Joanna

Joanna sat alone in her husband's solar, with tears in her eyes. Myrcella had always been so kind, so sweet, so good. As beautiful as her mother but not a trace of her nature. Joanna had always known she was more worthy of being a queen than her mother, or even her siblings.

She wanted to scream and to cry. She wanted to burn the letter, and say it was false, not believing that the Ironborn had been able to take Winterfell at all.

But it was true. Her granddaughter was dead, her children with her.

Joanna felt herself imagining Cersei's anguish. How her daughter would surely need to contain her grief for her daughter that had been a traitor's wife. A traitor's queen.

Her granddaughter's last letter to her was the only other one Joanna had out on the table. It had been written after the Harvest Festival at Winterfell. Myrcella had written about how nervous she was even writing the letter, for fear that word of it would spread. How scared she was to be a queen, to be with child with Robb so far away, how worried she was that she would make a botch of ruling while he was gone. And about her true father.

Myrcella had been confused about that. Angry and sad at once, empty about it. I'm not worthy of any of this, she had said. Robb, my children, my crown.

Joanna had wanted nothing more than to be able to be with her granddaughter. To assure her that she was. To tell her that the sins of her mother and father didn't define her.

Now she would never have the chance. Joanna would have given up anything to have it again.

Her thoughts drifted to the Young Wolf. She had only ever met him once, but had come to know him through Myrcella's letters. Every little detail she wrote of him, Joanna had kept, and she could not imagine the grief he was dealing with too. His wife, children, brothers and home all gone in a stroke, with his best friend having betrayed him and taking all of them from him. He would have his war to fight, and no time to mourn them, which only made her sadder.

Joanna still remembered how mistrustful she had been of him. After she had learned that Stark had fathered a daughter on a Frey girl whose mother had died birthing her. She had found herself in agreement with Cersei, feeling that perhaps it would be wise that Myrcella come back south, and a different husband be found for her. But Myrcella had loved him, just as he had loved her, and in time she found herself agreeing with Tywin, that the match could help bring the Starks and Lannisters closer together.

But there was no more hope for that. If Myrcella's marriage had not been enough to help seal a peace between them before, it wouldn't now that she was dead.

She got up from the desk, and forced herself to return to her bedchambers. It didn't take her long to find her black mourning gown amongst the clothes in her dresser, and she quickly changed it to it.

The last time Joanna had worn it was when her mother had died, nearly thirty years prior. Its age showed, but she did not give a fig. Robb Stark had his children to mourn, and needed the respect of his men. He couldn't mourn the bastard daughter of his enemy, wife or not, and Cersei and her children would need to keep their grief to themselves and Myrcella's were gone with her. Someone had to mourn Myrcella, and Joanna knew it would need to be her.

She sat on the bed for a while, crying. She silently remembered the first time she had ever gotten to hold Myrcella.

The first of her grandchildren, so soft and small and shy. But when she was upset, Joanna could have sworn her squalls could have been heard from Dorne to the Wall. She'd been crying the first time Joanna ever held her, but she managed to rock her to sleep quickly.

When she had kissed Myrcella, Joanna had felt nothing but love. Now all she could taste was ash in her mouth. Bitterness at a memory long gone.

Joanna felt empty and alone. Tywin was off at war, waging war with their grandson by marriage on behalf of their grandsons by birth. Jaime was rotting in a cell at Riverrun, while Cersei and Tyrion ruled together in King's Landing, and with the rest of her grandchildren.

When her husband had left, he had told her after the war was done, he would remain in King's Landing, and Joanna had sworn to herself she would join him there. She would live in the capitol with her family, rather than remain alone at Casterly Rock as she had for all those years. With what family I have left.

Even now, she was aware her family was being spread apart even further. Rosamund had been married to Prince Trystane Martell, Prince Doran's younger son and youngest child, and was sailing to Sunspear.

Joanna ought to have felt more glad about that than she did. She and Rhaella and Allandra had spoken from time to time about perhaps joining their families through marriage. Once she had hoped to perhaps see Cersei or Jaime be wed to Oberyn or Elia, though Tywin had not heeded her advice. He rarely ever did.

Now her granddaughter had wed Allandra's grandson, but it was hardly what she had imagined or wanted. It was not to join their houses in matrimony as she had hoped, but a peace gesture made by Tyrion to appease Allandra's sons, to heal the rift between Martell and Lannister for the deaths of Elia and her children.

All she could hope was that it would work better than Myrcella's marriage had.

There was a knock on the door. "Who is it?" Joanna asked softly. She did not care if the castle knew she was crying.

"It's me, my lady," her nephew, Ser Daven answered. "May I come in?"

"Yes," she said. "You can come in."

He opened the door slowly. "Are you well my lady?" He said when he had stepped in.

Joanna shook her head. "No… No I am not." Another time and she might have scolded him for asking such a silly question, but he had recently lost his father as well, and had begun growing out his beard, swearing not to shave it until his father had been avenged.

"There was a letter from Harrenhal," he told her. "From Lord Tywin… He says that he is marching."

"Where?" Joanna asked. "Where is he marching? To King's Landing? Storm's End?" She had heard that Lord Renly had been slain, by a woman he had named to his Kingsguard. Stannis had won a good deal of his men and was now laying siege to Storm's End. A part of her hoped that when Stannis was dealt with, perhaps a peace could be made with Robb Stark.

"West, my lady," he said. "He's marching here."

To Casterly Rock? she almost asked. Joanna knew better than to think that. "Against the Young Wolf?"

"Aye," he said. "Ser Forley is already marching from the Golden Tooth, and I mean to join him with my men in a fortnight."

"And when my husband's strength has come, he will join with you and you'll march against him," she said. Joanna knew how this went, and felt powerless. The Rains of Castamere was a song she knew all too well, and she could only dread what was ahead for the man who had once married her granddaughter. Unbeaten or not, the Young Wolf wouldn't be a match against the Old Lion. Daven had the remnants of his father's forces gathered near Lannisport. They numbered almost two thousand, less than a fifth of the force her brother had been training, and the men were no less seasoned and trained than they had been with Stafford. But Prester and her husband would be bringing far more experienced men to the fight with them. Together, Joanna did not know how Robb Stark would be able to beat all of them.

"That is so, my lady," he said.

She realized that was his fourth time calling her my lady. Seldom did he ever address her so formally. Tywin, Kevan, Gerion and Tygett were all uncles, and she and Genna were aunts to him. "Why?"

He looked at her, confused. "What?"

"Why are you calling me, my lady, Devan?" Silence was all he gave her for a moment. It seems proper for a lady in mourning, she guessed, though she sensed there was something more. "What else did my father's letter say?"

Devan bit his tongue. "Uncle Tywin told me-"

"Not to tell anyone," Joanna finished. "I know… And I know that Tywin entrusts me with his secrets." Most of them at least. "He will never need to find out you told me."

"He said he had been negotiating a marriage for me."

"A marriage?" Joanna asked, a little curious.

"If things go to plan. He said my bride would be crucial to winning the war. He didn't say who though."

And so Tywin hatched another scheme, Joanna thought to herself. This one would involve their nephew's hand in marriage, and would serve to bring some alliance for the Lannisters. His schemes were hardly ever that simple though, and now Joanna could only wonder what other pieces lay within it.

"I am sure that your wife will be beautiful," she assured him, though she didn't have much confidence. Based on the letter, she doubted either Daven or Tywin would look at the girl before the wedding even.

It would not be Daven's first marriage. He had been wed to Lady Elaena Redwyne, a daughter of Lord Paxter Redwyne. Stafford had struggled for a few years trying to find a marriage for Daven. He had written to Lord Crakehall once, and Lord Lefford as well, though both had chosen to marry their daughters to other men. Eventually, he had allowed her to help negotiate the marriage, and they had finally been able to make a match.

Elaena had been seventeen, and Daven nineteen when they had married. Joanna remembered the girl had been quite comely. She had freckles, with beautiful red curls that flowed down to her waist, with deep blue eyes that shined almost like sapphires. Fine features with a small nose, with good hips and ample breasts. Daven had been more than fond of her, though Joanna had never been so sure how she felt of him.

She had given him a daughter and a son, before she died birthing a stillborn daughter, only a little more than half a year prior. Yet, while Daven mourned, Tywin had plotted it seemed.

"I… I should give you some time," he said after a little while. "I'm sorry."

Joanna nodded, and her nephew stepped out.

For the next two days, everything seemed to be a blur for Joanna. Lost in her grief and sorrow, she mostly kept to her room, sparsely eating and only forcing herself to present herself when she had to.

She tried to write a letter to Cersei, but every time the words seemed to fail her, and she ended up burning them. Only on the ninth attempt did she feel satisfied to have Maester Creylen send it.

Her dreams had not been any more pleasant.

The first night, she dreamt of her granddaughter. She could not see her in the blackness, but she could hear her, desperately calling out for her children. Crying for them. Myrcella was in agony, lost and scared, but she kept trying, until she collapsed, and broke down sobbing.

Joanna had woken in the middle of the night after that, but had not wanted to go to sleep after that, so she laid awake instead, crying herself.

The next night, had brought her dreams of a far away place she did not know. Grey and sad, ruins along a river. Somewhere, a little further off, she had children, nervously asking what was happening. She wanted to help them, to tell them where they were, to find them, but she couldn't ever see them in the dark fog.

The dream wasn't so bad, until the stonemen showed up.

Author Notes:

I feel like this chapter is a little short and ends a bit abruptly… But I just kinda wanted to get something.

It's more that I just wanted to get one chapter for Joanna to get the ball rolling on characterization and helping to establish some of the central conflicts surrounding Casterly Rock at this point, and lay a few seeds for the next few chapters.

Fair warning, after the second Joanna chapter, it's probably going to be a while before we see her as a POV again.