just putting a slight tw ahead for the bedding scene! nothing gruesome or graphic but for reader's comfort!


"rise, red as the dawn."

— v.a.


Laisa hesitantly climbed the steps of the Sept, feeling as though the temple was glowering at her presence, readily able to swallow her whole. She wound her arm tight around her father's, leaning into his side as the doors were pulled open and her feet refused to move further. From the entry, Laisa could see the small gathering of her sisters, the men of her house and the lords who travelled the distance in attendance. It was comforting to note that she was still in support of the north, of her home.

Her father ushered her forward, glancing to her right to make note of the faces that disguised their disgust. Cersei's attendance was unexpected. Her children were equally uninterested and showering her with attention while her father guided her to the steps of the altar. The Sept itself was constructed with seven glass windows between their seven statued gods. The outpour of light illuminated the man who stood patience before the Septon. The Mother and Father looking down upon them at their time of adjoining.

A hint of color rose the column of her neck to her cheeks once her eyes fell upon him. Golden-haired, lean and fierce. He, clothed in crimson-and-black armor, branded with the sigil of a lion and a cloak of similar colors folded over his arm.

Laisa climbed the steps alone, standing still before him and his grin. Taking in him in, all at once.

"My lords, my ladies," announced the Septon, "We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

Their hands were lifted and intertwined, watching as a ribbon of gold and silver was woven to their hands and a knot tied.

"Let it be known that Lady Laisa of House Stark and Lord Jaime of House Lannister are one heart, one flesh, one soul.

"Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity."

Laisa watched the ribbon be untied, though despite this, his grip hadn't loosened. He seemed steady, confident in his manner.

"Look upon each other and say the words."

They faced one another, hands still interwoven. Laisa could feel her heart thrumming so loudly in her ears she could hardly hear herself reciting her vow.

Father, Smith, Warrior,

"I am hers, and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."

Mother, Maiden, Crone,

"I am his, and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days."

Stranger

Then, he declared, "With this kiss, I pledge my love."

love. Laisa thought, having no such time to think on the term before she raised her chin to feel the brush of his lips against hers. Though, it was not as sweet and simple as she might have thought. It was his enthusiasm. He was conniving when it came to convincing a crowd of something that wasn't what it was meant to be.

It was staggering at first, having been brought back to the moment once he had pulled away. The moment he had, her vision was clouded by stars…and a brilliant, golden sun centered in it all.


The feast commenced in the throne room. Laisa took her place next to him, feeling a bit flush from the morning spent in prayer. The conversation was low and quiet, almost resounding from how loud her thoughts were in this moment. The courses shuffled out from the kitchens one by one; by the fifth course Laisa had lost count.

"Little wife, is something plaguing you."

She craned her attentions to him, softly shaking her head, "No, my lord, I…I just think I'm a bit flustered. I wasn't expecting this day to go so smoothly."

He chuckled lightly, "Our wedding sealed the fate of the Northerners and the Western lands. Soon enough our children will reign both territories and the legacy of our family is forever woven into our history. A dynasty to last long after we have passed."

Laisa could only impose a smile. She was unsure of how to go about conversing of future endeavors, some of which she had forgotten of. The act of bedding was another course she would have trouble consuming.

She prayed to the gods that she would not be with child once the night was over.

The summer evening fell beautifully over the castle, and once the festivities had died down, Laisa overheard the king shouting and slurring Let the bedding commence!

It was the act she kindly declined partaking in, which involved being heaved by unknown men and being unclothed right before everyone's eyes Then, heaved into the bedding chamber to which the new lord and lady were to begin the consummation. Laisa couldn't allow herself to be dishonored in such a way, even though it was tradition. Her sisters were among the many, as was her father.

And as was Cersei, looking as though she would flee from her seat at any moment or charge at her given she had the chance.

He guided Laisa to the chamber, holding her shaking hand in his own to soothe her for the time being. His kind smile put her pounding heart at ease. Laisa had enough intuition to note that the bedding wouldn't be commenced on this night, perhaps he would want to wait until they reached Casterly Rock. His behavior suggested it but what were she to do if he wanted to perform?

The door to the solar shut soundly behind her, allotting for their privacy.

"Nervous?"

Laisa shamelessly nod, "I've only heard word from my mother, it…it's a duty. Nothing more."

He chuckled, rounding her slow to curl a finger into a lock of her hair and tug, "And our marriage?"

"A duty," She said firmly, "And nothing more."

His face wore a certain smugness that made her grin just a bit. Laisa was unaware of his challenge, to perform the part of husband and lord so perfectly. Was that his intention? no, Laisa told herself, it's mere acting. he wouldn't…

He stood behind her, delicately prying the pins and flowers from her plait, loosening the leather strap holding it together. Next, came her gown. The fabric was unwound from back to front, carefully loosening its pieces and clasps without disturbing its beauty. It was heavy and sunk to the floor.

Laisa's skin was flushed red, having never stood before a man as bare as she were now, forcing her shaking arms to remain still at her sides to avoid the embarrassment of cowering before her lord husband.

He stood before her now, still fully clothed. "Come, on the bed."

With a gentle hand, he guided her to her back, noticing how she twisted one hand in the sheet and rested the other on her pale stomach. "Calm yourself, it will be over soon."

not soon enough, she thought grimly.

He shed his armor, his bare chest lightly covered with pale gold hair, connecting to the trail that dipped past his hips. He was lean, well built from his years as a swordsman. Strong, too. Laisa kept her eyes to his as he crawled atop her, finding her hands to wind within his own and hold to the featherbed.

"Will…will it hurt…" She whispered as he gently prodded her sheath with the tip of his sword.

It was as though the demeanor of him had changed in an instant. His once kind smile morphed into something malicious, and his actions were more demanding, something that had never become of him. He put much pressure into prying her open, resisting and thrashing with all her might but to no avail.

"Wait—" Laisa croaked, thrashing her knees, and pulling mindlessly at her restraints, "Please—"

His laughter came to her, his bitter laughter that held no semblance to the sound she remembered so fondly. It was sharp, almost a cackle. Laisa pulled her hips back further into the bed to relieve the burning pain forming between her legs, almost in an instant the man's hands wrapped around her throat and squeezed.

When she looked above through the haze of her tears, the man she recognized in the Sept was not the one that cowered above her, now. Or perhaps it was. His features became unrecognizable and they morphed from face to face. All whispering a name of a dead girl and taunting her for her weakness.

She battled, throwing her head back to find the door to the solar opened, two figures bathed in a sunlight. Watching.

It was the woman's smugness and the man's utter shame that she recognized their faces, calling out with desperation, only to find herself falling into the black pit of unconsciousness.

where is he…where's…


LAISA

"JAIME!"

She shot up from her bed, heaving breaths and swiping the sweat at her brow with a shaking hand grabbing at her throat. Laisa uncomfortably rolled herself out of bed to stand, feeling a bit faint from her sudden start, feeling an unfamiliar pain coursing through the lower half of her body. To her surprise, the bed was stained with blood and she believed her nightmare wasn't as such.

Moon's blood.

"Gods…" she muttered, gathering a wet cloth to cleanse her inner thighs and pull the stained sheets to the floor.

"My lady!" Illa barreled into her solar with haste, slamming it shut behind her and bowed, "I apologize for the intrusion, my lady, but there's been an incident—"

Laisa had already felt faint enough. "Slow…slow yourself, Illa. Please. My head.."

Illa looked about the chamber, shocked at the amount of blood that spoiled the white sheets and let her mouth hang agape. She hurried herself to Laisa's side, brashly inspecting her body through her nightgown, seeking any mortal wounds or otherwise until Laisa started to giggle once her sides were squeezed. "Illa, what is it that you think you're doing."

"My lady, you're bleeding. Are you injured?"

"No, you fool." Laisa laughed, having pushed her maids hands away, "It's moon's blood. Maester Luwin says its teeming, but common. Now, to this incident…"

Once Illa had calmed, she took to the bathing chamber and began refilling the tub with tepid water. "Yes…yes the whole kingdom is in arms."

Laisa knit her brows tightly, "In arms?"

It was almost as though Illa remained hesitant in sharing this information and the worry, the woes of her father's life becoming constantly threatened by his disposition came flooding back. Laisa remained calm, statuesque. "Might I ask again, Illa."

"I.." she murmured, having dumped another bucked of water in the basin, "Lord Jaime attacked your father in front of Littlefinger's brothel. Whispers of your mother kidnapping Lord Tyrion and taking him to the Vale to answer for his crimes against your family and House Arron."

Her stomach churned, the wind in her lungs was rocked from her throat as she wearily took a falling step forward into the edge of the tub. At last moment, Illa collapsed to the floor with her in her attempt to protect her from the fall. Laisa heaved, emptying her stomach of what little remained into the chamber pot.

"Come, come my lady…" Illa cooed, gently rubbing her back, "We will get you cleaned up and I'll escort you to your father—"

"No…no I must see him now."

Illa protested with pity, "My lady that isn't wise, you are in no condition to see him now. Your father's condition isn't grave, in fact, Maester Pycelle mentioned he was still in rest, sleeping to cure what ails him. He is under protection of his men."

as was my little brother, and an assassin was sent to his chambers. my father has no wolves to protect him from any further threat.

"Come…" she coaxed, having lifted her to her wobbling feet and undressed her carefully to sit her in the tepid water, stirring salts and lye into the bath with herbs and such to relief her of her pains. Laisa forced herself to sit straight, back pressed firmly into the wood, having no thoughts of an untimely drowning.

Illa combed rose scented soaps through her hair, gently cleansing her skin and rinsing her down in a repetitive action. It soothed her for a time but Laisa's focus was on her father's attack, his conditions, and what Jaime had done.

"Does…do you know what happened.."

Her maid sighed gently, slowing her scrubbing to a stop. "Some of the women were speaking of the attack. It was madness, my lady. Lannister soldiers piked your fathers men, cutting them down one by one. One…one poor man was taken from his mount, slew before the eyes of your lord father , a girl said. A handsome lad."

no…no please no… She withheld her tears, gripping to the tub's edge with a strength she mustered purely out of fear.

"Harwin, the girls said he name be. He was a…guest of theirs when your little sister was at her dancing lessons."

It wasn't the way he deserved to die, none of her father's men deserved to be slaughtered in the streets of King's Landing. Her thoughts of Jory being ripped open in such a way made her stomach sink through the floor like a stone to a pond.

"My lady, if it please you, might I ask why I heard you screaming for lord—"

"Your question does displease me, Illa."

The girl hung her head, resuming her duty. "I apologize."

Laisa sat in her bath till her toes and fingers wrinkled with moisture, allowing Illa to lift and dry her body with care. She provided cloths for her smallclothes, to lessen her bleed and dressed her in a rich blue gown, clasping a direwolf to the front of her scarf and cover for closure.

"A plait, my lady?"

Laisa nodded silently.

As Illa worked her fingers through her locks, gently brushing and creating braids, Laisa thought of what awaited her once she left the safety of her chamber. She thought of her mother and her reckless action, her father's approval, of Jaime's intention. Part of her understood his action. Her mother did the same for her son, Jaime cares for his family. All rash decisions made so recklessly had been made in the name of family.

It's in House Tully's words. Ones she lived by as closely as she did her father's.

Family. Duty. Honor.

"My lady, Queen Cersei."

To feel her blood run cold was quite normal in the presence of her majesty. And to watch as she prowled into her chambers wearing her pretty, little mask—it sickened her.

"My lady, you're looking rather pale, is everything all right?" she carefully inspected, inviting herself to crane her chin up to examine her face further.

"Moon's blood, my queen."

"Ah," Cersei clicked her tongue, "I see. Would you like to see Maester Pycelle? Milk of the poppy should soothe your strife."

Laisa kindly shook her head, biting her lip, "No need, my queen, I'll be all right once I break my fast."

It was as though she could see it in her wildfire eyes—her bitter scheme. She looked to Illa with dismissal, to be left alone with the queen seeing as though her intentions were as clear as a summer day.

"I'll…see to it that your sisters are up as well, my lady."

"Thank you." Laisa said, waiting for her departure before returning her attentions to Cersei, her mask slipping with purpose and the scowl that reigned terror over her features. She swallowed the thick lump in her throat, afraid to move with the claws so closely to her face that she risked losing her sight if the queen felt like doing so. The silence loomed, and Cersei remained ever so silently and still.

A partial imitation of what her father described Tywin Lannister to be; that is all the lion queen claimed to be.

"Your family has quite the tenacity, little one." She hissed, "To abduct my brother and lay hand on another."

Laisa stilled. "My queen, I—"

"Quiet, you pathetic little wretch."

Her mouth tightly pursed, being shoved aside into the edge of her vanity where she weighed against it to support her weakness. Laisa's body trembled terribly, troubling herself to rise again with her back straight. "My queen…I knew nothing of such actions. My father…I knew nothing of his—"

"Deceit? His crimes against House Lannister." Cersei rounded off, "The noble, honorable Lord Stark framing an innocent man for the attempted assassination against your young brother. To threaten that he had a hand in Lord Arron's death." She closed in on Laisa once more, gathering her braid in her skinny fingers and hoisted her up. Her eyes burned with a fury she was unfamiliar with, remaining defenseless. She kept in mind the guard that watched the queen's every move and surely if she were to rip her hand away, off with that hand. "A deplorable man listening to the words of fools and traitors all the same. Does such denseness plague you too, child."

"No…no, my queen—"

Cersei's breath was hot against her face, scalding. "If anything happens to my little brother, I swear to the Mother your life will be spent being the property of House Clegane."

"The king wouldn't allow your threats to take root," Laisa mustered enough courage to snarl, "Neither will your father."

Her only reply was her twitching grin, and another handful of hair gripped and pulled, causing her scalp to set aflame. "The realm unfortunately needs a strong hand, one with the likeness of your father. Joff will not come of age for years to come and war…war is the last thing I'd want."

"Your empty threats do not frighten me."

It took no effort for Cersei to change her demeanor from fury-influenced to demur, gently petting her pulsating scalp. "They should, little one, for they are not as empty as you think they are."

"The guests are arriving, you should ready yourself. I'm quite sure the houses of the west would be of service to their lady."

Her final words rang as loudly as a bell in the middle of Laisa's mind, as a reminder of her bride gifting ceremony. To be toted around by her good-father, by her lord husband to be. The Gods be good, her mother's vile acts against House Lannister be kept silent until the festivities died to nothing. Her worries laid with her father, with the soldiers of her house. And as she stood weak in her chambers, she hobbled to the foot of her bed, where a silver gown laid donning snow-like beads and direwolves trinkets.

She prayed for her father's safety—Jory's safe return.

Laisa fell to her knees, swiping tears with her sleeves and sobbed in hopes that this was nothing more than the nightmare she dreamt of. It's sickening continuation, or perhaps a threat made from the gods themselves, toward her off a spectacle that may cost her life.


JAIME

An action to declare northern territory under the reign of a Lannister title. He should have understood there was little he could do to protest his arrangement, knowing better than to challenge his father once more when this was an opportunity waiting to arise. The Stark girl's mother committed an act equivalent to treason, sulking in her grief over the young boy. What happened to her son was a tragedy, a mere accident of a child clumsily missing a stone or two when climbing towers and doing things children ought not to be.

Surely, his attempt on the boy's life could have gone rather…smoothly.

He felt his blood thrumming with an intensity he felt on the battlefield. Tyrion, his little brother, his only ward, and protector could do very little because of the duties that had been forced upon him by nature.

Cersei paced his solar, spitting vile curses and promising to destroy what father had put in place. It wasn't worth the territory, she said, it wasn't worth the unruly northern people or its desolate wasteland. Her rage made her simplistic, predictable; should she do a damn thing, Tywin would ultimately put a stop to her foolishness.

Jaime, though, understood that she had no say or claim in what came of Tyrion's uneventful capture. Surely, his sister couldn't differ. However, was it wrong of him to show her resentment?

To hold her accountable for the sin of her family, to see her as an enemy—the same she would be married into come the next moon. Politics were never his strong suit, but the girl would be seen as the daughter of a traitor, traitor's blood—nothing more. It would be polite to save what little honor left still stood within the Stark name and wed her off to another house, with similar intention.

"You're truly going to entertain this." Cersei snapped, sounding that of a disgruntled child. "Where is your tenacity, Jaime, to stay by my side—"

"Was twenty years not enough devotion." He simply put, shrugging on the black and crimson armor that wore more comfortably than a tunic and jerkin. "Perhaps, father's madness is making sense."

She snorted, "Is her young cunt growing on you."

"No, but you're sounding awfully confident for a woman who was birthed of the loins of the mighty Tywin. Are you certain your fits are going to change his word."

Cersei's temperament oft displaced her. Though, their father's affections and attentions dwindled shortly after their mother's passing—he spoiled Cersei with the belief that she could have anything she ever wanted. Once she became queen, there was little left to do to stop her. With a click of her fingers, her demands were met and the continent was met with a balance. She relied heavily on her acting. It was terrible, laughable, outrightly so. Cersei lived to imitate their father, putting and casting fear as she skirted onward. Tyrion made notable mentions of her behavior and Jaime had refused to see it—at first.

"Father listens to you."

Jaime snorted, "Does he now."

"It's unlike you to do what you are bid," She screeched, challenging him by pressing her body to him and tempting what they both knew he could not deny. "Come, Jaime…speak with father, denounce this engagement and demand to stay within the Kingsguard. For me."

Laisa's soft voice oft slipped into his mind every few moments or so. He would forcibly dispel her, for she only returned whence he needed a moment of clarity. Duty, he thought, it is a duty nothing more. As was my duty to serve in the Kingsguard, to serve two kings. to remain in the stead of my twin, bound by blood and soul.

"I love you," Cersei whispered gently to his lips, "I need you…"

As Jaime lost himself in her brilliant eyes, the door to his solar was pounded on with much force and a howling voice calling from the other side.

"My lord, Lord Tywin requests you in the courtyard."

And once more, that flame reignited and Cersei was exhaling smoke. She was no longer kind nor affectionate, as she normally is when she wasn't given what she wants. Cersei pulled herself bac and looked upon his person with disgust.

It was as though she was presenting herself as a choice—as the only choice.

The Kingsguard brought him no honor, no glory. Neither would Laisa Stark, nor this marriage. What did he stand to lose if he chose Cersei once more? To be concealed within the shadows, to listen to Robert degrade his beloved, to watch his children age thrice before his very eyes. To be mounted and left to rust.

"Marry her." Cersei taunted, "Marry the daughter of the woman who took your precious little brother. Only the Gods know what Lysa Arryn has planned for him. Do you think she'll give him a fair trial before she opens the moon doors or will she claim he simply fell out."

Jaime thickly swallowed. Should Tyrion be granted a trial, his trick of trial-by-combat would expense a response of himself riding East to save his life once more. There was no trouble in doing so, Jaime had protected Tyrion from his own flesh and blood, Lysa Arryn was a mere bite of a fly. Perhaps bite of a salmon.

"My lord." The voice called, urgently.

"I'll escort myself to the event in a moment, tell my father I'll be of attendance shortly."

Jaime turned back to Cersei, noting her intricacies when she was stubborn and needy. A proud lioness, incapable of honesty.

"Let another lord have her." Her insistence became impatient and he was intentionally toying with her. "You are mine, and I am yours, Jaime. Don't entertain father, leave him to wed her off to another Lannister if need be, you are mine."

Hers, Jaime thought blithely, to only be so foolish. He pursued her—for what he could account as their last moment—thrusting his lips upon hers and gathering that golden mane he adored in his fist to back her into the white stoned walls. It was his intention to ravage her, to burn her body and touch into his memory, to remember with fondness that his heart and soul lied in a kingdom so very far away. Jaime, willingly if that, obliged his duties and became the man his father destined for him to be.

The things he would do for love. For her.


Such theatrics were implemented simply for his father's enjoyment, or what he deemed enjoyment. Jaime had been sitting beside the timid little wolf for hours, observing her politeness, and appreciation for gifts presented by the entirety of the west. Was it necessary to unearth every Lannister for this adjoining? Were his father's bannermen hiding in the sea of faces scattered among the courtyards? Perhaps, the bones of his late uncle Gerion were in attendance somewhere in the crowd as well.

Jaime lost count of how many royalties sat at her feet, ones that would go unused for a time and many more that were offered as a sign of disrespect.

Wolves and lions were not known for their companionship. The people of his homeland were boasting and proudly divulging in it.

And he noticed briefly, under the tables her hands were shaking.

It was hardly instinctual, but Jaime reached his hand out to cover hers gently and her sudden recoil caused him to reel back. She looked rather ghastly and paler than normal; her eyes reddened, heavily glazed. The blue gown hardly hid her flushed skin, taking note of the small scars healed unevenly on her arm. It was unlike her to cower; however he recognized her fear.

And she has every reason to, He thought.

"My lady, are you unwell." Jaime kindly asked, seeing as though since the discovery she would rarely be shown kindness, even now.

Laisa immediately shook her head, pulling her hands away with haste, "No…no my lord." Jaime refused to release her. He took advantage of her behavior, of the circumstance and firmly held her in place. "My lady, you needn't lie to me."

As conversation surrounded them, the gift giving coming to a slow halt he took their small moment alone to console her. Allowing his large hand to caress her cheek and gently wipe a sudden fallen tear. "I understand you are afraid, my lady, nothing bad shall come to you—"

It was her upset that struck a nasty chord deep within him. Her fight to keep herself upright, presentable—refusing to acknowledge her unkempt emotion.

"You weren't aware."

If she had been, she wouldn't have half as many concerns and questions for him. She wouldn't be wandering the red keep blinder than bats or flittering through with such carelessness. Her face fell, and Jaime took her relaxation and realization as an admittance.

"The queen informed me this morning," she murmured, "I've been writing to my mother for months asking about my brothers, her condition. If she were in good health—I haven't heard from her since we arrived, I assumed she was still cross with me for sticking up for Jon before our departure. But this…"

"Never crossed your mind that Catelyn Tully was capable of such a thing?" Jaime chuckled humorlessly. "I find that hard to believe. If your mother is anything like your grandfather, you could say it runs in the blood."

Laisa giggled sweetly. "Does that mean the wedding is postponed, ser, or by verbal decree am I still to be your wife. Or perhaps your captive." She poked at the lion, a small yet watery smile pulling at her mouth, "Or do I wait for your father's order?"

Jaime stood a head taller than she, even sitting before him she still craned her neck to meet his devious eyes and that smirk that seemed to be permanently etched to his face. He hooked a finger beneath her chin and whispered, "I suppose that all rests on your behavior."

"I suppose it does." She pulled herself from his grasp, acting as though she was organizing her books and trinkets, "It looks like I'm growing on you, Lannister. Or maybe you're perfecting your true craft of acting."

"A lot of or's and maybes do come out of you."

Laisa chuckled, "I fear for your patience in the years to come."

Jaime's intention was cut short when one of Ned Stark's men—several, in fact—climbed the dais to produce a cloak. A maiden's cloak. Yes, he recognized the first man to gift such a thing, with a familiar glint in his eye and a scar he earned from the field of battle. Cassel, Jaime thought, allowing a smirk to clumsily take over his smile. He knew to some extent the uncouth relationship between the captain of Lord Stark's guard and his oldest daughter.

Though, he was the first to witness their exchange. He recognized their looks of longing, of desire and need. Jaime unabashedly experienced the same with Cersei many moons ago. Some part of him felt a hint a guilt.

Yet another affair they could bond over.

"My lady," said the Cassel, handing her the neatly folded garment with a bow of his head and a sudden retreat to the farthest corner of their gathering. Then, gone.

Laisa held the cloak in her lap, gently brushing her hand over its intricate patterns of wolves and a winter's storm, white beads and silver stitching, a background of wilderness and snowfall. To be a Stark, he thought.

They fell silent, unaware of their hands still joined and a calloused thumb sweeping over the silver direwolf ring. As the spectacle made way, Jaime did notice her posture has shifted and she was looking over their guests with a certainty he recognized. Once their eyes met, he was accosted by the bitter cold of her stare.

"How does my father fare, my lord."

Ah, yes. Lord Stark. Jaime, though, felt an unnecessary tightness in his throat right as he were about to answer. "Surely you're aware, my lady, that maid of yours is quite the songbird."

"And the men you killed to get to him."

A small pack of wolves were nothing but an unfortunate problem that arose due to Lord Stark's unwillingness. "War was waged upon my family once your mother—"

"You needn't explain to me ser, I understand it perfectly."

He was silenced, not because of her directness, but because he watched as his father climbed the steps to their table, hands folded behind his back. Jaime thought the old lion looked far better beyond his years. His once golden hair turned a sickly shade of white, thinning in comparison from the last he saw him. He had to spare years of his life for the seven kingdoms, too, once. Tywin Lannister loomed in silence, too, having felt Laisa's small hand grip tightly to his.

All united in fear. Jaime thought, gently squeezing hers in return.

"Son," he greeted frigidly, "Lady Stark."

Laisa winced at his tone. "My…my lord, it's an honor to meet you."

"As am I."

He least expected Lord Stark's treasonous acts to be of conversation during a time such as this. However, Jaime expected very little from his father. Especially now.

"I see you are becoming comfortable discarding that white cloak of yours," Tywin nodded towards their adjoining hands, raising a white brow, "Good. As expected."

Jaime's throat tightened.

"I understand that it was a difficult choice to make my lord, I suppose it is to be expected during such trying times." Laisa said gently, "Surely, Ser Jaime and I can…bond over such things."

"Lord," Tywin corrected in a rather prudish tone.

"Father," Jaime sneered, raising his eyes with a sharpened glare, "I'm sure it wouldn't bring you any harm to unwind."

Father and son, lions at each other's throats fighting for their seat at the head of the table. It was quite sad, truly, he thought of his father withdrawing from his position, to allot for old age to claim him on Casterly Rock and live out his glory days in the West. In peace, if any were to be attained.

"I apologize, my lord," Laisa meekly replied, taking a sip of water and a bite of cheese to ward off her sudden weakness.

Tywin paid her no mind and brought forth a wooden box. It was engraved with their sigil, accented with gold paints and such. Once opened, lined with red cloth, a necklace laid shimmering in the evening sun. Gold, a chunk of a ruby dangling as a pendent. Nothing less he expected, however it did look quite familiar…

"It…it's lovely, my lord, thank you."

"Is this one of mother's jewels." Jaime questioned quietly, reaching into the box to bring the necklace out and examine with indecision. It was the last gesture—it was the gesture in itself—he least expected. "To think you were hiding such valuables in that old, haunted castle of yours."

Tywin hardly reacted to his comment and turned to focus his attentions on Laisa. It was as though he was measuring her responses. As was Jaime.

She was painfully tense, and rightfully so.

"Father, you're frightening the poor girl."

"Perhaps, she should be." He said lowly, needlessly bowing his head before stepping off to rejoin the table that sat his uncles and aunts. Kevan, Genna, seated at the sides of their disappointing counterparts.

Laisa seldom smiled. "When I was a girl, I was told stories of your father by my grandfather. And of his wife lady Joanna. I couldn't have been older than my fifth year, hearing of the lion that ruled the seven kingdoms and of the woman that ruled him once he returned home."

Jaime fondly remembered his dear mother, her golden yellow hair and her sweet voice comforting himself and Cersei in their times of need. To remember her scolding whence a maid had found him and Cersei entangled; the grimness of having been moved to a chamber across the rock to prevent their joining once more. To be threatened if they were to be caught in such at act again, to face their father and their sin.

Even now, he understood his mother tried desperately to protect them. And he missed her. Gods, even now in his old decrepit age, he longed for his mother. Perhaps, if she were to have lived whence Tyrion was pulled from her womb, Tywin would have been kinder.

"He loved her, didn't he."

Jaime sighed, "He did, very much so. At least, from what I can vaguely recall."

There was an unfamiliar discomfort about the air of their conversation. He couldn't put his finger on it but something of it made his stomach twist into a knot or three.

"If Tywin Lannister can marry for love," Laisa carefully said, picking up the necklace by the pendent to examine its beauty before returning it to its box and shutting it soundly, "Why can't we.."


ROBERT

He oversaw Maester Pycelle tending to his old brother's wounds. Ned Stark was in a state of sleep, the old man said, to assist in his healing and encourage his health to restore. Ned's mount was taken out from under him, crushed beneath the weight of a dying horse. The work of the Gods allowed the break to heal clean according to Pycelle, silk wraps and plaster to his leg, milk of the poppy to keep him in his slumber. Robert solemn watched as he was heaved to the tower of the hand, sleeping still and unable to give such council lest he had any that were useful. He grimaced at the thought and trudged back to his chambers with the Lannister half-wit in tow.

Robert insisted that Renly take over any responsibilities in his stead, until the time came that Ned was received by the living. He would have no more bickering over his absences, he was king; to do as he pleased was his right.

As he continued through the keep, he stopped to gaze out of an alcove facing the sea. And what awaited him beyond.

Have the years so unmanned you that you tremble in the shadow of an unborn babe.

Robert trembled with a hint of rage at his insinuations that the years as rule made him soft, weak. The man he once knew, Ned remarked, afraid of a child. Of an infant. To think that the princess is with child, to think her brother heading a Dothraki army. To think Ned Stark took no part in aiding his demands.

Thinking was rare for the old king and wine softened his mind, fueled his rage, his arrogance.

"More wine, my lord." The Lannister boy insisted.

The king guffawed. "Without demand. You've learned."

Seeing the yellow haired idiot shake in his buckskin boots was laughable. Truthfully, this farce was laughable. A stag surrounded by lions, haughty and gold.

Once he entered his chambers, the boy skittered to the table where his goblets sat cleaned of wine and poured to the brim to satiate his needs.

"And to what do I owe the honor of meeting the second king of Westeros."

His dark eyes lulled over to Tywin Lannister taking up more space in his personal chambers than he should have been allotted. The old lion stalked to his desk to seat himself and gazed with those piercing green eyes of his.

"What honor do you still hone, your grace." said Tywin, jutting out his skinny hand to the empty seat across.

Robert had slowly begun to turn red. He moved to his seat silently and refilled his own goblet, swallowing the sweet wine whole. There was a hope he would be half in his cups before the end of this conversation.

"Surely you have been read upon of the whispers."

Robert sneered, "More than I'd care to be."

"Yes, your advisor's wife has taken it upon herself to take my son on the words of…?"

"Your assumption is as good as mine. The Starks are convinced that Lord Tyrion has committed cruel acts against their crippled son and Jon Arryn."

Tywin tensed at his words but he expected nothing more of the man. "Who poisoned their ears so easily."

"Starks," Robert chuckled low, "It's quite easy to poison that of an honorable fool." And he raised his goblet to their works of art and swallowed his cup once more. "Surely there's something we can do to resolve this…issue."

Unnatural as it may seem for Robert, initiating another war for the sake of a Stark in his position was a betrayal far that what the strike of his warhammer could fix. As Ned said, he would not follow him again and Robert would ensure that he would not return his favor. Petulant, he understood, however if it were his old friend's foolishness that would put him into Tywin's disfavor, perhaps he must choose wisely.

"The return of my son is a start."

"That's the jest is it not," Robert wheezed with laughter, "Perhaps there is something you could request that is more…attainable during this time."

Perhaps Robert should have understood his request, though it was not a question to be answered—a demand needing to be met.

Tywin's cat-green eyes flashed something fierce. "The High Septon is needed to properly remove my son from the Kingsguard. His wedding to be within the fortnight, I will not allow Lord Stark's farce to disrupt this adjoining. Soon this madness will reach the lips of the people of the West."

"If Lord Stark's young daughter taints the family name, what mess do you have with her, then."

Lyanna, he thought solemnly, taking another long swallow, to believe the girl who wears your likeness is now in the claws of such people. To harp across a dead girl and live within the past, to bathe in his old glory is all Robert Baratheon cared for. What was the safety and health of a child not born of his loins, to him at all?

Surely one of his bastards could fight for the honor to be blessed by the Sept with the name of his house. That would be a sight to see. A better ruler in his stead than the sad clutch of children Cersei so gracefully blessed him with. To banish the sight of yellow and gold, is something he dreamt of from the day he was oathed to wed Cersei Lannister seventeen long years ago.

And even now, he looked into the face of the man that was responsible for many of his frustrations.

Tywin's old face remained as solid as gold. "Within a fortnight, Tyrion will return to King's Landing, Jaime will be wed, and Lord Stark will see his way back North."

He needn't answer, Tywin's old face remained as solid as gold. "Within a fortnight, Tyrion will return to King's Landing, Jaime will be wed, and Lord Stark will see his way back North."

"And if none of your demands are met, my lord." Robert scorned.

It was the first that he bared witness to Tywin, threatening a smile. "The old wolf will walk alone."

Robert merely shuddered at the thought knowing he would join the rapers, murderers, and other lowly criminals bound to the wall by a single swing of a mallet.

The head of an honorable soul forever bound to the wall of the Red Keep. He couldn't fathom what storm Ned's betrayal would bring upon his House and Robert feared for the worst yet to come.


This chapter was a lot longer than I had expected but hey, the more the merrier! As we finally approach the conflict of this whole series, I'll definitely be adding an au element for the sake of retelling the story so I hope none of you mind!

Hope you all enjoyed it nonetheless!

Don't forget to fav/follow/review, I appreciate you all!