Chapter 42: De-Clawed
AN: Please forgive the somewhat disjointedness of this chapter. I am trying to use a more "stream of consciousness" style to this particular chapter because it mostly takes place in Lyra's mind, which is understandably a little screwy at this point in the story. Also, beware, this chapter may be a little sad because, and let's face it, Lyra screwed up in the last chapter, so now, she has to deal with her consequences, and hopefully, she will grow from the previous events.
Hope everyone is safe and well during this pandemic 3 Though it has been problematic during my graduate studies, and I am afraid every day, writing this fic again has been helpful. Therefore, this fic is no longer on hiatus!
Lemon near the end, Enjoy ^.^
Frustrated, Lyra could only stare outside the window as they eased their way closer to Casterly Rock, they were now about halfway between there and the Golden Tooth.
Lyra knew this because this was all Jaime had told her before he left their bed that morning.
Where we're going is all he says to me now, Lyra felt her heart sink when she overheard him telling Bronn that she was to get dressed and go to the carriage with Lady Roslin.
That was how most mornings went now—Jaime would get up at dawn while Lyra was still asleep, get dressed and tell the guards what she was doing for the day before heading off himself. As he would do this, Lyra would quietly burry hear head further into the pillows and wait for her lord husband to leave for the day.
Lyra felt so confused with her feelings, and she despaired; she thought that she had done the right thing- the dutiful, honorable deed in her situation—but why did she also feel such shame?
Perhaps Lyra was wrong in what she had done—no, you know that you were wrong, one voice said, you betrayed your own husband's trust when you gave him Dreamwine, hoping that he would not notice. You're no better than Cersei.
What else were you to do though? The Lannisters would have killed or let all of your father's people die, another voice spoke.
Two voices had been fighting in Lyra's head for about a fortnight now and she thought she may go mad as they battled the other! One voice was that of the Mother, the voice of a wife, a gentlewoman, a mother—gentle Mother, font of mercy.
The other voice, Lyra now knew, was the voice of the Warrior- The Warrior would lift his shining sword again and cleanse this sinful realm of all its evil, the septons would say.
Can both co-exist? Is that even possible? Why can they not? The seven are just incarnations of a single god anyways. Lyra pondered these questions often during her rather long and boring carriage rides with Roslin. Gods be good! She certainly had enough time these days since Jaime had the lads come in an unceremoniously strip her of everything, save for her dresses, shoes, some books, and her needlepoint. Everything else was taken and locked away somewhere.
Gods be good, Lyra and Jaime had quite the row afterwards…
Lyra was shocked and appalled that Jaime would allow the men to not only enter their chambers, but to go through her personal belongings and take anything and everything related to the martial skills.
Jaime was equally shocked and appalled as Lyra, but for different reasons. Lyra knew that her lord husband certainly could not conceive of what she had done, nor did he understand why.
Both of them had stood in silence as the guard gathered Lyra's things and took them away. She had remained composed and dignified all the way up until Jaime took Night's Queen and gave it to Ser Addam. Lyra's sword being the last thing to take, the men left, and she was alone with Jaime.
If I ruled Winterfell, you would not dare disarm me in such a manner! Lyra's rage finally came to a head as she bore her fangs. Jaime may have de-clawed her, but a wolf always has her fangs.
If you ruled Winterfell, I could still walk up to the gates and demand to take my rights as your lord husband at any time, Jaime spat back.
And my people would stop you before you could even—
Your people, Lyra? Jaime cut her off. Really? You believe that the same people who were willing to leave you with a family who they openly rebelled against, a family they saw as so cold blooded and evil that they risked their lives to end—you believed that these noble people of the North would have saved you? From me? Out of a sense of Stark honor? Jaime nearly laughed at his lady wife's faith in her father's people; rather, he laughed at the notion that she believed they would follow her and even defend her. The Northmen were indeed her father's people, but Lyra was not of the North; that is all the Northmen will ever be to her, her father's people.
Lyra and Jaime could only stare for a moment, fire blazing in both of their eyes. Lyra could feel the heat of anger coming off of her in waves, even in this frigid weather. Seeing that Jaime would not relent, she turned to leave, only to be stopped in her tracks.
Stop being a child and answer me, he caught her by her arm, keeping her in place. Jaime was still careful to keep his anger in check as he kept reminding himself that Lyra was carrying their child in her belly.
For the first time in their three years of marriage, Lyra felt a little afraid of Jaime. Did Lyra believe that Jaime would be that kind of husband? One who hit his lady wife for displeasing him? No, she did not. Did that mean that what he had said to her was cruel? Yes, and she retaliated. What makes you so sure that you may go unchallenged, my lord? Lyra snarled. If not my people in the North, then by me?
Jaime only looked at her, anger and betrayal flashed across his face. During their first moon of marriage, Jaime learned that Lyra would never be his completely, the spirit of the Warrior ran too deep in her; but he never expected that she would make him duel her to the death if he ever came between her and the North.
Taking the opportunity to get loose of her own husband, Lyra jerked herself away from Jaime, and chose her next words very carefully;
The Lone Wolf will only follow who she will as it suits her, my love. Her voice cracked as she said the words, but she was careful to forbid a single tear from falling. Lyra was the Lone Wolf, and she bowed to no one. True, she would follow and align herself, but she would not bend to anyone, not even to Jaime. Not even now…
Lyra could not hear his words, but Jaime eventually left.
Not before he ordered her to stay and wait for the guards to escort her to the carriage for the ride to Sarsfield. Apparently, for the remainder of the trip, she was to always be in the company of her lord husband or his trusted guards.
Lord and Lady Sarsfield were quite welcoming, but Lyra had to wonder if that was more to do with the fact that the Lannisters had not visited them in any official capacity since Jaime's uncle, Ser Kevan Lannister, married the sister of Lady Shierle Sarsfield, Dorna Swift.
Lyra and the Lannisters were exhausted, but the Sarsfields insisted upon feasting them. So, after being shown a room that they could stay in for a couple of days—Lord Sarsfield insisted that they at least stay for a day or two and freshen up—Lyra began to dress for the feast. However, this task was quickly proving difficult as she had not yet let out any of her formal gowns.
Frustrated, Lyra searched frantically for her sewing kit. She could still make it to the feast if she could find her seam ripper! But alas, the dolts who took her armor and weaponry must have taken her sewing kit as well since it was not in the trunk where she had last put it. Perhaps they thought she may try to hide a dagger amongst her needles? That thought made her laugh; the Lannisters thought her to be slyer and cleverer than she actually was!
Digging into the trunk with the hope of perhaps finding a dress that she could fix up for the feast, Lyra came across one that she had not worn in quite a while. It was the one that Sansa made for her, and it was one of the few dresses she had that did not need a wash…perhaps Lyra would wear that dress just to spite her lord husband. If Jaime complained, she would simply tell him the truth; his lady wife has nothing else suitable to wear on such short notice. Seems that I may indeed be as sly and clever as the Lannisters believe, Lyra thought to herself, putting on the more generous dress of the Northern style.
Forgetting the warm layers that were supposed to go beneath it, Lyra changed into her silk crimson shift, a gift from Cersei before she married Jaime…oh how naïve Lyra had been, even back then. She let her guard down for only a moment in King's Landing and it nearly got her killed. Sometimes, she even wondered if Margaery could have been in on any of it. Lyra did recall overhearing her mother telling Oberyn about their plan to marry Sansa to Loras, even back then, it was not just Cersei plotting against her.
As the journey had gone on towards the Rock, Lyra found herself with an unusual amount of time to reflect on things, and sometimes, she reflected on things that she would rather not…no matter how well her family had tried to prepare her for the treachery in King's Landing, it did not matter. Lyra still fell for all of their tricks.
Doran, Oberyn and her mother, all warned her about Cersei, and Lyra did not listen… she allowed Cersei to disarm her with false graciousness and kindness when the Queen Mother threw her a bridal shower and presented Lyra with so many gifts. Though in the end, they were all gifts meant to remind Lyra that she was a member of House Lannister, whether she liked it, or no. Lyra felt angry with her nineteen year old self for allowing herself to feel excited and included when Cersei gifted her with so many fine things, all in crimson or gold, the color of House Lannister.
Cersei Didn't gift these things out of kindness or generosity; she gifted them to constantly remind me of my place, Lyra felt the urge to shred the beautiful shift. She wanted to tear up or throw away anything and everything that was given to her by any Lannister, which is why she kept her jewelry away from herself. She felt so angry.
Joyce knocked on the door to tend to her lady, only to have Lyra angrily send her away.
Ashara eventually arrived to help her lady, but Lyra soon pushed her away as well.
Poor Ashara…she had only tried to help.
The two women looked deeper into Lyra's trunks in the hopes of finding some of her clothes from Dorne. The Dornish and the Northmen both favored loose clothes that were meant to be layered, so the two women figured that they may be able to combine the two styles.
Eventually, Ashara pulled out a dress that looked suitable enough to wear for a feast in the Westerlands. After helping Lyra to put it on, Ashara left to find some jewels of ambiguous house origin. Pleased that they finally found a gown, Lyra stood to look in the mirror and make sure that it looked alright. She only felt horror as she looked back at her own reflection. Dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, wild and unstyled, brown viper eyes looked back at her as well, and the bright orange and yellow suns that were stitched all over the purple gown shown unmistakably before her.
"Please go," Lyra said steadily to Ashara. It felt as if her heart were being torn out from her own body.
"Lyra?" Ashara addressed her as her old friend. "Is everything alright? Shall I get Lord Jaime—"
"No!" Lyra heard herself shout in reaction. "No, there's no need to bother him…please tell Lady Sarsfield that I am indisposed this evening." The woman had many children herself; Lyra was certain that she would chock up her absence as being due to her pregnancy. "Please let her know that I am not well this evening and simply need some rest," it was not a lie.
After much persuasion, Lyra finally got Ashara and the rest of her bloody household to leave her be for the evening. Finally, alone, Lyra had to consciously undress herself before she shredded everything that was on herself in pure rage. She looked like her mother, like Arienne (she wore the same colors that her cousin favored as well) and every other Martell who was betrayed by their own.
Greif stricken, angry, sad, horrified and in shame, Lyra peeled off every layer of clothing that belonged to any house she had affiliated with. First, she took off the gown that had been commissioned when she was protected by the Martells. Then, she nearly tore off the shift given to her by Cersei of House Lannister. Finally, she took off every single piece of jewelry on her body.
Standing stark naked in the middle of the empty chamber in the Westerlands, Lyra felt freer and more unburdened than she had ever felt in her life.
Free of any trappings of any house in the land, Lyra felt the unease that had been building in her belly for years finally come undone. It felt as if every emotion was hitting her at once as she cried uncontrollably into the pillow. She felt…happy…sad… disappointed… angry… distressed… calm… placated… she even felt a degree of jubilance among some other nameless emotions. Most importantly, she felt free. Right now, she was nobody except for simply Lyra.
She had even taken off the direwolf ring given to her by her father, yet, she did not feel sadness. She felt only freedom.
She did not have her sword either, yet, instead of feeling vulnerable, as she should given her nudity, she felt a freedom in this vulnerability. For some reason, the feeling that she did not have to fight as she always had, the very thing that she had always thought defined her existence, losing that was very liberating.
Then the babe kicked her as if to remind her that she could not rid herself of it. For once though, Lyra did not feel fear from this foreign feeling.
Sitting on the bed, Lyra felt a wave of sheer bliss and happiness overcome her as she rubbed her belly to calm the babe. "I would never push you away," she reminded it. You are me and Jaime, and I will protect you until the day I die.
That was right…the babe was hers and Jaime's, and Lyra loved it with all of her heart. Hands ghosting over her belly, she tried to calm down the life inside. I'm sorry, Lyra spoke to her bump, I shouldn't have worked myself up so badly earlier.
Lyra must have fallen asleep at some point because she awoke to find Jaime undressing. Getting up to help her husband undress out of habit, she wanted to punch herself for helping the man who had essentially made her his captive. The feast must not nearly be over, Lyra got a whiff of wine off of Jaime, but her nose was not drowning in the smell.
"Can you get the rest off yourself?" Jaime felt his pride bruised by the question, but he affirmed his lady wife who then proceeded to rummage through one of the trunks. It was not until Jaime caught the sight of her bare hindquarters that he realized she was naked.
Though still quite angry with her for her actions at the Golden Tooth, Jaime was still mesmerized by Lyra and her body. Though it would only be four more moons until the babe was born, Lyra only looked pregnant in her belly.
The beauty of youth, Bronn commented one day after catching Jaime admiring his own wife as she spoke to her guards about giving some excess gruel to the local orphans.
"I don't suppose that you want a glass," Lyra interrupted Jaime's memory. "Not that I can blame you…especially after what I did," the last part was barely audible as she poured herself a glass of Dornish Sour. Dark cascading hair contrasting starkly with her now pale skin, pregnant belly protruding beautifully, Jaime thought Lyra could have been one of the Rhoynar fertility goddesses pouring herself a glass. All she needed were the white lilies in her hair from her home region.
"I'll have one," Jaime shooed his lady wife to the bed, "But I think that I will pour it myself." The two cups—or was it three cups?—of wine he had at the feast was lowering his guard enough to have a drink with his own wife.
How did we get here Lyra? Ever since the Tooth, Jaime asked himself that question every day; how did they get to this point where they do not trust each other?
Both Jaime and Lyra were quiet for a time until Lyra finally spoke up, "Is this all the rest of our marriage is going to be? Silence as we stay angry with one another?"
Jaime simply answered her with…silence. He felt his heart begin to break a little when he thought about how Tyrion would be able to help, Tyrion would know exactly what to say and exactly what to do. Jaime missed his brother, the last person whom he considered family. After walking in on Cersei with the kettleblacks, after hearing of all of her infidelities, after having to endure the wounds to his pride, and last but not least, after his own sister murdered his child with Lyra out of sheer jealousy and contempt, Cersei was dead to Jaime.
Tyrion is my only family left, and I have no idea where he is.
Lyra sipped her sour as its effects began to take over and she looked at her husband's body with hunger. Damn, they had not touched each other in so long and the wine was causing her resolve to waiver. It would be so easy to stop fighting…just say you're sorry and that it won't happen again. You may have to endure a year without steel, but at least you won't be alone. Show him that you won't do it again, and he will probably give you your sword back in time, Jaime isn't unreasonable, the voice was making sense to Lyra and it was winning. It would be so easy to relent, to have Jaime back, to have her family back…her mother was dead, Oberyn was dead, Doran was dead, the Sand Snakes betrayed her, the Starks were too busy being safe in Winterfell to come to her, and Arienne had basically fucked off to get her kingdom back. Despite Jaime's many faults, he was loyal, and despite what Lyra had done to him, he actually had not mistreated her; in fact, she begrudgingly admitted to herself that she would have taken the same actions if she were in his place.
As they sipped their wine, Lyra on the bed and Jaime sitting in a chair across from her, each began to take note of the other. Lyra knew that Jaime was trying to hide it, but his eyes were roaming all over her body; and she tightened her thighs to stop the arousal building in her belly from looking at his toned, half naked body as well.
Finishing his wine, Jaime hesitated to get up from his position. For if he did, Lyra would undoubtedly see his arousal. Instead, he offered to pour her another, to which she accepted. As she neared him, Jaime could smell the sour wine, but also some of Lyra's sweet natural scent. It reminded him of the desert roses that bloomed in Dorne year-round filling the air with a delectable sweetly sour smell.
Jaime broke from the trance when Lyra put a chair in front of him and sat in it instead of the bed. Her breasts were rising and falling with her deep, even breaths.
"We can't do this forever, Lyra," Jaime finally spoke after what felt like an hour of silence.
"I know," she admitted, slurring her words a little.
The wine was taking over, but in a way, it was also making everything more clear. It took away everything that did not matter, the politics, the houses, the Lannisters, the North, the Sand Snakes, Cersei, and it was leaving them with everything that did matter; each other.
And if each other was really what mattered in the end, then they could not fight forever.
"Come," Lyra held out her hand when she finished the second glass of wine. It was time for bed. Jaime stood and took her hand, realizing how very drunk he was, he let his lady wife lead him to the bed. She took off his breeches to find his member quite engorged, the sight alone was enough to fog her head completely.
Lyra heard Jaime hiss with pleasure when she put him in her mouth, and her body heat as pleasure pooled from her belly and slide freely down her right leg as she got on the back of her legs and knees. It was a submissive position, but it was also the most comfortable in her pregnant state.
As tempting as it was to finish right away in his lady wife's mouth, Jaime held himself back. Pulling Lyra off of him, he helped her up from the rug to push her back down onto the bed. Careful not to touch her with his gold hand, Jaime braced himself with it against the mattress and finished over Lyra's breasts.
Vision temporarily going dark, Jaime felt his arousal return as Lyra rubbed her own heat against his thigh. Sighing and moaning gently, Lyra's heart fluttered quickly when she finally got some friction to rub against. After a time, she was no longer rubbing against her husband, she was sliding up and down his thigh.
Jaime's own heart raced with excitement and renewed arousal. Watching his wife writhe and moan with his seed glistening on her breasts, and her nipples pert, he slid his good hand up from her round belly to her right breast.
"Ah!" Lyra gasped and trembled even more when her husband's cool hand touched her hot flesh. Her cheeks heated when he pulled her nipple between his fingers, and easily slid the sensitive nub between his fingers due to his own seed still on her breast. His eyes widened and his pulse quickened when he fingered her heat and found how hot and slick she was.
Leaving her breasts, Lyra felt frustration and disappointment creep up only for her to forget it immediately upon feeling Jaime's tongue feeling and flicking her folds before dipping into her well. She let herself cry from the sheer joy and pleasure of the moment.
Jaime heard her cries of frustration when his mouth left her nether region. Gathering his wife up, he got on the back of his legs and pulled Lyra up so as they would be facing each other. Wiping his wife's tears from her face, Jaime entered her, feeling her gasp on his throat as the act made her stop nipping at his pulse. Kissing her husband back deeply, Lyra struggled to get him deeper inside of her, only to realize that he was as deep as both of their bodies could allow. In fact, they could not be more connected than they were now as they kissed and fucked with their growing babe between them.
Lyra was losing herself, as was Jaime. No longer were they a wolf and a lion, now, they were just…Lyra and Jaime. The Lannisters, the Starks, the Martells, the Realm. None of it mattered. All Lyra and Jaime had left now was each other, both having been abandoned by those who called themselves family.
We are each other's only family and the Rock will be the fortress that we use to keep it safe.
AN: *blushes* I haven't written anything THAT smutty in a while, and Wow! This chapter is about 3x longer than I had planned. I have begun to really enjoy writing character development! And writing about such a volatile character who struggles to find her identity has been thrilling :)
It will be exciting to see how she comes to terms with being so many things at once, but for the next few chapters, I think that she will be content for her and Jaime to simply be "Lyra and Jaime".
I hope that everyone has enjoyed the chapter, I am hoping to update sometime next week.
Stay well, everyone!
Next: "Chapter 43: Casterly Rock"
