Lapse in Judgement
As soon as Lyarra finished nursing her son, Jon nearly jumped out of arms. Chuckling to herself, she set him on the floor and let him crawl about the nursery. She tucked her breast back into her dress and watched her son as he raced around the room, putting anything he could find into his mouth.
"Look at him go," Lyarra remarked fondly to Rhea, who shared in Lyarra's adoration and smiled at the young babe.
"There's nothing wrong with those legs. I'm telling you, he'll be walking before the year's end," Rhea replied with equal fondness. Lyarra's handmaiden fussed over Jon as though she was his aunt. Although Lyarra was glad someone else was taking an interest in her son, she often found herself becoming jealous of Rhea's relationship with Jon. Rhea was a natural with him and Jon smiled more freely for Rhea. Lyarra breathed deeply. It did her no good to allow jealousy to overcome her senses.
Lyarra said no more to Rhea after that. The air became tense and her handmaiden became confused. Lyarra was thankful when a guard entered the nursery and announced that Genna wished to see her. She picked up Jon and rested him on her lap as Genna joined them.
"Lyarra," she greeted with a stern nod.
She was taken aback by Genna's formality. "Aunt Genna," she replied, confused. "Is something the matter?"
"Lord Serrett has passed away in his sleep," Genna told her.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Was he a friend of yours?" Lyarra asked. From what she could recall, Genna had never mentioned Lord Serrett. Lyarra had heard from the maids that he was senile and delirious because of his old age, but other than that, Lyarra knew nothing of him.
"Not quite," Genna replied, trying to avoid falling over Jon's many toys as she made her way across the nursery. She sat down in the seat next to Lyarra. "I recall playing with him once or twice as children. I hadn't seen him in years." She went silent for a few moments before letting out a sigh. "It is not his death that troubles me, Lyarra. It is who succeeds him now that he is dead."
"He was Lord of Silverhill," Lyarra said, eyes narrowed in concentration as she tried to remember.
Genna nodded. "Yes. And the man was fool enough to leave no sons – no legitimate ones at least. Though the poor man lost his senses a decade ago, he could have at least fathered one. He had a young and pretty wife who only managed to give him a daughter, and now you and I must sort out the mess this lack of foresight caused."
"Aunt Genna, the man was senile," Lyarra reminded her, a small smile on her face at the old woman's antics.
"That he was, but his wife was not. There is a rumour that daughter of hers is not Lord Serrett's." Genna gave Lyarra a meaningful look. "Well, it's not a rumour really, but a fact. One look at the girl and it's obvious that she is not a Serrett. She has blonde hair and green eyes, not the brown hair and brown eyes that is typical of a Serrett."
"Blonde hair and green eyes," Lyarra repeated. "Are they not Lannister traits?"
"Oh yes," Genna said, waving her hand dismissively. "There is another rumour that says my cousin Ser Lucion Lannister is the girl's true father." She tilted her head to the side, thoughtful. "Well, again, that is more of a fact than a rumour."
"So the girl is most definitely a bastard?"
"Most definitely," Genna replied with a firm nod. Lyarra sighed and leaned back in the chair as Jon tried to put his wooden figure of a knight into his mouth. She took the knight from him but, seeing he was about to cry, gave it back to him with a stern warning. "Nevertheless, the girl's mother is a Lefford and we cannot risk angering House Lefford any further."
"But she is a bastard. She has no right," Lyarra argued.
"Oh, my dear, I thought you might have learned by now. You cannot mix northern honour with southern politics without getting a knife in the stomach," Genna warned. "House Lefford is one of the richest, most powerful houses in the Westerlands and you have angered their liege lord more than once. Who cares if the girl has no right? If it will appease Lord Lefford, then so be it. Of course, the Crakehalls might be upset, but they are far more reasonable to deal with with than Lefford."
"The Crakehalls? Why would they be upset?"
"Lord Serrett's sister Serenna is married to Lord Crakehall. Her son has asserted his claim to Silverhill as well," Genna explained. "But as I said, the Crakehalls will be easily appeased with a few knighthoods and some gold."
"And Lord Serrett's illegitimate son? Is he a threat if we overlook his claim?" Lyarra asked, becoming frustrated with the entire situation. It seemed as though no matter who became Lord of Silverhill, she was going to anger one powerful house or the other.
"No," Genna answered after a few moments of thought. "He is my cousin Jeyne's bastard, did you know that?" Lyarra shook her head. "I wouldn't have expected you to. She's a distant cousin of mine and of little significance, but her son Damon is well-liked by the rest of House Lannister."
"So they will be angry?"
"You have nothing to fear from House Lannister. No one would dare rise up against us while Tywin draws breath." Lyarra found Genna's statement ironic. Nothing to fear from House Lannister. Was House Lannister not the very house that destroyed her own? That would have destroyed her had she not been wed to Jaime and the mother of their heir? She shook her head and tried to focus on what Genna was saying. "You will listen to the petitions of the three claimants and then you will decide who becomes Lord of Silverhill, and you will choose Lady Marla Serrett, are we clear?" Lyarra hesitated, chewing at her lower lip. "Lyarra, this is not up for discussion. You will name Lady Marla as the rightful Lady of Silverhill."
"Very well," Lyarra replied and rose to her feet, positioning Jon on her hip. "When will I hear the petitions?"
"Tomorrow morning," Genna answered, standing up as well to match Lyarra's height. Genna was much taller than Lyarra, intimidatingly so.
Lyarra looked up at her with steely eyes. "I have to put Jon down for his nap now. If you wouldn't mind." She inclined her head respectfully, hiding the anger on her face. These southerners have no respect for honour or justice. If my father was here... If her father was here, he would do the right thing and name Lord Crakehall to his uncle's seat, or perhaps Damon Hill, if the king could be convinced to legitimise him. And then what would happen? The southern lords would turn against him.
Huffing, Genna replied coolly, "Very well. Goodnight, Lyarra. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
She didn't bother replying and instead brought Jon to his crib, not even looking back when she heard the door closing. She tucked him in and pulled the blankets over his little body before pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"Goodnight, my love," she said to him, giving him a loving smile that he returned.
She blew out the candle and went to her own room. That night, sleep neglected to take her.
Lyarra's ears were deafened by the loud chattering of lords and ladies in the Great Hall. The noblemen present were men who were unable to fight in the war, so land disputes were the extent of their excitement. Of course, their wives loved any kind of drama and excitement and so thrived on the drama this dispute brought. Lyarra stared ahead at a particular area on the wall just below the ceiling, lost in thought. Her thoughts were interrupted by the herald announcing the three claimants.
Tybolt Crakehall was the first to enter. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and large, muscular arms. He had returned from the war to assert his claim to Silverhill. This man has probably killed countless Stark soldiers, countless of my brother's men. Perhaps he has wounded some of my childhood friends. Perhaps he has wounded by brother. Lyarra pushed back those thoughts. She could not let her loyalties to her family get in the way of duty.
Young Marla Serrett followed close behind Lord Tybolt. She was a pretty girl with typical Lannister looks. Genna was right. She was most undoubtedly a Lannister bastard. Lyarra frowned as she watched the young girl. Had she not looked so like a Lannister, Lyarra could have made herself forget that Marla Serrett was illegitimate. That was much more difficult now that proof of Marla's illegitimacy was staring right back at her with pleading green eyes.
The final claimant sauntered into the Great Hall with such confidence and sureness that Lyarra almost fawned – a lie, Lyarra did fawn. To say that Damon Hill was handsome was an understatement. He had bright green eyes and silky, black hair. His face was framed with a strong jaw and high cheekbones and his body was toned and muscular. Instead of glaring at Lyarra or looking at her desperately, Damon Hill smirked as though he hadn't a care in the world. Lyarra crossed her legs and tried to look indifferent, even though her heart beat went faster at the mere sight of him.
Good gods, Lyarra. Get a grip! You're married. He's a bastard. What's wrong with me?
Lyarra cleared her throat before addressing the three claimants to Silverhill. "My lords," she greeted before turning to Marla Serrett, "my lady," she gave the shaking child a kind smile that seemed to calm her a little. "We have come here today to discuss the succession of Silverhill. All three of you have asserted your claim to the title."
"Yes, my lady," Tybolt Crakehall spoke first. "Silverhill is mine by right. A nephew comes before a bastard, especially one who doesn't even share the blood of the house she claims to belong to."
"Fie!" Lyarra heard a woman shout. A handsome woman with long, brown hair and pale blue eyes began to walk towards the head table. "My daughter is the only trueborn child of Willam Serrett and I will not allow her claim to be overlooked!"
Lady Jocelyn Lefford, Lyarra surmised. She shared her brother's anger, that much was for sure, and his self-righteousness.
"One need only look at her to know that she is not my uncle's daughter," Tybolt replied with a mocking laugh. "If not, then I ask you, aunt, why does my 'cousin' have blonde hair when both you and Lord Serrett have brown hair? And why are her eyes the green of House Lannister if she is truly my uncle's child?"
Lady Jocelyn was at a loss for a reply. She stuttered her response. "It surprised me as well, to be true, but the gods work in mysterious ways and saw it fit to give her golden hair and green eyes."
Crakehall scoffed. "Lies! My lady, you cannot truly believe this nonsense? The girl is a bastard and her mother is a whore. Let's be done with this. I am the rightful heir." His words caused a stir in the Great Hall as Lady Jocelyn's supporters shouted profanities.
"Enough," Lyarra commanded, giving them both a steely look. She turned her attention the handsome bastard who had barely spoken a word. "Ser Damon, you've hardly spoken at all. Why do you consider yourself the rightful Lord of Silverhill?"
"There is no rightful Lord of Silverhill, my lady," he replied, an easy smirk on his lips. "The rightful lord is who you consider him to be. I, however, am a humble claimant to my father's seat. If you should will it, I would gladly serve you as the Lord of Silverhill."
Before Lyarra could respond, Lady Jocelyn had began to yell at her late husband's bastard. "You lecherous bastard!" She lunged at Ser Damon, fury in her eyes, while her husband's bastard laughed to himself and barely tried to push her away. Tybolt Crakehall was the one who pulled Lady Jocelyn from her stepson before she could scratch his eyes out.
Lyarra observed the young man keenly, almost envying him. Neglecting to have a care in the world and the freedom that came with it was an attractive trait. Ser Damon Hill had a pull, an effortless charm, and Lyarra felt herself drawn to him. She pulled herself out of the trance that had overcome her and focused on the proceedings once again.
"Lady Jocelyn, you are aware of the significant... evidence staked against you and your daughter's legitimacy," Lyarra said carefully, taking a few moments to choose the right words. She spotted Lord Lefford among the lords who had come to Casterly Rock to watch the dispute. His eyes were narrowed and held a fire in them. Lyarra refused to be bullied into naming a bastard girl the Lady of Silverhill.
"Evidence? What evidence? The colour of her hair means nothing!"
"It means a lot, mind you," Lyarra replied calmly. "Your daughter has blonde hair while both you and Lord Lefford have brown hair, as Lord Crakehall pointed out. That means that Lady Marla must have gotten her blonde hair from another parent – a parent that was not Lord Lefford." Lyarra paused, giving Lady Jocelyn the chance to speak, but the woman did not take it. Lyarra sighed. "I will not force you into declaring that your daughter is illegitimate, but Lady Marla must renounce her claim to Silverhill. That is all I ask."
"You are asking my daughter to renounce her birthright? To give up what is hers by right?" Lady Jocelyn exclaimed. "You dare accuse me of adultery before my friends and family? Lies, all lies! I demand to correspond with Lord Tywin. He will grant me justice."
"That he will," Lyarra responded. She could almost feel the tension radiating from Genna without even looking at her. I am doing the right thing. I may suffer for it, but isn't doing the right thing always worth it in the end? "He will see that justice is granted to you. He will see you punished for your infidelity. I, however, am willing to let you walk out of this keep without punishment and live with your brother in peace. Do you still wish to correspond with Lord Tywin?"
Lady Jocelyn glared at her with such rage that Lyarra almost cowered. She raised her chin and held her gaze, unyielding. It was Marla Serrett who dared to interrupt their tense staring match. She tugged on her mother's dress and whispered to her, loud enough for Lyarra to hear. "It's alright, Mother. I don't want to be Lady of Silverhill anyway. Please, Mother. I just want to leave."
Reluctant to be the one to look away, Lady Jocelyn took a few moments to acknowledge her daughter. She finally did and looked down young Marla with the loving eyes of a mother, one not tainted by ambition. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though Jocelyn Serrett cared about what her daughter wanted. That illusion was ruined when Lady Jocelyn looked at Lyarra again and glared with just as much anger and ferocity as she had before.
"I would rather be stoned through the streets of Lannisport before allowing my daughter to forsake her claim," Lady Jocelyn declared. "And I would rather die than take orders from a Stark." She spat at the floor near Lyarra's feet. Lyarra flinched. Lady Jocelyn grabbed her daughter's hand and stormed out of the hall, her brother following behind her.
Then die you shall, Lyarra thought darkly. Filled with rage and determined to not allow herself to be humiliated, she was about to rise to her feet and order for Lady Jocelyn to be seized. Genna placed her hand on top of Lyarra and gently shook her head.
"She just humiliated me in front of the most important people in Casterly Rock," Lyarra whispered hotly, eyes blazing with rage.
"You humiliated her. You questioned the legitimacy of her child. Can you blame her?" Genna asked. Lyarra pressed her lips together and stayed silent. "You've made your bed. You've anger the second most powerful house in the Westerlands. Now, you're left with two choices. For goodness sake, Lyarra, choose the right one."
The right one. Lyarra imagined their ideas of the right choice were very different. Genna no doubt meant Tybolt Crakehall, for he was the heir to Crakehall's lands. Ser Damon Hill was a bastard. He had no army. He had no lands. All he had was a weak claim, some promise and a lot of charisma. Lyarra thought he would make a good ruler.
"My lords," she spoke again. The loud chatter died down as she raised her voice. "I have made my decision. You both would make fine lords of Silverhill. You are both honourable and dutiful men, but I must choose the one whose claim is strongest. It is for this reason that I name Ser Damon Hill the Lord of Silverhill because of his close blood relation to Lord Serrett." Chatter broke out among the nobles once again. Lyarra raised her voice. "I will write to King Joffrey to request he legitimise you so your claim to Silverhill can be unquestionable."
"I thank you, my lady." Ser Damon kneeled before her, the smirk on his face was replaced by a look of seriousness that seemed foreign to the young man's face. "I swear to you, you will not regret it. I will do all I can to serve Lord Tywin well."
"Unquestionable." Lord Crakehall scoffed. He wore an expression of sincerest rage. "Unquestionable? He is a bastard! A bastard – to have a stronger claim than a nephew? My lady, I believe you ought to educate yourself on the laws of succession!"
"I know the laws of succession well, my lord," Lyarra replied. "And illegitimate sons are often legitimised so they may become their father's heirs. Ser Damon has proved himself a worthy successor. He knows his father's lands well. The people of Silverhill know him well, while you will be a stranger. I bid you to accept my decision, Lord Tybolt."
Lord Tybolt huffed once more before he shook his head and stormed out of the Great Hall. Still on his knees, Ser Damon Hill looked up at Lyarra with shining green eyes. "You have honoured me, my lady, beyond words."
"You promised to serve Lord Tywin well," Lyarra replied, giving the young knight a smile. "I ask you only to keep your promise."
Ser Damon smiled back. "I will. You have my word."
"You managed to anger two of the Westerlands most powerful houses before supper." Genna let out a loud, sarcastic laugh as she paced up and down Lyarra's chambers. Lyarra dared not look at her. "You never cease to surprise me, Lyarra. And here I thought you were more intelligent than your lord father."
"My father was intelligent," Lyarra retorted. "And a good ruler. It was southern politics that made a fool out of him."
"As it is making a fool out of you." Genna shook her head ruefully, a sour look on her face. "I made a terrible mistake. You are too young. Your father ruined you with those silly honourable ideas. I had no hope of correcting them. What were you thinking? How are you planning to appease the two houses you just slighted?"
"I don't know," Lyarra admitted quietly, staring at her hands. "I wasn't thinking. All I could think about was how Marla Serrett looked nothing like her father."
"That, you can attempt to justify. But why on earth did you name a bastard the rightful Lord of Silverhill before his legitimate cousin? What's your logic there?"
"Bastards can be legitimised," Lyarra explained. Genna huffed and rolled her eyes, irritated at her good-niece's naivety. Lyarra raised her voice out of frustration. "No, listen to me. Ser Damon lived among the people of Silverhill. He knows the people, the lands, the economy. Tybolt Crakehall was raised to be the heir to Crakehall. He hasn't even set foot in Silverhill as far as we know. Why should he be its leader?"
"Because his father has an army!" Genna exclaimed, losing her temper. "Because his father is rich! Because it's better to upset a bastard with no land, no titles, with nothing than the bloody heir to Crakehall!"
Finally, it dawned on Lyarra that she had made a terrible mistake. They were at war. Even if she wanted the Starks to win, she had to seem unbiased. What if Tywin thought she was trying to sabotage the Lannisters? She buried her face in her hands. "Fuck."
"Yes," Genna replied mockingly, "fuck."
"I wasn't thinking. I didn't think-"
Genna sighed and walked over to where Lyarra was sitting, taking a seat next to her. "The problem is that you were thinking. You were thinking like a Stark, a northerner, like Ned Stark's daughter. You cannot be Ned Stark's daughter, Lyarra, not anymore."
Lyarra's eyes became glassy. "Then who am I?"
She placed a hand on Lyarra's and gave it a small squeeze, a sad smile on her lips. "A Lannister."
Unsure of how to respond to that – her initial reaction was disgust and anger – Lyarra pursed her lips together and stayed silent. Eventually, Genna stood and bid her niece goodnight, leaving Lyarra alone to her thoughts. In the room next to hers, she could hear Jon's light snoring. But other than that, she was left to the sound of her own deafening thoughts until she heard a knock on the door.
She stood up and walked over to the door. When she opened it, she saw Ser Damon Hill standing on the other side. Her lips parted in slight shock, but mostly at the odd sensation she felt in her lower stomach. She faintly recognised the feeling. It was desire.
"You have no guards at your door."
"No," Lyarra replied. "Casterly Rock is well protected and I enjoy my privacy."
"You shouldn't be without protection during times of war," Ser Damon said, his voice low and husky as his glazed eyes bore into hers. "It's rather dangerous."
"What are you doing here?" Lyarra asked him, gaze not moving from his.
"Do you want me to leave?"
Yes. I should say yes. A good woman would say yes. Yet Lyarra found herself shaking her head. "No."
Ser Damon smirked and stepped closer, so close that their bodies were pressing against each other, so close that she could feel his breath on her forehead. She should have pushed him away. She should have reminded him that she was a married woman. She should have reminded herself of the consequences.
She did none of those things.
"May I come in?"
Despite her senses, despite her mind screaming 'no, you stupid girl,' she nodded her head and stepped aside, allowing him into her room. As soon as she shut the door, Ser Damon slid his hands around her waist and pressed her body close to his. His lips brushed against hers, his breath hot against her lips. She shut her eyes and allowed him to kiss her, allowed him to tangle his hand in her hair, allowed him to deepen the kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and led him to the bed, her desire and lust blinded her to the consequences of her actions. Ser Damon was a handsome young man and she was lonely, so lonely. After all, Jaime had his sister. Jaime loved his sister. Did she not deserve some kind of solace as well? Some sort of happiness?
"My husband..." she said in between kisses, breathless from desire. "My husband will kill you if he found out."
"Then I will die a happy man," Ser Damon responded, making Lyarra giggle against his lips. You reckless, reckless man. Though she had always considered herself to be sensible, she found herself thrilled by this carefree, reckless man that had strolled into her bedroom without a care in the world. His nonchalance aroused her.
As they made their way to the bed, Lyarra and Ser Damon began removing articles of their clothing. Her cloak was the first to go, and then her dress, and then her smallclothes... Before long, she was left naked beneath the eyes of a man that was not her husband. She sat down on the bed, Ser Damon looming over her. He took a minute to take her in, eyeing her body with lust in his eyes, before kissing her again. He grabbed her hands and pressed her against the bed, climbing on top of her. He touched the area between her legs with his fingers, rubbing the sensitive nub that always made her moan with pleasure whenever Jaime touched her there. Now another man stood in his place and Lyarra found it just as pleasurable.
Ser Damon chuckled. "You are beautiful even when you're a moaning mess."
Lyarra laughed and cupped his face again, bringing his lips down to meet hers. Ser Damon removed his fingers from her cunt and held his cock in his hands, preparing to insert it inside of her. Lyarra moaned in anticipation and spread her legs wider before a loud cry stopped Lyarra's lust-filled lapse in judgement.
She gently pushed Ser Damon away from her and sat at the edge of her bed, panting. Ser Damon stepped back, running his fingers through his hair as he searched for something to stay. Lyarra noticed that his cock was still rock-hard.
Licking her lips, she too struggled to find something to say. "I can't... I'm sorry. If anyone was to find out, I would be... my son would be..." She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
Ser Damon nodded understandingly. Though his cock is not so understanding, Lyarra noticed. "I'm sorry too, my lady. I never meant to be so forceful."
"No. You weren't forceful," Lyarra assured, shaking her head. "I wanted to, I did. I just... can't."
He nodded again, becoming quiet as Lyarra pulled a nightgown over her naked body. Ser Damon cleared his throat to break the silence. "I should go."
"Perhaps you should," Lyarra agreed. "Goodnight, ser."
"Goodnight, my lady," he replied, giving her a small smile before leaving her bedroom, picking up his clothes on his way out.
She watched him leave, a pensive look on her face. Had it not been for Jon's wail, she would have let him inside of her. She would have fucked him and she would have regretted it come morning. Perhaps she was just as reckless as Ser Damon Hill. Perhaps I am worse.
Jon's cries became louder, pulling her out of her train of thought. She sighed and went to the nursery to soothe her son. She brought Jon back into her bedroom and laid down with him on her bed as he suckled on her breast. As she smoothed his hair out of his face, Lyarra noticed how Jon was beginning to look more like Jaime. His hair was as dark as Lyarra's, but he had Jaime's beauty. Lyarra smiled down at her son. Until Jaime came back or Robb came to bring her home, Jon would be all she had, her only solace.
And Lyarra was content with that. Her son was everything to her now.
"He'll not be making it through the night," the guard told Catelyn as she stepped inside the Kingslayer's cell. He looked nothing like fine, handsome man who had married her daughter less than two years ago. He was a shadow of his himself – bearded, malnourished, sitting in his own waste – yet even as a shadow, any half-blind fool would be able to tell that he was handsome.
The Kingslayer stared down at the ground, listening to the bawdy, drunken men as they called repeatedly for his head. He must know. He will not survive the night. But he was Catelyn's only hope of getting her daughters back. She would not let him die. "I need to be alone with him," she commanded the guard. She only trusted Brienne to hear what she was about to say to the Kingslayer.
The guard protested immediately. "My lady, our orders..."
"Your orders, which I just gave you, are to leave me alone with him," Catelyn reiterated, her voice becoming more firm this time.
Ser Jaime looked up at her, glancing between Catelyn and the guard. When the guard gave in and left her alone with him, the Kingslayer smirked. "Come to say goodbye, Lady Stark?" he said in that cocky drawl of his. Catelyn could hardly stand the man, yet she kept her expression stony as she let him say his piece. "I believe it's my last night in this world. Is that a woman?" he asked, inclining his head towards Brienne.
Catelyn ignored him and chose not to give the Kingslayer an answer, instead she fixed him with a glare. "Do you hear them out there? They want your head."
Ser Jaime exhaled a deep breath, his breath turning into blue valour as it reached the cold air. "Old Lord Karstark doesn't seem to like me," he commented woefully, as though that bothered him.
"You strangled his son with your chains," Catelyn stated icily.
"Oh," Jaime said in realisation, like he hadn't known. "Oh. Was he the one on guard duty?" Catelyn didn't give him an answer, choosing to glower at the Kingslayer. Of course that was his son, you cruel, stupid man, she wanted to shout at him. But alas, Catelyn was raised to be better than that. "He was in my way. I was eager to get back to my wife and child, you see. I presume you've heard." He had the nerve to grin widely. "You're a grandmother now, Lady Stark, to my son. What a small world it is. Any good father, any knight, would have done the same."
Catelyn frowned. She knew well who Jaime was eager to get home to, and it was not his wife, it was not her daughter. It made the anger inside of her flare. "You are no knight," she shot back. "You have forsaken every vow you ever took."
"So many vows," Jaime replied, leaning his head back against the pole that bound him. "They make you swear and swear. Defend the king, obey the king, obey your father, protect the innocent, defend the weak... but what if your father despises the king? What if the king massacres the innocent?" He shook his head. "It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or another." His attention was once again diverted towards Brienne. "Where did you find this beast?"
"She is a truer knight than you will ever be, Kingslayer," Catelyn retorted.
"Kingslayer," he repeated, his voice taking on a tone of mocking. "And what a king he was. Here's to Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm. And to the sword I shoved in his back."
"You are a man without honour," Catelyn accused.
Jaime hesitated for a moment, thinking, before a small smirk came upon his lips – a mocking smile. "Do you know, for most of my life I'd never been with any woman but Cersei, and then with Lyarra once we were wed. So in my own way, I have more honour than poor old dead Ned. What was the name of that bastard he fathered?"
"Brienne," Catelyn called. She had enough of the Kingslayer's taunts. She wanted to get this over with and send Jaime on his way.
"No, that wasn't it," Jaime replied thoughtfully. "Snow, a bastard from the North. Now, when good old Ned came home with some whore's baby, did you pretend to love it? No. You're not very good at pretending. You're an honest woman. You hated that boy, didn't you? How could you not hate him? The walking, talking reminder that the honourable Lord Eddard Stark fucked another woman."
Though she tried not to rise to his taunts, Catelyn found it increasingly heard not to allow her anger to show. "Your sword," she said to Brienne and held out her hand. Brienne unsheathed her sword and gave it to Catelyn.
Forgive me, Robb.
Author's Note: Fair warning, the next chapter might take a little longer to write. I'm really busy at the moment with school work and all so I can't make any promises, but I'll do my best to post the next chapter within the next two weeks. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! What's your thoughts on Ser Damon Hill? I'm not sure whether to make him a bigger character? As always, tell me what you think!