*Again, thank you for reading and to those of you who have left reviews, I really appreciate it. It's probably quite obvious but I take details from both the show and the books :) Also, to those of you who are new to my fics/writing, I always like to put a little disclaimer out there...none of my chapters ever have any planning. At all. I free write everything I post, so until I start typing each chapter I have no idea where the fic is heading either. Very risky but it's how I work lol Enjoy chapter 6!*

Reaching them felt as though he'd been walking for a thousand leagues. His face twisting with concern and his heart positively racing with each nearing step. Bronn was only two paces behind. Tyrion could foresee an issue arising here.

"Don't harm them." He demanded across the stony courtyard, forcing his legs to move as fast as possible. There were two armed swordsmen stood beside his siblings, their hands on the hilts of their blades and their faces displayed only pure excitement at the unexpected fugitive guests.

"I don't think that's your call to make, Lannister." Behind him, Bronn embellished the name Lannister coldly. "Or are you forgetting who's house you're in now?" Tyrion kept his concentration on the men before him. They were so ready to fight the submissive duo. "Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't hand these two over to our new Queen? I bet she'd cough up a nice bit of coin, especially for that one." He gestured his dagger towards Cersei, her frame low and hunched beside an extremely unwell looking Jaime.

"Yes." Tyrion breathed, hoping his way with words would be enough once more to spare their lives. "Or, she could burn all of you alive like the rest of the population in King's Landing." He remarked, finally turning to look at him. "She's not overly fond of sell-swords and murderers. How well do you think she'd receive you and your clan of misfits?" Tilting his head to the side, he waited for a response but got none. Instead, he turned his tone to a nostalgic one, hoping to appeal to Bronn's more human-side. If it even existed. "When I first met you, I didn't even know you and you were willing to die for me. You can't pretend there's no friendship here." He blinked sadly. "For old-time's sake, please, let them take refuge." There was a short silence as Bronn's gaze flickered from Tyrion's pleading eyes to the sorry image of the twins slumped before him. Jaime was unresponsive, wheezing on his back and dripping with a feverous sweat whilst Cersei remained close to him, nervous under the gaze of these threatening men to the sides of her.

"Anyone comes here looking for them, don't think for a second I'll fight to keep them alive." He warned starkly. "I'll lead them straight in. I'm done risking my neck for Lannister cunts." He sheathed his dagger before giving the other two men the signal to back off. Tyrion was almost certain his breath of relief was heard by all.

"Thank you, a L-"

"I don't wanna hear that bloody Lannister saying, so you needn't fucking bother." He thumbed his men to help get the twins to their feet. "Get them inside, they can spend the night with this one." He pointed at Tyrion. There was no effort to be gentle with them. Tyrion couldn't help but wince at the way they yanked his brother from the ground, and they positively pulled his sister's arm from it's socket. He couldn't protest though, he knew Bronn would just have his men drop them where they were and then it was up to a single dwarf to try and get them up the spiralled staircases to his temporary quarters.

"They need a maester and a good hot meal-" Tyrion began once they were inside his room. It was large but ransacked by soldiers and left to decay this way until Bronn took up residence. In the centre against the main wall there was a large marital bed with huge hanging canopies around the frame. Straight ahead there was a balcony that overlooked the vast grounds of Highgarden and off to the right through a narrow walkway there was a large bathing area, tiled and magnificent. The room was decorated with dark, wooden furniture. An earthy yet regal feel to it. The flowers decorating each corner were withered and dried. Probably since the last time Jaime was actually here, to kill Lady Olenna.

"Do I look like a fucking maester or cook to you?" Bronn interjected in a prickly fashion but glancing at Jaime's poor state he did feel a certain guilt kicking in. Fighting with him by his side hadn't been all that bad and they did have some wild moments, such as their time in Dorne. "Alright, I'll see what I can do." Tyrion nodded gratefully as the door closed behind the three killer swordsmen. And now it was just the three Lannister siblings. In total, painful silence.

"What happened to him?" Tyrion asked worriedly as he moved towards the pair. The men had at least set his injured brother on the bed, his chest rising and falling quickly. The world had blackened outside, the moon shying behind thick clouds in the night sky as the white balcony drapes flapped intermittently in the biting breeze. Cersei was deathly silent, her focus on Jaime. She'd stood herself at the end of the bed, just staring over her twin. Willing him to survive.

"He has a fever." Her voice was so soft, so delicate. "His wound, it's festering." As she spoke, her eyes welled and she could feel Tyrion staring at her. He must have been enjoying this, she thought. How the mighty had fallen. Instead, he was taking in the appearances of his troubled siblings. Jaime was on death's door, a stinking wound spreading poison of rot through his body and Cersei was so dishevelled he barely even recognised her. Bruises marked her once milk white skin on her neck and arms, her cropped golden hair was filthy and hidden beneath a tattered woven cloak and there were pink streaks running down her cheeks where falling tears had left a trail through the mud and dust coating her face. What trauma had they been through, he wondered.

"How did it happen?" He demanded. "How long has he been like this?" Moving his attention back to his brother he wanted to take a look at the injury and assess it for himself but he decided to wait for the maester that Bronn was supposedly getting for them. Before she spoke, she removed the cloak quickly as if suddenly remembering who and what it had belonged to, a look of disgust displayed on her face.

"Since your Queen's pet obliterated King's Landing." Tyrion sighed inwardly as his eyes fluttered shut, he was waiting for this but he stupidly thought it might have come after she'd thanked him for saving their lives. It was a foolish fantasy to have. No matter the circumstances of the world, he and Cersei were just never going to have that sort of relationship. He loved her, in some strange form. She was his sister after all and he loved Jaime and Jaime loved her. More than life itself. The two came as a package deal.

"It was war, Cersei." He looked at her sympathetically. "What did you honestly expect?" A wave of quietness washed over them momentarily, until she finally spoke again.

"You told me she would burn King's Landing, do you remember?" Her eyes were still glassy, her voice wavering with emotion. "But you said she knew when to check herself, that she had advisors keeping her from making the wrong decisions." There was a small pause before she continued. "So, tell me, was it you or Lord Varys that told her to fly to the capital and murder every man, woman and child?" He was always captivated by her words, the way she managed to utter them so softly yet inject so much venom and hate into them. He wondered how she did it and if maybe it was a trait of their mother's? Their father certainly didn't hold the gift of soft speech before Tyrion had killed him.

"She's her own person, she has her own mind and does as she sees fit-"

"You don't approve of what she did, I can see it in your face." She stilled her expression. Her statement only just news to her as she uttered it. "You did this. You and your hate for our family-"

"I do not hate my family!" He cut her off, his anger getting the better of him. He wasn't much of a yeller. He'd never had to be. His quick wit and knowledgable brain could best someone far more effectively than bellowed words ever could. "A little gratitude would be nice." He hissed. "I freed Jaime to go and find you, to save you from your own stubborn choices. I risked execution because I wanted you both to live." He exclaimed emotionally. "You, Jaime and your baby." He breathed, his anger slowly subsiding into sadness as he looked back to his brother. "So don't stand there and tell me I hate my family when I was willing to die to try and save them." Moving his saddened gaze back to her, he was surprised to see tears escaping her eyes but her face was still. "And for what? Now our sweet Jaime might die and my hateful sister could survive him. Where is the fairness in that?"

Her palm moved to her lower ribcage slowly, as if willing herself to keep the emotions hidden. She always did struggle with showing her vulnerabilities in front of Tyrion and now was no different. She was still looking at Jaime though, more tears cascading down her cheeks as the thought of him dying intruded her thoughts. She couldn't keep it together any longer and turned on the spot to face away from her brothers. Lowering herself on to the purple, velvet bed stool positioned at the foot of the bed frame. Tyrion watched her leaning forward, her shoulders heaving with sadness but she was suffocating her cries. She wouldn't allow him the satisfaction. Not a single one could be heard, save one sharp intake of air between sobs. The back of her neck was covered in dried blood, as was her hair and he couldn't help but wonder what horrors they had witnessed between the Red Keep falling and their arrival here tonight. His eyes sank sadly. He truly hadn't intended for their reunion to be so hostile but it was to be expected. Moving towards the bathing room, he disappeared out of sight before returning a few short moments later. In his hands he had a bowl of water and some damp cloths to set by Jaime's bed-side, they needed to keep him cool and comfortable until the maester arrived. Tyrion approached his sister slowly, almost apprehensively. She still had her back to him as he offered her a white, floral handkerchief to wipe her tears. Also a subtle symbol of his surrender. She left him hanging for a few seconds, reluctant to accept the peace offering but eventually she gave him a brief and tearful glance before taking it delicately from his small hand.

"He's not going to die, we won't let him." Tyrion reassured confidently, knowing exactly why she was so emotional. The prospect of Jaime dying made him feel the same way. He watched his sister wipe at her eyes carefully, he couldn't lie and say it didn't hurt him to see her so broken. She pulled the cloth from her face, the once white fabric now coated in dirt causing Tyrion to look over her in general. Her hands was stained red with what he could only assume was Jaime's dried blood, her feet were open and bleeding through the soles and her arms and neck were covered in all manner of dark marks and bruises. "I can stay by his side if you want to clean yourself up. There's a bath and clean clothes through there." He offered sweetly, for a split second he thought she was going to reject his polite suggestion but she got to her feet cautiously, her body had stiffened with injuries sustained. Since the encounter with the Dothraki rider, she'd wanted nothing more than to wash away his filth and scrub her skin raw. Without a word, she disappeared through the walkway leaving Tyrion in a sombre silence.


She scrubbed at her skin so hard with a rough sponge, she'd given herself new wounds to dress. Losing all feeling of weight, she somehow felt light and free of pain in the warm embrace of the water. With the exception of her stinging feet as they burned beneath the surface. The bath itself was a large square shape built into the floor, deep enough to sink up to her neck and big enough for four people to have climbed in with her. The steam rising filled the room as she soaked, like mist rising over water on a brisk Winter's morning. The cold draught coming from the walkway was causing her skin to raise like goose flesh but she didn't mind, if anything it made her feel more present. It stopped her from getting too comfortable, relaxing too much and letting her guard down.

By Jaime's side, Tyrion continued to pat down his beloved brother's forehead with a cool damp cloth. He was looking no worse at least but still, he was unresponsive. He'd pulled open his coat to try and bring the fever down but he feared nothing could help now until the maester arrived. Squeezing the cloth out into the bowl once more, the soft trickling of the water echoed with Cersei's movements in the bath through the stone doorway. He'd looked up to see if she was exiting but a mirrored glass near the bath betrayed her privacy. He could see her reflection in it as she scrubbed violently at her own skin, the water reddened from her own bruised and bleeding body. His brow twitched, the sight alone making his own skin sting but before he could think another thought the door opened loudly as Bronn re-entered.

"Here's your maester and here's you food." He threw the plates down carelessly onto a side cabinet as an elderly man entered behind him, clad in a large brown gown and his links clanging togther harmoniously as he walked. He had soft looking hands, darkened eyes and a large beard with tinges or orange shading the hairs surrounding his nose and mouth. "You want more grub then you can bloody well get it yourself. It's like hiking a fucking mountain coming up and down these stairways." He gestured his head towards the maester, already anticipating Tyrion's next question. "Not to worry, he's sworn to secrecy. He won't breathe a word to anyone." Strangely, Bronn's word was probably the most trustworthy in Tyrion's eyes. If Bronn vouched for this man, he knew it was safe.

"Thank you, this won't be forgotten." Tyrion gushed, shooting him a thankful look. Bronn knew how much Jaime meant to him, secretly he was happy to be helping but he'd never let the dwarf know that.

"Yeah, you're right, it won't." He scoffed. "I'll remind you when I want the favour returning, don't you worry." He gave Tyrion a look that said he was deadly serious before leaving as abruptly as he'd entered.

In the adjoining room, Cersei was just climbing carefully from the bath. The cold air hitting her hard as she reached for a sheet to dry herself before dressing in a robe she found. Gods it felt good to be in something familiar again, a form fitting, regal piece not unlike the ones she was used to wearing before she became Queen. Tying it around her middle, the way it sat emphasised the swell of her abdomen. Even more confirmation that her feeling was right, she could just tell by the way she looked that it was a girl. She'd looked the same way with Myrcella. Her three boys had lay higher up, closer to her ribs. She smoothed her hands over the bump, her thumb stroking at the fabric soothingly. She wasn't going to let anything happen to this one.

The maester was quick to set up his temporary work station, a bag of his equipment and ointments spread out at the end of the feather-filled bedding. Tyrion could only describe the procedure as excruciating. The dead and rotting flesh had to be cut and sliced away before the maester cleaned the inside of it thoroughly with an array of fluids. The cut away skin was thrown into the same bowl Tyrion had been using to cool his brother's forehead. As he started on sewing the wound, Cersei rejoined them, looking a bit more like herself. Aside from the wounds and her exhausted eyes of course.

"Once I've finished the sewing, I'll need to dress the wound. I'll give him milk of the poppy to help him sleep through the night and relieve any discomfort."

"He'll recover?" Cersei's voice floated in behind them, heavy with concern.

"I've done all I can, he'll just need to last the night through the fever. If he does, then he should start to get stronger and strong by the morrow." The maester answered courteously as he cut the thread and tied it off before gathering his silk bandages to begin dressing. It already looked so much better than it had done. "Although feverish, he'd fair better without a chill in the air." He glanced around the room. "Perhaps a fire would be helpful, just to warm the room a little." Finally standing, he stepped back to admire his work. "That should do it, he can bathe late tomorrow and then the wound will need drying thoroughly and re-dressing. He won't come around for a little while though I'm afraid. He was already suffering with the effects of fever and now the milk of the poppy should be setting in."

"Thank you, Maester Garron." Tyrion's eyes said thank you far more than his mouth could at this point, his focus quickly turning to Cersei. "You should let him take a look at you too." As much as he tried so disguise his genuine care, it was very clear. But his sister remained cold towards him, the same as she always was. The maester glanced at her midsection before his old, tired eyes moved to meet hers.

"How many moons along are you?" His voice was raspy and showing his age as the question lingered unanswered for a few seconds. Cersei's eyes flickered to Tyrion's before she shifted uncomfortably, he soon got the hint.

"I'll suppose I'll get that fire going and give you some privacy." He nodded at the maester, offering his thanks once more before moving over to the fireplace, far across the other side of the room. Admittedly, it had been some time since he'd had to light his own fire but he was sure he'd manage it. The bed chamber itself was softly lit, the candle sticks mounted on the walls sending flickers of light dancing across the room. The furniture was by no means as extravagant as that of the Red Keep or Casterly Rock but it did have a certain charm. He could hear the pair talking but refrained from turning around.

It only took him a short while to get a glow happening, stoking it with wood piled beside the hearth as he fed it enough to have a roar happening. He threw the iron poker down once finished, making an almighty clang. Quickly turning to silently apologise he was surprised to see the maester disappearing through the door, his time with them finished for the evening. Assessing his sister from where he stood, he tried to work out if she should be approached or left alone. She was sat with her back to him, resting on the side of the bed with Jaime. Her delicate fingers smoothing over his forehead and hair. Tyrion's heart ached a little. There was a tiny part of him that always resented what they had with one another. Not because it disgusted him but because he was envious. He'd never had a connection that strong with anyone and felt as though he probably never would. Jaime worshipped her. He'd killed for her on numerous occasions. He'd die for her. Although he sometimes questioned Cersei's devotion to Jaime, the sight before him told him it was real. Swallowing hard, he decided to approach her.

"I trust all is well?" He kept the question formal and free of any emotion. True to Cersei behaviour, she answered in the same way.

"Depends what you mean by all, little brother. He said the baby was alright, if that's what you were asking." She kept her forlorn gaze fixed upon her twin's face, the candle-light flickering across his clammy features. "Why did you tell us to come here?" Finally ceasing her loving touches, she stood cautiously to face Tyrion.

"Perhaps we'll talk about that tomorrow once Jaime is awake, I think we could both do with the rest." He had expected some protest but she clearly had other things on her mind and having a warm, safe place to stay the night was all that mattered to her right now. "You should take the bed, I feel Jaime would much rather wake to your face than mine." He smiled but she saw the sadness behind it. "I'll find a corner somewhere and curl up, us dwarves can sleep almost anywhere." He lowered his head submissively and turned around to sit himself by the fire, he'd moved away from it only moments ago but he was longing for it's warmth again. He was startled when she appeared beside him at the fire, he'd seated himself on the smaller chair, leaving her to lower herself on to the remaining one. They were only a few feet apart, the eyes staring intently into the flames as the silence engulfed them. He never knew how to talk to her, the hate she held for him was so clear in the way she carried herself around him but right now it seemed different.

"I meant what I said earlier." He confessed out of nowhere but she seemed as though she'd been waiting for him to start speaking. She was always oddly content in silence but she knew her little brother wasn't one to sit quietly. Where there was a pause too long, he was sure to fill it with his wise words. Sometimes she sought those words without his knowledge. If she put herself alone in his presence and stayed quiet for long enough and only uttered the odd cryptic sentence, he'd start talking and console her in a way nobody else could. And she hated it, but right now she needed it. "As much as I've spoke of it in the past, perhaps even revelled in it, I didn't want you to die. You're my sister." He halted for her to interject but she didn't. "And your baby. I couldn't let that happen. Not after Myrcella and Tommen." He turned his attention to the side of her face, trying to decipher her thoughts the way Jaime seemed to be able to, but he couldn't. Perhaps it was a twin thing, or maybe a lover thing. Either way he'd never know. "Even Joffrey, I know you loved him. You've lost three children already. This one should at least be given a chance to survive." There was a lull between them, the sound of the crackling fire alleviating some of the uncomfortableness until her voice gently rippled the quietude.

"My first boy was taken after only a few breaths." She spoke softly. "The only babe that was actually Robert's." Smiling to herself fondly, she recalled how tiny and sweet the infant had been. A head full of thick, black hair. A true Baratheon. "I never thought I could ever love something so small as much as I did," She reminisced. "But the moment he was taken from me it was as though the entire world turned dark. Like all the warmth was gone from inside of me." Her smile faded quickly as her stare became fixed ahead again, gazing through the angry, orange licks of the burning wood. Tyrion was feeling guilty now, having completely forgotten her firstborn that had succumbed to death at such a young and fragile age. "Father saw my baby boy being taken away and marched into the room as though it was a meeting on war strategy. The mighty Tywin Lannister." There was disdain in her tone. "Do you know what he said to me?" She asked dryly. "The tears still wet on my face, my chest still heaving from exhaustion and the blood still warm on my thighs." She paused, gathering the sentence before uttering it breathily. "You cannot mourn what never was. You breed again in a week, and you will give Robert a son." She smiled icily recalling her father's heartless words, her dead babe barely out of the room. "I was only ever livestock to him, nothing more." Blinking quickly, she looked down at her lap suddenly feeling too emotionally exposed. Tyrion had never heard that story before.

"Tywin Lannister's favourite children, the beast the broodmare and the backstabber. The last of the lion pride." He smiled. "That has quite a ring to it, don't you think?" She didn't acknowledge his joke. The way he dealt with familial trauma was vastly different to the way she did.

"I always wondered how he did it." She remarked quietly. "How he treated us like objects. His political pawns. He never held us, never paid any interest in us, never asked if we were alright." Listing off their father's incapabilities, she exhaled slowly. "Once I had children of my own it made me wonder even more. Every day that Myrcella was away from me was agony. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. I'd drink until rest found me, and even then it wouldn't last long before I was awake and hurting again." She looked back down towards her lap, fidgeting with what Tyrion figured was part of her robe. "He saw how roughly Robert had handled me once, I was a mess. Bruised from knee to neck all over. I couldn't walk for how hard he'd ridden me." She grimaced ever so slightly on account of the unfavourable memory.

"What did he do?" Tyrion's eyes flickered across her unmoving face, wondering how she hid emotion so well. Her features were as still and poetic as a painted canvas, beauty captured in painful details.

"Nothing." She licked her upper lip, vexation in her voice. "He looked right through me like I wasn't even there and then left without saying anything, back to Casterly Rock." Her blood began to boil as she reminisced too far. "I burnt fleets for my children, I killed my husband for my children, I started wars for my children, I walked through the city naked for my children." She paused passionately, the emotion starting to seep through the cracks. "And I was sold off like cattle to the highest bidder. I was the father to my children that I deserved." The look of contempt in her eyes was almost captivating, no matter how distressing Tyrion found it. "Tywin Lannister was no father." Her words cut like a sharp blade, a harrowing silence growing between them. For once, he was speechless. Her suffering had been almost silent, he always belittled her for complaining of such things as marrying the King of the Seven Kingdoms and living in a castle but behind closed doors she was affected by their father almost as deeply as he was.

"You once told me you would have thrown yourself from the highest tower of the Red Keep if it weren't for your children. You weren't lying, were you?" He questioned cautiously, now believing her statement to be true.

"I lived only for them." She persisted with her fidgeting, his eyes finally drawn to the dark robe tie in her hand but the longer he looked at it, the more his brows furrowed as he struggled to identify it's true nature. She smoothed it through her fingers, contemplating deeply. If it weren't for her unborn child, her fight by the river would have been a short-lived one. She'd carried this token for too long. Leaning forward slowly, she tossed the coiled braid on to the fire, the orange reflection illuminating her eyes and skin as she did so.

"What was that?" Asking gently, he moved his focus from the burning hair to the side of her sculpted face. The gap between his question and her answer felt far longer than it actually was.

"A reminder of what happens to those who try to harm my children." Her voice was considerably calmer now, a coolness to it. Standing slowly she walked away from the warm glow without another word and found her way into the bed. A confronting sight for Tyrion, he knew of their relationship of course but had never been witness to any kind of affection other than the occasional glance at one another. She settled as close to him as possible, the pair of them fit together as snugly as two puzzle pieces beneath the blankets.

By the fire, Tyrion was left to turn his attention back to the burning hair. His head racing with thoughts.