Rise By Sin

As she took her seat at the head table that overlooked the great hall, Lyarra's mind went back to a very similar situation that occurred just over two years ago – the day she named Damon Hill the Lord of Silverhill and angered two of the most powerful houses in Westeros. Once she realised the mistake she had made, Lyarra just knew that her decision would one day come to bite her in the behind. But she was smarter than she had been, and older too. She could handle this.

Damon Hill – now Serrett – sauntered towards the head table, ignoring the whispering lords and ladies of the Westerlands who scowled at who they believed to be an up jumped bastard. He wore the same confident smirk and carried himself with the same arrogance. The girlish part of Lyarra still found him irresistible, yet she was a woman now and less vulnerable than she had been, or so she liked to think.

"Lady Lannister," Lord Damon greeted with a flamboyant bow. Lyarra kept her face even, even if she was internally swooning. Without having to look at Genna beside her, she felt her good-aunt stiffen. Damon continued to speak as confidently as ever, ignoring the whispers and Genna's scowl, "I am, unfortunately, here to ask you for a quite the favour."

Lyarra narrowed her eyes at him. She'd heard about the situation already. Now that the War of the Five Kings was seemingly over, Lord Roland Crakehall had returned home and sought justice for what he perceived as his son and heir being robbed of his birthright.

"I know of your predicament," Lyarra replied, her voice echoing throughout the Great Hall. She used to loath holding court, now it was her favourite aspect of being a regent. She enjoyed having power, far more than she had ever expected. "And I sympathise, truly. But there is little we can do. The war has exhausted our forces and supplies and we are only beginning to rebuild."

"Lord Crakehall is gathering a host to march on Silverhill as we speak," Damon informed her. "He wants to sack Silverhill and take it for his son. My lady, two years ago, you put your trust in me and made me the Lord of Silverhill because you thought I was worthy. I stand here, asking for the same thing. Only this time it's a little more costly."

She stared at him for a moment, her mind going back to that night where she nearly lay with him. He had seen her naked, physically and emotionally. That connection hadn't died. Yet she was smart enough now to put aside silly emotions when it came to ruling an entire kingdom in the most dangerous man in Westeros' stead.

Quickly, she tried to consider the situation from both angles. If she helped him, she was putting more cost on the Lannisters when they were already in debt. However, if she didn't help him, it seemed as though she was going back on her decision, a choice that would make her seem flighty and weak to the lords of the Westerlands.

"This matter is about more than trust," she reminded him. "Like I said, we don't have the means to help you."

"I don't need much, my lady." Damon stepped closer to the head table, but not close enough that the Lannister guards felt the obligation to react. "Lord Crakehall has four thousand men. I have two and a half thousand."

"How many men are you expecting us to forward?" Lyarra asked.

"Not expecting, my lady. I'm hoping," he corrected her, wearing that familiar smirk on his face. Lyarra rolled her eyes, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "About two thousand, to be certain of victory. But two thousand should be enough, considering that we will be on the defensive."

Silently, Lyarra mulled over what Damon had said. She could see Genna frowning beside her. Her good-aunt was an intelligent diplomat and a good tactician, but she was trapped by traditional views. She didn't understand that sometimes, it was necessary to break out of the restrictive mould of tradition. But Lyarra did – she had when she chose Damon to be the Lord of Silverhill. She had viewed that decision as a grave mistake, but maybe it wasn't. After all, Damon had proven himself to be a great leader and well-loved by his people, if not by the nobility.

Having made her decision, Lyarra met Damon's gaze and nodded her head in affirmation. "House Lannister offers you our support," she told him, ignoring the looks some of their noble audience shared. "You'll have two thousand of our infantry and two hundred cavalry. Does that suit your needs?"

"Perfectly, my lady. Thank you," he replied in true gratitude. He bowed to her again, lower this time.

Lyarra gave him one last nod to indicate that he could leave. Damon offered her another bright smile and left the Great Hall. Lyarra walked out before Genna could start scolding her over her decision. Not taking the hint, Genna followed her out.

"What were you thinking?" Genna hissed once they were alone in Lyarra's solar. She shut the door behind her and turned around to face Lyarra, a deathly glare on her pale face. Genna had become sick in the last few months, and her sickness made her temper worsen. Lyarra couldn't do anything right these days.

Not wanting to upset Genna, Lyarra spoke to her in an even, controlled tone. "What I thought was the right thing to do, as always," Lyarra replied, turning on her heel to go to her desk. Before she could turn around, Genna grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

"I thought you'd learned. I thought you'd gotten rid of those stupid, noble notions your father had you believing–"

"–I have," Lyarra insisted, her voice coming out as a growl.

"But today, you proved me wrong," Genna snapped, ignoring Lyarra's insistence that she had changed. "Morally, maybe that was the right thing to do. He's a good man. An honourable man. But a useless ally. You had the chance to right your wrongs and back Tybolt Crakehall's claim, and you just threw that away!"

Lyarra ripped her hand out of Genna's. The elder woman stumbled at the sudden loss of support and started to wobble. Instinctively, Lyarra held her shoulders and steadied her. Without saying a word about it, Lyarra gave Genna a nod and only let go once she was sure Genna was steady enough to keep herself standing.

"I didn't choose to back Damon Serrett's claim because it's what my father would have done or because it was noble," Lyarra admitted, unable to keep her tone even this time. "I did it because Lord Damon has done nothing but prove himself a suitable leader since he became Lord of Silverhill. More importantly, I made him the Lord of Silverhill. That was my decision, my decree. If I go back on that, I show weakness."

"You don't have to go back on that," Genna replied, shakily seating herself on the chair opposite Lyarra's desk. "You don't have to do anything. If the boy cannot keep his castle, then perhaps he does not deserve to have the at all."

"He is a vassal of ours who needs our protection."

"And what of Crakehall? Is he not our vassal as well?"

"He's attacking-"

"There's no need to pretend with me, Lyarra," Genna interrupted, her tone one of biting sarcasm. "I was young as well once, you know. Damon Hill is handsome and charming and you were but a young girl. He made you swoon. You made a mistake. It's all done and dusted."

A harsh, bloody cough interrupted the older woman as she doubled over and started coughing and wheezing, a small stream of blood trickling down her lips. Lyarra rushed to Genna's side, forgetting all about her large, pregnant stomach as she kneeled down beside her good-aunt and patted her back.

Not even a hacking cough could stop Genna from getting out what she wanted to say. In fact, her tone became even harsher. "Now it's time to pick up the pieces" – more coughing, only this time it was a shorter fit – "and start acting like a real leader instead of playing as one."

She felt as though Genna had slapped her. Lyarra backed away from the sick woman, her gut twisting. It wasn't often that Genna wholly supported Lyarra's decisions. Most of their relationship was filled with bickering, yet Genna had never criticised Lyarra like that. She had never questioned her role as a leader, only her decisions.

Torn between the desire to comfort Genna and the desire to leave her on her own to deal with her sickness, Lyarra decided to find someone else to deal with her. Silently, she left her solar and found her handmaiden. Having only arrived a few days ago, Rhea was still unpacking when Lyarra found her.

"Rhea, will you tend to my good-aunt? She's in my solar," Lyarra told her, her voice becoming surprisingly cold.

Though confused, Rhea knew better than to risk Lyarra's anger when she was like this. She inclined her head and murmured her consent before exiting her room. Lyarra placed her hand on her stomach and sighed. She had thought life would be easier when she left King's Landing and returned to Casterly Rock, but her life was still difficult, just in a different manner.

Once she was calmed down, Lyarra took a deep breath and exited the servant's quarters. She wanted nothing more than to sleep. Her back ached from pregnancy and she felt herself becoming moody, a mixture of her surroundings, the aches and pains of pregnancy and the way being with child messed with her head.

She spotted Creylen approaching her, a look of recognition appearing on his face that indicated he was looking for her. She spotted something else in his expression too – grief, perhaps? Lyarra resisted the urge to groan. She didn't need this. She didn't trust herself to not bite his head off, what with the mood she was in.

"My lady, I've been looking all for you," he told her. "I checked your solar and only Lady Genna was inside."

"We had an argument," Lyarra admitted, not stopping to speak with Maester Creylen and striding straight past him. He walked with her blindly, not even knowing where she was heading to. Honestly, Lyarra didn't even know where she was heading to. Her rooms, she supposed, since Rhea had probably tended to Genna by now.

"Was it about the dispute over Silverhill?" Creylen questioned, giving Lyarra a cautious look. Since when had she become a terrifying enough person to make people so anxious around her and so fearful of her reactions? She remembered resenting Jaime for that same quality and now here she was, the exact same.

She shook her head, trying to remember what Creylen had asked her. "Yes, it was. Genna doesn't agree with my decision." She turned her head to look at the old maester who was avoiding looking her in the eye. Lyarra nodded in understanding, and perhaps in resentment as well. "And neither do you."

"I respect your decision, my lady. But it is my duty as your maester to advise and counsel you in situation such as these," Creylen told her. Lyarra nodded again, hoping that the understanding action would calm him somewhat. She didn't want her household to fear her. She never wanted that. Judging by his more open demeanour, Lyarra had succeeded. "While I think it's unwise to oppose a strong house such as House Crakehall in favour of a much less valuable ally, I also think it's unwise to go back on your decision now."

"That we can agree on," Lyarra replied. Her eyes travelled to the letter he had in his hand.

Creylen followed her gaze and sighed. "I received this only a few minutes ago," he admitted, handing the letter to her. "Lord Tywin is dead, my lady. Killed by his own son."

"What?" Lyarra blurted before she could stop herself.

She ripped open the letter and scanned through it quickly. It was in Jaime's untidy scrawl. Tyrion had escaped from King's Landing, Tywin was dead (killed by Tyrion, not Jaime to her relief) and Jaime was coming home to bury his father. Lyarra felt nothing but relief upon reading that Tywin Lannister was dead, after all he'd done to her family. But a part of her felt sorry for Jaime. Tywin was his father after all. Though they had a complicated relationship, Lyarra knew he loved his father in some odd way, just as Tywin loved him.

"Have the bells rang," Lyarra told Creylen, remembering protocol as soon as she finished reading Jaime's letter. She suddenly felt very awake. "And send out letters to all the houses in the Westerlands and our allies."

"Very well, my lady."

He started to walk away. A thought popped into Lyarra's mind. Now that Tywin was dead, she had full reign over the Westerlands for the time being now that Genna was sick. "Creylen," she called. The maester turned around inquisitively. "Gather our forces. Two thousand infantry and two hundred cavalry. They'll march to Silverhill tomorrow."

She noticed the slight look of shock, mingled with some disgust, that crossed Creylen's face. She knew it was distasteful to be thinking of politics when she was supposed to be thinking of her husband's loss and mourning her good-father, but Lyarra cared nothing for Tywin and she had no intention of pretending that she did.

He gritted his teeth together and tried to hide his displeasure at her order. "Should we not wait for Ser Jaime to return home, my lady?"

"This can't wait," Lyarra stated firmly. "And Jaime will be busy burying his father. I don't want to burden him with this. Damon Serrett can command our forces. He's an honourable man. I trust him."

His teeth still gritted together, Creylen nodded his head and voiced his agreement, though his tone was cold and stubborn. Lyarra didn't care. The relief she felt because of Tywin's death far outweighed propriety. She watched the maester walk away, a slow smirk spreading across her lips as she turned around and threw her head back, overcome with glee.

She rested her hand on her stomach, revelling in the fact that her second-born child would never have to know his monstrous grandfather. Jaime would not have Lannister spies watching over her shoulder as she raised their children like Tywin had. She was free of all that now, free of being treated like a traitor.

Because with Tywin dead, some of Cersei's influence died with him as well.

Before long, King Tommen would be controlled by Margaery and Cersei would be valueless. Lyarra had seen how much love Jaime had for Jon and he'd love this child as well. Surely Jaime would put his family before her, his living, breathing, legitimate children above the incestuous children he had with Cersei, the ones he was forbidden from being a father to.

Lyarra pushed away those thoughts as quickly as they came into her head. She didn't like to think about Jaime and Cersei's relationship. It brought up a whole lot of feelings and resentment inside of her that she wanted to stay buried.

A week after she received his letter and six days since Damon Serrett departed Casterly Rock flanked by 2,200 Lannister men, Jaime arrived at Casterly Rock, accompanied by the majority of Lannister guards that had been stationed in King's Landing.

From her window, Lyarra saw Tywin Lannister's coffin inside a horse-drawn carriage. Only then did it dawn on her truly – the mighty Tywin was really dead, and they were all free of his overbearing influence.

Her eyes travelled to the front of the procession and landed on her husband. He had spotted her as well. Their eyes met and Lyarra felt as though he could see through her, as though he could see the joy she felt at his father's death. What kind of wife did that make her? That she felt only happiness at his father's death?

She removed Jon from her hip and placed him on the ground, leading him down the stairs by the hand as he jumped up and down on the balls of his feet, overwhelmed by excitement. It had been only a few months since he last saw his father, yet to a child as young as him it must have felt like years. Their family never had the chance to pretend to be traditional or even to be altogether in the one place for longer than three months. Maybe this was their chance.

Lyarra waited for them in the courtyard, her son by her side. Atop his white horse, Jaime entered the courtyard, flanked by almost three hundred men. As soon as he saw her, his eyes widened at the sight of her huge, pregnant stomach. Lyarra laughed and rested her hand on the bump. She supposed she looked very different from the last time he saw her.

"You're massive," he stated, climbing off his horse to join them. He gave her a peck on the cheek. Though it was normal for a married couple to show each other affection publicly, the sudden show of affection made Lyarra's entire body still with shock. Nevertheless, a smile grew across her face.

"I'm pregnant," Lyarra clarified, as though he could forget. "The baby is set to come any day now. Creylen reckons he or she could come within the week." She gave her husband a cheeky smile. "I'm supposed to be massive."

"A week?" Jaime repeated, his eyes widening with surprise. Lyarra nodded. She noticed the shame cross his face and felt the urge to comfort him.

"So much has happened in the last few months, Jaime. It's okay," she promised him, giving her husband a reassuring smile which he returned with a weak one of his own."What matters is that you're here now."

Absently, Jaime nodded, his thoughts far away from the here and now. Lyarra couldn't imagine what he was going through, the same way he couldn't imagine what it was like to have his whole family massacred. Jaime's brother murdered his father. At least Lyarra knew her family were good, loyal people. That illusion had been shattered for Jaime.

Jaime shook his head as though to shut the thoughts away and looked to Jon, flashing him a large smile that stretched across his face from ear to ear. It had been months since Jon last saw his father. Lyarra had worried he would be cold to Jaime again, after such a long time apart.

In an instant, Lyarra was proven wrong. Jon gave his father a toothy grin in response. Laughing heartily, Jaime scooped Jon into his arm and spun him around, his laugh mingling with Jon's childish giggles.

"Show me your muscles," Jaime playfully commanded. Giggling, Jon flexed his arm and summoned a tiny muscle, which was more like a bump in his upper arm. Jaime gave a loud, exaggeratively amazed noise. "Perhaps it's time we start training you to be a soldier, hm?"

Jon nodded excitedly as Lyarra laughed at Jaime's comment, believing him to be joking. "I'm ready! I've been practising!"

"Is that so?" Jaime encouraged, grinning.

Again, Jon nodded with equal excitement. "With sticks from the garden! I'm reeeeeealy good!"

"I don't doubt it," Jaime replied. He pressed a kiss on Jon's nose and set him on the ground before he turned to Lyarra, his face becoming solemn again. "We need to plan for the burial."

She nodded in agreement. "I wasn't sure about how you'd want to... treat this."

"As one would treat any death of liege lord," Jaime responded, his tone becoming sharp and snappish. Lyarra flinched at his sudden change in demeanour. If he noticed it, Jaime made no indication and his tone stayed just as harsh. "My father was respected by the westerlands. He gave them prosperity. No matter how he died or who killed him, he deserves a proper burial."

"I know," Lyarra said, sounding exasperated. How the tables had turned – now Jaime was the angry, grieving one and Lyarra the supportive, tongue-biting partner. "I'll write to the bannermen and make the arrangements."

She saw the guilt appear on his face. That was one difference between them, she supposed, Lyarra had never felt guilty. In her grief and in her anger, she felt as though everyone deserved her hatred and her rage. Becoming with child again had made her softer, gentler and kinder, more like how she used to be. The baby made her hope again for a better future, even if that future was without her family and with Jaime.

"Thank you," Jaime replied. Without saying it, Lyarra heard his unspoken apology. She gave him a small smile in response as they entered the keep together for the first time in years.

Dressed all in black, Lyarra stared at her reflection in the long, body-length mirror and pondered over how odd it was, that she was allowed to mourn the death of the man who caused her family so much pain yet if she dared shed a tear in public for her father, mother or brothers, she would be deemed a traitor.

The garb was insincere, but it would be insensitive to wear bright colours to her husband's father's funeral.

She spotted Rhea in the mirror as the handmaiden approached her from behind. "A necklace," Rhea announced as she pulled the jewelled necklace across Lyarra's neck, showing it to her. "It's not too fancy. I just thought you looked terribly dull with just the black dress."

"Well, it is a funeral," Lyarra commented, looking at necklace through the mirror. She touched it with her hand, feeling the crevices of the small sapphires beneath her fingertips. "I like it. Thank you, Rhea." Rhea smiled and clasped the necklace behind Lyarra's neck. "Where did you find it?"

"It was in Joanna Lannister's jewellery box," Rhea answered sheepishly, glancing worriedly at Lyarra's reflection and becoming suddenly fascinated with the back of her lady's neck. "I know you never opened it, but I thought, what with you really being Lady Lannister now..."

The thought had never occurred to her. For the last few years, she had been referred to as 'Lady Lannister' and as the Lady of Casterly Rock, but only by proxy, by necessity, and not by right of marriage or birth. But now, the title was indisputably hers. She thought the notion would make her feel thrilled or more powerful, but honestly she felt nothing.

"No, you're right," Lyarra replied once she regained her senses. She was doing that an awful lot lately. In the middle of a conversation, Lyarra often carelessly slipped into a world of her own, forgetting entirely about the person she was speaking with. "I am Lady Lannister now. Might as well look the part. Will you braid my hair?"

Silently, Rhea nodded and led her over to her vanity. Lyarra leaned into her handmaiden's touch as Rhea pulled at her hair and crossed the strands over each other, creating a long braid that stretched to the middle of Lyarra's back. She found the feeling of Rhea's fingers working away at her hair relaxing – comforting, even. She went into a world of her own, focusing on anything but Tywin's death and the impact his horrible existence had on her family.

"I should visit Genna's room before the burial. To see if she's alright," Lyarra muttered when Rhea was done. She struggled to stand up from the chair and had to use the table of her vanity for support. Rhea watched her with worried, anxious eyes. "I'm fine, Rhea," Lyarra assured her, having successfully gotten up from the chair. She smiled, laughing at herself. "The sooner this baby comes out of me, the better."

Rhea threw her head back and joined Lyarra in her laughter. Lyarra bid her handmaiden goodbye before she went to Genna's room. She was probably the last person Genna wanted to see, considering the last altercation they had was certainly less than amicable, but Lyarra didn't see Jaime offering his aunt comfort and his Uncle Kevan was an awkward sort when it came to feelings and whatnot.

Most importantly out of all her reasons, Genna had been there for her when no one else was. The day she found out her father died, it was Genna who wrapped her in her arms and let her cry into her shoulder, who told her what she needed to hear to soothe her grief and then to ensure her survival. After everything Genna had done for her, Lyarra owed her some kindness.

Standing outside Genna's door, Lyarra had to take a deep breath before opening the door. She found Genna sitting on the foot of her bed, coughing and splurting blood. It was the last sight Lyarra wanted to see. She stood awkwardly by the door, unsure of whether to comfort Genna or allow her some privacy.

"You don't knock," Genna observed breathlessly.

"It took you this long to notice," Lyarra replied, a small, sad smile on her lips. Genna looked up at Lyarra, her solemn, pained expression morphing into one of laughter.

They shared a laugh for a few moments. It felt insincere to Lyarra, like Genna was pretending that everything was fine. As always, Lyarra was only too willing to pretend with her. The facade crumbled quickly and soon enough, Genna's body was no longer shaking from laughing, but from crying.

Instinctively, Lyarra rushed to her good-aunt's side and wrapped her in her arms, allowing Genna to weep into her shoulder. The irony of their situation didn't escape Lyarra. Years ago, Lyarra was the one needing comfort, now it was Genna. Despite their recent falling-out, it felt natural to comfort Genna. She was the first Lannister to treat her like family. Lyarra would never forget that.

"He's dead!" Genna cried. "My b-brother is dead!" Her sobs quietened as she regained control of herself, far quicker than Lyarra would have expected. Then again, Genna had much better control over her emotions than Lyarra ever had. The elder woman smiled tightly and wryly. "And soon I'll be joining him."

"What are you talking about?" Lyarra asked. When Genna refused to answer her, instead choosing to press her lips together and look away, Lyarra became panicked. "Genna-"

"I'm old," Genna responded, as though that explained everything. Genna sighed. "Well, not that old. Tywin died before his time and it seems that I will as well. This cough of mine – I know you've noticed it. I see that pitying look on your face every time I start hacking and I hate it. Creylen believes I have a few months. My insides are corrupted, whatever that means. All I know is that I'm dying, Lyarra, and I don't have long." She laughed humourlessly. "I'm beginning to think it's a blessing. Everyone I love seems to be dying all around me."

"Don't say that," Lyarra chided, tears gathering in her eyes. She felt terrible. Today, they buried Genna's brother, and Lyarra was the one crying yet again. She pushed her feelings away and blinked rapidly to get rid of the tears in her eyes. "We'll find someone, we'll search, across the Narrow Sea – Essos – anywhere! We'll find someone to heal you."

"Don't worry yourself," Genna responded. "I couldn't forgive myself if I caused that baby any harm. You wouldn't want that on a dying woman's conscience, would you?" She smiled cheekily at Lyarra.

"How can you joke about this?"

"What else am I to do?" Genna asked. "I've shed my tears, raged at the gods for doing this to me, pleaded for some sort of miracle. And now, I've just accepted it. I bid you to do that as well. It becomes much simpler when you realise there's nothing you can do."

She started tearing up again and hated herself for it. "I can't do that," Lyarra said meekly, shaking her head. She thought of Jaime and all he'd lost. Of her children – Jon and the unborn child she carried – and how they'd never get to know the only Lannister aunt worth knowing.

"Yes, you can. For me," Genna responded, placing her hand on Lyarra's and patting it. "For Jaime. I don't want to hope anymore for a miracle that will never happen and I don't want to spend my last few months waiting for healers from all around the world to tell me the same thing. That I'm dying." Genna smiled sadly at her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Go. I suppose you have a lot to do."

Choking on the lump in her throat, Lyarra nodded wordlessly and walked out of Genna's bedroom, her entire body feeling heavy.

Author's Note: This chapter was supposed to contain Tywin's burial but then it got too long, so that's going to be in the next chapter. A lot of Jaime/Lyarra next chapter. I know their reunion wasn't much, but next chapter will be very fluffy, which could go horribly wrong for me because I'm not the best at fluff!

So,,, what did you guys think of the chapter? Are there any Jaime/Lyarra fluff prompts you want to suggest? Like I said, I'm not the best when it comes to fluff but I want to show a more tender, domestic side to their relationship. I just can't think of any!

Also next chapter: another Lannister baby is born!