Author's Note: So this is the first chapter of part three and, as the title states, someone comes home!

PART III

the lady wolf of the westerlands

Jaime's Return

Only a few weeks after Tyrion and Sansa's wedding, Lyarra received a visit from the king.

She was brushing her hair at her vanity, lost in thought as she wondered how Sansa was faring. She hadn't gotten a chance to speak with her sister. Since the wedding, the Lannisters were keeping Sansa close. Perhaps they feared she would run away, unsatisfied with her marriage to Tyrion. From what Lyarra gathered, from gossip and from stealing a few looks at Sansa at gatherings, Sansa was a lot happier since her wedding. Tyrion seemed to be doing a good job at protecting Sansa.

Lyarra jumped as she heard rough knocking on her bedroom door. She caught Rhea's eye, her handmaiden looking as frightened as she was. "Take Jon to the other room," she told her. Rhea nodded and lifted Jon into her arms, fleeing the room that was supposed to be Jaime's solar.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Lyarra opened the door. She tried to hide the terror Joffrey caused her to feel and curtsied to the king, her head bowed in respect. "Your Grace, to what do I owe the honour?" It was no honour, to be true. Joffrey Baratheon was a curse.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement, Joffrey couldn't wait for her to step aside to allow him in and so he barged into her bedroom, grinning madly. "I have something great to tell you, dear aunt. Something that I know you will delight in."

Instead of inspiring delight, his words inspired fear. "Oh, what-"

Too excited to tell her the news, Joffrey didn't let her finish. "Robb Stark is dead!" he exclaimed gleefully.

It felt as though Joffrey had kicked her in the stomach. She felt numb. "What?"

"Robb Stark was murdered at the Twins – your bitch mother as well! Murdered by his own bannermen! Walder Frey had the northern army slaughtered. He got them too drunk to fight back!" Joffrey threw his head back and cackled. Lyarra stayed rooted to her spot, unmoving. She couldn't think. Her brain couldn't process what Joffrey was telling her. "Do you want to hear how they died?" Lyarra didn't answer. Joffrey became angry. "DO YOU?"

She didn't flinch. She couldn't move her lips. She tried to speak, to move, to do anything, but she was frozen. Her arms wouldn't move, her mouth wouldn't allow her to form words... it felt as though her entire world had fallen apart.

Joffrey balled his hands into fists, forcing a grin onto his enraged face. "It doesn't matter. I'm going to tell you anyway. You have a right to know how they died, after all. How Robb Stark's own bannermen murdered him." His grin widened. Lyarra didn't respond. "Your brother was supposed to marry one of Frey's daughters, but he married a Volantene girl instead. Of course, proud Walder Frey wasn't happy about that. They were at your Uncle Edmure's wedding to one of Frey's daughters when Roose Bolton stabbed your brother in the chest while some Frey slit your mother's throat. Oh, and one of the Freys stabbed your pregnant good-sister in the belly, getting rid of Robb Stark's whore and his whelp in one go!" He chuckled again. "Then, they beheaded your brother and sewed his wolf's head on his body and tied him to his horse. I would have sold the Red Keep to have seen him. The great Robb Stark!"

As much as she tried, Lyarra couldn't get the image of her brother's mutilated body out of her head. How cruel were the Freys, the Boltons and the Lannisters to condemn a boy of barely nine-and-ten to such a horrible death? Joffrey watched her closely, waiting for her to say something.

"And then," he continued, stepping closer to her when it became clear she wasn't going to say anything, "they stripped your mother naked and threw her body into the river. What do you think of that, Lady Lannister?"

She licked her lips. Her legs felt weak, as though they were about to give in at any moment. She just wanted Joffrey to leave, so she could crawl into a corner and cry.

"Say something!" Joffrey roared, pointing a finger at her. Lyarra looked at him, shocked. She opened her mouth to speak, to say anything, but no words came out. She wanted to kill him. Lyarra had never been a vicious person. She never thought herself to be capable of murder. But in that moment, Lyarra knew that if she had a knife and if Jon was far away from King's Landing, she would have no problem with killing Joffrey Baratheon. In fact, she would relish the feeling.

"Never the matter," Joffrey said, stepping away from her. He laughed. "Perhaps you'll be more chatty when I present you and Sansa with your brother's head at my wedding feast. Would you like that? To see his rotting head one last time, surrounded by flies and being eaten away by insects?" She wanted to cry, yet her eyes and her lips were dry as she merely stared at Joffrey. His face became red as he shouted at her, "If you have no use for your tongue, I will cut it out!"

Lyarra flinched, finally able to move again, but she pressed her lips together in a firm line and narrowed her eyes at King Joffrey. He glared at her like she had taken something precious from him. I am the one whose had everything taken from me. My father... my mother and brother... my pride... and he has the gall to get upset because I won't give him to satisfaction of crying in front of him? Not for the first time, Lyarra wondered what it would be like to choke him to death.

"I don't have time for this," Joffrey declared before giving her one last scowl. He stormed out of her bedroom, bumping into her shoulder on his way out.

As soon as she heard the door slam shut, Lyarra felt her knees give in and she fell to the floor, a loud wail leaving her lips as she sobbed for her mother and brother and the cruelty they had to face. Robb's own bannermen had betrayed them... her mother and brother were dead because Robb dared to love the wrong woman. Lyarra covered her mouth with her hand, trying to muffle her cries, but eventually she gave up. She had lost everything. Why should she have to hide her grief?

"My lady?" She looked up to find Rhea at the door that separated her bedroom from the solar. She held Jon in her arms.

"I-I don't want him to s-s-see me like this," Lyarra sobbed, wiping her eyes. It was no use trying to stop crying. Trying to not cry only made her cry louder and more intensely.

"Go on, Jon. Play in the solar," Rhea told him, giving him a soft push towards the solar. Jon looked between Rhea and Lyarra, a worried look on his face, before he did what he was told. Rhea sat down on the ground beside Lyarra and wrapped her arms around her mistress. "Oh, my lady, what's happened?"

Lyarra opened her mouth to tell her, but before she could speak she started sobbing again. She buried her face into Rhea's dress, wetting her handmaiden's clothes. "J-J-Joffrey just... he just t-told me... my mother and brother... they're d-d-dead!" Saying the words aloud made her feel worse. It hit her all at once. She would never see them again. She would never hear Robb's laugh or see her mother's smile.

"I'm so sorry, Lyarra," her handmaiden said, the first time she had ever addressed Lyarra informally. She rubbed Lyarra's back soothingly and whispered comforting words into her ear. They stayed like that for a full hour before Rhea asked, "How did it..."

Lyarra wiped her eyes and leaned back against the wall, feeling exhausted from all her crying. Her throat was sore and her mouth was very dry, yet she tried to speak. "My brother and his army were slaughtered by Walder Frey and Roose Bolton. My mother too. And at our uncle's wedding. They died at a fucking wedding! They couldn't kill him on the battlefield so they had to kill him in the most dishonourable way possible!"

"Whose they, my lady? Bolton and Frey?"

She laughed bitterly and shook her head. "No. The Boltons and the Freys are not powerful enough, not even with their combined might, to dare try to hold the North and the Riverlands alone without any outside help."

"What are you saying, my lady?" Rhea asked, though Lyarra knew that her handmaiden fully understood what she was implying. Rhea was a sharp girl, even if she pretended to be stupid and frivolous. Lyarra had began to trust her in the last few months. Something had changed in how Rhea acted and she had earned Lyarra's trust. She was freer with Lyarra now.

"Who benefits the most from my brother's death?" Lyarra asked.

"I don't..."

"With Robb dead, the war is over. I am the heir. My son has the strongest claim to the North through me. Lord Tywin is clever. He knows this." As always, Tywin Lannister was a hundred steps ahead of everyone else." Tears of rage gathered in Lyarra's eyes. Her own good-father had murdered her twin brother! She wanted to kill them all.

"You think that House Lannister had a part their deaths?"

Lyarra felt something inside of her irreversibly harden. "I know they did."

Later that day, Lyarra was summoned to Lord Tywin's solar. Her whole body felt stiff and numb as she walked into his solar, not bothering to greet him. She sat down in front of her good-father, well aware of Lord Tywin watching her closely and noticing her cold demeanour, before he put down his pen to observe her further.

"We received some news yesterday about Robb Stark and his mother," Lord Tywin said, his eyes narrowed as he gauged her reaction. "Before I tell you what it is, I want to make some things clear. How you react to this news will determine which side your loyalty truly lies – whether it be on the winning or losing side."

"I already know," Lyarra stopped him from telling her. She couldn't bear to hear the words come out of another Lannister's mouth. Tywin looked at her in surprise. "Your grandson told me. I am devastated and I will not allow you to make me feel as though I shouldn't be. My mother and brother were murdered."

Lord Tywin scowled at her. "That they were. But they were Starks, and you are a Lannister, whether you like it or not. Your duty is to House Lannister."

"Yes, it is. I know that," she assured him. She felt angry, hot tears well in her eyes. As much as she willed them away, her tears were as stubborn as she was. She let them fall down her cheeks. "My duty is to your house, to my son, but I still grieve for the family that your house has taken from me."

"Watch your tongue, girl," Tywin warned, locking his hands in front of him.

"Or you'll what?" Lyarra snapped, tilting her head to the side mockingly. "Should I wear armour to his Grace's wedding? Is that how you wish to get rid of House Stark?" She scoffed and leaned back. Her mother used to scold her when she slouched, Lyarra remembered. Those memories were no longer laced with fondness, but rather grief.

His eyes became two slits of enraged, blazing green. "What are you implying, Lyarra?"

"You know what I'm 'implying,'" she snapped, her anger getting the better of her. She had never been one to lose control. If anything, she was more likely to cry than to snap, to break down in tears than to get angry, but she was sick and tired of always being polite and in control. "Lord Bolton and Lord Frey would not have the gall to go against their liege lords if they didn't have some sort of security, some sort of arrangement."

"And you believe that arrangement was made with me," Tywin surmised. Had Lord Tywin not been so difficult to read, Lyarra would have thought he looked impressed.

"I know it," she said. "You're a craven."

"You know nothing," he replied. His voice was harsher now and no longer conversational. He wasn't discussing their deaths with her now, he was scolding her. Only a year ago, Lyarra would have cowered. But this man inspired too much hatred inside of her to make her afraid. "You and my daughter have the same flaw. You both over-estimate your intelligence."

"Then enlighten me," she prompted him.

"This war would have went on for years," Tywin claimed. "Thousands more would have died. We would have wasted all our gold on a useless war. Your son would have nothing to inherit. The great wealth we boast of today would be squandered, on a war that was won at a wedding."

"You already have no wealth to boast of," she said, her lips curling upwards in a slight smirk. "I know about the mines. They've run dry."

"As it stands, nobody outside of the Westerlands knows that. As long as we keep it that way, we are secure."

"It's all pretences with you." Tywin glared at her. Lyarra knew she should stop speaking, yet her mouth wouldn't comply. "Your lands. Your wealth. Your family. Yourself. The Great Lion of Lannister they call you, but you are nothing but a butcher, only you've managed to never get your hands bloodied by ordering somebody else to do your bidding."

Of all the rude things she'd said to him in that meeting, and some were quite horrible, none had caused him to get half as mad as her last statement. His eyes were blazing as he retorted, "I would like to remind you, Lady Lannister, that you are no longer necessary to House Lannister. You've completed your one duty, your entire purpose as my son's wife. You've given House Lannister an heir. Everything else you have done is simply redundant. There are plenty of highborn, intelligent women who would do well as my son's wife."

And, once again, Tywin Lannister had shocked her speechless. She licked her lips and took a few moments to gather herself. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I believe you've heard of the Rains of Castamere." Speechless, Lyarra nodded her head. "Then you know how I respond to insubordination. I do not need the headache of a quick-tempered, sharp-tongued daughter-in-law."

"Is that a threat, my Lord Hand?" Lyarra asked him, forcing herself to not sound scared, though her voice trembled.

"Yes," he deadpanned. "I will be lenient with you today because your rash tongue was no doubt caused by grief and sheer stupidity."

You stupid, stupid girl! She chastised herself for letting her anger and grief get the better of her. She had been so careful around Joffrey, Lord Tywin and the queen. She had honeyed and filtered her words to the point where she sometimes didn't recognise herself. And yet, in one conversation, she managed to anger the only Lannister in the Red Keep who had the power and the motive to protect her.

"Thank you, my lord," she replied. She sounded like a sheep, but if it kept her alive, she would gladly be a sheep.

Lord Tywin dismissed her with a wave. "You may leave." Lyarra nodded and tried to pull herself up from the chair. She rose to her feet shakily and started to walk out of his solar, her legs still shaking as she slowly stepped towards the door. Almost there... two more steps... "Wait." Lyarra stopped and turned around, terrified that Tywin had changed his mind and had decided to punish her. "What is your name?"

"My name?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"Your name," he repeated impatiently. "What is it?"

"Lyarra," she answered, her eyes darting around the room and landing on anything but her good-father. When she did dare to look at him, after a period of silence, Lord Tywin raised his eyebrows, expecting her to continue. Lyarra sighed as she finally realised what he wanted her to say. "Lannister. Lyarra Lannister."

"Good," Tywin responded and started writing his letters again. "Now you may go."

"Mother?"

"Hmm?" Lyarra answered, half asleep.

"Why did you cried today?" Jon stated. Lyarra's eyes flew open, suddenly feeling very awake as a bout of shame came over her. She hated Jon seeing her like that, yet lately he seemed to be seeing her upset lately far more than she would have liked him to.

Lyarra brushed his brown hair from his face and gave him a sad smile. "I got some bad news. Don't worry about me, my love. I'm fine."

"What was it?"

Sighing, Lyarra debated whether she should tell him. He was too young to know about the war that raged between his father's family and his mother's. But at the same time, Lyarra wanted to tell him so he would know better than to trust the Lannisters. Eventually, she decided against telling him. There were other ways to keep him away from the Lannisters.

"It doesn't matter," she said again. "Would you like me to sing you a song?"

Jon nodded excitedly, forgetting all about what happened earlier that day. She sang him his favourite song. It was a northern song, one that her mother used to sing Lyarra to sleep with. The Southern Flower, it was called. Her mother told her once, when she had a little too much to drink, that her father sang the song for her one night when he was very drunk and since then, it was her mother's favourite. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled to get through the song without breaking down. She had cried enough for one day.

Having finally lulled him to sleep, Lyarra stared at Jon and smoothed his short, brown hair. He was everything to her. He may carry the Lannister name, but he is my son and he is all Stark. It was a small victory, but Lyarra took pleasure from the fact that the Lannister heir looked so similar to her father.

She was still wide-awake when she heard a knock on the door. Though the knocking was soft and not at all loud, the noise still startled her. No one ever called to her room this late. She began to panic. What if it's the king? She remembered Lord Tywin's words. 'Before the king decides to take his frustrations out on a different Stark girl.' She grabbed the knife beneath her pillow and walked towards the door slowly, anticipating the worst. She would not go gentle.

When the person at the door knocked again, Lyarra jumped and took a deep breath to calm herself. Slowly, she opened the door.

Jaime.

Her fear was replaced by shock. She stared at her husband, eyes wide and shocked. He was far from the man she had said goodbye to in Casterly Rock. His face was unshaven, whereas he used to shave at least once every two days. His face was worn and bore many cuts and scars. Before, nobody had ever been able to land a cut on the great Jaime Lannister. Her eyes travelled down his body, noticing the bandage that covered his stump.

He has no right hand, she realised.

"My brother?" she asked, her eyes not leaving his stump. She would have thought Robb incapable of such cruelty, but war made monsters out of men.

"No," Jaime replied immediately. "A sellsword company called the Brave Companions. Their leader wanted to teach me a lesson." He glanced to the knife in her hand, his lips stretched into a tight smile that looked almost like a grimace. "My nephew?"

"Nephew?" she repeated, her tone laced in bitterness. Jaime's eyes widened. Yes, that's right. I know that your sister is your lover and your nephews and niece are your children. I know everything now. She took a deep breath and forced her anger to subside. Jaime had gone through enough hassle and pain without being yelled at by his wife as soon as he came home. "Yes," she said. "And those brutes he calls his kingsguard."

"Have they hurt you?" Jaime asked, his expression taut with worry.

"Not me," she replied. "Sansa. It has stopped now. Joffrey wants to impress his new queen-to-be."

"Who?"

Lyarra smiled sadly at him. "You've missed a lot." When she thought about it, Jaime had not only missed the birth of her son, but he had also missed Joffrey's crowning, her father's beheading, all of Sansa's beatings, the Battle of Blackwater... she wondered if he even knew about the Red Wedding.

"I have," Jaime agreed, bringing Lyarra's attention back to him and away from her thoughts that seemed to go a mile a minute. "Are you going to let me in?"

"Oh." His question startled her. For some reason, she hadn't thought he would want to come into her chambers that were, by right, his as well. "Yes, of course." She stepped aside and allowed him in, wringing her hands as the awkwardness of the situation hit her again. How was she to act with him? She knew everything now. She couldn't just accept him with open arms.

She watched him walk into their bedroom and noticed how his eyes lit up as he saw Jon in their bed. Lyarra had to smile at that. Just tonight, she promised herself. I will make myself forget, just for tonight. She didn't have the heart to turn him away now, after all he had been through.

Jaime kneeled in front of their son, a wistful smile on his face. "You called him Jon."

"I did."

"A northern name," Jaime pointed out. At first, Lyarra thought he was mad at her and was about to scold her husband for being so insensitive... but then he flashed her a quick grin. Lyarra smiled back at him despite herself.

"We did agree," she said, biting her lip as she watched Jaime stare at their little boy. This was what she had wanted for so long. Why wasn't she happy? It felt as though there was some wall between them, a wall that she wanted to ignore for one night. Lyarra didn't think she could ignore it, not completely anyway.

"That we did." Jaime smiled. He brushed back Jon's hair, marvelling at how perfect their son was. "I can't imagine my father was very happy."

"No," Lyarra stated, a slow grin splitting her face in half as she remembered what Jaime had told a long time ago, when they were discussing what to name their unborn child. "But Lord Tywin doesn't have to be happy about everything."

Jaime smiled, getting her reference to a time where things were that bit simpler. "Wasn't Jon the name of your father's bastard?"

"My brother, yes," Lyarra corrected. She felt more protective of Jon than ever, since he was now one of the few family members she had left. "I couldn't name him after Robb or my father. I couldn't be obvious."

"You're too clever for your own good, do you know that?" Lyarra gave him a small smile. The way Jaime was looking at their son, as though Jon was the most wonderful thing in the world, made Lyarra's heart flutter. "He looks like you."

Lyarra had to smile at that. "All I've heard in the last two years is how much he resembles my father. But I think he has your smile."

Jaime shook his head. "No. That's all you as well. You smile like that when you sleep."

"Really? I never noticed," Lyarra replied. "Well, how could I, I suppose." She paused and watched Jaime for a minute, seeing the longing in his expression, She couldn't imagine what it must be like for him, only meeting his son when Jon was two years old, having missed all of the milestones that made parenthood so special. "Would you like me to wake him?"

"No," he replied immediately and struggled to stand up. Lyarra only noticed then how weak he looked. He had lost weight. His arms, torso and legs were no longer as muscled as they once were. "I'll let him sleep. I can speak with him tomorrow. I think I'd like to get cleaned up first."

"I'll send for-"

He shook his head vehemently at that. "No. Don't. I don't want anyone knowing about this-" he raised his stump "-just yet. I'm not ready," he added quietly. Lyarra was taken aback by his request, but she understood nonetheless. Jaime chewed on his lower lip, conflicted. "Would you...?"

A part of her, the part that was ruled by grief and pain, wanted to say no because of all the pain his house had caused her and how much learning about him and Cersei and their 'relationship' hurt and disgusted her. But Lyarra had never been one to turn her back on someone that needed her. Even if Jaime and his family had hurt her in ways she never thought possible, it wasn't in Lyarra to turn him away.

"Of course I will," she replied.

She woke Rhea up and asked her to get two buckets of water and some bandages. As she was waiting for Rhea to return, Lyarra helped Jaime get undressed. He was too weak to stand and when he tried, he kept swaying. Lyarra pulled a stool over him.

Lyarra had only ever cleaned a baby's arse, but seeing that Jaime was too weak to do himself and because she was alarmed by how dirty the area was, Lyarra ignored her discomfort. When Rhea returned, Lyarra poured some of the water into the bath and cleaned his arse with a cloth. Jaime made a few comments to disguise his humiliation. Despite Lyarra's reassurances, Jaime felt he was sacrificing his pride by letting his wife clean him.

She helped Jaime into the bath and washed his stump before changing the bandages. "You had a maester look at this?"

"Yes. An incredible one actually. Qyburn."

As much as she hated being one of those women, Lyarra couldn't look at Jaime with his beard. She left him alone in the bath for a few minutes and came back with a blade and a bowl of soap from the Free Cities. "I don't suppose you want to keep that beard of yours."

"Why? Does it not become me?" Jaime asked, tilting his head to the side as he grinned at her.

"Not really, no. To be frank, you look like a wild animal."

"I was thinking more like a lion."

"If you say so." Lyarra laughed "So, what is it to be?"

"Have you ever shaved a man before?" Jaime questioned, glancing between Lyarra and the blade in her hand with worry and distrust in his eyes.

Shrugging, she answered him nonchalantly, "No, but how difficult can it be?"

He took a few seconds to debate whether or not having a good shave was worth a few cuts. He stroked his beard in a way that made Lyarra laugh heartily. Grinning at his wife's reaction, Jaime laughed and agreed to let her shave him. "Alright. Go on."

Taking a deep breath, Lyarra brought the blade to his cheek after putting some soap on his face. She managed to successfully get rid of the hair on his face, although Jaime was left with a few more cuts than he had before she started. He became quiet all of a sudden. Lyarra looked at him, seeing pity etched on his face. She tried not to look at him again. She hated that look. She wanted to forget about her mother and brother, just for tonight.

"I'm sorry about what happened to your mother and brother," Jaime said. Although she was expecting him to say something like that, he had still startled her enough that Lyarra had to stop shaving him and compose herself again. The blade was mere inches away from his skin. If she wanted to, she could cut his throat. His life was in her hands. The thought made her feel empowered. What am I thinking? she scolded herself for thinking such dark thoughts and pushed them aside. Jaime's face became taut with pity. "I truly am."

Lyarra nodded, tears filling her grey eyes as she tried to push her feelings aside. "Your father orchestrated it."

"I thought as much." When Lyarra was finished shaving him, Lyarra placed the blade on the table beside her. Jaime grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "You know that if I was here, I would have done anything to stop it. It was dishonourable."

She nodded again, staring at her legs. She wanted to be mad at him. To blame him for all his family did to hers. But he was all she had now – him and Jon and Sansa. She didn't even have Sansa, to be true. Sansa was in the same keep as she was, yet Lyarra had never felt so alone.

"He deserved better than to be slaughtered at a wedding," Lyarra said angrily, hot tears in her eyes.

"He did," Jaime agreed. He looked lost. He probably wasn't used to having to comfort crying women. Lyarra doubted that Cersei let herself be weak very often. "They both did. Your mother was a brilliant woman. Fierce and quite frightening when it came to her children. She made me promise to protect you. I plan to do just that."

Nobody can protect anyone, she wanted to tell him. Margaery promised to protect her as well, in return for her body and her pride. Lyarra trusted no one anymore. She pushed her thoughts aside and offered Jaime her hand. She helped him out of the bath and dried him before leading him to his bed in the adjoining bedroom.

"I think Jon would be startled if he saw you beside him tomorrow morning," she explained. She felt sorry for Jaime, seeing the hurt flash across his face.

He tried to hide it with a smile and a laugh. "I suppose he would." Lyarra helped him into bed. She didn't know what else to say, so she left him with one last smile and made to go to her bedroom. She didn't want Jon to wake up alone and frightened. Seeing that Lyarra was about to leave, Jaime grabbed her hand and pulled her back. "Stay with me."

Lyarra saw how conflicted Jaime looked. She knew him well, or the person he used to be at least. The war had changed him, just as it had changed her, yet Lyarra didn't think that a man like Jaime would expose such vulnerability if he didn't have good reason to.

She sighed and laid beside him. Jaime cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers, his hand sliding down her leg. Lyarra swung her leg over his torso and mounted him. She found him hard already and hovered over the tip of his cock before lowering herself onto it.

Groaning, Jaime threw his head back in pleasure as Lyarra bounced on top of him. Her cunt was dry and she received no pleasure from their coupling, but she couldn't deny Jaime some sort of comfort. Jaime placed his hand on her hip and helped her keep her pace. He lasted a few minutes before he emptied himself inside of her.

He fell asleep with Lyarra by his side, but woke to an empty bed. When he went to look for her, he found her asleep with their son in the room beside his.

Author's Note: I was going to hold off posting this until Monday but I was just so excited to share this chapter because of Jaime's return! I hope I did it justice, I know a lot of you were excited for Jaime to come home!

So some of you might think Jaime got off easy, but I'm just going to explain Lyarra's thinking here if it's not clear in the last scene. Lyarra feels bad for Jaime because he's lost his hand and he looks really beaten down. She still hates what he did with Cersei and what her family did to hers, even to an irrational level, and Jaime's first night home is going to be his last free pass. He's going to have to do some serious making up with her in the next few chapters.

On to another note, the reason Lyarra isn't trying to escape is because she's literally surrounded by Lannister guards and watched day-and-night. Also if she leaves King's Landing with Jon, she's forsaking his right to Casterly Rock. Really her fear of Jon being hurt by the Lannisters is irrational and she knows that, she just gets panicked every now and then. Also she realises that her situation is temporary and that when Jaime comes home, her situation will greatly improve.

Just to address another issue that was brought up a lot in reviews, Lyarra will undergo some serious character development within the next, say, 5-10 chapters. I get that she might seem boring and weak at the moment, but Lyarra and Sansa are similar in that they have a survivor's mentality and don't have the means to fight back, so they stay quiet and do what they're told. You'll start to see a difference in the next few chapters as Lyarra starts to stand up for herself a lot more, but to be honest the major change in Lyarra's character will happen at the end of this arc and the beginning of the next. (Arcs in this story comprise of around ten chapters.)

Anyway, thanks to everyone for reviewing! Think we can get to 500 by the next chapter? ;)