Chapter Twenty-One: The Eyrie

A/N: Hello hello, guess who's back! This chapter got away from me and ended up being longer than I expected but that's probably a good thing, right? As usual a huge thanks to all of you readers, you're amazing and I cherish every review.

The knowledge that Tamara had fled King's Landing with both Dianella and Sansa was shocking to Jaime, and damning to Cersei. Joffrey's death still weighed heavily upon the twins, but Cersei was more focused on the aftermath: finding a culprit. Although Tyrion had been taken into custody, it was obvious she suspected Jaime's wife of potentially committing the crime.

"You were a fool to ever think you could trust her." Cersei finished her glass of wine, surveying her twin brother over the rim. Her expression was as disdainful as her tone. "Did you really think sweet little Tamara would fall in love with you once she had your daughter? She manipulated you, Jaime."

Jaime had believed his wife had come to love him, that perhaps their initially strained marriage might stand a chance – particularly with Dianella drawing them closer together. Had Tamara managed to fool him? Had his young wife been the one who'd poisoned his eldest son? Although Jaime wanted to think it may not be the case, Tamara's flight spoke for itself. She obviously had not cared as much as he'd foolishly hoped she did.

"First Tyrion, now Tamara. Is there no end to your list of suspects, Cersei?"

The Queen scoffed, setting her glass down with a loud clink. "They could have both been in on it. If your wife hadn't run off, perhaps I wouldn't think her a part of it. Tamara, Sansa, Tyrion…I've no doubt they were all part of this plot."

Jaime couldn't quite refrain from rolling his eyes. Cersei had, in recent years, become a paranoid woman. This had only intensified following his marriage to Tamara. It would seem the Queen was looking for any excuse to demonise Tamara, and Joffrey's death provided the perfect opportunity. While Jaime could not absolve his wife of any blame – she had run away with their daughter, after all – he didn't believe she or Sansa were murderers.

"Sansa is a political prisoner here. Don't you think perhaps Tamara was getting her out while there was chaos?"

"No, I don't," Cersei snapped, folding her arms over her chest. "I think you are making excuses to prevent your wife being a suspect in your son's murder. Do you think she loves you like I do, Jaime?"

She leaned in to kiss him, but Jaime stepped back. His feelings for Cersei had been snuffed out, like a candle ceasing to burn. It was Tamara who held that special place in his heart now. Maybe Cersei was right and he was a fool. Yet he could not help but feel that there was more to Tamara's sudden disappearance. He liked to think that she had been growing accustomed to life in King's Landing, that she had been relatively happy. Jaime knew Tamara well enough to realise, if she had really been involved in Joffrey's death, she would never have dragged Sansa into it with her.

"Fine." Cersei drew back, pursing her lips. "You can go on thinking your wife is a sweet, innocent girl if you'd like. You truly are stupid. The truth will come to light, you'll see."

Without even a backward glance, she turned and strode from the room. Jaime heaved a sigh, raking his remaining hand through his golden hair. Although he was of course adamant on discovering who had murdered Joffrey, he was also greatly concerned about his wife and daughter. Although his mind was attempting to conjure magical scenarios, the facts were clear – either Tamara had fled because she had been involved in Joffrey's death, or she had been pressured to leave King's Landing by someone else. The only question was, who?

It had been a great many years since Tamara had been to the Eyrie. She had been a small child when they had left for King's Landing, and now she returned to the place she had been born with a baby of her own. She clutched Dianella close, wrapping her furs more tightly around herself. Winter was certainly coming, as the Starks liked to say, and the chill was felt more prominently in the Vale than in the capital. Although the red-headed woman who eased herself to her feet and strode over to them was Tamara's own mother, she felt a sense of unease. It had been years since she'd last seen Lysa, and she was unsure what to expect.

The act was that Sansa was Alayne Stone, Petyr's niece. It would not do for people to become aware that Sansa Stark was in the Eyrie. Of course, there was no denying who Tamara was – a redheaded woman with a blonde baby was bound to be recognised as the Kingslayer's wife. She didn't mind the rumours, didn't mind that people might talk. It was Sansa who needed protection.

"Tamara, my darling daughter." She was the one Lysa reached for first. The older woman's eyes widened at the baby in Tamara's arms. "With a child of your own. I had heard, but I never thought…may I see her?"

"Of course." Tamara felt slightly apprehensive as she handed the child over to her mother, but she pushed such feelings aside. What reason would Lysa have to dislike a baby? Hate the Lannisters as she might, even Lysa could not fault a baby for being born with Jaime for a father.

"Blonde like her father," Lysa murmured, a gentle hand stroking Dianella's fair hair back from her face. With a strained smile, she handed the child back to her mother. It was clear to Tamara that despite Lysa wanting to love her granddaughter, she could obviously see Jaime in the child and it held her back.

Before Tamara could mull on it too much, Lysa's attention shifted to Petyr. There was warmth there, and something else – desire. Tamara's stomach lurched uncomfortably as Lysa threw her arms around Petyr's neck, kissing him passionately. Sansa looked taken aback and Tamara attempted to lighten the mood by pulling a face and rolling her eyes at her cousin behind Lysa's back. It worked, as Sansa placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

"Sister!" Robin charged across the room and threw his arms around Tamara. Although still shorter than her, it was not by much. It stunned Tamara to see how much her little brother had grown up. He peered curiously at the bundle of blankets in her arms. "Is that Jaime's baby?"

"It is." Tamara let him look, but she didn't think letting a boisterous boy hold such a small child was a clever idea. When she glanced over at her mother, Lysa had extricated herself from Petyr's embrace and smiled warmly across at Sansa. The younger girl seemed rather overwhelmed, although Tamara could not fault her for that – the Eyrie had never been Sansa's home, after all.

"Dearest niece." Lysa reached up to tenderly tuck a strand of auburn hair behind Sansa's ear. "No one can know you're here, it could put us in a very precarious position. The Lannisters want to destroy us, they've been trying for years. Now they know what it feels like."

Tamara wondered whether her mother considered her a Lannister now. Although her loyalty was certainly not to Cersei, she had grown up in the past few years. She no longer knew what kind of woman her mother was. She was suspicious of most, and now those suspicions also rested upon Lysa. Dianella made a small sound and Tamara jiggled her gently, hushing her.

"Tamara, why don't you show Sansa to her room?" Lysa's smile was still warm, but her eyes were fixed on Petyr. "Robin, you can go with them, spend some time with your sister."

"Of course." Tamara headed toward the back stairs so that they could head up unseen – protecting Sansa's identity was a priority. When she glanced over her shoulder, she could see Petyr and Lysa involved in quiet, heated discussion. Her brow creased into a frown. She eased Dianella into Sansa's arms.

"What is it?" The Stark girl was perceptive if nothing else, but Tamara didn't want her involved in whatever was happening.

"Nothing. I simply wish to speak with my mother for a moment when she's done talking with Lord Baelish. Will you settle Dianella in her cot for me? I won't be long."

Sansa nodded, but it was clear that she didn't exactly believe what Tamara was saying. As she and Robin ascended the steps, Tamara slipped into the shadows and watched. Now that the others were gone, Lysa and Petyr's voices were much easier to hear. There was something off about all of this. Tamara knew her mother had loved Petyr once, but now they were marrying? Leaning against the stone wall, she listened closely.

"What wife would do for you the things I've done for you?" Lysa demanded. Although it was clear she was trying to be quiet, the stone walls meant that her voice carried enough for Tamara to make out her words. "What wife would trust you the way I trusted you, when you gave me those drops and told me to pour them into Jon's wife, my husband's wine? When you told me to write a letter to Cat, telling her it was the Lannisters…"

Perhaps Petyr suspected someone was listening, or perhaps he just wished to silence Lysa. Either way, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers in a passionate kiss – the same way he'd kissed Tamara on the ship only days before. Yet it was not the familiarity of that action that disgusted Tamara. It was what she had just heard, so many years of lies finally unravelling into a horrific truth.

It had never been the Lannisters. Tamara had stayed in King's Landing to discover the truth about her father's death, but she should have come back to the Eyrie all along. Maybe then she would have realised what she only knew now. Petyr and Lysa had been responsible for Jon's death. Her mother had never loved her father – it was something Tamara had known for many years, something she had always accepted, because it had never mattered. Not until this moment, when it became clear that Lysa's affair with Petyr had turned into something far more dangerous.

She turned on her heel and scurried upstairs, quickly and quietly so as to avoid detection. Now that she was aware of what Lysa was capable of, what was to stop her mother killing her if she suspected Tamara knew the truth? This would have to be something she kept to herself, until the moment came to reveal it. Who would believe her otherwise? Now that she knew the truth – a truth that sickened her to the core – everything was finally coming together. All that remained was finding a way to prove what very few would believe: that Lysa Arryn and Petyr Baelish murdered Jon.

There was still a question on Tamara's mind: why? Was it simply so that Lysa could then marry Petyr? That had not been for years afterwards. What was Jon's death meant to accomplish? Seething, Tamara balled her hands into fists. She had never trusted Petyr, but this made her hate him. Her father would be avenged, of that she was certain. She would see to it herself.

The sound of Lysa screaming as she and Petyr made love on their wedding night resonated all throughout the Eyrie. Tamara couldn't help but roll her eyes, certain that her mother must be exaggerating. Fortunately, Dianella slept soundly, yet a soft knock on the door informed Tamara that she was not the only one still awake despite the late hour. Opening the door, she smiled in relief when she noticed it was Sansa. Ushering her cousin into her room, Tamara set about pouring them each a glass of wine.

"It's ridiculous, isn't it?" She gestured vaguely upwards, toward the noise that Lysa was making.

"I honestly can't sleep." Sansa heaved a sigh, taking a deep gulp from her glass. Her fingers danced nervously against it. "Although, I've found it hard since finding out about Mother and Robb."

Part of Tamara wanted to drain the entire bottle of wine after the discovery that she had made only hours earlier. She was still reeling, wanting it all to be some kind of nightmare. Yet part of her seemed to have suspected, because although she was horrified by the truth, she was not shocked by it, not really. Petyr was an ambitious man, and Lysa a woman with romantic ideals. If it had been up to her, she'd have married Petyr years ago, and Tamara wouldn't have even existed.

"Do you trust him?" Sansa's question made Tamara look up from her glass of wine, eyebrows raising. "Lord Baelish, I mean."

"No." The answer was immediate and firm. "You shouldn't either. His part in Joffrey's murder proves the sort of man he is. What did he stand to gain from the King's death? New friends? Please."

The words were bold, too much so, and Tamara braced herself for Sansa questioning why she believed that. Instead the younger girl remained silent, nodding her head thoughtfully. Tamara wanted to hope that she had an ally in Sansa. Robin was too young to understand the vulgarity of Lysa and Petyr's actions – she could not involve him in that. But Sansa was not a child anymore, and Tamara liked to think that if it came to it, she'd side with her. After all, the two girls had been close when they had both been political prisoners in King's Landing.

Tamara pondered whether she should tell Sansa about what happened on the ship, about Petyr's attempt to seduce her. She decided against it. First, she needed to ensure that her cousin's loyalty was to her. At this point, the wrong move could prove fatal. Tamara never thought she would need to play the long game with her mother, the game of survival, yet here she was. Sansa and Dianella's safety was paramount, and Tamara would never risk them.

"Do you regret coming here?" Sansa asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"No." Tamara shook her head vigorously. Although she would never admit to missing Jaime, she did. Yet without her flight from King's Landing, she might not have discovered the truth behind her father's murder. She might always have suspected Jaime, Cersei and the other Lannisters. Although she hardly thought them innocent, she could no longer condemn them for a crime she was now certain they had not committed.

"You really intend to leave with Tyrion's trial coming up?" Tywin's tone was disapproving as he watched his eldest son gathering his things – yet when had that not been the case? All of Tywin's children had spent their younger years attempting to earn his approval. Jaime gained nothing if he stayed. Heaving a sigh, he spun to face his father.

"What good does it make if I stay? I can't fight for Tyrion. You and I both know that."

"So you are going to the Vale?" Tywin's contempt indicated such a mission was ridiculous at best. "What makes you think that Tamara would have gone there?"

"Because it makes sense." Jaime folded his arms over his chest, fighting back a wave of frustration. His every choice was being questioned of late, and it was becoming rather tedious. "It's where she was born, it's where Sansa has family too. I can't see them heading off to Winterfell right now, can you?"

"Why are you so adamant on getting her back?" Tywin demanded. It would have been an easy question to bluff. A bit of quick thinking and Jaime would have come up with a plausible reason for his pursuit of his wife and daughter. Instead his temper snapped, and the truth came rushing out.

"Because I love her!"

Tywin remained quiet, and Jaime wondered if that had been what he'd expected to hear. What did it matter? It had been Tywin who had pushed their marriage in the first place, a few years ago when Jaime had absolutely no feelings for the girl and when Tamara had loathed the idea of wedding a Lannister. Perhaps, like Cersei, Tywin had never expected that the Arryn girl could have such an impact on Jaime. It hadn't been immediate. It had crept up on Jaime, slow and subtle as Jon Arryn's death. Yet it was the truth: he cared about Tamara. He cared about what happened to her, and he wanted to know why she'd run.

"I see."

"You knew what love was once," Jaime sneered, "But you've likely forgotten now. You loved our mother. How can it be so difficult to acknowledge I love my wife? Because she was only ever meant to be your pawn?"

"Do what you will, Jaime." Tywin was dismissive, waving a hand in his son's direction. "If you must leave, so be it."

Cersei had already made it clear to Jaime that she felt he was abandoning them. Yet, weren't Tamara and Dianella his family too now? Jaime's presence contributed nothing to Tyrion's trial, and his absence would only prove a point: that he found the entire thing absolutely ridiculous. Was he really the only Lannister who didn't think Tyrion had murdered Joffrey? There had always been bad blood between the two, yet the act was too drastic even for Tyrion.

"I intend to." Jaime slung his bag over his shoulder, heading for the door. He hesitated, thoughts drawn once again to his younger brother. "I hope one of you sees sense while I'm gone. Tyrion didn't do this, and you know it."

The shadows had become Tamara's frequent domain. She was very much aware of the fact that she could not stay in the Eyrie forever, that this was only a temporary safe haven. Besides, was it even safe? If Petyr or Lysa suspected that she knew what they had done, there was no doubt in her mind that they would silence her. A smile curved her lips as headed down to the hall. Petyr thought he was so clever, but she would play him at his own game. She would feign ignorance, until the time came for her to strike.

Voices in the hall made Tamara frown. She could have passed by, but something made her peer inside. The only two people there were Sansa and Lysa. Chills ran down Tamara's spine at seeing her mother alone with her cousin, both standing over the Moon Door, looking down.

"I've seen you with Petyr." Lysa's voice was calm, but Tamara had the awful feeling that she knew precisely what happened to those who stood between Lysa and Petyr. This woman had murdered her own husband to be with Petyr. "You act coy, but I know the truth. You want him for yourself."

"What?" Sansa sounded shocked. "No, Aunt Lysa, I…Petyr and I…it's nothing like that at all."

"Liar!" Lysa shouted, grabbing a handful of Sansa's hair and yanking her closer to the edge, ignoring the girl's cry of pain. Tamara couldn't watch any longer – stepping through the doors left ajar, she hurried over to the pair of them, praying she could make her mother see sense.

"Mother, what in the seven hells are you doing?"

"This treacherous whore intends to steal Petyr away from me!" There was spittle gathering at the edges of Lysa's mouth, her eyes wide and bulging. Tamara could see the madness there now, and she knew that her mother was beyond reason. Even she could not convince this woman that what she thought was happening was absurd.

"Lysa!" The exclamation made all three women turn to where Petyr had entered the room. "Let her go."

"You want her." Lysa's voice trembled. "This empty-headed child. She's just like her mother, she'll never love you. I lied for you, I killed for you. Why did you bring her here, why?"

"I'll send her away." Petyr held up his hands in surrender, his gaze locking onto Tamara's. She realised that this man had a better chance of talking sense into her mother, and so she opted to remain silent. "I swear on my life, I swear to all the gods."

Lysa tossed Sansa aside, sinking onto the ledge beside the Moon Door in hysterical tears. Tamara had no care for her mother – she hurried over to her cousin and dropped by her side. Sansa's body was trembling as much as Lysa's, but otherwise the girl appeared to be alright. Tamara hugged her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Oh, my sweet, silly wife." Petyr crossed over to Lysa, kneeling before her and embracing her as her sobs rang throughout the hall. He took her hand and helped her to her feet, even as her frame shook. "I have only loved one woman. Only one, my entire life…your sister."

The words were a mere whisper, but they made Tamara's head jerk up, made her look away from Sansa to where her attention should have been all along. It was too late – as Lysa's expression contorted into hurt confusion, Petyr gave her one firm push, sending her through the Moon Door to the unforgiving rocks below.

Tamara gasped, but it was more of surprise than any sorrow. After learning what her mother had done, she could not honestly say she mourned the woman's fate. Death had been coming for Lysa, and better by Petyr's hand than Tamara's own. This was far less complicated, far easier. It was hard for her to realise she didn't feel grief over her own mother's murder, but the woman had been someone Tamara barely recognised.

"Come, Sansa." Tamara took her cousin's hands, helping her to her feet. "You should have a hot bath before you catch a chill. The Eyrie is freezing."

Tamara was aware of Petyr's gaze on them, the two witnesses to the murder he had just committed. Right now, Tamara had a choice. She could out Petyr as Lysa's murderer, or she could protect him. The former option seemed more satisfying, but she couldn't help but think they still needed his help. Petyr could yet outmanoeuvre Tamara, and that was a risk she wasn't willing to take.

"We will speak later, Lord Baelish." The words were firm and decisive, her tone broaching no argument. When she looked to him, he inclined his head stiffly, clearly apprehensive of what her verdict would be. She let him stew, let him squirm in that uncertainty. For now, she needed to make sure that Sansa's story would be the same as her own.

The candles were waning and the hour was late when Tamara let Petyr into her chambers to discuss what was to happen now. For a few moments, he paced her room as she set about ensuring Dianella was asleep and dimming the candles. Tamara had changed into a more casual attire for the conversation – a dark blue nightgown that in truth made her feel slightly cold in the Eyrie's chill.

"I need your word, Tamara." Petyr crossed over to her, reaching out to caress her face. Tamara gripped his wrist, raising her eyebrows at his familiarity. She was technically his step-daughter, after all. However, she suspected he had more interest in her than her mother. "The Knights of the Vale would never simply believe me. They do not trust me. But you…you are Lysa's daughter, her eldest child. You saw how unhinged she was. If you convinced them she threw herself from the Moon Door…"

"Then what?" Tamara's smile was forced. "What good would it do me to lie for you, Petyr?"

He faltered at that, and she could not help but savour the moment that she silenced the silky lies of Lord Baelish. She planted her hands on her hips, waiting for him to come up with an explanation of why exactly this situation would be best for her. She was not Sansa, young and easily swayed. Being married to Jaime had taught her well. After a moment's indecision, Petyr exhaled deeply.

"I can help Sansa return home, Tamara, you know that."

"Tempting." Her lips curved upwards. "But now my little brother is Lord of the Vale, and you would be Lord Protector considering his young age. You can see how this seems a little too convenient, surely."

"There would be benefits for you as well." Petyr moved closer again, and this time Tamara did not draw away. "You are technically still a married woman, but your marriage to your husband is…clearly strained. You hold power here in the Eyrie. I may be Lysa's husband, but it is you the Knights of the Vale would want to swear fealty to."

Tamara tilted her head to the side. "Speak plainly, Lord Baelish."

"How would it feel to rule instead of being a prisoner?" Petyr rested his hands on her shoulders. "You were practically a hostage in the capital. Here you have freedoms like you never could have dreamed of."

"Such as?" Tamara's voice was barely above a whisper. She knew precisely what he was going to do – and she didn't stop him as he kissed her. In fact, she kissed him back, draping her arms around his neck. Let him see her as a young wife disillusioned with her marriage, a woman who wanted to explore her sexuality and feel empowered. Let her see him as being like him, if that was what he really wanted. The more she appeared to lower her guard, the less he would suspect her true intentions.

Petyr deepened the kiss, his hands slipping down from Tamara's shoulders to her waist. She pressed her body closer against him, ignoring the wrongness of it and focusing on what it would achieve. She let him touch her, let his hands roam her curves as she gripped his shoulders, pressing her lips more fiercely against his. Tamara let him believe he was about to get exactly what he wanted. Petyr's lips swept down her neck, one of his hands fondling at her breasts as the other worked at slipping her nightgown up her legs.

Tamara gripped his wrist as he tugged at the hem of her nightgown. She drew back, smoothing the creases out of the fabric and fixing her hair. Petyr looked a mixture of confused and aroused. She shook her head fervently, rubbing her arms.

"Petyr, I can't." The reluctance in her voice sounded genuine. She really did seem like a young woman torn between a husband she did not care for, and something new and thrilling, forbidden even. She turned her back on him and pressed her face into her hands as if overcome by feelings of guilt. She waited until she heard him leave the room before she dropped her hands, not quite able to suppress a wicked smile.

Little did Petyr realise that Tamara was utilising his own desire, forging it into a weapon to use against him. He had been Lysa's downfall, and it seemed odd yet fitting that Tamara would be his.