A Promise To Dread

When Lyarra woke that morning, she found herself trapped by her husband's arms. Her cheeks became red and hot. Even when she slept with her sisters, Lyarra always did love to cuddle. Obviously sharing a bed with her husband was no different, only that Lyarra felt no barrier of cloth between them. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, her... lower parts were pressed against his hip. Even worse, she hadn't cleaned herself from the night before, so the sticky liquid still stained the area between her thighs and was now staining Jaime's leg. Horrified, Lyarra struggled to break free from Jaime's arms. She even felt his hold on her becoming tighter. When she looked up at her husband, she saw him smirking down at her.

"Leaving so soon?" he drawled sleepily, his eyes only slightly open.

"I have to feed Fang," she lied. Well, it was true. She did need to feed her direwolf, but what she really needed to do was clean herself up so that she didn't feel so disgusting.

"You take good care of that wolf," Jaime observed. "Will you take care of me as well?"

"What do you m– oh!"

As though she weighed nothing, Jaime practically threw her on top of him. She was straddling him, his cock pressing against her bum. Lyarra's face grew even hotter as she felt his erection against her. She remembered her wantonness the night before and almost cringed in shame. She knew that wine changed people, but she never thought that it could make her so... needy. Yes, that was the word. All the other words that popped into her head were far too improper.

"Oh, come now. You weren't shy at all last night. I quite enjoyed seeing the wolf in you emerge," Jaime gave her a wide grin and placed a hand on her arse cheek, giving it a squeeze. Lyarra moaned, unable to help herself. "You did too, if I recall correctly. I believe half of the keep heard you screaming my name. Jaime – oh, oh Jaime!"

"Stop it!" Lyarra scolded and smacked his shoulder, not roughly, though she couldn't help but laugh at the way his voice became so high-pitched when he tried to imitate her. Jaime ran his hands up her back and lowered her body so that theirs were pressing against each others.

"There's no shame in enjoying being fucked by your husband," Jaime whispered huskily into her ear. Lyarra felt his hot breath on her cheek and a stirring in her lower stomach at the same time. Jaime slipped his hand between her legs, feeling how wet she was, and let out a low chuckle. "You're eager, aren't you?"

Feeling bold, Lyarra began to grind herself against his cock without letting him inside of her. Wide-eyed and shocked, Jaime let out a low groan and threw back his head in pleasure. His fingers struggled to continue to work at her cunt as Lyarra continued to roll her hips against him.

She smirked down at him, ignoring the desperation growing within her to be filled by him, and continued to tease Jaime. His hands were on her hips, encouraging her to go faster. The slickness between her thighs was making his lower stomach wet. The sight aroused her in a sick sort of way. Lyarra knew that she wouldn't be able to last any longer.

Before she could put him inside of her, Jaime had threw her onto the bed, climbing on top of her. He grinned down at her, his fingers still pressing down at that pleasure spot between her legs that sent a brilliant feeling through her entire body. Jaime trapped her mouth with a kiss. Lyarra moaned against his lips, clenching her legs against him, as Jaime pushed himself inside of her.

Lyarra gasped at the sudden intrusion, but felt no pain whatsoever, only pleasure. Immense pleasure. Unlike the first time Jaime had taken her, Lyarra was responsive to his touch. She rolled her hips to match his thrusts, encouraging him to go faster and faster. Her legs were wrapped around him, pushing him further within her.

Jaime's thrusts became quick and rough. Lyarra found the roughness pleasurable. She clamped her mouth down onto his shoulder to quieten her moans. The castle was awake and Lyarra didn't want the servants to hear their new lady being ravished by their lord.

They were both reaching their climax quickly. Jaime's movements were becoming uncontrolled and desperate. Lyarra's breathing became faster, her moans louder, as Jaime grunted and groaned. He was so much larger than her, his entire body could cover hers. Lyarra thought that if he wasn't holding himself up that his body weight might crush her.

She allowed her hands to roam his body. His muscled arms and back and stomach, his soft, golden hair... Lyarra touched every inch of skin that she could and nipped at his neck, remembering how he seemed to like it when she did that last night. She was right, and Jaime gave one last groan, one last deep thrust, as he emptied himself inside of her. His thrusts became slower after he climaxed. He was exhausted, his fingers working at her cunt tirelessly so that she could climax too. Lyarra finished with a moan.

Her husband rolled off of her, breathing heavily as they both laid side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Lyarra recovered quicker than Jaime, and forced herself out of bed and threw a nightgown over herself. She washed between her legs before dressing herself without the need of a handmaiden. She pulled two sides of her hair back loosely, allowing the rest of her hair to cascade down her back.

When she turned around, she found Jaime watching her closely. "How can you be like that in bed and go back to be being so prim and proper? I'll never understand women and their multiple personalities."

"And how would you have me act? It's not like I can stay in here all day, waiting to be ravished," Lyarra replied, sitting at the end of the bed.

Jaime barked a laugh. "Ravished? Yes, I suppose that's quite a suitable word. And what a tempting proposal. It would make my father happy, I'm sure."

"Your father?" Lyarra repeated, face marred with confusion.

With a sigh, Jaime went on to explain himself. "My father has commanded me to sire an heir, by any means necessary. You understand what that means?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew that it was well within a man's rights to take his wife by force if she was not willing to do her duty. But Jaime had been so respectful and gentle with her so far. Lyarra didn't think he was capable of such a deed.

Unable to conjure a response, Lyarra merely nodded. Jaime sighed again and continued speaking. "I thought... I thought that I could... make myself do that. But last night, when you were drunk, I wasn't able... it wasn't honourable of me to take you when you were in such a state."

"I remember everything that happened last night," Lyarra assured him. "My head is clear now. The wine made me bold, yes, but it did not take away my senses. When I told you to... I meant it."

He tried not to show it, but Lyarra could see that her reassurance meant a lot to him. "When I first joined the Kingsguard, I had to stand outside the Mad King's chambers while he raped his wife. I heard her cries, her begging... and I couldn't do a thing. I may not be as honourable as your father, but I try to do the right thing."

"I understand," Lyarra replied, seeing that it was paining him to speak about his past.

"No, I don't think you do."

"I do," she said again, this time more firmly, and gave him a kind smile. "And I think you're more honourable than you give yourself credit for."


"It's such a pity about the tourney," Sansa sighed dreamily. She had been so excited to see some of the finest knights of Westeros in action – and the most handsome, she added to her thoughts. She had seen Ser Loras Tyrell at Lya's wedding, and Gods was he beautiful! She had hoped he would wear her favour during the joust... he certainly wouldn't now! As insensitive as it was, Sansa found herself wishing again that Lord Arryn had waited another week before he passed away.

"Yes, it is," her mother agreed, "but you mustn't say such things, Sansa. The king and your father are in mourning. It's of ill manners to seem more preoccupied with the tourney being cancelled."

Catelyn's eyes never left the needlework on her lap. Sansa admired her mother's talents and the way Catelyn seemed to loose herself while she stitched. She was making a dress for Lya, a late wedding gift. Sansa thought that Lya had received enough for her wedding. From Mother and Father she received a beautiful necklace, far prettier than anything Sansa had ever seen before.

Of course Lya gets everything, Sansa thought resentfully. She got the wonderful, handsome, southern husband and the large keep and the title of Lady Lannister. Lya wasn't even that good at being a lady, but Sansa was! Their mother always said that Sansa was born to be a fine lady. Lya was kind and sweet, yes, and she would make a brilliant mother someday, but she didn't have the skills needed to be a fine southern lady.

Sansa bristled at her mother's disapproval, but forced a courteous smile on her lips. "Of course not, Mother. I will not say such things outside this room."

"Good girl," her mother approved, giving her a warm smile. The smile faltered suddenly as a thought seemed to worm its way inside Catelyn's head. "Sansa, dear, there's something that you ought to know."

"Oh?" Sansa encouraged, excited. It was rare that anyone told her anything. Usually she'd have to hear it from Robb or Lya first.

"It can't leave this room. You must promise me that. Your father and the king have not agreed on anything yet," Catelyn lectured, giving Sansa a scolding look even though she hadn't done anything.

Sansa's knee was bouncing up and down with excitement underneath her skirts. She tried to restrain herself and act ladylike and mature, but she was ever so excited to find out what the king and father were discussing. She nodded vehemently. "I won't tell a soul, Mother! I promise!"

"Very well," her mother said, sounding doubtful. Sansa feared that her mother might change her mind and not tell her a thing. Thankfully, that didn't happen. "The king has asked your father to become his Hand and go south with him, to King's Landing."

"Why, that's great news!" Sansa chirped, clapping her hands together. "Can I go too?"

"Sansa..."

"Oh, Mother, please, let me go! I've always wanted to go to King's Landing and be among the fine ladies of court and there shall be knights too, just like the songs!" Sansa begged. She could picture it now, dancing with Ser Loras Tyrell... and there might be even more handsome men at court!

"Sansa, let me finish," Catelyn scolded. Sansa shrunk under her mother's disapproving eyes and nodded meekly. "The king has also asked your father for something else. He thinks that we ought to join our houses. He wants to marry you to the crown prince."

She could scarce believe her ears. Prince Joffrey?! A grin spread across her lips, joy and disbelief shining in her beautiful blue eyes. She covered her mouth with her hand as a breathy sigh escaped her lips. She would be a princess! She would someday be queen! Sansa would be of higher rank than Lyarra. What's a mere lady to a queen, after all?

"Oh, Father must say yes!" Sansa declared. "He would be the second most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms and I would be queen! How could he refuse?"

Her mother sighed. "Oh, Sansa, sweetling. I don't think you understand. It would mean that you would live in Winterfell again. You'd be away from your family. You'd be away from me."

"I understand all that, Mother," Sansa replied, a little too harshly. Seeing her mother's wounded expression, Sansa set her needlework aside and lowered herself onto her knees before her mother, clasping Catelyn's hands in her own. "I hope you haven't misunderstood me. I will miss you and my brothers... and Arya too, I suppose. But I will be queen someday! And I'll have Father and even Lyarra won't be too far from the capital. Oh please, Mother! It's the only thing I've ever wanted!"

"You're so young," Catelyn had tears in her eyes as she looked down at Sansa.

"I'm only two years younger than Robb and Lya. And the prince and I are closer in age than Lyarra and Ser Jaime," Sansa reassured her. "Please, Mother! Talk to Father. It would make me so happy!"

She had won her mother over. Catelyn smiled sadly and cupped Sansa's face in her hands. "Alright. I'll see what I can do. I'll talk to your father, but I make no promises."

"Oh, thank you, Mother! That's all I ask!" Sansa wrapped her arms around her mother and kissed her cheek.

I shall be queen! For Sansa knew that her father could not refuse his wife and daughters anything.


The halls of Casterly Rock were decorated by banners of lions and the portraits of its lords and ladies. Ned found himself stopping to admire each painting, a welcome delay to the conversation he was going to have with the king. When Robert summoned him an hour ago, Ned knew exactly what his old friend wanted to speak of.

Ned had no desire to be Hand. There were plenty of men in Westeros – plenty of men in Casterly Rock alone – that would be much more qualified. But those men weren't loyal to Robert, only to themselves and their houses.

You can always say no, Ned.

But how could he, when only last night his wife received a letter which implied that the Lannisters killed Jon? Catelyn had said that he didn't have to become Robert's Hand, but what other choice was there? Let his friend be surrounded by the vultures that had killed their foster father?

"Lord Stark!" a voice called and Ned heard footsteps approaching him. He turned his head towards the source, recognising Jaime only because of the brightness of his gold hair. The corridor was dimly lit by his lantern and the sun had set a while ago, though he could make out the grin on Jaime's lip. "Or should I call you father now?"

"Lord Stark will do fine," Ned replied grimly, frowning at his new goodson.

"It's a pity, really, that you're so determined to keep our houses at odds with each other. I thought that my marriage to your daughter might encourage you to look at the possibilities. Do you detest us so much, Lord Stark?" Jaime drawled, leaning against the wall lazily.

"Detest is strong word," Ned admitted. "But it will take much more than a marriage between our two houses before I trust a Lannister."

"Forgive me, but isn't your own daughter now a Lannister?" Jaime reminded him, playing stupid. Gods, the Kingslayer's voice had always irked him. He was so cocksure and arrogant. "Do you distrust her too?"

"You must think me a very harsh man. How could I distrust Lyarra for obeying the king's commands?"

"Yet you look down on me for doing the same," Jaime quipped back. The grin was gone from his face. Ned didn't say anything in response and merely pressed his lips together, frowning. The Kingslayer let out a humourless laugh. "I never wanted a wife or children. Some men are made for such a life, I was not. But just like your daughter, I obeyed the king and my father and married. You understand that, don't you, Lord Stark? That I take as much pleasure from this marriage as you do. Yet, I still feel the anger, the contempt, just radiating from you, like I am the one to blame for this entire mess. Why don't you look to your dear old friend Robert and ask him why he wanted me to marry Lyarra. But you already know, don't you, Lord Stark?"

"Careful, Ser Jaime," Ned warned.

The Kingslayer rolled his eyes. "Or what? Don't avoid the question. Why do you think this marriage happened?"

"Aye, I've given it thought, I'll admit," Ned allowed. "But I don't pretend to know Robert's mind."

"Give it a go. You'll surprise yourself. It's remarkably easy," Jaime encouraged, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ned hesitated. Of course he had given the matter much thought. He had discussed it with Catelyn before they went to sleep many times. They more often than not reached the same conclusion. Sighing, Ned relented.

"Robert wanted to slight your father by meddling in his affairs," Ned answered. "And he used my daughter to do it."

Jaime smiled bitterly. "Very good. In return for a much lower interest rate on the crown's debt to House Lannister, Robert agreed to release me from my vows. But he felt as though my father was leading him around by the balls – his words, not mine – and wanted to teach him a lesson. And yes, he used your daughter to do it, just so he could drag you out of your northern wasteland and find a way to keep you south. What great friends you have, Lord Stark!"

"Don't insult the king, Ser Jaime. Such an act is treason," Ned reminded the Kingslayer.

To his surprise, Jaime chuckled. "You'll make a fine Hand. You already defend the king to the last, even when Robert uses your blind loyalty against you. What's the saying? The king shits and the Hand wipes."

Not for the first time since his daughter's wedding, Ned felt a fierce loathing for the man who was now his relation by marriage. Lyarra deserved a better husband, a kinder husband, yet she was now bound to a cocky, vulgar and dishonourable man.

"I haven't promised the king anything yet, you'll be glad to hear. You no doubt would have preferred if your father was given the position." Tywin would make a better Hand than he would, but he would not serve Robert loyally.

"I never cared much for politics, I fear, or which poor soul Robert orders to rule his kingdom," Jaime quipped. "My father, on the other hand, believes the king has slighted him."

"Aye, I thought as much," Ned replied. When Jaime didn't add some witty retort, Ned took the opportunity as a chance to leave. "As much as I've enjoyed our chat, the king is waiting for me."

Jaime flashed him a smile. "Far be it from me to make you late for his Grace. Hopefully he hasn't drank himself into a stupor again."

"Goodbye, ser," Ned said brashly, ignoring what Jaime had said. He had no desire to feed into Jaime's arrogance. He brushed past the Kingslayer as he made his way down the corridor, stopping at the king's bedroom down the hall.

Ned was let in by the Kingsguard and found his old friend sitting in front of the fire, pouring himself another cup of ale. Robert's face split into a large grin when he saw Ned approaching.

"Ah, Ned! Ale?"

"I shouldn't, Your Gr-"

"You forget your manners. Didn't you learn that it's bad manners to say no to a king?" Robert chastised. He poured Ned a cup of ale before he put the pitcher on the table and looked up at Ned with a challenging stare. Ned stared back, wary of how things had grown tense. After a few seconds of intense staring, Robert barked a loud laugh. Ned found himself laughing with him. Robert's laugh had always been contagious. "Sit down and drink."

"As you command," Ned quipped back, sitting in the chair beside Robert's. He picked up the cup and began drinking it slowly.

"You took your time getting here," Robert commented. Ned's eyes flickered towards his friend. The king was scowling at him. Robert never did like to be kept waiting.

"I was speaking with Ser Jaime."

"Ah, the Kingslayer. How is marriage suiting him?" Robert laughed to himself, a laugh that turned into a cough. Ned watched the king cough with a terrible sort of satisfaction. He would be fine if Robert was merely terrorising Ser Jaime, but he had bound Lyarra to an unwanted life as well. But Robert wasn't thinking of anyone or anything but himself and what he wanted, as always.

"Well enough," Ned lied. He wasn't sure if it was a lie, though. He hadn't asked Jaime if he was happy. Ned didn't really care about the Kingslayer's happiness, only Lyarra's, even if he hadn't asked her either.

"Your daughter's a pretty one. The Kingslayer is lucky." Lucky that you forced my hand. Lucky that you forced Tywin Lannister's hand. "When I first saw your daughter – Lyarra, isn't it?" Ned nodded, fearing what Robert was going to say. He already knew. "I tried to see your sister in her. She rides like Lyanna, but that's the beginning and end of all similarities. I thought that, if she looked like her, I might remember what Lyanna looked like. It's been so long, Ned. I've forgotten her face. The only woman I've ever loved, and I've forgotten what she looks like."

"Lyarra is not Lyanna." Ned regretted how the two names sounded so similar. It almost ruined his point.

"No, she isn't," Robert replied thoughtfully, a rueful smile on his lips. "She has your look, in truth. Dark hair, grey eyes. A solemn face but a kind smile."

Ned smiled – a real, true smile. "I've been told she has Catelyn's cheekbones."

Robert barked a laugh. "And your height, unfortunately. I only realised how tiny she was at the wedding ceremony. From what I remember of it, that is. The Kingslayer towered over her."

"That he did," Ned agreed. Jaime was a whole head taller than Lyarra, and then some. As a child, Lyarra had resembled a doll. Sometimes, when she pouted, Ned thought that she still did.

"The others have Catelyn's look, save the girl... Arra?"

"Arya," Ned corrected.

"Arya," Robert repeated. "She looks like you. The redhead-"

"Sansa."

"Sansa. There's none of you in her at all. It's like looking at a younger Catelyn."

Ned chuckled. Men always said she had Catelyn's look, but even his wife had to admit that Sansa would grow to be an even greater beauty than she. Her hair was a lighter copper colour, her eyes a more stunning blue. Catelyn was perfect to Ned, the woman he loved more than he ever thought possible, but no one could deny than Sansa was a blooming rose that would outshine even her own mother.

"None of the children have my look. It makes it easier to ignore them." Ned bristled at the way Robert spoke of his children. Since the rebellion, Ned had clung to his family. They were everything to him. He couldn't imagine speaking so dismissively of his own children. "They're all Cersei's. Every inch Lannister. I've searched for bits of myself in them, or even bits of my father or Stannis or Renly... nothing. They're all fucking Lannister."

Having seen the three children, Ned couldn't argue otherwise. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were Lannisters through and through, with hair of gold and eyes of green. Ned finished his cup of ale and placed it on the table beside him. A mistake, Ned soon learned, as Robert immediately refilled his cup and handed it to him.

"Have you made up your mind?"

Robert didn't specify, but Ned knew exactly what he meant. Ned sighed and took a long sip of ale. He would have preferred more time to make up his mind, but the royal party left tomorrow and Ned didn't really have any other choice.

"Aye. I'll be your Hand," Ned swore. "I will serve you the best I can."

"And the girl? Will you consent to her marrying Joffrey?"

Ned sighed. Robert couldn't just be happy with one promise. "I will."

"You can bring one of your boys with you. Or both. They'll be raised with Tommen, like me and you at the Eyrie." Robert gave him a smile. Ned could see that he was truly happy and wished that he could share in the king's joy.

"I wish to bring Arya with me as well."

"Bring your whole bloody household with you if you want! And Winter Town too, if you must," Robert chuckled heartily. "It makes no difference to me."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Ned inclined his head and stood shakily. "With your leave, I must return to my wife."

Elated and drunk, Robert gave him leave. Ned heard the king's snore the moment the door shut behind him.

A feeling of dread rose within the new Hand. Bad things happened to Starks who went south.


Author's Note: the plot will be similar to the TV show and books at the beginning, but will then diverge from canon. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! What did you think of Jaime and Ned's interaction? Poor Jaime will never get a break from Ned Stark!