The Escape

As soon as she opened her eyes, Lyarra willed herself to sleep again. The thought of going to Joffrey and Margaery's wedding pained her, not because of jealousy or wanting, but because she knew that something was going to happen. When it came to Joffrey, something always happened.

Groaning in frustration, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and climbed out of it. Lyarra called for Rhea to help her dress and do her hair. Like always, Lyarra refused to wear her hair like a southerner, preferring the simple northern styles because she preferred how they looked on her and, to be truthful, because she liked making a statement, however small. Her dress was a pale red and sleeveless. It had a low neckline, nothing like the dresses Margaery wore, but low enough nonetheless. She wore a simple necklace that had once belonged to her mother. The Lannisters wouldn't recognise it, but it still felt like a small victory to her.

Once she was ready, she stood up from her vanity and moved to the window, watching the servants get ready for the wedding feast. Firstly, however, there was the wedding breakfast. Lyarra willed it all to be over. If she could only lie and say she was ill, her sickness from being with child would serve as an acceptable excuse. But Lyarra knew that if she didn't attend, Cersei would be on her back about why and use it as proof that Lyarra was a traitor. It was easier to just go to the stupid wedding.

"Good morning," Jaime said as he walked into her bedroom.

Lyarra turned around to greet him. She gave him a small smile. "Good morning."

"I got Joffrey armour for his wedding," Jaime informed her.

"Good choice. Though I don't imagine it will get much wear." She heard tell of the king's cowardice during the Battle of Blackwater, mainly from Tyrion, but from Margaery and her ladies as well. It surprised her how, when the music was played loud enough, Margaery and her ladies transformed into open books. It was a stark difference from their usual guarded, perfect selves.

Jaime snorted as he poured himself a glass of wine. "It was the only thing I could think of. What to get the boy who has everything. It was difficult." Lyarra didn't respond. She saw him nodding towards their son. "He's sleeping late. I can't remember him ever sleeping past dawn."

"He didn't sleep much last night," Lyarra said, glancing towards Jon. "He had a nightmare."

"Lucky you were there to soothe him then," Jaime retorted, his tone taking on a sarcastic edge.

Without her willing them to, Lyarra felt her eyes narrow at her husband as anger danced within them. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You spoil him," Jaime said plainly. He accompanied his accusation with a scoff as he drank the rest of his wine. "How is he to ever grow into a man when he still sleeps with his mother?"

She rolled her eyes. Ever since he came home, Jaime was trying to change everything. He thought he was fixing their family. Lyarra considered him to be intruding. "He's not supposed to be a man yet, Jaime. He's three years old."

"You know what I mean," Jaime responded. "He needs his own room. He needs to be able to get over his nightmares on his own. If he doesn't learn now then he never will."

Lyarra shook her head, a disbelieving laugh escaping her mouth. "You're over-reacting," she accused. Just like always, Jaime was trying to fix something that didn't need to be fixed.

"And you're being stubborn," Jaime retorted. He paused for a moment. Lyarra was about to jump in with another harsh response, but before she could, Jaime continued speaking. "Father told me yesterday that he wants us to return to the Rock soon after the wedding."

She felt her entire face brighten into a large grin, all of her previous anger forgotten. She was finally getting away from these lunatics. "And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't get a chance," he said. Lyarra remembered the fight they had. Seeing her reaction, Jaime sighed and stepped closer to her, his tone becoming a little softer. "I know you're glad, but I must insist that once we get to Casterly Rock, things will have to change. No more mollycoddling our son." He smiled at her. Lyarra detected humour in his smile and a softness that she sorely missed.

Without hesitating, Lyarra smiled back. "If you asked me to swim to Casterly Rock, I'd have no complaints," she remarked. Anything to get away from this place and your insane sister, Lyarra thought to herself. She pushed those thoughts aside and focused on how happy leaving made her.

Jaime chuckled at her enthusiasm. Slowly, he reached out for her stomach, his hand slowly coming closer to her belly. Now at three months, Lyarra had a small bump that was barely noticeable unless one looked closely for it. She didn't make any movement to encourage Jaime, still bitter about their argument, but didn't discourage him either. Hesitantly, he pressed his hand against her stomach.

"I'll be with you when you're having this one. I swear it," he promised. There was wonder in his eyes as he looked at her stomach. The first time she was pregnant, Lyarra was amazed and excited. This time, however, because she knew how wonderful having a child was, all of her emotions were amplified a lot more.

She had to smile at Jaime's promise. "Another oath?" she said, half in jest.

His expression suddenly turned serious. "And like the oath I made to your mother, I intend to keep this one," he swore.

Lyarra beamed at him. For the first time since he left her in Casterly Rock, Lyarra felt something other than dislike for him. It wasn't love or anything near that. Lyarra would call it closer to acceptance or tolerance. She thought, for the first time in ages, that she could live with Jaime peacefully, without arguing every second interaction.

The breakfast held in celebration of Joffrey's wedding was just as Lyarra expected it to be – lavish, expensive and filled with tension. She felt Cersei glaring daggers at her throughout the whole breakfast. Lyarra wanted to pull her hair out with frustration. She would gladly leave Jaime with Cersei if she could just go home with her son – back to Winterfell, where all Starks belonged. Jon was more of a Stark to her than a Lannister.

Jaime presented Joffrey with their gift. It looked extremely expensive, adorned with gilded steel that shone and sparkled like true gold. There was engravings of lions on the shoulders and a material that looked like a red jewel ran through the armour. Lyarra didn't know much about jewels or armour, but she knew enough to see that Joffrey's armour was glorious. Joffrey thought so too and thanked Jaime genuinely, a large, giddy smile on his wormy lips.

Lord Tywin gave his grandson his gift next. It was a sword, just as Lyarra had expected. It was the second sword forged from her father's. As with Jaime's gift, Joffrey became giddy when he saw it, swinging the sword around recklessly like a child holding his first wooden sword. She felt her eyes well with tears, angry tears, as Tywin gave Joffrey the second sword made from Ice. She got the sick urge to grab the sword from the king and slit Joffrey's throat, in front of all his family and guests. Lyarra realised now that she could do it. Perhaps not physically, Joffrey may be stronger than her, but she had the will and the desire to kill him. To kill all of them.

Dwelling on her murderous thoughts would do her no good, she decided, and she focused on the "proceedings." Next, Tyrion presented Joffrey with a book, detailing the lives of various Targaryen kings. Lyarra was commending Tyrion for his great gift, the book did look interesting in her opinion, just seconds before Joffrey brought his new sword – her father's sword – down upon the book and cut it in half.

Ungrateful cunt, Lyarra thought to herself and from the look she saw on Jaime's face, it was clear that he was thinking the same. Cersei smirked, pleased at her son's reaction. No wonder Joffrey was such a bratty cunt. With a mother like Cersei, it would have been a miracle if he turned out stable.

As she sat in the Sept, watching Joffrey and Margaery recite their vows to one another, all Lyarra could think about was how lucky Sansa was to have gotten out of her engagement. Joffrey would have brutalised her. Margaery was older and more experienced when it came to playing the game. She could have Joffrey wrapped around her little finger in no time. But still, when the time came, Joffrey could easily become bored of her as well and use her as a play toy.

Although she loved her parents dearly, Lyarra often blamed them for the situation they were in. Not for everything that had happened, much of that was unavoidable. No, she blamed them for planning to marry her and Sansa to southern men and never preparing them for what the South was like. Lyarra never realised how different the South was until she was married. It took her a good two years to become accustomed to their games and the constant lying and deceit. If her parents had only warned her, things could have been much different.

She bounced Jon on her knee, seeing that he was getting fussy. If he made a scene, Lyarra had no doubt that Joffrey would ensure that Jon paid for it later. Jaime had accused her of spoiling him, and perhaps she did, but Jaime didn't understand. For a long time, and perhaps still, Jon was all she had. She was so lonely in King's Landing. Her fighting spirit was gone. She had become a shell of who she used to be. Jon was her solace, her only light. So what if she spoiled him? He was a good child, a likeable, clever, kind child. She hadn't done anything wrong by loving her son.

Feeling herself becoming angry again, Lyarra tried not to think about anything that could trigger her anger. They would be back at the Rock soon, away from Joffrey and Cersei and all the other people in King's Landing that Lyarra was wary of. It wasn't quite home, but it was good enough for her.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," Joffrey announced, his voice taking on a tone of annoying flamboyance as though he was a performer.

Margaery forced a smile on her lips. Lyarra knew the new queen well enough to differentiate between her false and her real smiles. Even though Margaery was an expert performer, she still slipped up from time to time. She never gave Joffrey a real smile. "With this kiss, I pledge my love," Margaery replied, as though she was the happiest girl in the world.

And perhaps she was. This was what she wanted, was it not? To be the queen. Lyarra wondered if Margaery would come to regret her eagerness, as Sansa had.

Lyarra caught Cersei's eye, seeing the bitterness and anger etched on her face. It made her smile. Cersei wasn't the queen anymore – Margaery was – and no doubt Cersei hated that fact. Lyarra saw her good-sister's eyes narrow venomously, a sight Lyarra was well used to – only this time her glare wasn't directed at the eldest Stark girl, but rather at her son's new wife. Lyarra looked away, a small smirk coming upon her lips. You're not in charge anymore, Lyarra thought, the mere thought was enough to thrill her immensely. You can't hurt me anymore.

She knew that was a lie. Cersei was still the mother of the king. But Lyarra had faith that Margaery would fight her corner as much as she could. She was safer than she had been in a long time.

"I hate weddings," Jaime commented as the proceedings finished and Margaery and Joffrey started to walk out of the sept. They were flanked by the Kingsguard and the Lannisters, that included Jaime and his family.

"No need to be so negative," Lyarra replied. Jaime gave her an odd look, causing Lyarra to laugh as she hoisted Jon onto her hip. "We only have seventy-seven courses to go."

"Don't remind me," Jaime groaned. Once they were outside the Sept, Jaime ruffled Jon's hair affectionately before he turned to Lyarra, "I have to join the guard. Will you be alright?"

Summoning a reassuring smile, Lyarra nodded her head. "Of course. Go on," she told him. In truth, she wished for him to stay. She loathed to be alone among her husband's family. Even though Jaime occasionally drove her to madness, he was the most tolerable of his family along with Tyrion.

She spotted Sansa and Tyrion climbing into a carriage together and longed to join them. Seeing that Lord Tywin was only a few feet away, she decided against it. She climbed into an empty carriage and seated Jon beside her. He asked her a million questions about marriage and weddings and asked if Lady Margaery was pregnant now that she was married, since women were married so they could have babies. Lyarra went bright red and stumbled for an answer. Luckily, someone joined her in the carriage just then, serving as a much-needed distraction.

That relief quickly faded when Lyarra saw who had joined her. Cersei, once again, had decided to keep her company as they rode back to the keep.

"Your Grace," Lyarra greeted politely, disguising the venom in her voice. The carriage had just started to move and was rocking them.

"He behaved well for such a young boy," Cersei complimented Jon, giving her nephew what was supposed to be a kind, warm smile but instead looked like a lecherous grin. "When Joffrey was his age, he would have roared the Sept down if he was forced to sit down for that long."

A part of Lyarra wished that Jon could be more... childish, she supposed was the word. Because of her status as a traitor, he had to be perfect. Perhaps they could let their guard down now that Jaime was home. Nevertheless, Lyarra was still hyper-vigilant.

"The wedding was beautiful," Lyarra said in an attempt to bring the conversation to a lighter topic. She had chosen the wrong topic, judging by Cersei's sour look. She tried to redeem herself. "The Sept was decorated wonderfully."

"Yes, it was," Cersei replied, looking away from Lyarra as her thoughts consumed her. Lyarra could almost see the bitter thoughts eating away at her good-sister. She was paranoid, that was for certain. "Lady Margaery looked beautiful, didn't she?"

Lyarra startled at that. She feared that the queen knew about her affair with Margaery. How could she? We were so careful... Yet rumours spread and they were enough to tear apart a person's reputation. Or, in the case of a traitor's daughter, it was enough reason to issue a death warrant.

"She did," was Lyarra's response, She cursed herself for letting her voice shake.

"Her brother's rather handsome as well. I'm to be married to him. Have you heard the rumours about him?" Cersei asked her, green eyes narrowed into accusing slits. Shaking her head, Lyarra didn't have to try to look dumbfounded. "No?" Cersei gave a little, mocking laugh. "I thought everybody knew. Loras Tyrell prefers male company. Didn't you know?"

Looking confused again, Lyarra shook her head. "No, I didn't. What do you mean he prefers male company?"

"I mean that he fucks men," Cersei replied, delighting in how Lyarra flinched at her use of vulgar words. "You're such a delicate little thing, aren't you? A perfect little lady wife. I remember how Robert used to stare at you, and by stare I mean stare." She threw her head back and chuckled. "At your tits and your arse... he thought you were Lyanna Stark reborn. I never saw the similarity. Lyanna had a backbone. She was a true wolf. You're more like a bird, just like your sister."

The carriage came to a halt. Mumbling a polite farewell, Lyarra climbed out of the carriage and rushed away, just like at Tyrion and Sansa's wedding. Cersei seemed to like cornering her and forcing her to listen to horrible insults. The thought of King Robert looking at her like that made her want to get sick, even though it happened years ago.

Given that it was such a lovely day – naturally, every day was lovely in King's Landing – the wedding took place outside. The tables were covered by tents made from Lysene cloth with intricate, floral designs on the edges. Tywin Lannister had spared no expense. Lyarra remembered how costly her own wedding had been, and that was a wedding between his heir and a girl that he didn't really want his beloved son to marry. This was a royal wedding and, naturally, it seemed to cost twice as much.

Jaime dismounted his horse and joined her and their son, escorting them to their seats. They were seated at the head table. Lyarra sat with Jaime on her left and Jon to her right, with Prince Tommen on his right. The prince was a sweet boy. He was kind and caring. Joffrey had taunted and on occasion hurt Jon, but Prince Tommen couldn't have been more different. The prince doted on his cousin and spoke with him about silly little things, like knights and horses and what Jon liked to play while Tommen listened to his baby babble with a surprisingly interested look on his face. Lyarra had to smile at that.

Seventy-seven courses later, Lyarra's stomach ached and her head was whirling. They were small enough portions, but seventy-seven was far too much for any normal human. Jon had been unable to continue eating after the forty-sixth and Lyarra hadn't forced him, even when Cersei gave her a scowl. Jon was sitting back in his chair now, rubbing his stomach. Lyarra wished she could do the same, but unfortunately, it would have been improper.

After the meals, performers were brought in front of the king and the royal family. Each one of them was jeered by Joffrey in some way or another. One man got coins thrown at him, another, a singer, fell victim to Joffrey's threats – the man was such a terrible singer, Joffrey joked that he shouldn't have a tongue. For most, this would have sounded like some sort of terrible joke. But because it was Joffrey saying it, and because his reputation preceded him, the wedding reception went deadly silent and the singer quaked in fear. Just then, Joffrey broke the tense silence by throwing his head back and laughing cheerfully.

She was bored yet on edge, terrified that Joffrey might turn on her next. It was very possible, considering how he loved to humiliate Starks and those less powerful than him. Lyarra remembered how gleeful he was when telling her of the deaths of Robb and her mother. That smile made her insides twist with anger and disgust whenever her mind pictured it. He had been delighted with himself, as though the deaths of her family were the gods' gift to him. In the last few weeks, she felt her sanity and her morality deteriorate. She considered doing things she would have never even thought of before. At night, she imagined things, horrible, sinful things, and the thought of vengeance was the only thing that got her to sleep.

Sometimes she wondered if she was going mad or if she was adapting. Perhaps King's Landing required a bit of insanity to survive it.

"I'm going for a walk," Lyarra told Jaime, finding him to be as bored as she was.

"Don't stray too far," he warned her, his tone becoming one of scolding.

Rolling her eyes, a jesting smile came upon her lips. "I won't," she replied as she pushed out her chair and stood up. So long as she could get somewhere where she couldn't see or hear Joffrey, she would be plenty satisfied.

Despite the noise of those attending the wedding and the loud laughter of bawdy men, Lyarra finally felt at peace and more relaxed once she had gotten away from the head table. She was forced to speak with the occasional lord or lady who wished to offer their condolences and examine her reaction. Lyarra had her reaction down to a tee at this point. A small, thankful smile, a simple 'thank you,' and a mention of how Robb and her mother got what was coming for them because of their traitorous ways and how she missed the brother and mother she knew at Winterfell, not the traitors they became. People always looked disappointed at her guarded response. No doubt, they wanted to run back to Cersei and Lord Tywin with tell of how the Kingslayer's wife was as traitorous as her family. Lyarra wouldn't make it easy for them, even if that meant insulting her family's memory.

Caught up in her thoughts, Lyarra didn't notice the Prince of Dorne until his accented drawl called her attention to him. "Ah, Lady Lannister!" Prince Oberyn greeted her, a wide grin on his face. He said her title mockingly, a hint of distaste in his tone.

"Prince Oberyn," she replied, a civil smile on her lips. I'm not very fond of my title either, she wanted to tell him, but I manage to say it without distaste. Prince Oberyn was a man with a family to protect him. He could say what he pleased. Lyarra knew that if she said one wrong word against House Lannister, she would be firmly reprimanded.

Without warning, the prince grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, lowering his voice to a whisper as his hot breath touched her cheek. "What happened to your family at the Twins was savagery. I have never forgotten what the Lannisters did to my family. You must never forget what they did to yours." Startled and wide-eyed, Lyarra merely stared at him, shocked and speechless. Prince Oberyn grinned salaciously at her. "Forgive me, my lady, but I have often wondered – does the Kingslayer fuck you well with only one hand, or would you say it has hindered his performance?"

She wondered if his question was a cover-up. He spoke it louder than his condemnation of the Lannisters. It was odd that the prince viewed asking about a woman's sex life and insulting her husband in the process as a great deal more acceptable. She blinked, still startled from what he said to her before. "What a strange thing to wonder, Prince Oberyn," was her shaken response.

Oberyn winked at her, smirking. "Yet I have wondered all the same."

"I am very satisfied in my marriage," she assured him. It was the best response she could think of that didn't implicate herself as a harlot or a prude and that didn't insult Prince Oberyn. Feeling awkward because of the smirk Oberyn was giving her, she quickly changed the subject and glanced towards his paramour. "You haven't introduced me to your partner."

"Ah," Prince Oberyn replied, grinning. He slid his hand across his lover's back, moving his hand lower than what the highborn in King's Landing would consider appropriate. "This is my paramour – Ellaria Sand."

Lyarra smiled at her and gave her a nod. "Nice to meet you."

"You're more polite than your good-father and good-sister," Ellaria noted, speaking in a similar Dornish drawl that Oberyn had. She was very beautiful, with tanned skin, brown eyes and dark, curly hair. "Lady Cersei was preoccupied with the status of my birth."

She would expect no less from Cersei. The former queen considered herself above everyone just because she was a Lannister. She even considered herself above those of her own house. Bastards must seem like dirt to her. "My brother is a baseborn and I named my son after him."

The Dornish beauty gave her a genuine smile. Before his paramour could respond, Oberyn had cupped her chin in his hands as he inspected her."You are a pretty girl. What do you think, my love?"

"She is pale," Ellaria commented, "and small." This seemed like a common occurrence for them, inspecting people and commenting on their looks. Lyarra looked at the both of them as though they had three heads. "But a beauty all the same. I've never had a northern girl."

"Nor I," Oberyn drawled. He let her go and stepped away from her, wearing that same grin, as though he knew something she didn't. "I've always liked to try women and men of all parts of the world, yet I do not think it is worth risking the wrath of Ser Jaime to have you. You must forgive me."

"I forgive you, my lord," she replied, still feeling very bewildered. Lord Oberyn and his paramour gave her one last seductive, salacious grin before they left her trying to make sense of what just happened.

Blinking rapidly, she had only just regained her composure and her senses when Cersei appeared beside her, staring after the Red Viper and his paramour with narrowed eyes. "What did the Viper want?"

As though Lyarra was going to tell her of all people. Cersei would no doubt insist that she had wanted Oberyn to speak like that to her. As always, the queen enjoyed to find things that weren't there. "Nothing," Lyarra answered. "It was an idle conversation."

Cersei scoffed. "Nothing with Oberyn Martell is ever idle," Cersei said snappishly. Her irritated expression soon changed to one of mocking as she looked at Lyarra like she was prey. "You got with child again very soon after my brother's return. He must have forbade you sleep."

Ignoring the little laugh Cersei gave after her very rude statement, Lyarra looked Cersei in the eye and kept her expression still and as emotionless as she could. "We are fortunate to be blessed with a child so soon."

Her polite response only served to ignite the queen's anger. Cersei sneered at her. "You're a good little girl, aren't you? Always polite. Always dutiful. You're an exceptional broodmare, always willing to spread your legs for my brother. One might think you enjoy fucking him."

"I would never dare," Lyarra replied, her tone dripping with unwelcome sarcasm. God forbid a woman enjoyed lying with her husband. Cersei surely enjoyed lying with Jaime, or else she would not have laid with him and produced three bastard children.

"How often does he take you? Nightly? Is he rough with you?" Cersei asked, glaring at her. Lyarra could tell that she was jealous of her. To Cersei, it must have seemed as though Lyarra had it all – she was married Jaime and she had a legitimate child by him whose parentage she didn't have to hide. Lyarra would have given it all up in an instant. Cersei must have known that. If she could just go home, she would give it all to Cersei.

But Cersei didn't care what Lyarra wanted. She hated Lyarra out of bitter jealousy. Because of that, Lyarra felt sorry for her. Yet her anger got the better of her as she turned to Cersei, a small smirk on her lips. "Was he rough with you?"

The queen's eyes went wide, her mouth opening slightly in an expression of complete and utter shock, before her eyes narrowed and she glared venomously at her brother's young wife. "You little-"

She was interrupted by her own son as Joffrey started speaking, calling everyone to return to their seats as he had a surprise in store. Lyarra gave her good-sister one last smug look, well-aware that she would pay for it in some form or another, and walked towards her seat.

"Everyone silent!" Joffrey shouted. "There's been too much... amusement here today. A royal wedding is not an amusement. A royal wedding is history. The time has come for all of us to contemplate our history. My lords, my ladies," he addressed as one of the servants pulled a lever to open the mouth of a gigantic, mechanical lion. A red carpet, like a tongue, rolled out from the lion's mouth. Gleefully, Joffrey announced, "I give you... King Joffrey!" A small, golden-haired dwarf came riding out of the lion atop of fake horse. He called the names of the riders one by one. "Renly! Stannis! Robb Stark! Balon Greyjoy!" The dwarves cheered and shook their lances in glee. "The War of the Five Kings!"

The dwarves spun around on their horses like little fools. Lyarra turned her head and glared at the king without willing herself to, feeling an immense amount of rage bubble within her. Not only had he caused his death, he was making a mockery of him now. Robb was dead and Joffrey couldn't just let him rest.

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!" Robb's actor yelled joyfully.

Joffrey's actor gave a chuckle. "Yes!" The five actors got in formation as Joffrey's actor announced, as pompous as his inspiration. "Let the war... begin!"

The display was a disgusting, dishonourable example of Joffrey's childishness. Lyarra tried not to be upset, but as she watched the five dwarves run around, her brother being made a fool of, she couldn't help but feel her grief and sadness flare up again.

The dwarves chased King Renly and shoved their swords and spears up the back of his mount which was shaped like an arse. The Knight of Flowers pushed back his chair angrily and stormed off. The rumours were true then – Loras had loved Renly. The rest of the Tyrells, including Margaery, didn't look impressed either. The only ones laughing were Cersei, Tommen, Tywin, the lords and ladies who wanted to impress their king and, of course, Joffrey himself, who was choking because of laughing too hard. Jaime wasn't even laughing.

"I am the King in the North!" Robb's dwarf actor yelled again, spinning around like a fool. Joffrey looked over at them to gauge their response. Lyarra tried to keep her face even, but her eyes gave her true feelings away. Jon giggled and looked up at his parents. Seeing the anger on his father's face and the sadness etched in his mother's, he became as sombre as they were and went quiet.

Most of the dwarves had been defeated or were acting like fools, except for Joffrey's and Robb's actors, who were jousting against one another. Lyarra bristled at Robb's actor's continuous cries of, "I'm the King in the North!" Robb would have never declared his title so pompously. She felt herself shake with anger and fisted her hands in her skirts to keep herself from saying or doing something stupid and to keep her face even. Joffrey's actor's lance knocked off dwarf Robb's wolf helmet and the dwarf soon fell off his horse and onto the ground, dying.

Lyarra felt Jaime's hand cover hers underneath the table. She didn't look at him, fixated on the display in front of her. Joffrey's actor dismounted his 'horse' and picked up Robb's actor's helmet and placed it over the area of his manhood, thrusting into it mockingly. Joffrey snorted with laughter and spat up his wine. Lyarra felt tears gather in her eyes. It wasn't how her brother died, but seeing an actor who was meant to be her brother die like that hurt her greatly. It was meant to hurt her, that she knew, her and Sansa.

Joffrey's actor threw the helmet on the ground and stood back, bowing to the audience. "My pleasure!" They lined up again and bowed to the audience, while some clapped and cheered and others glared silently.

Lyarra looked at the knife on her table. She could do it. Jaime's hand squeezed hers again. She looked away from the table and towards him. His face said it all – don't do anything stupid. Lyarra ached to do something stupid, just for once. She had been well-behaved for the last few years, like a trained dog. She wanted to lash out.

"Well fought, well fought!" Joffrey cheered. "Here you are – champion's purse." He looked thoughtful for a moment as he held the red purse before he looked towards his uncle. "Though you're not the champion yet, are you? A true champion defeats all who challenges. Surely there are others out there who still dare to challenge my reign? Uncle, how about you? I'm sure they have a spare costume."

Tyrion smiled wryly as chuckles came from the reception. He pushed his chair back and stood up. "One taste of combat was enough for me, Your Grace. I'd like to keep what remains of my face. I think you should fight. This was but a poor imitation of your own bravery on the field of battle. I speak as a first-hand witness. Climb down from the high table with your new Valyrian sword and show everyone how a true king wins his throne. Be careful though, this one is clearly mad with lust. It would be a tragedy for the king to lose his virtue hours before his wedding night." He sat back down as Joffrey glared at him with petulant rage.

The king picked up his glass and walked over to where Tyrion sat. He poured the red wine over his uncle's head, a childish, delightful grin on his wormy lips.

"Fine vintage," Tyrion stated, tasting the wine from his fingers. "Shame that it spilled."

"It did not spill," Joffrey replied, seething. He obviously wanted credit for his childish actions.

"My love! Come back to me!" Margaery called out, stretching out her arm as she planted an adoring smile on her lips. She wasn't fooling anyone anymore. Everyone had seen the look of disgust on her face at how Joffrey acted during the dwarves' performance. Lyarra hadn't missed the look of loathing she gave Joffrey as he snorted on his wine. "It's time for my father's toast," she told him.

Her efforts were acknowledged by Joffrey, but the king somehow managed to use it as an excuse to humiliate Tyrion further. "How does he expect me to toast without wine?" He walked towards his own seat before turning around, a gleam in his eyes as he looked back at his uncle. "Uncle, you can be my cupbearer, seeing as you're too cowardly to fight."

"Your Grace does me a great honour," Tyrion replied.

"It's not meant as an honour," Joffrey growled.

Tyrion stood up and gave Sansa a sorry look. Just as Tyrion was about to take the cup from Joffrey to fill it, Joffrey dropped it on the ground. When Tyrion bent down to pick it up, the king kicked it away. This was no king, not really. This was a spoilt child with a crown on his head.

"Bring me my goblet," the king commanded. Tyrion crawled under the table to find it. Sansa reached under the table and picked up the goblet, giving Joffrey a barely disguised look of loathing as she handed the cup to Tyrion, who took it with a grateful smile. Tyrion made to hand the cup to Joffrey. "What good is an empty cup? Fill it."

Obeying his king reluctantly, Tyrion grabbed a pitcher of wine and filled the king's cup before handing it to him. Joffrey stared at him like he had done something else wrong. Perhaps the king wanted more of a reaction. Lyarra noticed that Jaime's hand was still holding hers. She wondered if she was the one needing comfort or if he needed it now, watching his brother being taunted by his bratty son.

"Kneel," Joffrey ordered. When Tyrion didn't kneel, the king repeated himself. "Kneel before your king." His voice became threateningly low. "Kneel." Tyrion merely stared up at his nephew, expressionless. Joffrey yelled at him. "I said KNEEL!"

"Look, the pie!" Margaery stood up and exclaimed, her voice soft and high-pitched as she tried to ease the tension once again. As everyone else cheered, Tyrion and Joffrey continued to stare at each other. Joffrey took his cup from Tyrion and went to be with his new wife.

Joffrey cut the pie with his new sword – her father's sword – and released a flurry of white doves who flew away into the sky. Lyarra forced herself to clap, her face showing no sign of joy or merriment. Even Jaime couldn't bring himself to look happy.

"Wonderful!" Margaery exclaimed as Joffrey grinned and took the praise just the same as his dwarf actor had earlier.

As Margaery fed Joffrey his pie, a forced look of adoration on her face, Tyrion and Sansa made to leave. As though he heard them getting up, Joffrey turned around and addressed them immediately. "Uncle, where are you going? You're my cupbearer, remember?"

"I thought I might change out of these wet clothes, Your Grace," Tyrion said.

"Oh, no, no, no. You're perfect the way you are," Joffrey replied as he took another bite of the pie. "Get me my wine." He turned around and gave Sansa a sorry look as he went over to tend to his king. "Hurry up! This pie is dry."

Tyrion handed the king his wine and went back over to Sansa. "If it please Your Grace, Lady Sansa is very tired-"

"No!" Joffrey said immediately, started to cough. "You'll wait here." He gripped at his throat as the cough became worse.

"Your Grace..."

He drank more of his wine. "It's nothing." He turned to Margaery, a terrified look on his face as he started to heave. Lyarra heard that once the coughing stopped and no sound could be heard from the choking person, that was when a person was truly in danger. She almost smiled as she watched the king suffer. She had never wished for anyone to die. She had never wished for tragedy to befall anyone. Until now.

"Help the poor boy!" Lady Olenna shouted. "Idiots, help your king!"

Joffrey dropped his goblet onto the floor and grasped at his chest as he became less and less audible. He fell down the steps the led to the high table and hit the floor, coughing up vomit that was coloured red. Lyarra stood up, watching the king choke and trying to keep her expression schooled at the same time. Writhing and wriggling on the floor, he looked pathetic. Nothing like the spoilt boy that had managed to inflict terror in them all. Now, he was defenceless. There was a boy even younger than she was dying right in front of her and Lyarra didn't feel an ounce of pity.

Jaime turned her around to face him. She could see the conflict on his face. He wanted to get to his son, but he wanted to make sure she was safe as well. "You have to leave. If he dies, you'll be blamed." Lyarra fumbled for words. Speechless, she looked between the dying king and Jaime. "Now. Go."

Unable to think of what to say, Lyarra silently hoisted Jon onto her hip. She looked at Jaime for a second, wondering if she should say something, assure him that Joffrey would be okay or that she would be okay... Speechless, Lyarra merely gave him a nod of gratitude and ran off.

She had no idea what she was going to do. She decided to run to the docks. She could decide on a plan on the way. Perhaps some sailor would take pity on her. She heard someone following behind her and the clanking of armour. Looking over her shoulder in fear, she was calmed to find that it was only Brienne.

"To the stables, my lady," Brienne told her. "Give him here. He is slowing you down."

Brienne took Jon from her and managed to continue running, even with Jon's weight. The stables was empty save for a single stable boy. Brienne knocked his head against the wall, knocking the boy out. They stole two horses which Brienne deemed as the fastest by only looking at them. Lyarra took Jon back from Brienne and placed Jon in front of her on the horse. She kicked the horse to get it to gallop out of the stables. They had no gold. Lyarra didn't even have a cloak. Yet they went anyway.

Lyarra knew that Jaime was right. If she stayed, they would have blamed her for Joffrey's death. Now that she had fled King's Landing, she looked more guilty. They continued riding at high speed until night fall, putting enough distance between themselves and King's Landing.

She looked over her shoulder at the Red Keep and the town that surrounded it. Lyarra smiled.

May I never return.

Author's Note: Longest chapter so far – 7000 words! It wasn't meant to be this long and usually when chapters are this long I'd split them somewhere in the middle and have two chapters, but there was no good place to split it considering that most of it is one long scene (the wedding). Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter! Saturdays have become my day for updating so hopefully I can keep that up.

So... what do you think about Lyarra escaping King's Landing?