned.

"Should I be gladdened that you don't think me a whore, my lord, or concerned that my son might be Tywin Lannister reborn?"

"Both," Jaime shrugged, still grinning. "Wait until Tyrion sees this, he'll piss himself laughing,"

"You can't call him Tywin," Lyanna shook her head. "That would be too eerie,"

"There's no chance of that," Lorcan grimaced. He had admired his grandfather, respected him, learned much of how to be a lord at his knee, but could see the man's faults as clear as anyone. "We decided on Gerold,"

Gerold Lannister was born at a time of peace and prosperity, for his house in particular. Only the day before his birth, they had received word from King's Landing that Myrcella Hill had been made Master of Coin and given the honorary title of Lady by her half-brother King Steffon, showing that even Lannister bastards could rise high. As the first woman to sit on the small council, at only twenty years old, Myrcella had twice as much to prove. Lyanna had no doubt that she would. The young woman was very shrewd and capable, having been assisting with the accounts at Casterly Rock for years now.

There had also been much celebration at the recent marriage of Alarra Lannister to the third son of Lord Brax, Robert. Ordinarily it would have been an outrage for the daughter of a great house to marry a third son, if it hadn't been announced at the same time that the pair would be given the ruins of Castamere to rebuild.

That had actually been her husband's idea. Tyrion had been speaking of the veins of gold and silver that ran through the Castamere mines, that they should work on draining the castle and starting to excavate again, and Jaime had suggested giving it to his second daughter and her husband. The plans had been made a year or two ago, with Alarra involved greatly in learning the ins and outs; Lyanna had never seen her quiet daughter so animated about anything.

Alarra had been married earlier that year. Now Lyanna heard from her daughter every week or so, giving updates on how the work was going.

That was four of her children who were wed now. Tya had written recently saying she was pregnant for a second time, Lorcan had just had his first son, and though Damon and his wife Jeyne had yet to have a child, there would surely be one on the way soon.

Alarra's wedding hadn't been the only one that year, either. Tommen Hill was a bastard, not a Lannister, but that hardly seemed to adversely affect him. Unlike his trueborn cousins, he had been the only one able to marry for love, to his cousin, Lorna Hill, several months before Gerold's birth. The ceremony was small, with only family invited and nothing too lavish at the feast, but had been lovely nonetheless. Lyanna had never been one to cry at weddings, not even those of her own children, but even she found herself with a lump in her throat at Tyrion's face as he led his daughter down the aisle in the sept. Tommen was seventeen, handsome and kind, and on his way to earning his knight's spurs, and Lorna had grown into a beautiful young girl of fifteen, with her mother's brown eyes and pretty face, though she had golden hair and something of Tyrion about her, in her smile and laughing eyes perhaps, even if the resemblance was not initially obvious.

Jocasta was to wed the following year. She had been betrothed to Sebaston Farman for several years now, and was the only one of Lyanna's children who had looked forward to marriage for marriage's sake, rather than duty (Damon), escaping an inconvenient situation (Tya), gaining a castle (Alarra) or for the family (Lorcan). Jo did not want adventure or power or renown. She wanted nothing more than to have lots of children to love, and spend her days in peace and happiness; in that respect she was very different from her parents and siblings, but that was fine.

Lyanna sometimes felt like the years were slipping away from her too quickly. It seemed like there was no time at all between holding Jo as a newborn babe in her arms and planning her wedding. But that was life, she supposed. She was lucky to have as much as she did, given she could quite easily have bled out after the birth of Jon, alone and afraid in that cursed tower, dead before she turned seventeen.

Neither she nor Jaime rarely spoke with their children of what had happened during the rebellion, never spoke of why the realm called their father Kingslayer and their mother the Dragon's Whore. Lyanna supposed they had found out from others, for none of them had ever asked about the matter. Though the one time she had seen Lorcan truly lose his temper was when he was a squire and one of the other boys had used that distasteful nickname for his mother when he was in earshot; the Lannister heir had had to be pulled off the boy.

Sometimes the thought came to her that perhaps they should tell their children the truth. That Jaime had killed the king to save the city and his father's army, that Lyanna had not been kidnapped but been foolish and reckless, that Jaime had stood for months watching the king's brutalities and done nothing about it. But she imagined the eyes of her children clouding over in judgement at what she had done, and found she did not want to say anything at all. Things were fine as they were, and some truths were best left in the past. 

*

Late 319

It was the height of summer, which was perhaps the only reason why every single member of Lyanna's family was gathered at Winterfell, even the two infants, given the weather was mellow enough to travel through the North with relative ease.

Surrounded by her grandchildren, and Ned's, she felt old, but found that she didn't mind. She had grown up with a fairly small family herself - just Lyanna, her father and her three brothers - and it never ceased to astound her at how large it now was. Lorcan and Alysanne had their son Gerold, a boy of ten, along with three daughters, Lorea, Lelia and Cerelle, aged thirteen, eight and four. Her eldest son was deeply involved in the running of the Westerlands, which Jaime was only too happy to let him take over. Father and son presented a united front to the world, and Jaime as Lord Lannister still had the final say, but Lorcan relished in the lord's work in a way that his father never had, and was good at it too.

Tya was now Lady Dayne after the death of her husband Edric's father. Lyanna saw her eldest daughter at least once or twice a year, and her life in Dorne suited her well; she could fight when she wanted, and no one expected her to be a perfect lady. Tya wasn't the best mother, mostly leaving the care of her children to nursemaids until they were big enough to take riding and spar with, but clearly loved them dearly in her own way, and delighted playing with them when they were younger (until she got bored, that is). Her twins, Arthur and Samwell, were thirteen now, and she had a daughter of nine years, named Dyanna.

Sadly Damon was less fortunate. He had been happy serving as a knight at Casterly Rock, and cared for his wife Jeyne despite the fact that for years they had been trying to conceive in vain. It seemed like Jeyne was barren, and though Damon was unbothered, his wife had dearly wanted a child. It had seemed like a miracle when she fell pregnant, giving birth to a daughter, Rohanne, eight years ago, but birth had taken a large toll on poor Jeyne, and she had died a week later of childbed fever. Damon had not seemed interested in taking another wife, nor in having any more children. He doted on his daughter, but had not been quite the same since, and spent an increasing amount of time away travelling with his cousins.

Alarra, on the other hand, was thriving. Lady Lannister of Castamere in her own right - the castle was once more a prospering mine, bringing wealth to the surrounding area as directed by its lady - she had recently had her first son, a boy called Jason, who was only a year old. She also had a daughter, Morya, who was seven. Whilst Alarra generally treated her husband Robert Brax as an irritation, seeming rather glad that he sought the company of whores rather than his wife, she loved her children, and was already teaching Morya a little of how to run the castle and its incomes.

As for Jocasta, she had the most children despite being the last to wed, two sons and three daughters before the age of twenty five. The life of the Lady of Fair Isle seemed to suit her well. Her son Marq was aged eight, Sebaston was only a year old; as for the girls, Elissa was aged six, Alysanne four and Andrea three.

Lyanna was far ahead of Ned with regard to grandchildren; she had sixteen, whilst her brother had nine. Not that it was a competition. Robb had three sons of his own with his wife Wylla - Rodrik aged eleven, Torrhen aged eight and Cregan aged six - and of course his daughter Lyarra. It astounded Lyanna that the girl was sixteen already, a woman grown. It seemed like yesterday that her own daughters were sixteen, and not much longer since she was that age herself. Now she was three-and-fifty, her hair liberally streaked with grey and lines all over her face.

Sansa made a good mother to her two daughters, Arrana and Sara, who were fifteen and twelve, along with her son Rogar, who was ten. She was a good Lady Bolton, too, and her and her husband had clearly grown to care deeply for each other. Arya too had become a mother for the first time nine years ago, giving birth to a son named Willam, heir to the Karhold, then another son, Beron, who was seven. All the sons of Robb, Sansa and Arya were born at a similar time, one every year from Rodrik to Cregan, and the six boys were all very close friends, leading to them being known by the nickname the Wolf Pack.

The younger Stark boys had never married. Bran had earned his knighthood at the age of seventeen, and had not stayed in one place since. He had travelled all of Westeros, from Dorne to north of the Wall, with his direwolf Summer at his side. He spent a large amount of time beyond the Wall, and even longer in Oldtown; apparently he was working closely with a rather odd maester called Marwyn the Mage, but on what, no one was quite sure.

Bran was often accompanied by his wild younger brother Rickon, and his sister Arya. Arya had travelled with her brothers and their three wolves all over the North, even going beyond the Wall several times. She had come back from one such journey with a pregnant direwolf; Nymeria had found more of her own kind, and had another litter of four pups, which Arya had gifted to her brother Robb to give to each of his children.

With Rickon, Arya had also been to Skagos, and many of the Free Cities, where get youngest brother had served in a sellsword company for just over a year; Braavos was her particular favourite. Lyanna loved talking to all three of them about their travels, and her son Damon too, who had gone with them several times, with increasing frequency after Jeyne's death. It was fascinating hearing tales of all the places she herself would likely never see.

Lord Karstark did not seem to mind that his wife refused to be tied down to a life of a lady; even after having her children, Arya still travelled a lot, leaving her sons in the care of nursemaids after the first few years, though was home slightly more than before. Lyanna doubted Harrion and Arya loved each other, but were good friends nonetheless, and always seemed to be laughing and joking together when she saw them. They reminded her of herself and Jaime in the first few years of their marriage.

Bran would never marry, she knew that for a fact. She wouldn't have said Rickon would either, but here they were at his wedding, as they had been at Arya's years before. Aged five-and-twenty, Rickon was to wed a younger daughter of House Ryswell, a fifteen year old named Bryony. The dark-haired girl was not a great beauty, but had a wicked smile and a glint in her eyes, and the wild, untameable Rickon Stark had seemed to find a kindred spirit.

Jon would never marry either. Lyanna's son was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and his men were restless enough as it was, never mind if he took a wife. She had to admire her son's courage; during his time leading the Watch, he had sought to improve relations between the Wall, the North and the Wildlings, after living amongst them for several months during a mission gone wrong. This involved encouraging trade between the three groups of people, and allowing small groups of Wildlings through the Wall to farm the lands of the Gift.

Predictably, both the Night's Watch and the Northern lords had reacted strongly against this, and there had been a mutiny at one point; one of Jon's most trusted men, Ser Alliser Thorne (an old Targaryen supporter sent to the Wall by Robert) had even died saving her son's life. Things seemed to have settled down years later, when there had been no significant increase in raids on Northern lands, though the situation was still rather tense.

Jon was not the only one the Lannisters had connections to at the Wall, however. Lyanna had been in regular correspondence with her eldest son since he took the black, and after Joffrey was sent there for trying to kill the king, she often asked after the boy, for the sake of Tommen and Myrcella. At first, Joffrey had been nothing but trouble, acting rude and arrogant and alienating most everyone. But slowly, very slowly, he had started to realise that if he pulled his weight a little, things would not be so miserable. Now, nearly sixteen years since Cersei's eldest son had joined the Watch, he had actually become a rather well respected ranger, fairly good with a sword and brave (reckless), though not well suited to diplomacy.

Joffrey had come to the wedding at Winterfell, in fact, to see Tommen, who had travelled north alone, without his wife Lorna and their children, leaving Tyrion ruling in Casterly Rock. The look on Tommen's face - on everyone's faces - when a tall, hard-faced man with short hair and a short, grizzled beard rode in behind Jon, greeting them courteously and being content to stay out of the limelight, had been rather amusing. Joffrey did not apologise for what he had done, how he used to be, merely ignored it, but there was such a startling difference in this man compared to the spoilt prince he had once been, that no one said anything of it.

"Cersei would weep to see him like this," Jaime said to her as they lay in bed that night.

"Being sent to the Wall was the best thing that ever happened to him," Lyanna snorted. He laughed.

"I can't disagree. It made a man of him, rather than an arrogant princeling," She hummed in agreement, and there was a comfortable silence.

"I never thought I'd see Rickon married," She said absently. "In my head, he's still a wild little boy with red hair,"

"He still is," Jaime grinned. "His bride might be ten years younger, but he still acts fifteen. It's a perfect match,"

"As if you can talk of men acting years younger than their age," Lyanna nudged him teasingly. "In your head, I bet you're still twenty,"

"I might as well be," He drawled. "Don't try and make me feel old, Stark. I'm still knocking twenty-year-olds into the dirt in the yard,"

"You don't look fifty-four," She granted. It wasn't fair. He was only just starting to get grey hairs, whereas her dark locks were liberally streaked with them. "Though maybe it'll all just hit you suddenly. You'll be fine until you're sixty, then turn into an old man in a month,"

"Old man," Jaime scoffed, grabbing her waist, and before she could blink she was rolled on top of him. "If I'm so decrepit, my lady, then you can do all the work," Lyanna laughed.

"With pleasure,"

*

Late 337

Lyanna Stark was dying.

She wasn't afraid. She had not been afraid of death in a long time. That lack of fear came with age, and Lyanna was old. Seventy years old, with six children, seventeen grandchildren, most of whom even had children of their own by now.

Her eldest son was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, the last man alive with the blood of the dragon since his Aunt Daenerys had died decades ago from a manticore sting somewhere in the east. Jon Snow had risen high, and as a result of his leadership, a hard-won, grudging respect had started to grow between the North, the Watch and the Wildlings. There were still raiders, of course, but significantly less, and the North was now aided in winter by the many farms set up by resettled Wildlings in the Gift and the New Gift.

Her eldest trueborn son had been Lord of Casterly Rock for seven years. Lorcan ruled with an iron fist; though he was not quite so brutal as his grandfather had been, the legacy of Tywin Lannister ran deep enough for no one to dare cross him, especially given their often unnerving similarities. Lord Tywin would be... not proud, but grimly satisfied.

Whereas Lyanna and even Arya to some extent had become a little more restrained in age, Tya had not. Even though she was now past fifty, she showed no sign of changing her ways. If anything, she was even more outspoken and defiant the older she got. Her children often despaired at her, but Lyanna could only laugh at her wild daughter, forever untamed, acting like a sixteen-year-old even as lines grew on her beautiful face.

Alarra was a widow now, but seemed happier that way. Castamere and the surrounding lands still prospered under her rule, though if the woman had her way, they would be inherited by her eldest daughter Morya rather than her only son Jason, who had grown up to be lazy, careless and had no interest in running the castle and mines.

Jocasta was as content on Fair Isle as she always had been, with her beloved husband and five children.

Her nieces and nephews too were safe and well. Robb had been Lord of Winterfell for nine years. Sansa was happy growing old with her husband. Arya still travelled most years, accompanied by her sons now. Bran had never settled down, spending months in Winterfell, Oldtown, Casterly Rock and beyond the Wall as the whim struck him. Rickon hadn't either, despite being married; he simply brought his wife with him, until Bryony had their first child. She now lived in Winterfell, with their three daughters, and Rickon was there some months and away others.

Steffon Baratheon had been king for thirty eight peaceful years. He was a good ruler, rather humourless but not as bad as his Uncle Stannis had been; he smiled sometimes, at least. Strong and just, he was loved by most of the smallfolk despite his stern demeanour for the peace and prosperity he had kept over the years, but was mostly loved for his wife, Queen Margaery, the darling of the realm.

At his side was his half-sister Myrcella, who had been Master of Coin for decades now, and was responsible for resolving the crown's extensive debts and bringing in several very useful sources of income. It was said that Steffon had wished to make her Hand of the King years ago, but she had refused, saying it did not pay to climb too high; a woman on the small council had caused enough grumbling, let alone a female Hand, and an unmarried one at that. No, she was content where she was, powerful without anyone knowing quite how much.

Tommen was happy as a household knight, married to Lorna, and even Joffrey had made a life for himself at the Wall.

Yes, Lyanna could die content.

Jaime was gone. So were Ned and Benjen. It had been her younger brother to go first, years ago, killed in a skirmish between several mutinous Night's Watch members and defiant Wildling raiders. Then it had been Ned, who passed in his sleep at the age of six-and-sixty. Lyanna had wept for them both.

And then seven years ago, it had been Jaime.

He had been sixty-five at the time. Growing old had not suited her husband. He aged physically much better than most people, but despite that, Jaime had loathed the fact that his sword did not swing as strongly as it once had, that his eyes were slightly fading. He was still one of the best swordsmen in the land, of course; Barristan Selmy had lived into his seventies, still fighting. But Jaime was the best, and hated settling for anything less.

He handled it in his usual careless fashion of course, making dry remarks and sarcastic jokes. Lyanna had been unbothered by his ageing, considering she was hardly getting younger herself, but then the call to war had come. Another Greyjoy rebellion. And of course, her husband was hardly going to sit at home like some old man, whilst his sons and grandsons went off to fight.

Lyanna had never particularly feared for her husband when he went off to fight, knowing that he would be one of the most dangerous men on the battlefield. But Dagon Greyjoy was said to be the most fierce fighter the Iron Islands had ever seen. Even that did not do him justice. Aged five-and-twenty, with the best sword arm since, well, Jaime Lannister, he had planned his rebellion much better than his grandfather Lord Balon had, and made a formidable foe. One no man should be ashamed of falling to.

When Lyanna had received word of the Lannister fleet approaching from the west, she had raced to the walls of the Rock, heart lifting at the prospect of Jaime coming home. Stood in the courtyard with her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, the Lady of Casterly Rock had awaited her husband riding through the gates on his blood-bay courser, golden-grey hair still glinting as he grinned at her, dismounting from his horse like a man half his age and sweeping her into a kiss, not caring that her face was lined and her dark hair was mostly grey.

Instead, a covered wagon was rolled through the gates, surrounded by a sombre procession of grim-faced men. All the men in her family rode alongside it, Lorcan and Damon, Robb, Bran and Rickon, Robb's three sons, Rogar Bolton, Willam and Beron Karstark, Tommen, Lorcan's son Gerold, Jo's two Farman boys. Lyanna's eyes searched for Jaime, and couldn't find him.

"Where - ?" Her voice caught in her throat. She wasn't stupid, she knew what had happened already. Lorcan dismounted and moved towards her, Damon close behind. Lyanna stared at her sons imploringly, noticing that Damon's left eye was bound in tight bandages. "Damon, what - ?"

"I found myself facing Dagon Greyjoy during the last battle," Her son's voice was hoarse, weary and sad. "I was going to kill him too, had one of his bloody men not thrown a knife that took out my eye. I fell, and Greyjoy would have ended me then, had Father not leapt in from somewhere to parry the blow," He broke off himself, voice thick.

"He put up a good fight," Lorcan continued for him, his voice level, but Lyanna saw the pain in his eyes. "A very good fight. He nearly got the bastard, too. Managed to hack off half his nose, repaying the debt of Damon's eye," He gave a weak smile. "But Greyjoy got him in the end. He fell. The battle was nearly done by then, we managed to get him out of there alive, but his wounds... there was nothing we could - " He paused, his voice catching. "There was nothing to be done. Father died that night,"

Lyanna opened her mouth but no words came out. Behind her, she vaguely heard her granddaughters starting to cry.

"Lord Lannister," A knight approached Lorcan. That title, addressed to her son rather than her husband, made her chest horribly tight. "What do wish to be done with..." He trailed off, gesturing to the wagon. Lorcan said something, but Lyanna wasn't listening, moving like a ghost to the wagon, batting away the guards and lifting the cloth.

Jaime lay there, eyes closed. His skin was waxy, white and cold, bruised in places, and he did not look like he was asleep, as so many people claimed the dead did. She traced the outline of his face, his lips that would never grin at her again, the only sound she could hear being her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. She grabbed his hand, his sword hand, which was limp and lifeless. The world spun, pain shot through her and Lyanna realised she had fallen to her knees in the middle of the yard, still holding her husband's cold dead hand.

"Mother," Damon was at her side in an instant, Lorcan close beside him. They were grabbing her arms, lifting her to her feet, but she didn't want to leave him.

"No," Hot tears ran down her cheeks as she resisted her sons. "No, let me stay," Some part of her realised that the courtyard wasn't the place for all this, that she could stand vigil in the sept later, but Lyanna cared nothing for that.

They took her away anyway. Looking in the mirror that night, in her bedchamber that seemed cold and empty, Lyanna Lannister truly felt old.

She remained at Casterly Rock for half a year after Jaime's death. Enough time for her to realise that she wasn't truly needed there. Lorcan was a more than capable lord on his own, and Alysanne was his equal, a lady worthy of her son.

So Lyanna left. She spent the next seven years travelling, seeing as much of her family as she could in the time she had left. She went from Starfall to see Tya, to Oldtown to see Bran, to Casterly Rock, to Fair Isle, to Castamere, Winterfell, the Dreadfort, the Karhold, the Wall, and back again, several times.

Her sons and daughters, nieces and nephews, often accompanied her, but sometimes she was alone with three or four guards. She might have been old, but she still rode like she was half horse herself, and though her joints ached and creaked where they had not done so before, she did not mind sleeping rough when necessary, and never raised a word of complaint. She was born a Stark, and never felt the cold overmuch.

It was ironic, in a bittersweet way. This life was exactly what Lyanna had dreamed of in her youth, travelling wherever she wanted. She was more free in her sixties than she had been her entire life. No father or brothers or husband to listen to, not that she had listened to any of them when she didn't want to. Her children were grown, and so were her grandchildren.

But for the last two months she had stayed in Winterfell, after returning from the Wall. Lyanna had a feeling that she should stay, one of those feelings she couldn't quite ignore. More importantly, Bran had a feeling, and Bran's feelings tended to be scarily accurate. Her nephew was spending more and more time beyond the Wall as the years went by. Lyanna had heard his talk of green dreams and warging, not only with his wolf like the others, seeing through the eyes of weirwoods, and a man named Bloodraven, who couldn't possibly be the Lord Brynden Rivers from over a hundred years ago who had worn that name. Yet something told her that one day Bran would not come back from wherever it was he went. But hopefully not for a while, not until he was an old man. Old like she was.

Winterfell was not the place of Lyanna's childhood, as everyone from her childhood was dead. But it was home nonetheless, in a way different to Casterly Rock. Catelyn was there, and Robb and his family, Bran and Rickon when it suited them, Bryony and her daughters. Lyanna had company, even if she wanted Ned and Benjen, Brandon, Jaime.

She was not afraid to die. Lyanna welcomed death like an old friend. She could feel its approach, growing stronger and stronger. One night, she felt the urge to get out of bed despite her aching joints, despite the autumn snow falling outside, moving silently through the castle on bare feet to the godswood. She sat down before the heart tree, as Ned had done, and thought of her life as snowflakes settled in her hair. Thought of her family, her brothers, children, grandchildren, and Jaime. Thought of the North, Winterfell, her home even after all this time.

A guard found Lyanna the next morning, half buried in snow, grey eyes closed forever and a faint smile on her face.

Notes:

I'm not sure if this ending was sad and depressing, or unrealistically happy considering it's set in Westeros. I'll settle on bittersweet.

This chapter was more a way to wrap up loose ends, but it got away from me, hence the nearly 20,000 words. I'm not sure how exciting hearing about all the grandchildren of Jaime and Lyanna was, but I had their lives planned out in so much detail that I couldn't not include it, particularly as wasn't only an ending for Jaime and Lyanna, but the happy ending that the Stark children could have had if everything didn't go to shit.

Thanks to everyone who reads, comments and votes on this story, it really has been a pleasure. I know there has been a ridiculously long wait for this chapter, and I wasn't even sure if I was going to publish it, but I hope you enjoyed it either way.

STARKS

Eddard Stark m. Catelyn Tully. Children: Robb, Sansa, Arya, Brandon, Rickon

Robb Stark m. Wylla Manderly. Children: Lyarra, Rodrik, Torrhen, Cregan

Sansa Stark m. Domeric Bolton. Children: Arrana, Sara, Rogar

Arya Stark m. Harrion Karstark. Children: Willam, Beron

Brandon Stark. Unmarried/childless

Rickon Stark m. Bryony Ryswell. Children: three daughters

Jon Snow. Unmarried/childless

LANNISTERS

Jaime Lannister m. Lyanna Stark. Children: Lorcan, Tya, Damon, Alarma, Jocasta

Lorcan Lannister m. Alysanne Lefford. Children: Lorea, Gerold, Lelia, Cerelle

Tya Lannister m. Edric Dayne. Children: Arthur, Samwell, Dyanna

Damon Lannister m. Jeyne Westerling. Children: Rohanne

Alarra Lannister m. Robert Brax. Children: Morya, Jason, Myranda

Jocasta Lannister m. Sebaston Farman. Children: Marq, Elissa, Alysanne, Andrea, Sebaston

Joffrey Hill. Unmarried/childless.

Myrcella Hill. Unmarried/childless.

Tommen Hill m. Lorna Hill. Children: two sons, one daughter

BARATHEONS

Robert Baratheon m. Cersei Lannister. Children: Steffon

Steffon Baratheon m. Margaery Tyrell. Children: Jocelyn, Robert, Olenna, Cassandra, Olyvar, Elinor