A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing! And special thanks to my bae madmguillotine a.k.a. queendanascully for helping me with Cersei's characterization this chapter. You will always be my Lannexpert.

The Eyrie

They manage to make good time leaving the Westerlands, but after that are forced to take a meandering route dictated by the movements of the hordes of undead roaming the Riverlands.

Without any mountains to provide natural protection the White Walkers and their thralls had a straight shot into the Riverlands, and no doubt will spread just as quickly through the Crownlands and the Reach, Tasha thinks, picturing the map of Westeros in her father's study. The Vale and the Stormlands will fare about as well as the Westerlands. Between the mountains, the heat, and its position at the bottom of the continent, Dorne may be entirely untouched. The Iron Islands and Dragonstone as well, if these things are unable to cross the sea.

They make an attempt to resupply at Riverrun during one of the increasingly rare periods of daylight, but no one answers their hail and they are loathe to waste what light they have left trying to find a way in. Night comes quickly thanks to the fell powers of the Walkers, and sometimes even a snowstorm is enough to block the sun. They don't want to risk being trapped inside the castle with whatever wights wait to rise, or starved in a siege by one of the hordes wandering the land.

Probability dictates that there are at least some survivors hidden throughout the Riverlands, but Tasha sees no evidence of it.

They still need more supplies before they attempt to traverse the swamps of the Neck, so they make for the Vale, hoping to be able to play hide and seek in the mountains there and find a castle that still has living inhabitants. Ideally the Eyrie, since Cersei and Joffrey rule there.

Tasha chafes at their pace. She feels as if she is racing against a clock, as if any moment may be the one in which Jon is lost to her forever. They made better time when it was just her, Gerion, and Mother. As renowned as Father Jaime (for she has always considered herself to have two fathers, no matter what she calls them aloud) is as a knight, as mighty his body, in the end he is only Westerosi. He does not have the strength, speed, stamina, or hardiness that Tasha and her brothers inherited from their mother. (Tasha wonders at Mother's homeland, what all her people must be like. Gerion posits that Mother's race is the truth behind the legends of the Age of Heroes, and he may be right.)

Added to that, Father Jaime is not in peak condition after keeping Sansa safe in Lannisport, and he is aging. Aging as Mother is not. (But Tasha does not think on that, for she does not like to consider what it may mean for her and Jon.) And yet she cannot blame Father Jaime. When she is reunited with Jon, she won't be leaving his side either.

Adding to her frustration, once they spend something like three months crossing the Riverlands and evading wights and Others in the mountain caves dotted throughout the Vale, Mother begins to slow them down as well. She often has to stop because she is ill, losing the meager contents of her stomach which is dangerous because it could attract unwanted attention, and alarming enough to make Tasha's hair stand on end. Mother is never ill. Tasha cannot remember a single instance of her mother being sick in her entire life. Not once. Nothing that did not involve poison or steel.

So what is it then? What dark sorcery could possibly lay her unstoppable mother low?

Father Jaime and Mother share whispered arguments and long speaking looks, but Tasha ignores them just as she ignores it when they have sex when they think she is far enough away not to hear. (Or at least, Father Jaime may think so. Mother likely knows the true range of Tasha's hearing. Still, Tasha makes no comment out of courtesy. She is the Quiet Lioness and very used to hearing things she perhaps should not.)

When Father Jaime declares that they are going to the Eyrie to take shelter for a time with Aunt Cersei instead of resupplying and pressing on and he will hogtie Mother and carry her on his shoulders if he must, Tasha is certain that Mother is dying and feels the bottom fall out of her world.

-l-

They are met at the Bloody Gate by men and women wielding spears and torches. Tasha is glad they decided to approach in daylight as a matter of safety, otherwise they'd likely have been attacked on sight. Daylight or not, they are still subject to having their eyes inspected for the telltale eldritch blue. Father Jaime and Tasha are let in after that, as one of Tasha's eyes and both of Father Jaime's are green. Mother's blue are close enough to the color of a wight's that they refuse her entry until she willingly cuts her palm to show them that her blood pulses with life and steams when it hits the snow.

They are told, as they are led to the main hall of the keep, that the security measures were put in place by Lord Arryn himself after they lost people in the White Walker's initial attack. The Eyrie is faring better than even Casterly Rock under the sporadic attempts at siege, as their habit of throwing people off their mountain through the Moon Door and letting them fall from the Sky Cells means that there are far fewer corpses to rise as wights. Now they keep their gates manned and allow no one in or out without inspecting them for the signs of the Walker's power.

Tasha is reluctantly impressed. It seems Cousin Joffrey is not nearly as much of an idiot as he was last time they met. She wonders how much her mother or her fathers may have to do with that. He wasn't fostered at the Rock… perhaps an agent of Black Widow sent to train him in secret? That seems likely.

She is proven right when Cousin Joff greets them in the secret language.

"Fury forms the Widow's shield," he tells them in a smooth tenor, his curly blonde locks falling across his forehead. He is quite handsome, tall and broad shouldered, with piercing blue eyes even brighter than Mother's and strong thighs that are shown off by the tightness of his breeches. Combined with his cupid's bow mouth, aquiline nose, and the richness of his clothes, he is almost as pretty as Tasha.

"And her bite is made of lightning," Mother returns, then smiles one of her practiced smiles.

"Welcome to the Eyrie Aunt Sansa, Uncle Jaime, Cousin Tasha. I offer you bread and salt, and look forward to hearing why you have left your home in the Westerlands at such a trying time. But I can see you must be weary, so I will have you shown to your rooms and we can discuss why you came here on the morrow."

"Thank you, nephew." Mother curtseys as best she can when wearing stained black leathers.

From her position standing slightly to the side and behind Joffrey's seat as lord, the blonde woman who must be Aunt Cersei curls her lip. Tasha has never actually met her aunt before, but knows well from the stories she's been told by Father Tyrion that Aunt Cersei is quite… prissy, would be the kindest term.

She is beautiful. Tasha can see that. She has not aged as well as Mother, but then Mother doesn't actually age so that's to be expected. Despite being Lady Arryn and having lived in the Vale since before Tasha was born, Cersei still wears Lannister red and gold and her surcoat is stitched with rearing lions. She must not have respected her husband very much, and had not the wherewithal to fake it. As new as her marriage to Jon is, Tasha immediately put away all but a few of her Lannister gowns after she was wed and began wearing the trousseau Sansa and Arya had helped her prepare featuring the Pendragon colors and sigil.

Then again, she actually loves her husband. And even if she didn't, he is the blood of the dragon and Tasha has plans. It may not happen in her lifetime, but she feels a certainty that is reinforced by the dragon egg she carries with her everywhere:

One day, the Pendragons will sit the Iron Throne. And they will be wargs and dragon riders through their father's line, and through Tasha they will gain the strength of heroes.

-l-

"I can't believe you!"

Tasha stops, then casually moves to sit on a nearby bench and stares out the window, as if she is enjoying the view. She is on her way to Aunt Cersei's solar, as she is invited to break her fast with her aunt while Mother and Father Jaime discuss the purpose of their journey and state of the White Walker Invasion with Joffrey.

"What are you on about, Cersei?"

That is Father Jaime's voice.

"You're fucking her."

"Do be clearer, sister."

"Sansa! You're fucking Lady Lannister."

"And whatever makes you say that?"

"You know what! Don't play me for a fool, Jaime. You've never had the wits for it. She's in with my maester right at this moment. She's pregnant, and has been for several months…. And you're not surprised at all?"

Tasha is glad she's sitting as her knees promptly turn to jelly. Mother isn't dying. Mother isn't dying.

"The child is Tyrion's," Father Jaime says immediately, as if by rote.

There is the sound of flesh striking flesh. Likely Aunt Cersei just slapped Father Jaime. (Though it could be the other way around, Tasha can't picture her knightly father striking a woman unprovoked.)

"There's no way that little monster put the babe in her belly. She's been apart from him for too long. So it's yours. I always heard the rumors, but I never thought… You've been fucking her the whole time, haven't you? The eldest, he must be yours. He looks too much like you. The twins too, even if they have eyes like the Imp. We were twins, not he. So how long? How long have you been fucking your brother's wife?"

There is a long pause. Tasha holds her breath, straining her ears. Finally comes the sound of a scuffle, just barely discernable. She can hear a whisper of cloth and a soft thud, and some sixth sense tells her that her aunt just tried to kiss Father Jaime, and he has slammed her into the wall. (Later, she will realize that this level of acuity was unusual even for her senses and marked the beginning of a greater transformation. But for now she just listens.)

"Never touch me again," Father Jaime says quietly, venomously. "Jealousy becomes you ill, sister. If you remember, it was you who turned away from me when my arm was burned. You called me grotesque. You refused to look upon me, let alone touch me. Sansa and Tyrion made me whole again. Sansa and Tyrion love me, despite everything. That you only want me now that you think another woman carries my child shows that you are still that selfish little girl who hated to share with others."

"Jaime…"

"No! We will never speak of this again. The child is Tyrion's."

"Jaime, you're hurting me."

"The. Child. Is. Tyrion's. Say it!"

"...The child is Tyrion's."

"Good. And Cersei… should you ever hint otherwise, to anyone, evidence may come to light that calls a certain young Lord Paramount's legitimacy into question. I'm sure you know who I mean."

"You wouldn't."

"Jaime Lannister was yours. Your twin. The other half of your soul. Your perfect male self. He would have loved you and followed your every order, your every whim until his dying days. But you threw him away. You threw me away the instant I became the Lame Lion. And the Lame Lion? He is an entirely different man. One born in ash and green fire, and he is not yours. And Cersei, it would curdle your blood the things he, the things I would do for love."

There comes a muffled sob and then soft, hurried footsteps. As if the person wears slippers. They are thankfully moving away from Tasha, growing fainter and fainter. I likely won't be breaking my fast with my aunt after all, she muses.

The heavier, armored boots of Father Jaime are coming towards her, however. Tasha waits, idly looking out the window as his footsteps grow simultaneously louder and less forceful, indicating he is mastering his temper.

He turns the corner, sees her sitting on the bench and halts, expression wary. He isn't sure if she heard or not then. He and Aunt Cersei were far enough away that a normal person wouldn't have, but it seems Father Jaime remembers that his children aren't exactly normal when he isn't distracted by Mother's naked body.

He straightens his shoulders and continues to walk toward her. Tasha tilts her face up to him when he comes to stand before her, smiling a Lioness smile, eyes twinkling and one dimple showing in her cheek.

"Tasha…" he starts, then stops. His brow furrows.

"I'm told that they still have living ravens here. You should send one to Father, to let him know the joyous news." He must know, so that he can claim the child as his, is her unspoken message. It wouldn't do for Tasha's new little sibling to be called a bastard.

"Of course," Father Jaime agrees before words fail him again.

Standing, Tasha steps into Jaime's space and embraces him as she hasn't since she was quite small. On her tiptoes, she leans up to whisper in his ear and says to him for the first and last time, "I love you, Papa."

-l-

Tasha doesn't see nor hear from Aunt Cersei again until the next day. She is once more invited to the solar, this time for luncheon. Tasha wears a gowns in Lannister red that has been loaned to her and observes the proper courtesies. The fare is less plentiful than is usual, as Joffrey has ordered strict rationing, but it is far more than what Tasha's been subsisting on since she left the Rock.

The conversation, however… The conversation leaves much to be desired. If it weren't for Mother's training, Tasha would have flown across the table and murdered her aunt several times by now. The casual way Cersei disrespects Father Tyrion every other sentence, her disdain for Jon… and the remarks just get worse and more blatant the more wine Aunt Cersei drinks.

The fact that she regards Tasha's mother as a near deity is small consolation.

"Now that it has been decided that you three will remain here until Lady Lannister births the babe, I can help you find a proper husband. It's shameful what that little Imp did, shackling you to a bastard."

Tasha can feel her pulse jump, hear her heart thumping in her ears. She feels hot. But she shows none of this, nodding serenely instead. "Thank you for thinking of me, dear aunt. But Jon is still alive."

Cersei waves a hand dismissively, pouring herself more wine. "No one has heard anything from the North in months. Joff sent ravens to Winterfell once those ice creatures started showing up and received no reply. No, he's dead, my little dove. He had the decency for that, at least."

Tasha breathes calmly and evenly through her nose, and imagines Cersei's face when the day comes that she realizes Tasha married a Targaryen in blood, if not in name. Was that not her aunt's dearest wish as a girl? To wed a dragon?

Tasha smiles. "As you say, dear aunt. Who did you have in mind for me?"

Cersei returns her smile. "Joffrey, of course! I've always planned on a proper Westerlands bride for him, and you're a Lannister from the main line."

Tasha tilts her head as if in thought. "I suppose he would be a step up from a household knight, no matter who Jon's father was. But we are cousins. Don't you think it a bit too Targaryen?"

Something flickers in Cersei's eye before she sniffs. "Your brothers will both be marrying Starks, and they are first cousins through your mother. Which we may have to do something about, now that I think of it. Tying both of them to one house, Great or no, is silly. And now that the North has been swallowed up in the invasion there is little benefit in keeping to the agreement."

"It is my understanding that Arya wasn't originally intended for Clynt, but he's quite taken with her. And my father isn't one to stand in the way of love, adoring Mother as he does. I think he'd let Clynt marry a commoner if that was what Clynt wanted."

Hatred commingled with vicious satisfaction flashes across Cersei's face. Just for a second, no more. Mother calls those little flashes microexpressions. "Tell me of Joffrey," Tasha says, distracting her aunt. "If you mean for me to wed him, I would know of him. What's he like? He seems very competent. I've noticed how well protected the Eyrie is. He must have a great military mind."

Cersei preens at the compliment to her son. "Of course. You will be pleased with my dear little lion. You never knew your grandfather, Tywin, but Joffrey is just as clever as he was. He's taken great pains to keep us safe in these trying times."

"Oh?" Tasha pours Cersei more wine and settles in for a long afternoon of ferreting out the details of the Eyrie's security.

-l-

All who know her think that Tasha Lannister is the most like her mother among her siblings. Natasha Romanova born again. She is certainly cunning enough. Beautiful too, and she knows how to use it.

But it is Gerion who follows most closely in Mother's footsteps, so good at lying that not even he realizes that he truly loves Sansa Stark and his affair with Loras Tyrell is a mere spark in the darkness; a fast-burning passion that only endures because of the intrigue that surrounds it. Without that thrill of the forbidden and the long stretches of time between opportunities to see one another, Loras and Gerion's relationship would have extinguished itself long ago. Just as Mother would be miserable without the challenge of balancing Tyrion and Jaime against one another, making sure neither grows discontent - Gerion would bore of Loras without the challenge of them both being noblemen expected to marry.

No, Tasha is not like Mother, though she has learned Mother's lessons well. If anything, she has Tyrion's mind and Jaime's heart.

It would curdle your blood, the things I would do for love.

So when it is decided that she, Mother, and Jaime will remain at the Eyrie and begin coordinating the war effort from the keep for various reasons such as Mother's pregnancy, the Eyrie having living ravens, and uncertainty as to where Jon is and if he's even still alive, Tasha smiles and agrees and joins her Aunt Cersei in the lady's solar to provide a distraction while Mother and Jaime consult with Cousin Joff.

Then, once she has extracted all the details she can from her aunt and gathered what supplies she can carry, she dons her black leathers once more and waits for daylight. It may seem counterintuitive, but the guards are much more vigilant at night due to the nature of their enemies.

It is easy then, to get close to one of the younger guards by giggling and batting her eyes and asking him about his sword. Easier still to prick him with a needle coated in paralytic poison and stuff him in a storage cupboard once all his muscles go stiff and he falls to the floor. She strips him of his tunic and cloak, pulling them on over her leathers, and makes sure that he can breathe in the position she's left him in. Then, blending in with the groups of smallfolk who have been pressed into service guarding the keep from wights, she makes her way to the gate.

Once it's discovered that she's missing, they'll search the keep. Someone will find the poor guard in the cupboard eventually. And if they don't, he'll regain use of his muscles within a day or so. Long before he would die of thirst.

She leaves nothing in her room save a note written in the secret language that says The quiet one hunts north.

Mother will understand the how.

Father Jaime will understand the why.