AN: About two more chapters left! I plan to have this story finished by the end of 2020, so at least two more chapters coming very soon! :)

Every Loyalty

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Chapter XX:

From All Sides

In the chaos of weapons clashing, people screaming and fleeing, dragon fire raining from above, and buildings crumbling around him as he attempted to find safety for himself and his men, the maelstrom of Jon's thoughts were reduced to a simple, but no less chilling conclusion. This was no longer a war.

This is a massacre. The thought echoed in his mind, slippery yet thick as the blood that coated his sword when he slid it out from yet another body. It was a man from Jon's own house, who'd cornered and nearly raped a terrified woman in an alley.

Jon craned his neck to look up at Drogon and Rhaegal flying overhead, tearing at the Red Keep now that the city was in ruin. The people of King's Landing had surrendered. The bells had rung, and Cersei had surrendered. Daenerys hadn't stopped.

The Dothraki and Unsullied were now reinforcing their assault, cornering a group of Strickland's men, a fraction of the scattered Golden Company. Jon watched the Northmen join in, passing him in droves on either side to slaughter whoever stood in their path. A deep pit formed in his stomach, churning with bile, leaving him hollow. It wasn't something he'd felt for a long time, perhaps since he watched the Night King raise his undead army without words.

Jon felt wrong, and cold. Yet this time, he also felt complicit. Beyond the carnage in front of him, Jon could see Sam's grief-stricken face when he told him how the Queen had slaughtered his father and brother in cold blood. He heard the cracks sounding in the bridge poised just overhead. It was burning, and soon it would come down to destroy them all.

Jon then reached out, grabbing a Northman by the shoulder. "Stop!" he shouted, and a firm resolve steeled in his blood. He blocked the way and ordered his men to stay back. "With me," he ordered. "With me."

For one brief, tense moment, Jon locked eyes with the Unsullied soldier who had replaced Grey Worm's command. But Jon wouldn't back down, nor would he apologize.

"Where are you going, Jon Snow?" the commander shouted. "Do you betray our Queen?"

Jon shook his head. "This isn't my Queen," he said, "or she isn't who I thought she was."

The Unsullied's expression blazed with a cold fire. He hesitated to raise his spear, but Jon heard a louder crack in the bridge, and he rallied his men to fall back, just before the bridge collapsed in a flurry of scalding embers.

Jon led his men farther and farther out of the city, saving what soldiers and civilians he could. When he came to the heart of the city, he found Davos coming to meet him. The older man was covered in soot, sweat, and blood, but he was alive. Jon clasped his shoulder.

"What's the plan?" Davos asked. His knowing look said he knew exactly what Jon had decided in the wake of Daenerys's choice for slaughter.

"Get as many of us out before the city falls on top of us, and before she comes after us," Jon said, grimacing. "Retreat into the Kingswood, and we'll figure out the rest from there."

With a sharp nod, Davos fell into step with him as they found as many of their soldiers on the way as they could. Though a thought suddenly occurred to Jon when he realized a certain boy was no longer a shadow at his left.

"Will!" he shouted, and looked around furiously. Davos's eyes widened in shock.

"The boy's here?"

"He found me. Don't ask me how, but I don't see 'im now," Jon said. Panic rose up through his chest and into his throat, but his gaze was deadly focused as he scanned the crowd of soldiers around him. He and Davos both called for him as they continued on their way through the crumbling city, until Jon spotted a group of cityfolk, trapped under a half-broken wall and rubble. They were calling out, screaming for help, while a few soldiers and a boy pulled some of the debris off of the narrow hole they were managing to climb out from.

Jon and Davos led their men over, and Jon grabbed Willem's shoulder tightly. The soldiers beside him weren't Northmen. They were soldiers of the Golden Company.

"There's just a few more, we can get 'em out," Will said, with relief and determination in his eyes. In that quick moment, Jon saw exactly the right kind of resolve, especially if he had convinced these men to help him save the people.

Once the last few were out from under the wall, Davos instructed them to head for the outskirts of the city, while Jon turned to the man who seemed to lead this small band from the Golden Company. The sash rank of his armor suggested a captain, or a general. Jon was willing to bet on captain.

"Do you fight for Cersei?" Jon asked. The other man was tall, though his helmet was long gone, revealing a dirty crop of blonde hair and pale, but honest blue eyes.

"She may have paid for our services, but leaving us to die while she hides in her tower was not part of the deal," he replied, and added his name. "Strickland."

Jon nodded, and just as a line of Unsullied appeared, streaming in from the heart of the still-burning city, he supplied his own. "Well, Strickland, let's get the hell outta here."

"Gladly," the captain said.

The Northmen and what remained of the Golden Company then retreated from the city, gaining as far as the great field that stood between their armies and the Kingswood. But the Unsullied were gaining on them, not far behind, and Jon could hear the distant roar of Drogon. Daenerys had issued the order then, for Jon and his men to be run down. If they were caught now, it was a fair assumption that she wouldn't bother to hear his reasons. This time, she would burn him to ash where he stood. As he ran, he glanced over at Will, who was making a valiant effort to keep up with him. Jon shared a look with Davos, who knew what they would face if they couldn't make their way over the sloping hill ahead of them, and reach the cover of the Kingswood.

Yet just when a Dothraki's arrow impaled a man just behind Jon, the heavy stampede of horse hooves could be heard just over the hill. He looked up, and there coming over the horizon was an unbroken line of cavalry. The banners the soldiers on them raised were a dizzying mix of red-gold and dark blue—golden suns and various Northern houses, along with the Eyrie this time.

Their numbers enveloped Jon as they passed through, forming a protective line against Daenerys's army. Finally, before the two could clash in the start of what would be another gruesome war, he heard Daenery's call out a command. A command to halt.

Jon also stopped to see what was happening, which stopped the momentum of his own men. He saw his sister, her shock of red hair, as she stood beside a Dornish man, dressed finely in pale gold armor.

For precious, silent moments, Daenerys remained far up on her perch on Drogon, hovering in the air. Jon knew she was considering her odds—a massive, fresh army against her fierce, but small and depleted one, even with her dragons. Jon knew how much meat it took to fuel the beasts' fire, and how much energy both Drogon, and particularly the injured Rhaegal had already expended in the battle for the Red Keep. She was smart to retreat and regroup for now, calling her army to return to her prize of King's Landing.

Jon's silent relief let the tension out of his limbs, and the Dornish man spoke, finding Jon in the crowd and meeting his eyes. "Let us fall back into the Kingswood."

Jon agreed, ordering the same of his men, though he soon found Sansa, with Brienne of Tarth and Theon trailing behind her. Jon only wasn't prepared to take in the familiar form of a Lannister woman, who wore her golden pendant proudly. She was poised as she guided a brown mare, her secret smile growing as those green eyes found him at last.

Larisa reached out a hand to him, and he pulled himself onto the horse behind her as she spurred it onward, trotting at a clipped pace until they ventured into the cover of the trees. Though it was almost unbearable, he waited until they were at a safe distance inward before he tightened his hold on her waist. She understood his silent request, and she pulled up the reins until the horse slowed to a stop.

Jon quickly dismounted first, and when he guided her down next, his relief doubled, nearly making his arms shake as he held her tight. His fingers curled in her braided hair.

"Jon," she breathed, her voice trembling. She was holding onto him just as fiercely, and he even felt her tears on his neck. He pulled away then, just enough to look into her eyes so she could see the truth in them, even if he couldn't altogether voice what it was he wanted to say, and all that he felt. But he was warm where he hadn't realized that he'd been cold, ever since leaving her in Winterfell.

He cradled her cheek in his hand, thumb brushing away stray tears. And when he kissed her, it felt exactly right. The feeling threatened to consume him, blazed inside his veins and awoke the deep well of want that flared whenever this woman was near. The curve of her body against his was soft and familiar, and he felt alive, worthy of looking into her eyes, even after betraying Daenerys.

When they finally parted, he looked down on her softly, unable to help a small smile. She matched it, even somewhat shyly. Though the wound over his heart began to ache as he realized the danger she had put herself in, for his sake.

When I said don't do anything reckless, this is exactly what the hell I meant.

Larisa sighed, raising a hand to soothe against his cheek. She tapped a finger between his crunching brows. "Don't give me that look," she said. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

He fell into a familiar, exasperated smile.

"I didn't say it," he replied, a bit grudgingly. "But…thank you."

She smiled back and pressed another lingering kiss to his lips. "That's all I wanted to hear."

Jon held her to him again, letting out a resigned sigh. He suspected that she and his sister had a very interesting story to tell.

Jon soon discovered that the ornate Dornish man was the new prince, Aldemar, brother of the late Doran and Oberyn Martell. He led them to their camp which was hidden deep within the Kingswood. By the end of a hot and fulfilling meal, Jon heard the story of how Sansa and Larisa made their way from Winterfell to Dorne, and asked for Dorne's aid in the precarious fight against Daenerys.

While Aldemar had Jon's gratitude, and he could see that Sansa regarded him with an almost curious amount of respect, Jon expected the prince's following suggestion to parlay with Daenerys and negotiate some kind of truce. After everything Jon had done to defend her, it was a difficult thing for him to say, but he now knew the truth.

"Daenerys is not her father. She's angry, and ruthless, not mad," he said. "But at this point, it's no use trying to talk to her."

At Sansa and Larisa's similar incredulous looks, Jon's expression turned grim. He continued, "She feels betrayed. By me, and by all of us. She wants all seven kingdoms, and I know now that burning King's Landing isn't gunna be enough if anyone opposes her, in the north or the south."

He felt compelled to stand and cast his gaze toward his men, both the battle-weary ones and the men that had come with Sansa. His loyal men, and the ones who maybe still doubted Jon's judgment.

"The North made me their king, and I bent the knee to Daenerys, thinking I wasn't worthy," he said. "I didn't respect your choice, or your faith in me. For that I'm sorry. But I was born a Stark, and I intend to die as one. Will the North stand with me once more?"

The camp was silent, heavy with decision. Then, it began with Willem.

"Aye," he said, and stood from his seat beside Larisa.

Jon shared a warm look with the boy, before Gendry stood with him and added his support. Davos was next, and another, until all the North that remained in the Kingswood stood with Jon Snow. His back was straight again, and he took in Aldemar's polite amusement, Sansa's pleased look, and then, Larisa's smile, wholly radiant and proud.

"Aye," said another, smaller voice, but still strong enough to cut through the clearing. It was Arya, and she entered the camp with an exhausted smile. Jon took her in with surprise, but even Sansa rose to welcome her; the girl looked worse for wear, covered in cuts and small burns.

"Daenerys has taken Cersei and the Kingslayer captive. She plans to execute them, publicly in the city and make a spectacle of it. As if destroying the city isn't enough," Arya told them. She met Jon's eyes directly. "But I know what we need to do."

"What?" Jon asked. Despite her fatigue, her lips curved further.

"We need to call a parlay with the Dragon Queen."

The Red Keep and the rest of King's Landing was a shambles, but it was the capital city of the Seven Kingdoms, and it now belonged to Daenerys Targaryen. Still, Jaime Lannister was grateful that Jon Snow had deserted. It gave the Dragon Queen a reason to make camp on the borderlands between King's Landing and the Kingswood. As a prisoner, he could breathe easier out here in the grasslands than in the mass grave that was the city.

His sister was not of the same mind.

When he'd first seen her upon infiltrating the Red Keep, she'd looked regal. Her black gown was layered with leather armor, her shorn blonde hair ornamented with a simple, but elegant crown. Now she sat beside him dourly, without her crown, and soot marring her face. They sat chained together in a small tent, sitting on the muddy ground. Tyrion hadn't come to see them as of yet, but Jaime didn't expect it this time. If Daenerys had better judgment, and he was sure she did, then their little brother wouldn't be allowed to see them now.

Perhaps Cersei felt his eyes on her. She finally looked over at him, her green eyes cold. Yet they were hiding something vulnerable, past that outer shell of disdain.

"When I saw you had come for me, I was wary. Though my heart still rejoiced," she confessed. "Looking into your eyes then, I thought you had come to save me, or…to be with me, in the end."

Jaime felt guilt, deep in his soul, but he was resigned to it. He knew she would see the truth eventually, not only for how perceptive she was, but also for how much she knew him. Her face twisted bitterly with betrayal.

"You didn't come here to save me," she said.

He didn't answer. There was no need for it, just as Cersei didn't ask why.

"It seems Daenerys will take that pleasure from you," she added, looking away from me. "Just as she will take away mine, at seeing your miserable head freed."

Jaime knew she didn't mean it, though the words still stung. He forced a small smirk on his lips. "I doubt it will be a beheading."

Cersei fell silent after that, leaving the tent with an uncomfortable and ominous weight.

Not far from the prisoner's tent, inside Daenerys's council, Tyrion faced his white-haired Queen's icy countenance. She was no Cersei; she didn't bother to hide how she was debating a decision inside her mind: how to deal with him.

"You must know I won't let you in another prisoner's holdings again," she said, a dry sort of humor in her voice.

"I expect you'd like to throw me in chains with them, but that's not why I'm here," Tyrion remarked.

He had no illusions, not anymore. He'd seen true ruthlessness in Daenerys before, but never had he seen her abandon her sense of honor and morality. He knew now what Varys had tried to warn. He understood why the Spider had escaped, and why even Jon Snow had turned his back on the Dragon Queen.

Tyrion held all of these thoughts behind a dutiful mask, one that betrayed nothing. If he were to live, and he very much suspected he wouldn't, this was the only decision he had left.

"Jon would like a parlay."

They met in the open field, a mile outside the Kingswood. Just as it was in the Dragon Pit, Larisa's entire being was tense with anxiety. They were in a worse position than before, however, because Daenerys was now their enemy, and her dragons were as fearsome as ever. Even with Rhaegal weakened, the Dothraki numbered to less than fifty, and her Unsullied without Grey Worm's leadership, it was impossible to say what this day would bring.

Larisa rode beside Prince Aldemar, Sansa and Brienne, behind Jon and Davos as they approached Daenerys and Tyrion, and a leader each from her Unsullied and Dothraki. The latter dragged along her prisoners, Cersei and Jaime Lannister. Larisa couldn't help but watch her cousins, once an elegant and proud pair, now reduced to being led in iron chains. It was a less satisfying sight than she thought it would be.

"Why are we here, Jon Snow," Daenerys asked. "If you wanted my kingdom, you should have just said so…I should have known, no man on this continent could ever be trustworthy."

"That's not what this is, and you know it," Jon's voice rang out sharply. Larisa watched him with a measure of surprise, tempered by how proud she felt for him. He was a man of convictions, and never had she known a man who would stand for them, no matter who opposed him.

"Slaughtering those who've already surrendered, burning the innocent," he continued, "I didn't think it was who you truly are. It isn't right."

Daenerys's hands curled into white fists at her side, as her face turned to anger. "I decide what's right," she declared. "I have earned the right."

Jon watched her, perhaps with a measure of sadness. Larisa knew they were related by blood, and maybe he grieved for that severed connection to his long-hidden past. She knew he craved it, just as she too craved again: a true family.

"Then," Jon said, "you're not breaking the wheel at all."

Daenerys's eyes flashed with defiance, and she smiled. "I am," she said. "And I will start today."

She turned away from Jon, and he stepped back to fall in with Davos. They crossed the short distance to mount their horses again. Larisa shared a look with Sansa and Brienne as the men rejoined them and the prince, looking wary.

"Should we stay to watch this?" Larisa asked Jon. He met her worried stare, and shook his head.

"No, let's go," he said. He looked beyond to the Kingswood, where Theon was waiting for his signal. Jon waved out to him and said, grimly, "It's time."

As they retreated to the woods, Daenerys made a swift order to the masked Unsullied leader, who readied his spear as the Dothraki man pulled the Lannister siblings forward. Larisa couldn't help looking back every so often to watch the scene unfold.

She spotted Tyrion, and saw that he was trying to hide his fear and grief. Despite everything, he still obviously cared for both of them. Larisa knew then that she would feel the same way, even if it was her father and Lancel on the execution block.

"I won't allow either of you last words, since you, Cersei, used Missandei's as a weapon to pierce me," said Daenerys. She looked up to the Unsullied soldier beside her. "Prepare them for execution."

The Unsullied led the prisoners with his spear poised, while Drogon's massive steps shook the ground as he came forward at Daenerys's command. Larisa watched with a conflicted feeling welling up inside. This at least was justice. Yet why did it still make her sick to watch?

She slowed her horse to a stop, just before reaching the edge of the woods.

"Larisa!" she heard Jon call, but she only looked back at him for a brief moment before she returned her sights to the Unsullied, who stepped back from Cersei and back to Daenerys's side.

Daenerys opened her mouth to shout the order, Dracarys, as Larisa remembered well. Then, the Unsullied soldier gripped his spear, and its fierce point stabbed high into the Dragon Queen's chest, catching the word in her throat.

Daenerys's blue eyes shot open, her mouth gaping as she stared down at the rush of her blood covering the spear. Relieving one hand from the spear, the Unsullied removed their helmet, then their tanned face, revealing Arya Stark.

The dragons' keening wails tore through the clearing, resounding with the anger of the Dothraki and Unsullied. Larisa looked up at Jon with wide eyes. She hadn't known this to be the plan, and from the pale look on his face, he hadn't either. But as Arya began to battle against Dothraki and Unsullied alike, Jon pulled the reins on his horse and started into action, calling on Prince Aldemar, Theon and all their bannermen.

For a moment, Larisa felt lost in the mad scramble of chaos and action, until Sansa and Brienne called out to her.

"Stay close to me, my Lady," Brienne told her. "I will guide you and Lady Sansa safely back to camp."

Her mother, Lady Dorna was there waiting with Martha at her side. Larisa knew this was the plan, but when she turned back to Daenerys's forces, she hesitated, watching as Drogon claimed his mistress's dead body. After one final wail and a blast of fire that made Jon and their army flinch back, the dragon encased Daenerys between his claws, and flew up and away from the battlefield. A mournful Rhaegal wasn't far behind, leaving the Unsullied and Dothraki below. Yet even without their greatest allies, the Dragon Queen's forces made their battle cries. They were furious, ready to fight to survive and avenge their queen.

What Larisa didn't see, however, were any of her cousins. She turned to Brienne, who she knew harbored some kind of kinship with the Kingslayer. "Where are Cersei and Jaime?"

"Dead, probably," Sansa said. Her horse stamped impatiently, mirroring the lady herself. "We don't have time to stick around here."

She was right. The battle was already underway, with the united North, what remained of Strickland's Golden Company, Addam Marbrand's small force, and Prince Aldemar's Dornish clashing in the middle of the field with the Queen's armies. However, Brienne scanned the crowd, a light in her eyes that told Larisa she'd been doing that very thing before Larisa even asked.

"There," Brienne said, pointing off into the northwest, where the line of the woods curved around the field. Larisa found where she was looking, seeing two blonde figures escaping on foot into the woods. Their chains were somehow freed, which told Larisa that Jaime wasn't yet losing his edge.

Brienne shook her head, a more resigned look in her eyes. "But they are no longer our concern. Follow me, before their archers find us."

Sansa was all too ready to leave. It reminded Larisa that she hadn't seen her shadow, Lord Baelish in the fray, but with such a chaotic battle, she supposed it was easy to miss a snake in the tall grass.

She followed Brienne further into the woods that would lead them toward their camp. They were on the edge of what had been the territory of House Baratheon. Now all that was left of that once proud house was Gendry, an illegitimate son of the late king. Larisa knew she would have scorned such a man, before this war. Yet now, she trusted him with her brother's life.

She had once been married to a noble southern man, and had hated the very air he breathed. Now she loved, and was loved by a bastard son, more noble than any man she'd ever known.

How wrong I'd been, she thought, as they rode on. How wrong I've always been.

"Larisa!" Sansa shouted, just as an arrow fell in the tree between them. Larisa gasped as her horse veered to the left, and she saw the small band of Dothraki that had ventured into the woods to track them down. Her horse was startled into a gallop, tearing through the brush so fast that all she could do was duck her head as branches and leaves whipped at her face.

When she got some of her bearings, she grabbed at the reigns to get the horse under control. She couldn't see where she was going, but she knew the Dothraki voices were fading away. She must have gotten separated from Sansa and Brienne.

Suddenly, a dense cluster of trees blocked the path, and in that moment Larisa pulled too hard on the reigns. Her horse reared up, whinnying loudly as she lost her balance. The rest was a tumble and whirl of color and sound, until her back hit the ground. Air left her lungs as pain radiated down her body, and she lay there stunned, until she could breathe once again.

She stared up at the dappled light filtering in through the canopy of trees above, and she focused on pushing breath through her pained lungs. Her back ached, but she didn't feel that any bones were broken. She was able to curl up slowly into a sitting position, then push up onto her feet.

Larisa didn't recognize this area of the wood, and her horse was long gone. So were Sansa and Brienne, though she could hear the sounds of battle still raging far beyond the trees. A right mess you've made now, she thought, trying to fight her growing worry. Which way is the bloody camp?

Shoving down her fear as far as it would go, she took the dragon glass dagger from her belt and unsheathed it, her only weapon. She moved slowly through the forest, just in case the Dothraki were nearby. It was several minutes before she heard any sound besides the distant battle and her own breathing, but when a harried crunch of leaves reached her ears, Larisa ducked down behind a large tree and listened closely, holding the dagger between both hands.

"You can't possibly go back now. You know that don't you?" It was a feminine voice that whispered, but it carried. Whoever she spoke to didn't reply, but Larisa recognized her dear cousin all too well.

"Our best chance of survival is together, brother. We should escape this place entirely," Cersei added.

"Escape?" Jaime chuckled, though dryly, and without humor. "Where the fuck do you suppose we can escape to? Nowhere in Westeros—"

"Then we leave Westeros," snapped Cersei. It was surprising to Larisa. Despite prior notions of grandeur, the woman must finally realize how utterly laughable her position was by now; no money, no Golden Company, no fleet of ships or allies, and certainly no shortage of enemies. But Larisa wouldn't, and couldn't allow her any chance to escape, even if it meant facing the former Kingslayer.

For Father, she thought, gripping the weapon tighter. For Lancel, for Ned Stark, and for everyone else who's suffered at the hands of Cersei Lannister.

She waited until the pair were just past her tree. Then Larisa stepped out with her blade poised, only to be intercepted by Jaime's. Despite his lack of hand, his instincts with his left were quick enough to oppose her. Larisa expected no less from Jaime Lannister, but even she could see some conflict in his eyes; she knew he wouldn't harm her, if he didn't have to. He held a short leatherbound Dothraki blade, not much longer than a knife. He must have killed one for it during his and Cersei's escape.

Larisa looked past him to Cersei standing behind. She allowed her brother to protect her, even as she stared back at Larisa, impassively whatever true emotions layered beneath the surface.

"I understand why you'd run, instead of facing the consequences of your actions," Larisa said. She knew now that she would never best Jaime. It devastated her deep inside to let Cersei escape…but was it worth dying here, bleeding out in the middle of a godforsaken forest?

No, she thought. That wasn't how she cared to be found, if any someone ever were to find her body. She wouldn't do that to her mother, or to Jon. Though there were tears burning in her eyes, she wanted to know the truth, at least.

"You're proud. You've worked all your life to survive, as I have," Larisa said. "But if this is the last time we're ever to meet again, cousin, may I ask you something?"

"What could you possibly want?" Cersei asked. Jaime held out a hand, to keep her from moving forward while Larisa still held her dagger poised.

"I've never forgotten what you told me," Larisa said. She brushed away the wetness from her eyes and held tightly to the pendant around her neck. "To hide my tears, and hide myself in order to survive. Show only that which I wanted others to see."

"Are you coming to a point, or are we merely revisiting your meager childhood?" Cersei snapped. Her eyes kept shifting, wary of the danger that came with staying in one place for so long. Larisa understood the gamble, but while she wanted to live, she needed this much.

"Was it worth it?" Larisa asked. "When you left my brother and I to Ramsay Bolton. When you murdered my father, and made an enemy out of Jon Snow, and every other person that might've helped you this day?"

Cersei stepped out from behind Jaime, and he watched her as she stared down on Larisa with a stubborn contempt.

"Do you want to know what I regret?" asked the former queen. Larisa stayed silent, but she guarded herself as Cersei moved toward her, despite her brother's warning.

"I regret not having your father's head on a spike beside Ned Stark's," Cersei spat. "I should've cast a scourge upon every self-serving snake within my court, and any enemy north or south of the Iron Throne. But now the Dragon Queen has facilitated her own death, and so too will that bastard Jon Snow."

She reached out for Larisa's wrist, likely to pry the knife away and spill her blood with Cersei's own hands. But Jaime grabbed onto Cersei's hand, turning her swiftly and pulling her towards him, until his own sword embedded deep within her chest.

Larisa couldn't see Cersei's face as she died, but she watched in frozen fear as Jaime slid the blade from Cersei's chest, with tears in his eyes. He lowered his sister's body to the ground, where Larisa stared into Cersei's dimming green eyes, wide and unseeing.

"I thought you came here to free her," Larisa said, once she regained her voice. Jaime looked up at her, his gaze cavernous and broken.

"I did," he replied. He stared down at his bloody sword, contemplating something Larisa couldn't yet name. Though it gradually dawned on her what he meant to do, when he began to turn the blade on himself.

"Stop!" she shouted, reaching out for him on reflex. But just as her hand closed around his wrist, she was choked by a piercing pain hitting her sharply below the ribs.

The force of the arrow made her stumble, though it was Jaime who caught her before she fell. His shocked green eyes looked down on her, then he looked sharply away.

"Damn Dothraki," he muttered. "We have to move."

Larisa was still in shock, looking down at the arrow embedded in her body. It hurt terribly, but she was still somehow alive. "I…I don't know if I can."

"You'll have to," Jaime said. He was already helping her stand, even though she cried out at the pain. Tears burned in her eyes, but not for the pain; there was no way they could outrun even one Dothraki warrior.

"We won't make it," she gasped. Another arrow fell dangerously close to Jaime's head, into a tree. He ducked, moving them both behind a large fallen log. Sweat rolled down his brow, and from the tips of his hair onto her cheek as he laid her down quickly.

"Stay here. Don't make a sound," he ordered. Larisa held fast onto his wrist; the one which held only a stump for a hand.

"You'll die," she said incredulously. She knew very well that her hypocrisy in this moment was overwhelming, considering how much she'd hated this man. Yet as he'd turned the knife upon himself, something deep within her hadn't wanted him to die, just as her stomach had turned and her heart had somehow ached as the life drained from Cersei's eyes.

Jaime's mouth quirked into a wry grin, and she realized he was just as perceptive as his sister.

"A Lannister always pays his debts," he said.

There was a dark haze silhouetting her vision, but she reached out for him again when he left her behind the fallen tree. She felt wet against her skin. Looking down at her left side, she saw the blood pooling around the wound. Moving had loosened the arrow enough to make her bleed out.

Larisa heard and felt horse hooves pounding against the ground, coming closer. Dothraki, or Unsullied come to pick them off. She worried for Jon, for her brother, and everyone else on the battlefield. As the darkness encroached on her vision, she heard horns sounding along with the galloping of horses. Is it over? she wondered, more sluggishly. She turned her head and saw the riders at last, though she was surprised to note that she recognized their armor. A knight dismounted from the horse and quickly jumped into the fray of clashing metal just beyond the tree.

When it was over, the knight returned. She kneeled at Larisa's side, and she could just see the concerned face that looked down at her.

"Lady Larisa," said Brienne. "Hold on. You still have life in you yet."

Are you sure? Larisa wondered. She felt mostly numb as the knight hefted her up with her into the horse's saddle. Not far off was Sansa on her own horse, her brows furrowed with what appeared to be a tinge of worry. A weary, but living Jaime Lannister strode up to her horse.

"May I?" he asked.

Sansa nodded sharply. "Come on."

"Hurry," Brienne said, looking down on Larisa. She could only stare blankly back; her eyes felt heavy, and she couldn't help but let them fall, despite the voices that attempted to call her back.

The horns of an ended battle sounded in the distance, though Larisa doubted she would learn the victor.