Grave Promises
As she held her child in her arms, Lyarra chose to stare out the window instead of forcing herself to look at Tygett. She only upset herself when she looked at him. Since the day of his birth, Lyarra had confined herself to the nursery, spending all her time with Tygett and sometimes Jon when he decided to visit her. She dismissed all the servants who tried to help with Tygett. She fed him, cleaned him and changed him all by herself, and she hated every minute of it. She was exhausted. When Tyg started crying, so did she. She couldn't sleep. She barely ate. All she could think about was how horrible a mother she was, and how much she wanted to get away from Casterly Rock.
She wanted to abandon her children. What kind of a mother did that make her? She doubted Cersei ever thought about abandoning her children. Despite being cruel and ruthless, Cersei was a good mother. What would her own mother think, if she was alive and Lyarra told her that she wanted to leave her family? She'd be disgusted with Lyarra, and Lyarra wouldn't have blamed her.
Hearing a high-pitched whine coming from her baby, Lyarra finally looked down at him, feeling tears well in her eyes immediately. She started to rock Tygett, soothing him with gentle soft words that didn't seem to work at all.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice strained with frustration as she bounced him up and down. She got up from her chair and started pacing the nursery. She tried singing to him, speaking soothing words and rocking him, but nothing worked. "Oh, what's wrong with you? You smell fine. Are you hungry? Here," she said as she sat down with him again. She unlaced her dress and offered him her nipple, but Tygett turned his head away as his cries became louder. "What do you want?"
She covered up her breast again and loosely laced up her dress in case anyone was to walk in. She was doing everything right! She spent all of her time with him. She fed him herself. Why was he being so difficult?
Lyarra wondered if he knew. If he realised how upset and detached she felt. She had dismissed that thought so many times. He was a baby – how could he possibly know what her tears and her strained voice meant? She was trying so hard, but nothing was going right for her. Maybe she was just a horrible mother. Maybe Jon and Tyg would be better off without her.
Shaking her head, she pushed that thought aside. Children needed their mother. It took her a while to adjust to being a mother to Jon as well. Soon enough, she'd warm to Tygett too. That was what she hoped at least.
For hours, Tygett cried and wailed and screamed. Maids came into the nursery to check on him, but Lyarra shooed them all away. She would calm him. She was his mother – she should be able to soothe and comfort him! What was wrong with her?
"You need to sleep," she muttered to him as he continued to cry. And so do I, she thought to herself. The thought of a nap was a glorious one. She just wanted to sleep. "You haven't slept since last night. You're tired. Go to sleep." She hummed a sweet lullaby to him, praying that would calm him down. Soon enough, her lullaby turned to relentless hiccuping as she started sobbing as well. "Why can't you just go to sleep? Please stop crying!"
To her surprise, the crying suddenly came to a stop. Lyarra's eyes widened in surprise, a shocked smile growing across her lips. As though he was fragile glass, she slowly walked over to the chair and took out her breast again. He latched his lips on her nipple and sucked, becoming quiet and peaceful. Lyarra sighed happily and caressed the side of his head as he closed his eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep.
For the first time since she gave birth, she felt like a mother. She comforted him, all by herself! Perhaps she wasn't so useless after all. She could do this. As she stared down at her baby, she felt a familiar blossoming of love in her belly, one that she had often felt with Jon. It was quick and fleeting, but she knew it was there.
Her attention was only taken away from her son when Genna opened the door to the nursery and stepped inside. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Lyarra interrupted her so that she didn't speak in her usual loud, booming voice. "I just got him to sleep. If you wake him..."
"I'll be quiet," she whispered. "Don't worry. I heard him screaming. Is he alright?"
"He was just being fussy," Lyarra answered, smiling down at him fondly. "But I got him to sleep." She looked up at Genna, noticing how her nose crinkled at the sight of Lyarra giving her child suck. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You know how I feel about that."
"About what?" Lyarra replied, laughing. "A mother feeding her child? Plenty of women do it."
"Plenty of peasant women. You're a noblewoman," Genna reminded her sharply. "We employ wet nurses to feed our children so we don't have to be degraded by the practice."
"Degraded? It's the most natural thing in the world," Lyarra insisted.
Genna shook her head. "I detest the practice. Breastfeeding turns good, noble women into cows. You deserve better than this. Get a wet nurse." Before she could continue with her rant, Genna broke down in a fit of coughing. She turned around, careful about infecting Jon with whatever affliction she had. Even though Creylen had insisted her illness was not contagious, Genna was still very cautious around her family.
Lyarra looked at Genna worriedly. "Get a physician," she said to her. Genna turned around to look at her, a surprised but humoured look on her face as she raised an incredulous eyebrow. She started to laugh. Lyarra found herself laughing too. "I'm being serious, Genna. Just give me your permission and I'll find someone to treat you."
"I told you. This isn't treatable," Genna insisted again.
Though she opened her mouth to speak, no words came out of Lyarra's lips. She felt a lump forming in her throat and looked away from Genna. Just then, she felt Tygett stop feeding as he fell deeper into sleep and slowly took her nipple out of his mouth, as to not wake him. She laced up her dress, trying to push back the lump in her throat as she stood up and placed Tygett in his cot.
"Why won't you accept help?" she asked Genna as she gripped the railing of Tygett's cot. "Why not try? It can't do any harm!"
"I don't want to spend the last few weeks or days of my life being prodded by useless physicians. This is my choice, Lyarra, not yours. You just have to accept it."
A sound escaped Lyarra that sounded half-way between a sob and a scoff. She shook her head vehemently, tears gathering in her eyes. "I can't," she replied, subconsciously shrugging her shoulders.
"You have to," Genna replied simply, and Lyarra knew that she was right. But that didn't mean she had to like it.
Jon's nursemaid entered then, glancing between the two women worriedly. Lyarra placed her hands on her hips and looked away for a minute, taking in a deep breath to calm herself. "What is it?" she asked the maid sharply.
"Lord Jon wants to see his brother, my lady. If it's a bad time..."
"No, it's not," she assured her. "Let him in."
The maid peaked out the door and nodded to Jon. Lyarra grinned at him as he ran towards her. He jumped on top of her, wrapping his arm around his mother as though he hadn't seen her in years. Guilt washed over Lyarra as she remembered that she hadn't seen him in a full week. Jon was her son too and she was neglecting him. She just hoped Jaime was stepping in.
"I've missed you," Jon admitted, still latching onto her for dear life.
Lyarra chuckled and pulled away from him. She cupped his face in her hands and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. Ashamedly, she realised just how little she had thought of her eldest son. All her energy and thoughts were on Tygett. She felt like a horrible person. A horrible mother.
"I've missed you too," she told him. "We have to be quiet though. We wouldn't want to wake your brother, would we?" Jon shook his head. Lyarra smiled and ruffled his hair in response. "Good boy. Would you like to see him?"
Jon nodded enthusiastically. Chuckling to herself, Lyarra stood up and led Jon over to Tygett's cot. Jon pressed his head to the railing of the cot, staring at his little brother with wonder in his eyes. Lyarra adored the sight. She kneeled down beside him and smiled.
"He's too small," Tygett lamented. "I can't play with him."
"When he's bigger, you can play with him," Lyarra promised, brushing back her son's dark hair behind his ear. She saw the scar from when he hit his head. It made her stomach twist. "Until then, playing with him will be very one-sided."
"What do you mean?" he asked her.
"Well," she began, tilting to her head to the side as she tried to think of an example, "he won't be able to play with you or understand your games for quite some time and until then, you'll have to do really simple things. Like make faces."
"I thought making faces was rude."
"Not mean faces. Funny faces. Like this." She stuck out her tongue and stretched out her ears with her hands. Jon laughed heartily at her ridiculous expression, while Genna shook her head disapprovingly, though she couldn't help but laugh as well. "Now you try."
Jon smiled back at her and touched the tip of his nose with his tongue as he crossed his eyes downwards. Lyarra chuckled at him. "When he wakes up, you'll have to show him that face." Jon nodded enthusiastically. Smiling, Lyarra cupped his chin and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. She got up from her knees and went over to the maid. "How has his symptoms been?"
"Lessening, my lady," Merra told her. She was a young girl, even younger than Lyarra, but she was kind and intelligent. "He's still been having difficulty with learning how to read as well as drawing and writing. But his athleticism and motor skills haven't been affected. He's doing well with his swordsman training."
"Wait, what training?" Lyarra asked, blinking in surprise.
"Well, Lord Lannister's been taking him out and training him with the master-at-arms," Merra answered. "Didn't you know, my lady?"
Lyarra shook her head. "No, I did not. Nobody bothers to tell me anything anymore." Irritated, she blew a long puff of air out of her lips and turned to Genna, "Did you know about this?"
"Not a thing," Genna answered.
"Unbelievable," Lyarra stated, irritation sharp in her tone. "And where is Lord Lannister now, does anyone know?"
Merra shrugged. "No, my lady. I don't."
Just as Lyarra's frustration reached it's peak, Tygett let out a loud wail. Jon turned to Lyarra, eyes wide and frightened. "I only barely touched him!" he swore as he quickly stepped away from the cot. "I just touched his cheek like you do!"
"Yes, well you don't do that when a baby is sleeping," Lyarra responded sharply as she rushed over to the cot and picked Tygett up. She bounced him up and down, muttering soft calming words to him to try to calm him. Nothing was working. It was just like before. "I think you all should go. I need to get him back to sleep."
"Come, Jon," Merra called, offering Jon her hand. Jon ran over to him, glancing over his shoulder at his mother and brother worriedly.
"Jon," Lyarra called for him. Jon turned around, afraid. "When does your father bring you out for training?"
"Just before dinner," Jon replied.
Lyarra nodded. "I'll be there this time," she promised him. Jon beamed at her. She forced herself to smile back as guilt washed over her. She wasn't attending to support her son, but to tell Jaime that he was too young and too fragile because of his accident. One hit to his head and he could become severely incapacitated. She couldn't risk that. One of Jon's parent had to have their head screwed on and, as always, that had to be her.
It only took her a few minutes this time to get Jon asleep. She sung him asleep with a lullaby, the same one her mother used to sing to her.
Jaime's days were mostly spent in the tiltyard, either training his left hand to use a sword or training his son how to fight. He was making up for all the time he missed out on with his eldest son while Robb Stark held him captive. The irony of their situation was never lost on Jaime. Robb Stark was his son's uncle, and it was him who kept his nephew's father away from him for so long.
And now Robb was dead along with his mother, wife and unborn child. Jaime didn't know what to do. He had made a vow to Catelyn. He had promised to bring her daughters back to her – even Lyarra. But she was dead now, so where did that leave him? Was he still obligated by honour to bring Lyarra to Winterfell, even though Winterfell was now in the hands of the Boltons by his father's decree? What was he to do?
Feeling his head become heavy and muddled, he shook it and pushed those thoughts to the back of his head. In time, the opportunity might arise to bring Lyarra back to Winterfell. But where would that leave their children? Jaime was the Lord of Casterly Rock, his place was here. Where would there children go?
He let out a loud sigh as he sharpened his sword. Hearing a loud squeal of excitement, he saw Jon running towards him, his face bright and eager. Jaime put down his sword and opened his arms to his son, wrapping him in a tight embrace.
"I saw Mother and the baby today," Jon told him eagerly.
He found it peculiar how Jon never called his newborn brother by his name – it was always "the baby," but decided not to bring it up. "Oh? And how were they?"
"I woke the baby up," Jon admitted, lowering his head in shame. "I just touched his cheek like Mother does. I didn't think it would make him cry."
"Was your mother mad?" Jaime asked. He hadn't spoken to Lyarra in quite some time. The last time he spoke with her, she threw a hairbrush at him for waking Tygett up. Since then, he'd been cautious about when he went to see Tygett. Creylen told him that childbirth did strange things to women, but Lyarra's sudden change in personality was more than just strange.
Jon pouted, but shook his head. "No. She just looked tired." He paused for a moment, becoming sombre. Jaime waited for him to speak again. When he did, his voice was bright and chipper and his face was alight with a smile. "Can we train now?"
Chuckling, Jaime nodded and ruffled his son's brown hair. "Yes. Grab yourself a wooden sword."
"They're like sticks," Jon commented as he took one out. "Just... thicker."
"I suppose so, but until you're old enough you won't be able to use a steel sword."
"How old?"
Jaime chuckled again. Often, Jon reminded Jaime of himself when he was that age. He was just as eager, and just as skilled. "When you're seven," he told him. "Or eight. It depends on how quickly you pick up swordfighting."
"How about six?" Jon tried to bargain, smirking cheekily up at Jaime.
For a moment, Jaime pondered on what would have happened had he ever had the gall to speak to his father that way. Tywin had never laid a hand on his children, but how he spoke to them and the punishments he inflicted upon them were far worse. He used to forbid Jaime from training or even leaving his room if he misbehaved even slightly. Jaime refused to treat his son as strictly as Tywin treated his children. He wanted his son to trust and love him, not fear him.
"Run along," he told Jon, patting him on the back as he ran off. He saw Bronn approaching. For some reason, Jon was ridiculously fond of unscrupulous knight, and whether it was because he was ambitious or became of genuine fondness, Bronn often humoured him.
Jaime watched as Jon ran over to Bronn and cheerily spoke to him. Bronn laughed at whatever it was Jon said before his son ran away from the knight and towards the tiltyard.
"You came," Jaime greeted him as he took out a wooden sword.
"You sound surprised."
"Well, I expected that an immoral, materialistic knight had better things to do than train a young lordling how to train a sword," Jaime said, humour tickling in his tone.
"You'd be surprised," Bronn responded. "There's not much for an immoral, materialistic knight to do here. I'd be better off in King's Landing."
"Would you now? Since your engagement with Lady Stokeworth was broken?"
"And still, no one's told me why. But I suppose your sister had something to do with it," Bronn suggested. He scoffed and shook his head, irritation twisting his expression. Jaime watched him closely. "You'd think I'd have had my fill of you Lannisters by now."
"And yet you came here with me," Jaime said. "Why?"
"Because you promised the three things I want – a castle, a lordship and a beautiful wife. I've been here for three months and there's no sign of any of those things. You're testing my patience, Jaime Lannister."
"You'll have all of those things. It's just not the right time yet," Jaime insisted. Behind Bronn, Jon was play-fighting with the master-at-arms' son. The boy was older and taller than him, and yet Jon was putting up quite the fight. Jaime would have smiled at the sight, had it not been for Bronn's narrowed eyes glaring at him.
"And when is the 'right time'?"
"When Lord Lefford dies and his daughter takes his place as the Lady of the Golden Tooth. My wife has the Leffords eating out of our hands. They get little to no assistance from us as it stands. I'll bargain with them. In return for more financial assistance from us, Alysanne will marry you."
"None of this has been arranged, I take it."
"Nothing at all. Leo Lefford would never agree to it. We just have to wait for him to die."
"Great. I have a sword. I'll kill him tomorrow."
"Have patience," Jaime instructed him, rolling his eyes at Bronn's callous solution. "Lefford is ill. From the sound of it, he won't last the month. His daughter will be easier to deal with. She's young, beautiful and highborn. Everything you want. If you go and kill her father, she may not be so willing to marry you."
"Fine, I'll wait," Bronn agreed reluctantly. Jaime heard Jon yelling for him and looked over at his son. The point of his wooden sword was hovering over the older boy's neck. Jaime smiled at the sight. Seeing that Jaime was no longer focused on the topic at hand, Bronn looked over his shoulder and saw Jon in all his glory, beaming at them. Even Bronn had to chuckle at how proud Jon was of himself. "He's good. I'd say he'd beat you, in all your one-handed glory."
"Ha ha," Jaime deadpanned. Bronn's witty little jokes about him having one hand were getting tiring.
"Does your wife know?" Bronn asked him as they walked towards the tiltyard.
"No," Jaime answered woodenly.
"She won't like it," the former mercenary remarked.
"My wife will understand that it's necessary for boys to learn how to use a sword," was his reply. Bronn responded with a disbelieving look. Sighing, Jaime had to admit that he was right. "I'll handle Lyarra. Now, shall we begin?" he asked his son once they had reached him.
Jon nodded eagerly, eyes wide and excited. Bronn sparred with him first. Each time, Jon landed on his arse, laughing heartily. Every time, Jon got up and fought again. When he was Jon's age, Jaime would have stormed off by now. He had always been competitive. He hated losing more than anything. Losing his right hand had humbled him somewhat, but it still stung when he lost to a man who was nowhere near as brilliant as Jaime had been before.
"You're too defensive," Jaime told his son as he tried to block Bronn's attack. "You need to attack more."
"I'm trying!" Jon replied, grinding his teeth in a mixture of concentration and frustration.
That was when Jaime realised Jon had reached his limit. For the sixth time, Jon landed on his arse, only this time he wasn't laughing. Jaime offered him his hand and helped him up. "You'll spar with me now," Jaime suggested. "Come on. Hold up your sword."
Panting heavily, Jon lifted up his sword. Jaime attacked first. He lightly tipped his son's shoulder, but Jon managed to push his sword away quickly. It was difficult fighting with a child. Jaime had to bend his knees to come close to his son's height. Jon warded off most of his attacks, until eventually he became tired and frustrated again. At that point, Jaime decided he'd had enough and allowed Jon to knock his sword out of his hand.
The delight on his son's face made letting him win worth it. Grinning, Jon started to chase Jaime around the courtyard, giggling and screaming and yelling for Jaime to run faster. Jaime let Jon catch him. Jon jumped onto his back and tackled him to the ground, tickling Jaime mercilessly. Jaime hadn't been tickled since he was a child. It felt weird.
Jon's smile became wider as he spotted someone in the distance. "Mother!" he exclaimed excitedly. He climbed off of Jaime and sprinted towards Lyarra. Shit, Jaime thought to himself, the word repeating in his mind a hundred times. This was not a conversation he wanted to have today.
Jaime climbed onto his feet, sharing a heavy look with Bronn. "If you let the little lad win, he'll never learn," Bronn argued.
Huffing, Jaime watched as Lyarra knelt down and brushed dirt off Jon's face. "I let him win once," he replied. "And it will be the last time. I don't want him to get disheartened."
The sellsword tutted and gave Jaime a disapproving look. Jaime imagined that Bronn's training was a lot harsher than the training given to lordlings and young knights of esteemed houses. Tywin was harsh when it came to his studies, but swordfighting was treated as more of a hobby than an obligation.
As he watched his wife speak with Jon, he saw her eyes flicker towards him. He let out a long breath and walked towards her. Immediately, he was greeted with an accusatory tone. "You didn't tell me you were starting to train him."
"Because I knew how you'd react," Jaime responded, raising his eyebrows knowingly. "Unreasonably."
Lyarra glowered at him. "He's four years old, Jaime. Why does a four year old need to use a sword?"
"The earlier they start training, the better," he told her. "I started training when I was five. Jon is taller than I was."
"Jon also had an injury to his head. I told you what happened and what Creylen said. If anything else happens to him..."
"It won't," Jaime assured her, his voice firm and sure. He was so careful with him. He and Bronn never went near his head, and the master-at-arms had warned any of his young sparring partners of his injury. Lyarra's expression remained unchanged and unimpressed. Jaime sighed. "He enjoys it, Lyarra. I don't see the harm."
She rolled her eyes at him and huffed. "Of course you wouldn't," she said snidely.
Jaime narrowed his eyes at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean," she replied hotly. "You're not exactly known for thinking things through."
He shook his head at her. He had tried to be patient with her. She wasn't in her right mind, he reminded himself. She was stressed and sad and temperamental, but sometimes she just went too far. Even before she had Tygett, Lyarra often neglected to know her limits. He pressed his lips together, determined not to lose his temper."That's not fair," he gritted out.
Lyarra scoffed again. "Isn't it? He could hurt himself. He's four years old and with a severe head injury! He's barely able to hold a sword let alone use it."
"You're over-reacting, as always," Jaime accused. Lyarra looked away from him, her face becoming pinched and irritated. "Jon is my son. He is learning how to fight now because I see he's ready for it. I'll hear no more of this."
He walked away before he lost control of his temper. He could feel her glaring at his back and had no doubt that there was some cruel, witty insult dancing on the tip of her tongue. Had he been the man he was a few years ago, he wouldn't be entertaining her hot temper and wilfulness. Perhaps his life would be easier too. But he was no longer that man and he didn't want to become him again.
Across the tiltyard, he saw a skinny, dainty man rushing towards him. He walked over to the maester, hearing footsteps following close behind him. "What is it?" he asked Creylen.
"Genna..." he trailed off. Jaime noticed that he looked older and more weary. "Lady Genna's dead, my lord. She started coughing. There was blood everywhere... and then she just... fell asleep. She was peaceful, my lord. It was a peaceful death. There was nothing I could do."
Jaime rushed passed him, knocking into his shoulder as he ran to his aunt's bedroom. He found Kevan there, standing over Genna's pale, sickly body. Jaime swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He heard Lyarra beside him, taking in a sharp breath at the sight of his hand. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Jaime could only stare at his aunt's dead body, feeling cold and empty. First his son, then his father, then his aunt... who was next?
Author's Note: So... Genna's dead, and her death affects the Lannisters in a lot of ways, not just grief. In the next chapter, we'll be seeing Cersei again and Jaime will go to King's Landing for Tommen's wedding. Basically, things will be going downhill again. Don don donnnn
For anyone who is interested, I've updated the Silver Queen as well. I've been busy!
Let me know what you think!
