Buried Grievances

As the septon blessed Tywin's coffin and prayed for his soul, Lyarra's thoughts brought her somewhere else. Though she tried not to, she kept glancing towards her good-aunt every few seconds, thinking of how in just a few months, they'd have to bury her as well.

Tears welled in her eyes. Those attending the funeral would think that she was crying for Tywin, for her good-father, but Lyarra would rather gouge out her eyes than cry for him. She'd sooner laugh at his dead body than cry over his coffin. She stared at it, the great, expensive, wooden coffin that held Tywin's body within, and she felt relief. She felt joy. This was justice for Robb and her mother – the man who orchestrated their murders was dead. She wanted to smile and laugh, but Lyarra had more tact than that. Jaime's bannermen would not look kindly on her laughing at their former liege lord's funeral.

So she bit her lip and bowed her head, concentrating on Jon's fidgeting hands as he tried his best to fight his boredom. He wrung his little fingers and yawned, bored out of his mind. While they were in King's Landing, Tywin's influence over how Jon was being raised was immense, but Jon actually spent very little time with his grandfather, and as far as Lyarra was concerned, that was for the best.

She noticed that the septon had changed the topic of his speech and was now talking about how fine a leader and a man Tywin was. She had to bite her tongue to keep herself from scoffing. A fine leader perhaps, but a man? Tywin was the most ungodly person she knew and yet the septon claimed that he was generous, kind and forgiving – a true man of the gods, a fine bearer of their teachings, a man of his word. Her throat itched as she choked on her words, on her desire to get up and tell everyone what kind of bastard Tywin really was, tell them what he did to her family, what he threatened to do to her.

He deemed her unnecessary. He claimed that her life was expendable, that Jon didn't need her. He was wrong. Without her, Jon would turn out to be like him, to be a Lannister. Lyarra would never let that happen, to Jon or to the child in her belly. They'll be Starks, she promised herself, they'll be like Father and Robb and Jon. I will raise them like northerners.

And that would be her 'fuck you' to Tywin Lannister.

Afraid that her face would show anything but indifference, Lyarra straightened her face and forced herself to listen to the septon again. "He is survived by his son Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the West, by his daughter the Queen Mother, by his granddaughter Princess Myrcella and also by his grandsons King Tommen and Lord Jon Lannister."

"That's me," Jon whispered excitedly to Lyarra.

She smiled at Jon and placed her finger to her lips, indicating to him to be quiet. As the ceremony came to a close, a group of red cloaks appeared from the back of the Sept and put Tywin's coffin on their shoulders. They followed Tywin's coffin onto the street. The eight red cloaks carrying his coffin led them to Casterly Rock, where Tywin was to be buried beneath the crypts with his wife. She looked over to Jaime and found his expression to be cold and weary. She knew better than to speak to him when he was like this. He had a worse temper than even she did.

"Mother, I'm tired," Jon whined.

Lyarra looked down at him, noticing that his steps were becoming sluggish. She hiked him up onto her hip and carried him to the keep, thanking the gods that it wasn't too long of a walk. She was heavily pregnant and ready to burst at any moment, and she was always tired. Her back ached and the baby's kicking didn't help. The child in her belly kicked so hard it was almost like he was trying to climb out through her skin.

Once they were inside the keep, Lyarra set Jon on the ground despite his whining and held his hand as they walked down to the crypts. The red cloaks lowered Tywin into the ground using four ropes as the septon flickered holy oil on the coffin. He said one last blessing and prayer, and then it was over. Tywin Lannister was dead and truly buried.

And that, Lyarra noted, felt like blissful closure.

After the burial, they held a reception in the Great Hall. Lyarra was sat at the heat table with Jaime, Jon and the rest of the Lannister family. Their vassals and the bannermen's wives came up to them to express their condolences. Most only said a few words, some said nice things about Tywin which Lyarra had to force herself to sit through and nod along, and one or two went into painfully long speeches about how great a man he was.

"I knew him for years," Lord Cerwyn told them, his voice low and mournful. It sounded exaggerated to Lyarra. "I used to play with Tywin and his brothers when we were children. Sometimes Lord Baratheon would bring his son Steffon to Casterly Rock for a few days, that's King Robert's father, you know."

"Yes, I know," Jaime replied sarcastically, though the old man didn't quite pick up on Jaime's sour tone and continued on.

"We had King Aerys over once or twice. He wasn't quite as mad back then, just a bit temperamental." Cerwyn's eyes went wide as he remembered that Jaime was the one who put an end to the Mad King's tyranny. "Never the matter. When Tywin became the Lord of Casterly Rock, he proved himself to be a far better leader than his father was. I was around the same age and my own father died around the same time. We were both thrust into the horrors of leadership around the same age. You're lucky, my lord, to become a lord at a better, more mature age."

"Fortunate, indeed," was Jaime's response. Again, it was filled with sarcasm that Lord Cerwyn didn't pick up on.

"I was loyal to your father throughout his tenure. I admired him greatly and did my best to be of service to him," the old man promised. "And I hope to be of service to you as well, my lord, for as long as the gods keep me in this world."

Lyarra looked over to Jaime, expecting him to say something in response. Before Cerwyn could continue speaking, Lyarra forced to come up with some sort of reply, "Thank you, my lord," she told him, a cordial smile on her lips. "We appreciate your loyalty."

Finally taking his cue to leave, Lord Cerwyn wished them well and bowed before going on his way. Lyarra glanced around the room, taking note of all the lords who were not in attendance. Lord Crakehall and Lord Serrett were currently fighting with each other so their absence was excused, but Lord Lefford also hadn't bothered to show up. Lyarra refused to let herself be riled up. They didn't need Lefford when every other lord seemed to be loyal.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Jon as he tugged at her skirts to get her attention. "I'm tired," he complained again, jutting his lower lip out as he pouted up at her.

Lyarra brushed a loose strand of brown hair away from his face and gave him a kind smile, "We'll be leaving soon," she promised him before turning to Jaime again, "That was tedious. Lord Cerwyn obviously wants something." She trailed off as she looked to her right where Jaime had been and found no one there.

"Genna," she called, getting her good-aunt's attention. "Will you watch Jon for a few moments?"

Genna smiled and nodded, outstretching her arms. Jon climbed onto her lap and rested his head against her breast. "Someone's tired, hm?" she whispered to him, rocking him back at forth and lulling him to sleep.

She left the Great Hall, brushing off those who tried to speak with her, and searched for her husband. She found him sitting on the steps that led down to the crypts. His sobs were quiet and muffled, but Lyarra heard them all the same. She sat down next to him wordlessly as Jaime cast a quick glance in her direction before wiping his eyes with his left hand.

"It's odd to think of him as dead," Jaime admitted. "I thought he'd live forever."

"So did I," Lyarra agreed, thinking of all the times he called her to his solar and scolded her. He seemed so powerful, like some sort of unholy god. "He just seemed invincible."

Jaime nodded, becoming quiet again. He stared at the last step on the spiral staircase, lost in thought. "Everything is going to go to shit now he's gone," he said, turning his head to look at Lyarra. "I don't have a clue what to do."

"We'll figure it out," she promised him. She knew how to manage finances and the basic issues the westerlands had, but controlling and managing it's nobles was a completely different story.

He seemed to be worrying about that aspect as well. "Our bannermen used to treat my grandfather like a fool. They took money from him and never paid it back and when he asked for repayment, they belittled him."

Genna spoke of her father often, mostly in jest. When they were discussing the economy of the westerlands and wondering how to fix their current situation of being in debt, Genna used to say that at least they weren't throwing gold at men in return for fake smiles like her father had.

"From what I heard of your grandfather, he seemed like a horrible pushover."

"He was," Jaime agreed. "But these lords... they're not like the ones in King's Landing or in the North. They will take advantage of us if we even show them an ounce of kindness. If they detect weakness, they'll jump on it."

"You're not a pushover, Jaime," she assured him, placing her hand on his knee. "You'll be fine. They'll respect you."

"They're used to being ruled by my father's steel fist. Despite what you may think of me, I don't have it in me to be as cruel and ruthless as he was."

Perhaps not now, she thought to herself. Lyarra had seen a lot of his father in Jaime when they had first married, and sometimes still. But the difference now was that Jaime had no desire at all to be like his father when it came to how he ruled. Lyarra hoped that wouldn't change. She knew better than anyone that necessity could completely alter who someone was.

She gave him a sad smile and nodded, "I know you don't. They'll get used to your way. You just have to show them that you're not to be messed with."

"And how do I do that?" he asked, his tone sounding hopeless and showing more vulnerability than Lyarra had ever seen him display, at least to her.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Like I said, we'll figure it out." She patted his knee one last time and gave him another sorry smile. "We should get back."

He nodded his head and climbed onto his feet, seeming distracted. Lyarra tried to get up, even shifting her weight to different sides in an effort to get onto her feet, but every attempt failed. The damn baby was too big for her to do anything.

"Jaime," she said, holding her stomach – the source of all this hassle.

"What is it?" he asked, worry seeping into his voice.

"I can't get up."

Jaime laughed with her. He bent his knees and offered her his arm. Gracelessly, Lyarra clamoured onto her feet and allowed Jaime to help her up the stairs. She waddled to the Great Hall, finding it surprisingly, and blissfully, devoid of people. She found Jon sleeping in Genna's arms.

"I'll take him," Jaime said as he lifted Jon into his arms. "I'm going to put him to bed."

Lyarra nodded. Jon squirmed and whinged, tiredly wiping his eyes. He said nothing to them and fell back asleep as Jaime took him out of the hall. Lyarra bid Genna goodnight and said goodbye to those still in the hall before she went to bed as well.

Because she was mere days away from giving birth, Jaime had taken to sleeping with her. There was need for it, but Lyarra understood why he was so insistent. His own mother died giving birth and Lyarra had nearly died while giving birth to Jon. It gave him comfort to sleep with her and know that she wasn't in danger yet. And honestly, Lyarra found it sweet.

She undressed and took the pins out of her hair before climbing into bed. Exhausted, she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. In what felt like just a few seconds later, she heard a loud crashing noise and jumped awake.

"Sorry!" Jaime muttered before he started cursing beneath his breath and grabbing his knee.

"Did you bang your knee off the bed?" Lyarra asked, struggling not to laugh.

"Yes, I did."

"You idiot," she chastised jokingly before she let herself laugh.

"Shut up," he murmured, a small grin on his lips at his own clumsiness as he took off his doublet and dressed in his nightclothes. "I was trying not to wake you."

"Well, you obviously failed. I'm surely awake now," she told Jaime, enjoying teasing him a little too much. He climbed into bed beside her and gave her a look. "But it's the good intention that matters," she said, her tone filled with jest.

"Exactly," Jaime replied.

Lyarra smiled at him. Her eyes trailed down his torso to his hand – his golden one. Since he came home, she'd wanted to tell him that she didn't mind seeing his stump at night, or ever really, but she hadn't mustered the bravery yet. His hand, or lack thereof one, was one topic that Jaime was sensitive about. But tonight seemed like the right time.

Chewing at her lower lip, she pulled up the sleeve of his nightgown and pulled at the laces of his golden hand. "What are you doing?" Jaime asked her. Her eyes flickered up to him, finding his expression to be more bewildered and surprised than angry.

"Is that not uncomfortable?"

He didn't reply for a while, but Lyarra saw his response in his eyes. He looked pained and embarrassed. "I don't want you to see it."

"It doesn't matter to me," Lyarra promised him. "You don't have to wear it for me. Ever."

She finished undoing the laces and stretched over Jaime to place his golden hand on his bedside table. Before she settled back on her side of the bed, Jaime wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him.

He didn't say anything, but again, Lyarra could guess what he was trying to say. She smiled down at him and he tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear, responding with a smile of his own. She settled down beside him again, only this time he wrapped his arm around her and held her closer to him, her bump between them.

Lyarra had expected her workload to be alleviated upon Jaime's return. She was sorely mistaken.

For the first few days, Jaime took part in council meetings and signed his name to important documents. He was diligent and hard-working, though Lyarra could see he was struggling. She remembered him admitting to her during the first few months of their marriage that letters on a page muddled and confused him – numbers, too. She saw him struggling as he read, but every time she tried to help him, he brushed her away.

Four days into his return home, Jaime started to ignore his duties and, yet again, she was forced to step in. It began with a single document. Lyarra asked him to sign it and Jaime dismissed her, urging her to forge his signature. She'd done it plenty of times, but that was before Jaime's return home. Lyarra was conflicted. She enjoyed some aspects of being in charge, but another part of her hated that she had to carry all the responsibility all the time and she wasn't even given due credit for it.

Having just readied herself for the day, Lyarra stared at her very large bump in the mirror. The baby hadn't stirred yet and it didn't seem like it was planning to any time soon. She caressed her belly and smiled. She was eager to meet her baby son or daughter, but she dreaded childbirth. After last time, the thought of having to give birth again frightened her beyond words. But there was nothing she could do about it now, so she calmed her recurrent worries with a deep breath and by thinking of how happy she was going to be once she held her baby in her arms.

She left her room, waddling towards the maester's solar. He had sent for her and claimed it was urgent. Though she had insisted that pregnancy didn't make her an invalid and refused to go into confinement as some women did, Lyarra still would have appreciated if Creylen came to her. That thought obviously hadn't popped into the old maester's head.

Spotting a head of golden hair in the hallway, Lyarra smiled as she approached Jaime. Her smile dwindled when she noticed that he was dressed in a loose fitting shirt and trousers, as though he was planning on training. "Creylen sent for us," Lyarra told him. "He said it was important."

Jaime gave a small laugh. "I'm sure it is, knowing him. Everything seems to be serious with that man. You'll have to tell me all about it later."

He clasped her shoulder affectionately before walking past her. Lyarra whipped around and called after him, "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to train with Bronn," he informed her flippantly. "I'm planning on honing my skills as a fighter and a commander, the two things I'm good at."

"Jaime, you're not just an heir anymore. You're a lord," she tried to remind him.

"I know that," he replied frustratedly. He pinched his nose to stop himself from lashing out at her. Lyarra stepped back unconsciously, wary of his anger. "Politics is wasted on me. You and Creylen seem to have everything under control."

"That's not true," Lyarra argued. "I don't know the westerlands as well as you do. I haven't a clue. You grew up here, Jaime. You know more than I do."

"You'll learn. You're a fast learner," was his response, quick and factual, as though that just excused everything. Lyarra clenched her fists by her sides. She saw his jaw tighten and his resolve falter for a moment, before he forced another grin on his face. "I'll see you later."

Lyarra didn't reply. She stayed glaring daggers at him as he walked away from her. He had placed all this responsibility on her without any kind of apology or real explanation, just excuses. She shook her head and forced her feet to walk towards Creylen's chambers, though her head was still whirling and focused on Jaime's flippant excuses.

"My lady," Creylen greeted her. She responded with a respectful nod. "Lord Jaime will not be joining us?"

"No, not today. He prefers to train," she informed Creylen, bitterness laced in her tone. She wasn't bothered to pretend, not with Creylen. He was too close to their family for Lyarra to be able to. "You said you had news about Silverhill."

"Yes," Creylen replied, immediately getting to the point. Lyarra awkwardly sat down and Creylen followed suit, though he lowered himself onto the seat in a far more graceful manner. "Lord Damon has succeeded in securing his keep. Lord Crakehall has returned home, defeated."

"I'm glad to hear that," she replied. She felt a sharp twinge in her stomach and shifted in discomfort. It spread to her back, but went as quickly as it came. "And our men?"

"One thousand and nine hundred return home," he informed her.

"So we lost three hundred," Lyarra said, her words coming out in between pants. She grabbed her stomach as another sharp pain rippled through her body, starting in her stomach before it spread all around her.

"Yes," Creylen replied slowly, distracted by his mistress' sudden groans of pain. "Are you alright, my lady?"

Lyarra blew sharp puffs of air between her lips as she tried to regulate the pain. When it didn't work, she looked up at Creylen through her eyelashes and shook her head vehemently, barely managing to huff out, "No. I think the baby's coming."

She would have found the maester's squeal of shock amusing had it not been for the next wave of pain that shot through her. With Jon, the pain had been slow and steady, amounting to a slight discomfort at first. But this pain was quick and strong, crashing through her body and cutting her insides like a knife. She let out a sharp cry.

"How long have you been experiencing pains?"

"Just there now," she replied. "Well, a little last night, but nothing major."

He pulled up her skirts without warning and told her to spread her legs as he checked to see how far along she was. "The baby's coming soon," he told her. "We best get you to a bed."

Lyarra nodded and struggled to get onto her feet. As soon as she managed to stand up, another sharp pain attacked her stomach and she doubled over again, letting out a small scream. "Get Jaime," she gritted out, grinding her teeth together to muffle her scream.

"I will. I'll send for him," the maester promised. "Let's get you to a bed first."

Silent and already exhausted, Lyarra could only nod as Creylen led her to her room. Rhea was already there, red-faced and pestering. She helped Lyarra out of her clothes and into her nightgown and undid her hair so it fell loosely down her back. Gracelessly, Lyarra climbed into bed. As soon as she managed to sit up in the bed, another wave of pain hit her and her entire body doubled over in an effort to ease the pain.

"Lyarra," she heard Jaime's voice call as he rushed over to her, "are you alright?"

"Do I look alright?" she snapped at him. Her back ached and her lower stomach felt like it was contracting and knotting. She tried to breathe deeply, just as Maester Pycelle had instructed her during the first birth. This pain, however, was different to the labour pains she felt with Jon. There was no fever or confusion, no mental and emotional pain, just pure physical anguish. She thanked the gods for the small blessings, even though she was currently writhing in pain and panting like she had ran for leagues.

"My lord, you can't be in here," Creylen warned him half-heartedly, as though he knew exactly what Jaime was going to say next.

"I doubt any of you are prepared to drag me out," Jaime challenged, looking around at all the people in the room, but especially at Creylen. Seeing that they weren't going to do anything, Jaime merely smiled. "I guess I'm staying."

Lyarra heard the maester sigh before he shook his head and attended to Lyarra. He slipped his hands between her legs again and felt for the baby's head inside of her. Lyarra shifted uncomfortably, but her discomfort was soon forgotten when she felt another contraction hit. She grabbed her stomach and groaned in pain.

"It's time to deliver the baby," he announced.

"To deliver?" Jaime repeated. "She's only been in labour for half an hour."

"The child's eager to come out," Creylen explained, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. Lyarra knew that she was in part to blame, since she neglected to realise her pains last night were labour pains. Once again, she interrupted their conversation with a loud scream.

She felt herself being ripped open, like someone had a knife and was cutting through her entire body. The pain had frightened her when she was delivering Jon. This time, it just felt like pain – but unbearable, chronic pain nonetheless.

"It's time to push," Creylen told her, standing at the end of the bed and staring up her nightdress. Lyarra had thrown all sense of modesty to the wind as she focused on birthing her baby.

With her right hand, she clutched and tore the sheets of the bed with her nails, and with her left, she grabbed Jaime's hand tightly, so tight she could see his fist turn white as she gritted her teeth and groaned, pushing with all her might.

Her hair was damp with sweat, her bedsheets wet with blood. It felt like forever – a forever filled with screaming and annoying encouragements and so much pain. Eventually, she felt a small relief.

A high-pitched cry filled the room.

"A boy," Creylen announced as he wrapped the baby in a towel. Lyarra leaned her head back, exhausted and relieved that the child was alive. Creylen grinned at them. "You have a son."

She looked at Jaime, seeing the large smile on his face. He leaned closer to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She smiled back at him. Her body ached still and the sore contractions remained. The real relief came with the afterbirth, when the baby's chord and other, disgusting matter left her body. It was like birthing another child, only without the joyous cry.

Panting, she looked over at Jaime again and saw his wrinkled nose. She laughed at him, about to make a witty comment, but it became caught in her throat as Creylen handed her child to her.

He was beautiful. As beautiful as Jon had been. She cradled his head carefully in her arms and caressed his cheek with the back of her finger. He was too perfect to be hers. She couldn't believe he was her son, the baby she had carried for the last ten months. She felt detached, just like before, and that frightened her.

She gave the baby to Jaime to hold gingerly. She loved the baby. She knew she did, but seeing him made her hate herself. Motherly love should be instinctive. As soon as a child is born, his mother should love him. Why couldn't she be normal?

"What's wrong?" Jaime asked her, looking worried.

She forced herself to give him a weak, reassuring smile. "Nothing. I'm just tired."

Accepting her excuse, Jaime nodded and moved his eyes towards his son. "He's perfect," Jaime cooed as he stared down at their newborn child. Lyarra felt her heart twist. It was so natural for Jaime – for Cersei, even!

What the fuck is wrong with me?

"What do want to name him?" Lyarra asked. Jaime looked at her, surprised. "I named Jon. It's only fair."

Jaime smiled at that. He brushed the towel away from the baby's face and gave him a long look. "Tygett," Jaime stated. "He looks like a Tygett."

Lyarra recalled Genna saying that ahe had a brother called Tygett, the one who died. Lyarra smiled and nodded. Jaime went back to staring at his son and Lyarra resolved herself to tiredly looking at them both, thinking about how right Jaime looked with him. She wondered if she'd ever have that with a newborn baby. It took her months to learn to love Jon. Would it take that her long again?

"Isn't he handsome?" Jaime cooed at the baby after a while.

She looked at her baby again. Jaime was right. The name Tygett suited him. She tried to feel something, anything. She reminded herself a hundred times in only a few seconds that this baby was, in fact, her baby. She felt nothing.

It was like she hadn't carried him inside of her for months. It was like she wasn't even his mother.

Tears gathered in her eyes as a lump formed in her throat. She gulped down the lump, trying to keep her voice steady. "All babies look like frogs," she commented.

The look Jaime gave her was a mixture of shock and bewilderment. It made her feel even worse. Even Jaime, who had committed multiple atrocities and had seen atrocities being done, was appalled with her. Lyarra tried to keep her face even and licked her lips, feeling herself getting emotional. "I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."

She briefly saw Jaime nod before she swiftly turned around in the bed, away from Jaime and Tygett, and closed her eyes to stop any tears from falling. It was temporary, she swore to herself, I'm just tired. She hoped that when she woke up, things would be different.

Author's Note: The baby is here! Lyarra just really doesn't like babies. What did you guys think of this chapter? I'm worried Jaime's a bit OOC, but I think he would have turned out differently if he had kids to think about, you know? Anyway, let me know what you think!