Never Let Me Go

He spent the rest of the day practising with Bronn, Tyrion's sworn shield who had saved him from Lysa Tully's wrath at the Vale. Bronn was a skilled fighter, but a dishonourable one. He didn't allow Jaime any leniency just because Jaime was a cripple. Despite his wounded pride, Jaime liked that the sellsword didn't treat him any differently.

When he entered his chamber that night, he found his wife asleep with Jon on her lap. They were seated by the fire, the only sound in the room being the crackling fire and Jon's soft snoring. Jaime smiled as he watched them. While he was in captivity, the thought of his son was what kept him going. Jon and Cersei, as ashamed as that was to admit. His commitment to his wife and to upholding what little honour he had left wasn't enough to rid him of the love he bore his sister. He would always love Cersei. He could resist her and he could ignore his feelings, but he would always love her.

As though sensing that he was in the room, Lyarra's eyes flittered open. She looked confused at first, before her eyes narrowed into slits without her even realising. Jaime sighed. He preferred looking at her when she was sleeping.

Seeing that she wasn't going to be the one to speak first, Jaime coughed and broke the silence. "I had dinner with Tyrion. I won't be eating with you and Jon tonight." Lyarra nodded, staying silent. Jaime knew that the tension between them was going to drive him mad, so he tried again. Bustling around the room as he got ready for bed, he continued to speak. "I plan to train my left hand. Tyrion has offered his sworn sword to be my sparring partner."

"Good on him," Lyarra replied coldly.

Jaime could see only red. "How long is this going to last?" He tried his best to keep his calm. For the last month, he had given her space and he had been understanding. He was sick of being treated like he had done something horrible.

Glaring at him, Lyarra scoffed and had the nerve to look confused. "What's this?"

"This," he hissed. "You know damn well what I am referring to. This... hostility. I've been home for a month, Lyarra. How long more?"

The fire in her eyes died as she retreated into herself. "I don't know," she admitted quietly. "However long it takes."

"To achieve what?" He laughed sarcastically. "Do you wish to kill me with silence?" Lyarra didn't respond. Jaime wondered if that was what she actually planned to do. The thought made him huff. "What do I have to do to earn your forgiveness? Tell me. I'll do anything. Just tell me what I did." He saw tears well in her eyes. She's just a girl, he thought to himself, his heart twisting. Sometimes he forgot how young she was.

"I'm with child," she blurted out, her voice trembling.

He blinked in surprise. That was what she had been so upset about? He felt a smile growing on his lips. He was going to have another child. This time, he could be present for the birth. "That's it?" he asked, bewildered but delighted.

"Of course that's not it!" Lyarra exclaimed. Jaime remembered how unreasonable and consistently angry Cersei had been when she was with child. Lyarra had been the same when she was pregnant with Jon, blowing up over everything. He remembered one time when Lyarra started crying over a battle strategy because it was horribly described in the book they were reading. A good husband would have comforted her. Jaime, however, laughed so hard that he had to double over.

Jon stirred in his sleep because of Lyarra's outburst. Jaime sobered as he thought of another reason why Lyarra might be upset. He narrowed his eyes at Lyarra accusingly. "Is the child mine?" he asked.

"What are you implying?" Lyarra hissed, anger stark in her eyes.

"Is the child mine?" he repeated. Cersei had panicked over being pregnant with Jaime's children and not the king's, even though she did it three times. He saw anger flash across Lyarra's face but continued anyway. He would not be cuckolded like Robert was. "It's a simple enough question. We've only slept together once since I came back and you've been of a strange humour these past few weeks. It's a reasonable concern."

Lyarra took a few moments to calm herself. When she spoke, her tone was as cold as winter. "You may have a skewed moral compass, but I assure you that I do not. The child is yours."

Jaime felt himself becoming angry again. "Then what's the damn problem?" he spat at her.

"I know, Jaime."

His heart stopped, his head whirled, and he could do nothing but stare at his wife as she gave him the most disgusted look he had ever seen upon someone's face. Her grey eyes were judging him. Not for the first time, he noticed her resemblance to her father. Of course she knows, he thought, does everyone not know by now? The one woman he wished to never know the truth... Jaime felt sick to his stomach. "I..."

"I don't want an explanation," she cut him off immediately. "I don't want to ever speak about it. All I want is time. Can you give me that?"

Jaime nodded, his mouth was too dry to speak. Lyarra picked up Jon and left Jaime alone in his solar. The same two words echoed through his head. She knows. She knows. She knows.

"You wanted to see me," Jaime announced himself as he walked into his father's solar.

His father looked up from his desk and fixed Jaime with a cold look. Jaime hadn't expected anything else. After all, his father wasn't known for being loving or affectionate. Even with his family, he was cold and tactical, treating them as though they were just pawns in his game. Jaime hated it, yet he loved his father and he knew his father loved him.

"Yes," Tywin replied eventually. "Your wife is pregnant again."

"She is," Jaime answered, even though it wasn't a question.

"I'm glad to hear it," his father's voice boomed. Jaime dared to detect a hint of pride in his father's tone. "You've provided a son and now another on the way. You've done your duty to our family. I'm proud of you."

To think, fathering children was the sum of his achievements in his father's eyes. Had he truly done nothing else that was worthwhile? Jaime scoffed. "Is that my only function now? Breeding?" Jaime tried to cover how much his father had offended him and masked his hurt with a small laugh.

Tywin found no humour in Jaime's words. He fixed Jaime with an even colder stare. "Until you find another skill that benefits your family, yes."

You don't care about family, Jaime wanted to spit at him, you only care about your damn legacy! If he cared about family, he would have let Jaime remain in the Kingsguard. If he truly cared about family, he wouldn't have treated Tyrion like he was a piece of dirt, or force Cersei to marry that pillow-biter Loras Tyrell. If he cared about them at all, he wouldn't force them to do things they abhorred.

Jaime pushed those thoughts aside and grimaced. "Wonderful," he replied. I am no more than a horse to him, only good for breeding little foals.

His father watched him for a few moments longer. "Come," he beckoned after a while. "I have something to show you." Jaime approached his father's desk as Tywin took something out of the shelf beneath the surface of his desk.

He produced a sword – no, to a swordsman as distinguished as Jaime, it was more than a sword. It was glorious, a sword of black steel with beautiful ripples ruining through it, as though it was forged from black ice. Jaime took the sword from his father and examined it, eyes alight with wonder. All his life he had wanted to wield a sword made from Valyrian steel. He was envious of men who got the chance to fight with a Valyrian steel sword, Ned Stark and Jeor Mormont to name a few.

"Magnificent," Jaime commented, not taking his eyes away from the sword. His father gave a short mumble of agreement as he watched Jaime. Running his fingers along the steel, Jaime noticed that it still felt hot. "Looks fresh-forged."

"It is," his father responded.

That didn't make sense to Jaime. Only the Valyrians knew how to make Valyrian steel and shape it into swords, and the Valyrians were all dead now. "No one's made a Valyrian steel sword since the Doom of Valyria," he pointed out.

"There are three living smiths who know how to rework Valyrian steel," Lord Tywin replied. "The finest of them was in Volantis. He came here to King's Landing at my invitation."

Of course, Jaime knew he wasn't the only Lannister who desired a sword made from Valyrian steel. His father desired a Valyrian steel sword as much as, if not more than, Jaime did. For years, Tywin had been trying to get the great houses of Westeros to gift him their Valyrian steel swords and in return, he would cancel all their debts to House Lannister. Not one house agreed.

After examining the sword for a little longer, Jaime asked his father, "Where did you get this much Valyrian steel?"

The left-hand corner of his lip turned upwards in a tiny smirk. "From someone who no longer had need of it."

Ned Stark. The man had owned the largest Valyrian steel sword in Westeros. Jaime couldn't get his head around how a man of average height could wield such a huge weapon, yet Stark had managed. Jaime wondered how he was going to tell Lyarra. She wouldn't be happy with him owning her dead father's sword, the sword that was taken from him by Joffrey before he cut off Stark's head. Then again, Lyarra was never happy with him lately. At least he could give her a valid reason to be angry with him this time.

Jaime breathed heavily through his nose and placed the sword on the table. "You've wanted one in the family for a long time."

"And now we have two," was his father's reply.

"Two?"

His father sat down at his desk. "The original weapon was absurdly large. Plenty of steel for two swords."

"Well, thank you," Jaime said. "It's glorious."

"You'll have to train your left hand," his father pointed out, giving Jaime a steely look.

Shrugging, Jaime tried not to look too worried. His training with Bronn wasn't going too well at the moment. He was beginning to doubt that he would ever be able to fight decently again. "Any decent swordsman knows how to use both hands."

"You'll never be as good," his father stated.

At that, Jaime bristled. "No," he admitted. "But as long as I'm better than everyone else, it doesn't matter."

For a short while, his father said nothing and merely stared at him, eyes narrowed, before his face became wrinkled with lines of humourless laughter. "You have no need to fight anymore. You're my heir. You'll return to Casterly Rock and rule in my stead."

"You are the Lord of Casterly Rock," Jaime told his father, as though Tywin needed reminding.

"I am the King's Hand," Tywin answered immediately. "My place is here. I don't expect to see the Rock again before I die."

Jaime was speechless. He had expected to be carted off to the Rock, but he hadn't expected it to happen so quickly. Even though he swore not to dishonour Lyarra by being with Cersei, he still needed to be with twin, just for a little longer. Being away from her made him feel empty.

He hid his shock and worry with a chuckle. "Do you honestly believe that I'm capable of ruling the Westerlands? I'll run it to the ground and you know that."

"Your incompetence isn't a joke, Jaime," his father replied, his voice and expression were stern. "I tried to teach you how to rule, when you were boy and when Robert removed you from the Kingsguard. If you haven't learned by now, you never will. Your wife is capable enough and, if needs be, she can rule for you."

He scoffed. "What kind of a man has his wife rule for him?"

His father narrowed his eyes and fixed Jaime with another glare. "A man who has wasted his life away serving as the bodyguard to two undeserving kings. We're done speaking about this. Go on. Take your leave."

Rooted to the spot, Jaime was at a loss for words. He stared at his father, mouth slightly agape, and felt the urge to stand his ground, to stand up for himself for once. To tell his father that he was done being treated like a lap dog, brought to heel whenever it suited him. His father met his eyes and silenced any and all argument within him. Jaime inclined his head towards his father and took his leave, seething silently.

As Lyarra returned from the Maidenvault, having spent her day sewing with Margaery and her ladies, she spotted a large woman dressed in armour turning around a corner, disappearing from Lyarra's view. She realised who the woman was immediately. Quickening her pace, she gathered her skirts in her hands as she rushed to catch up with the female knight.

Knowing that she would no doubt get in trouble for speaking with her mother's former sword shield, Lyarra grabbed Brienne's hand and pulled her into a corner. Panic spread across Brienne's face, but her expression evened when she saw who it was. Lyarra placed a finger to her lips to quieten Brienne.

"Lady Lyarra, I-"

"I heard you served my mother," Lyarra whispered, her tone hushed so no one would hear them. "You must understand, I had to speak with you. I'm sorry to have frightened you."

Brienne's smile calmed Lyarra. "It is no problem, my lady. Truly. I was meaning to speak with you as well."

"I have so many things to ask you," Lyarra said, a sad smile coming upon her face as a thousand questions whirled through her head. She settled on one. "How was my mother? After my father died and Bran and Rickon..." She swallowed and licked her lips. "Was she well?" She didn't know why it mattered to her. After all, her mother was dead now, but it mattered to her all the same.

Obviously not expecting her to ask that, Brienne blinked in surprise. She answered Lyarra nonetheless. "Lady Stark was a strong woman. She bore her grief well."

"Of course she did," Lyarra replied, laughing fondly. "My mother was made of stone, yet she loved us all fiercely. I admired her."

"As did I," Brienne admitted. "Before I met your mother, I considered women who conformed to tradition to be weak and easily led. Lady Stark was anything but. You remind me of her, my lady."

She felt tears welling in her eyes. She pushed them away, cursing herself for being so frail. "Thank you, Lady Brienne," Lyarra said.

"Just Brienne," she corrected.

Lyarra smiled at her. "Well, thank you, Brienne," she repeated.

"Don't thank me, my lady. I failed your mother," Brienne replied, her head bowed slightly in shame. "Just as I failed Renly before her. But I will not fail you. I promise to protect you and defend you until the day I die. My sword is yours. My life is yours. If you will have me?"

As Brienne lowered herself onto one knee and laid her sword before Lyarra, the eldest Stark stared at Brienne blankly. She remembered men swearing oaths to her father. He made those sort of things look so simple. Lyarra never thought of noting what he did.

"I don't know how these things go," she admitted. "But you honour me, Brienne. Of course I will have you."

Brienne gave her a small smile and stood up again, sheathing her sword. "Ser Jaime swore an oath to your mother before she released him at Riverrun. He swore to return your sisters to Winterfell and never raise arms against Houses Stark or Tully ever again. She sent me with him to ensure that he keeps his promise. I intend to do just that."

Lyarra blinked in surprise. "He didn't tell me," she admitted quietly. Why would he keep something like that from her?

"We will get your sisters to safety," Brienne swore to her again, her voice was so certain that Lyarra almost believed her. She was wary when it came to trusting in people's promises. Loyalty was fleeting. "Sansa, at least," Brienne added, her tone a little quieter.

"Thank you, Brienne," Lyarra replied. "Again. I'm glad to have finally spoken with you."

"And I you, my lady," she responded before bowing and taking her leave.

She wondered what else Jaime was keeping from her. She was becoming as paranoid as Cersei and she hated it. Pushing those thoughts aside, Lyarra started to walk towards her quarters. As soon as she opened the door, she saw Jon running towards her. The mere sight of him brightened her day.

Chuckling, Lyarra crouched down and opened her arms for him. He wrapped his arms around as she hoisted him into the air and onto her hip, grinning at her little boy. "How was your afternoon, sweetling?"

"Good," he replied, casting his eyes downwards as a sad look came upon his face.

"Oh, what happened?" Lyarra asked, her stomach twisting with worry. She sat on the edge of the bed and placed him on her lap.

"Septa Yselle made me do letters all day," he said, his eyes welling with tears.

"Letters?" she repeated. Jon nodded. "I didn't tell her to start that with you. But that doesn't explain why you're upset." Jon bit his lower lip and looked away from her. Sighing, Lyarra cupped his chin and turned his face towards her. "You can tell me. I won't be mad."

"Septa... h-hurt me," Jon said, a sob caught in his throat.

"What?" Lyarra asked, trying to mask the anger boiling within her. Her own septa had hit them when they misbehaved, but neither Septa Mordane or their wet nurses ever hit them when they were Jon's age. "Why? Where?"

Lyarra could see that Jon was pushing back his tears as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He revealed a purplish bruise. It didn't look too bad, but it was bad enough to make Lyarra want to strangle the new septa Tywin had appointed.

"And why did she do that?" Lyarra questioned, unable to hide her anger this time. She saw the fright on Jon's face – he probably thought she was mad at him – and quickly reassured him. "I'm not angry with you, Jon. Not at all. I just want to know what made her do that to you."

"I couldn't say a letter," he said, head bowed.

"And how long has she been doing letters with you?" Lyarra asked him.

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks?" she repeated. And nobody had told her, his mother? Lyarra pursed her lips together together until they became white. "I'm going to speak with Septa Yselle. She won't touch you again." Jon nodded silently. "Where's your father?"

"In there," Jon pointed towards Jaime's solar. "He talking to Lord Tywin."

She only nodded in response as she let Jon climb off her lap. He seemed to take her question in the wrong way and ran towards Jaime's solar, interrupting his meeting with his father. Lyarra called for Jon, standing up to follow him, before she spotted something on the table. Jaime had gotten a new sword.

Noticing the different design on the sheathe first, Lyarra decided to unsheathe the sword to see what it looked like out of sheer curiosity. She recognised the steel immediately. It was black and mystical, with ripples similar to the rippling of water running through the steel. She ran her fingers along the steel, her heart breaking as she remembered all the times she watched her father train with that sword. Now it was Jaime's. Now it belonged to the Lannisters.

Lyarra heard footsteps approach from behind her, accompanied by the sound of Jon's giggling. Lyarra didn't even turn around.

"Run along now, son," Jaime told Jon as he set him on the ground and allowed him to play. "Lyarra..."

"Valyrian steel," she stated, looking at the sword with tears in her eyes. "My father's sword looked just like this, except for the hilt." Jaime stayed silent. Coward, she thought bitterly, wishing he would say something so she could get mad at him. "Who has the other sword?"

Jaime paused for a moment. "Joffrey," he answered, almost begrudgingly, as though she forced the name from his mouth.

"Joffrey," she repeated, scoffing. Of all the people to be in possession of her father's sword, Joffrey was the least ideal. Lyarra sheathed Jaime's new sword and placed it on the table. "You swore an oath to my mother. You didn't tell me."

"Forgive me, wife," Jaime said bitterly, his bitterness clear in his tone and on his face. "I fear I didn't get the chance, what with your pretending I don't exist." Lyarra gave him a look for avoiding her question, causing her husband to sigh. "Who told you?"

"Brienne of Tarth."

A humourless laugh came from his mouth as he nodded ruefully. "Of course it was."

"And will you?" Lyarra asked, never one for useless chatter.

"Will I what?"

"You swore to bring my sisters home," Lyarra reminded him. She licked her lips. She hated remembering that along with Robb, Bran and Rickon, Arya may be dead as well. Perhaps Sansa was the only sibling she had left except for Jon at the Wall. The thought saddened her. "Arya may be gone, but Sansa's here. Will you keep your oath to my mother?"

He sighed again, wearing that horrible, pitying look that Lyarra absolutely abhorred. She hated pity from anyone, but especially from him. He approached her slowly, like she was a wounded animal. "Lyarra, your mother is dead."

As though I could forget! She ripped herself away from him. "I know that," she growled. "But that doesn't mean your free of your promise to her. Or was your vow to my mother another promise you planned to break?"

"I swore to bring your sisters home, yes. But what home do they have? Winterfell is the Bolton's now-"

She shook her head vehemently. "It is not theirs. Not by right."

Jaime placed a hand on her shoulder, looking surprised when she didn't push him away. Lyarra didn't know why she didn't push him away. She should have, but she needed comfort. She was sick of being so angry and hateful all the time. "Someday, I swear to you, we will take it back from the Boltons, but that day is not any time soon. Not while my father draws breath. The North isn't safe. Sansa is as safe here as she will be anywhere."

"Do you honestly believe that?" she asked him. Her tone was softer now. She was scared – so scared – and sick of acting like she wasn't. Jaime didn't respond. "So long as Joffrey draws breath, Sansa isn't safe here."

"And what will happen to her in the North?" Jaime asked her, becoming frustrated. "Do you think Roose Bolton will happily welcome a Stark into the North when that Stark has a better claim to his lands than he does? Come now, Lyarra, think."

"The Vale, then," Lyarra suggested, stepping away from him. "To my Aunt Lysa."

Jaime scoffed at that idea straight away. "Your aunt is a lunatic."

"Your sister is a lunatic," she pointed out. The mention of his sister made Jaime flinch as though she had accused him of something. "Your son-" Seeing Jaime's glare, Lyarra rolled her eyes and corrected sarcastically, "-your nephew is a lunatic. I'd rather her be with our lunatic aunt than our lunatic king."

"You're asking me to kidnap my sister-in-law and bring her to the Vale. You're asking me to betray my family, you do realise that?" Jaime said, looking at her like she had two heads.

Lyarra felt herself become cold and icy with rage. "I am asking you to keep your oaths, ser."

"And I will," he replied just as icily. "Just give me time."

"How long?"

"As long as it takes."

They spoke no more after that. Lyarra stared at her husband, a mixture of shock and anger mingled together in her grey eyes. Jaime was the one to walk away, leaving Lyarra glaring after him. Anger pulsing through her veins, she decided that now was the time to deal with Jon's septa.

She stormed into the small prayer room on the south-side of the Red Keep. Septa Yselle jumped up, fear etched on her face as she looked at the intruder. Her fear soon morphed into surprise when she saw Lyarra, and then her eyes narrowed accusingly.

"If you would excuse me, my lady, I was at prayer..."

"The gods can wait," Lyarra spat back. "I have to speak with you first. You had no right to lay a finger on my son. I never told you to teach him how to read. I am his mother. I decide how and when he is taught."

"With all due respect, I do not serve you. I take my orders from Lord Tywin," Septa Yselle replied boldly, a permanent frown etched onto her face. "And he was the one who told me to teach Lord Jon how to read and to reprimand him however I see fit."

How dare he?! Not only did Lord Tywin threaten her and treat her like a broodmare, but now he was controlling her son too. Lyarra felt her rage flare again. "Never again will you lay a hand on him. We won't be staying in King's Landing forever. If you decide to be Lord Tywin's loyal dog, when we return to Casterly Rock I will cast you out on the street with nothing but your faith and your gods to save you."

"Lord Tywin is the Lord of Casterly Rock," the septa replied.

"Yes, he is," Lyarra answered. "He is also the Hand of the King. While he's away, Jaime and I will be in charge. Tywin Lannister will be far too busy to care about the likes of you."

Author's Note: I'm a bit iffy about this ending but I don't know how else to end it?

Next chapter is the Purple Wedding! There's a surprise in store ;)