THIS CHAPTER WAS REVISED ON AUG 30 2016

Hey my lovelies! I know I know its been a while, but some tragedies in my personal life have kept me away...:(

please tell me what you think of this chapter, I love your reviews, long ones, short ones, contemplative ones! Tell me your thoughts, opinions, hopes, wishes, and expectations before I post the next chapter ;)

I own squat didly.

Chapter 8: No One Likes Beets

She was in the Sept of Baelor, she knew it. There was no other structure with grand marble walls in the Seven Kingdoms. The blackness was creeping up on her, only the torch in her hand kept the darkness away, kept away whatever remained hidden in those shadows. Something was making her run, she didn't know what, didn't know why, but she couldn't refuse the impulse. It was like being underwater—one doesn't simply remain still and allow themselves to drown. She saw the crypts lining the walls, the iron bars on the doorways to their tombs shining briefly in the fire light, before disappearing in the shadows as she ran.

Then, like a beacon, there was one crypt at the end of this hall that stood out, the sunlight from the surface shining through the grate above it and down onto its decorated pall. Her feet ran faster, but not fast enough. The light shining over it seemed to dim with every step she took. Urgently, she abandoned the precious torch and reached out her hands to it, but it never seemed to get closer. The darkness closed in around her, reaching out like boney hands to swallow her whole.

A name was on her lips, but there was no breath to scream it out. Only a faded whisper in the darkness: sister.

Then her feet stumbled, and she was falling into something warm and soft and good. A startled gasp tore from her dry throat.

"Hey," Robb's voice breathed into her ear, hot and moist. Her frightened blue eyes opened and peered up at her husband as he loomed over her. It was dark, but not the horrible darkness that had chased her in her dream. She blinked up at Robb as he shifted so he was propped up on his elbow above her. She'd never felt as relieved to be awoken as she was now. "You were kicking my feet. Where were you?" he asked tenderly as he raised a hand to stroke her black hair.

"Nowhere." She breathed back. It was just a silly dream, a silly dream about nothing and nowhere. No need to fuss over it. Trying to banish the dream from memory, Sylvia reached up and let her hands trail in her husband's beautiful curls, like she had a thousand times before. She looked briefly into the beautiful blue pools their daughter inherited, her vulnerability written clear as water in her eyes. She pulled him down to kiss her, his warm lips melting the ice on hers. It began sweet and comforting, but she needed more, to make her forget the dream and the dark and the cold.

She bit his lip and relished in his groan of desire, their breathing starting to grow heavy as his tongue invaded her mouth. Her fingers clenched at his back, fisting around the fabric of his night shirt and pulling up. Robb gave a little groan he situated himself atop her, and began hurriedly pulling at her night dress, kissing the exposed skin of her shoulders as he pulled the fabric away. She gasped when he entered her, the last of the dream melting away under Robb's warm hands.

In the wake of her fear, and the midst of their passion filled entanglement, Sylvia forgot all about the impending arrival of her family, and the royal court this day.

Mini's laughter filled the room as the little pup—Grey Wind, Robb had named him—danced around her in a playful canter. The pup had grown in the past two moons, from a helpless little ball of fur mewling for mother's milk, and into a very playful dire wolf. But baby or not, his teeth were still very sharp, and his small paws concealed small blunt nails that would one day be used for the hunt.

For now though, the little dire wolf played happily with the little pup with strange pink hide and tiny square fangs. She wasn't as fun or lively as his brothers and sisters, but he enjoyed her, no matter how ugly a wolf she was.

Her daughter's peals of laughter drew her eyes up from her stitching and to the two playmates. The onyx haired girl bit her lip warily as Grey Wind licked at Mini's fingers, causing the baby to scream with glee and dive her small pudgy hands to the dire wolf's soft fur. Grey Wind didn't seem to mind terribly.

As she watched, ready to pounce if Grey Wind saw fit to practice hunting on her babe, her fingers slipped and the tip of the needle stabbed into her finger, drawing a dark bead of blood into the cold northern air. She hissed and brought the bloodied digit to her mouth.

Sylvia had never wanted the dire wolf to be Mini's playmate. Dire wolves were wild beasts, vicious and three times stronger than their little cousins that prowled the Wolf's Wood. Every day that passed, Grey Wind grew into the terrifying beast the Starks used as their sigil, and what parents told to naughty children at bedtime. When she first came north, Old Nan had told her and the younger children about the dire wolves that once prowled their lands and how they could rip men in two and then feed them to their cubs. She'd scoffed at the old woman's stories, believing dire wolves to be as dead as the dragons; but now there were six about the castle, and one her daughter clung to as a playmate. Minisa's companion would grow as big as a pony and she didn't want such a creature around her little one—ever. Even if he was her husband's pet.

"He'll bite her." Sylvia had protested when Robb first brought Grey Wind back to their chambers to introduce him to Mini.

"I won't let him." He'd replied as he set the wolf down on the bed next to the defenceless infant girl. Sylvia nearly snatched her daughter back up as the pup crawled low on his belly towards Mini, sniffing curiously at her little form. Grey Wind was only as long as Mini, but he had fangs and the irregular mind of a wild beast. She worried what would happen if Mini hurt him, and muddied his curiosity into anger.

She watched as Mini finally took notice of the new creature on the bed. For a long moment nothing happened, Mini only looked at the furry thing with a baby's impassive gaze. A small soft paw lifted and pressed down on the baby's chubby belly, the black tip of his nose beginning to prod around the girl's chest and face. Not to be left out of this exploration, Mini raised her waving hands and brought them down on the pup's soft fur. Her poor mother held her breath, her heart beating wildly in her bosom, but the dire wolf made no move to twist and bite or claw at the defenceless child. With curious interest, Mini babbled at her new found friend.

"Don't you see? They already love each other." Robb said.

Sylvia looked at him as though he were mad. "But Mini's a baby; she doesn't know gentleness. If she bothers him one time too many—"

"You can't protect her forever, Sylvia. It would be ill of you to try."

"She's a baby; I can protect her all I like, especially from a wolf." She scoffed and turned her head away from her husband, looking back to their young infant with a mother's deep worrying eyes. How could Robb have so much trust in that creature? Robb sighed, and turned to look with her, their child sparing a sweet, toothless smile at the pup who now tickled her cheek with his snout. They were curious of each other, both babies really, discovering a potential friend.

"These wolves are not natural creatures, Syl, I can feel it." He murmured with a far off look in his eye. Sylvia turned to watch her husband's profile, her brows narrowed in a way which betrayed how she was bothered by her love's bizarre words. He'd never spoken like that before—Robb talked of facts and truths; he was never one for relying on something as fickle as wish or feeling. "Direwolves are wilder, but they are far smarter than ordinary wolves. Grey Wind will always protect Mini. I know it."

"It's an animal, Robb. A wild animal. You can't tame a wild thing." She returned her eyes back to her little one, ignoring the coming wave of elation at seeing both child and wolf get along so tenderly. "I don't want him where Mini sleeps."

"I'll keep him in the kennels, if that'll please you. But only until he gets too big; then he'll prowl the godswood."

"Surely it would be far more at home in the Wolf's Wood—"

"Why don't you trust me?" The anger which had seeped into his heart, now colored his voice a dim shade.

Sylvia was quiet. She did trust him, more than anyone in the world. She trusted him with her life, with their daughter's life, but how could she have faith in him when he thought a bloody direwolf would be a good pet? When he would allow the blasted creature to, not only be near their baby, but to grow with her? "That's unfair." She grumbled to him sternly. "I trust you, not a wild beast. You cannot control a direwolf, any more than you can tell a bird to sing or the snow to stop falling."

"Grey Wind doesn't obey commands," Robb said. "He understands them." Whatever that meant, Sylvia never knew.

"I don't care. If he hurts her—"

"He won't." Robb promised. "He won't." A husband does not need his wife's permission to carry out his plans, although life was made easier if he had it. Life was not particularly easy in the last two moons, Sylvia often voicing her misgivings of the animal her husband had brought home. Always, Robb would reply there was nothing to fear from Grey Wind when it came to Mini, but it was a long time before his sweet southern wife began to trust the direwolf.

Grey Wind had never harmed the baby to be true—it seemed he knew Mini could not partake in his rough play—and Sylvia's fears had calmed in the time since Robb and the others had found the pups on the side of the road.

Sylvia came to accept him, and slowly became comfortable in the small, intimidating animal's presence, coming to love him for the joy he brought her daughter. Her husband's dire wolf (she could never think of it as their dire wolf, for indeed, he and the beast held a bond she did not understand) was a fierce thing, even so small. He was larger than any of the others in his litter, calmer, far less playful. As the days went by, Grey Wind spent less time with his littermates and more time with his master, learning commands and strengthening their strange attachment to the point where Sylvia believed that, as a warrior's sword is an extension of his arm, so was Grey Wind an extension of Robb.

One soul, split in two. Seeing the two so in sync with each other stirred something inside her, something familiar that was soon forgotten with the labour the day brought. Still, though, sometimes when she looked at Grey Wind, she could almost swear something human was staring back.

The gentle click of the door alerted the young lady to her husband's return from the Tom the butcher—who for today, was acting as a barber. She looked up, and hardly held back a bright smile at seeing his shaved face and combed hair. He hadn't combed his hair so formally since they wed. "You look very handsome." She commented with a wide grin.

"I feel like a lad." He grumbled, absently scratching at his smooth cheek. He looked like one too, with the smooth cheeks of other men his age, and hair shortened and combed as though from his mother.

She repressed a giggle, and barely managed a contemplative frown as she observed his face. Then she gave a dramatic gasp, "You're right! It seems I've been tricked. Instead of a man, my father sent me to a boy." His lips raised into the smirk she could either love, or want to smack of his gorgeous face. Right now she wanted to kiss him.

Outside the door, Ser Fredrick's lips twitched at hearing his charge's playful exclamation. The little Lady Stark was so very happy these days, since her family was coming once more, and that this time she would finally see her sister again, and meet little Tommen. The only time she'd ever seen him, was when her mother was swelling with him, silken gowns with fine embroidery stretching over the bump that covered him. The king and queen would finally meet their grandchild and that was probably the most exciting idea for Sylvia. Even though her father had been a proper arse during the wedding celebration, the young woman was confident this time would be different; this time her father would show the kindness other fathers did. The thought of her father holding her little one warmed her heart, although Ser Fredrick doubted the drunken lecher would ever hold much interest in the infant for long.

"Come here and I'll show you how much of a man I am." Robb smiled, and his wife smirked at his delightful promise. Casting one last look at Mini, who was chewing on her ragdoll's arm as Grey Wind chewed on the leg, she stood, and moved to him, her arms stretching out to receive him.

His warm lips met her cold ones, spreading a pleasant heat across her face for a good long moment before he pulled away. She smiled at his shaved chin and raised her fingers to run across the pale skin. "A lad wouldn't do the things you did to me last night," she admitted lowly with a coy smirk. She blushed as Robb barked out a laugh at her vulgar words. Oh how she would love it if septa Maesa were here to witness her former charge speaking so boldly to her husband. Alas, the sour old creature had relocated to a sept down in Torrhen's Square.

Just as he was about to kiss her again, a loud knock resonated through the room. "Little Lady, Lord Robb," Ser Fredrik called from beyond the door. "The king rides close."

Robb groaned and tightened his hands around her waist. Duty called once again. Damn it. Sylvia smiled and kissed his smooth cheek before pulling away to retrieve her little one from the floor.

"We'll be right out!" Robb called back.

"Come, my darling." She cooed as she took Mini up in her arms. "Let's go meet mummy's family, yes?" Mini smiled up at her mother, raising her little hands to tug on the long black tendrils she had inherited. It was clear she didn't understand, but her mother was happy, and so she was happy. The princess smiled down at her daughter, leaning down to kiss her forehead as Robb fetched the child's swaddling clothes and her cloak. Grey Wind stared up at her as she wrapped her daughter in the furs she hated so much, his yellow eyes vigilant and curious.

The royal family appeared again with as much pomp as they had nearly two years before—the banners, the crowded courtyard, everyone in the best; although this time there were more servants of the Red Keep than noblemen who served the crown in attendance. Much as before, Sylvia's heart thundered loudly in her breast, and a tingly feeling of excitement crackled like embers in her belly. In her elation, she could not recall why her family was visiting, and the possibility of Lord Eddard becoming Hand seemed a very small facet on this wonderful day when her child would meet more of her family. The gentle thrum of horse hooves grew louder, carrying the royal family to the gates.

Two years ago, her heart had been heavy with the impending arrival of her awful little brother. She feared his barbed tongue—the hurtful words, the rumours, the unhappy tales from their childhood—all of it. He would embarrass her, make Robb think twice about wanting her, and destroy the friendship she built with Sansa and Arya, and give Theon and the other boy's swords to poke her with. And so she'd prayed every night Joffrey had finally learned to be kind or that he'd gotten a splinter and demanded to return to the Red Keep. Sylvia had silently rejoiced when mother said he'd remained in the Capitol, but her heart sunk when she realised her sister and littlest brother had remained there with him. She'd been afraid of Joffrey, she didn't know him anymore, but her memory of him convinced her he would ruin her marriage before it even began.

But not now. Joffrey could not destroy this—she and the Starks had years between them; she and Robb had a child...they knew each other, inside and out and they loved each other anyway. She and the Starks respected each other. Loved each other. She even cared for Theon Greyjoy, annoying, son-of-a-traitor squid boy he was. Nothing as petty as Joffrey could tear them apart. She was not afraid of him anymore; she was no longer left alone with only her mother's rare interference as protection.

At her side, as he had two years before, Robb stood tall and proud and strong. Her husband would be Lord of the North one day, and what a fine lord he would be, as she stood by his side, as regal and elegant as her queenly mother. Their little one lay against her chest, and although it was preferred that babes at breast be in the care of a wet-nurse within the castle at this time, Sylvia wanted her family to meet her daughter as soon as possible. Over her shoulder, Mini blinked owlishly at her bastard uncle Jon, and fosterling uncle Theon who gave her soft smiles. They cared for the sweet babe as much as any of Lord Eddard's true born children, despite their besmirched names.

Her good-sister Sansa stood on her right, her excitement properly contained under her ladylike disposition, while Arya fidgeted uncomfortably under her lovely dress. Thank the gods, Sylvia thought, that she's behaving this time. Not a hair out of place, not a mark on her dress or an annoying quip shooting from her mouth, Sylvia could kiss her little good-sister for being so proper today. Perhaps later, she would save her from needlepoint, she was sure Arya would appreciate that. Beside Arya, stood Bran who looked rather serious for someone his age and finally Rickon stood with his mother, and at the moment, he looked quite put out since his wolf, Shaggy Dog, was chained in the kennels with his littermates. "He doesn't like chains," the little boy would protest. But Shaggy was too volatile, sometimes snapping at people's heels and growling threateningly at anyone who tried to pat him, so Shaggy was confined to chains more than any of his littermates.

At last the gates opened, and the first of the King's Guard rode in, tall and glittering in their armour, and behind them was a boy in a crimson cloak riding between the men holding her family's banners, a proud grin on his face. Sylvia knew him almost immediately, his golden hair and haughty expression giving him away.

Joffrey, her foul little brother who she could have gone a hundred years without seeing again. Sylvia's brows twitched. He had always been mother's son, but honestly, for the sake of propriety, could he not have worn a golden cloak? She had worn father's colours when he came for her wedding, and she was a woman! People would make fun of him in secret, call him a little babe who clung to his mother, but Sylvia didn't feel at all sorry for that. Since he'd worn mother's colours, she supposed he hadn't much changed in the last six years, but for the fact that he was not a boy any longer. The grin on his face gave away no malice, but as she remembered, before she left, he'd gotten better at fooling everyone. She clutched Mini closer, suddenly very anxious to see her sister and littlest brother, to assess them for damage, both physical and otherwise. She worried for them and prayed neither of them had come under Joffrey's cruelty.

As Sylvia eyed this stranger carefully, trying to discern if he was still the terror he'd been as a child, Robb looked at him as well. Finally, he had a face to the horrendous tales of his wife's childhood, but he had to say, he pictured Joffrey...uglier, as though all his malice and terribleness were imprinted on his face. He didn't like it, and made a mental note to never let his younger siblings alone with the Crown Prince, who did not know the dreadful stories he knew.

After a very long moment of surveying the courtyard, Joffrey finally looked over at the Starks, his proud grin diming in the slightest way when he saw who must have been his elder sister,Sylvia. She looked different, grown and curved with a bundle against her chest, but still had that outrageous vapid look in her eye. Joffrey was once again glad she had been sold away so long ago. His elder sister had never been worthy to be called a princess, and was an embarrassment to their family with her madness, but neither mother nor father could see it! He despised it, and looking at her now, those old feelings of resentment stirred once more.

Sylvia mustered a small smile for her younger brother because it was the proper thing to do at ones sibling after years of separation, but it even felt false on her lips.

Joffrey's eyes were not very difficult to read—while he was somewhat gifted at keeping himself composed when he was pleased, he had never mastered the art of hiding his eyes. But Sylvia did not know him anymore, and so as his eyes flashed something ugly, she did not know exactly what it was. She only knew it was not happiness. Her brother's gaze did not last long on her, for it was soon drawn to her sweet good-sister beside her. Sylvia stiffened as Joffrey's grin widened.

At her side, Robb followed Joffrey's charmed gaze, and his brows narrowed warily when he saw that Sansa do nothing to deter the prince's attention. She smiled back at him, a gentle rose colour coming into her cheeks at being the only girl who'd earned a southern prince's smile.

Robb clenched his hand around the other. Sylvia had all but told him Joffrey was nothing more than a little shit with a royal title and privilege attached, and now he looked at his little sister like he wanted to debauch her himself. The young lordling clenched his jaw as he looked back at the prince. Give him an hour with Joffrey in the practice yard, and he would ensure Joffrey knew very well, that he could not get at his wife and younger sister without first going through him.

The princess shared a short pensive look with her husband, before the creaking of the approaching wheelhouse brought them from their thoughts.There they are, she thought with renewed glee as the wheelhouse came into view. When the rickety wheels settled onto the soggy earth, the sound of the approaching horse hooves were even louder, and then there he was, the rebel King perched atop his black horse, his red face fierce and hard, but the roundness of his belly admitting the fact that the years of peace had made him lax.

As before, Sylvia's heart warmed at seeing her father once again, and excitement swelled within her as she held his first grandchild to her breast, all foul thoughts of Joffrey pushed away for the moment. How wonderful it would be, for her parents to meet Mini and fall as deeply in love with her as she and the Starks had at first seeing her. Even Ser Fredrick loved Mini dearly, always happy to pack her and speak softly to her when he thought no one could hear. How could the king, her own father, not love his grandchild as much as her sworn shield did?

At the sight of their king, the household immediately bent to their knees, heads bowed in respect. Atop his horse, the Crown Prince smiled at the sight of his elder sister on her knees, remembering how she never obeyed him when they were children, even though he was going to be the king, and she would always be nothing. One day, when he was king, she would have to show double the amount of respect to him, to repent for all the humiliations and slights she'd dealt him growing up. And why not? He would be the king, and the world would be his to shape as he willed, just as father had conquered the realm, and moulded it to his liking.

In the relative quiet of the morning air, a gentle whine sounded from the bundled up infant in Sylvia's arms, annoyed at losing sight of her uncles and being pressed so stiffly against her mother, but she quietened once more when her mother began to rock her gently. Staring dutifully at the wet gravel before her, her long hair falling around her face in a curtain of onyx, Sylvia listened as her father dismounted his horse and to her little one's displeased grunting. How she would have liked to shift her and ease her distress before it grew worse, but the king was due his subjects' undivided attention. Sylvia prayed the pomp was over with soon so she could tend to her little one.

Finally, as Mini's annoyance grew into distress, marked by a loud indignant cry, the king motioned for the household to rise. Sylvia rose with the grace she'd mastered at seven and shifted her fussing baby so she could see her face. Mini's pouty mouth opened to mumble impatiently at her mother, her cheeks round and red, her blue eyes watery, and her small arms squirming under the cotton bounds, aching to be freed from the blasted confines. Sylvia grinned and held her closer; rocking her a little more as her father greeted Lord and Lady Stark as heartily as he had two years before. She hardly heard his words.

The princess looked up at the sudden movement of her father moving past Lord Eddard, roughly knocking Robb on the shoulder in good natured greeting, to turn his keen eyes to his eldest child. It was rather scandalous for any man, to almost completely ignore the heir of the castle and to immediately turn to the man's wife, but Robb and Sylvia cared little for such tedious social norms today.

Her father hadn't changed at all really, but it had only been two years since the wedding—two years since he'd dealt her the worst embarrassment she'd ever known. Most of her wedding day had been wonderful, especially the very end where all the rest of the world had been shut out, leaving only her and Robb in a wonderful ball of warmth and sweetness. But there was a bit of a wound left where her father had acted the drunken fool before the eyes of her new family, shaming her and hurting her more than ever before. It had been her wedding day! How could father have acted like that? At some point, she'd wished Ser Fredrick and King Robert's positions were switched.

All the same, Sylvia was pleased to see him; now was not the time to linger on such ugly thoughts. Father was here, and he seemed ten times more elated to see her than he had during her wedding, and when he looked so merry it was easy to forget his drunken failures. He wanted to meet Mini, and the excitement of that overrode the unpleasant memories of her wedding. Sylvia met her father's ocean blue eyes, and was suddenly struck by how...happy he looked. She could not recall a time when he looked that elated without a goblet of wine in hand.

"Sylvia..." he rumbled with a merry smile. Beneath her skirt, Sylvia prepared to curtsey.

"Father—" she managed just before he hugged her, his big meaty arms engulfing her smaller frame completely. The king's daughter froze, finding this sudden display of affection somewhat out of character for her father, at least when it was extended onto her before the eyes of so many. After a moment, the princess relaxed, her nose breathing in deep the smell of leather and wine and sweat, the warm and tight constriction of his arms around her making her feel like a little girl. The last time he'd hugged her so tightly was when she'd left him in the Capitol.

When he pulled away again a short moment later, Mini grumbled and blinked at the sudden light, drawing her grandfather's attention.

"Let me see her, girl. Let me see her." King Robert demanded, as his eyes set on the bundle in his eldest child's arms. Obediently, Sylvia adjusted Mini in her arms so the king could see her little face peeking out from her swaddling. Mini blinked her innocent blue eyes at the king, indifferent as children are, to the status of the fat man before her, and gave a frustrated squeal once more. The king laughed heartily. "Minisa, is it? Ah, yes, little wolf with a Baratheon's fury." He chuckled. Sylvia smiled back, chin lifting proudly as her father praised her daughter.

The king waved a finger under Mini's chin before moving on to Sansa. The exchange was short, but he'd acknowledged her and had been pleased, which was all Sylvia had wanted.

Queen Cersei blinked at the sudden onslaught of light as she stepped out of the wheelhouse. The dreary sight of the grim hovel of Winterfell laid a stone upon her heart. She could have lived the rest of her life happily without setting foot in the cold waste she was in now. But Robert so dearly wanted Ned Stark as his Hand...and Sylvia, her little doe, waited for them to meet her child. The golden haired queen's mouth tightened. Once more, she felt very old, despite the fact that her youngest child was only six, and men throughout the kingdoms proclaimed she was the most beautiful woman in existence although she'd borne four children.

How she wished to be back in the Capitol, where it was warm and safe, and where she could continue her dealings uninterrupted. Loose ends needed to be snipped; steps had to be taken to ensure no one else found out what Jon Arryn had. This whole interval was a distraction and a dangerous one at that. Everyone would see, everyone would realize how different Sylvia was from her brothers and sister. Three beautiful children with golden mane's, emerald jewels for eyes and the proud stance of a lion, while her eldest grew long tendrils of onyx, sported the ocean eyes of a Baratheon, and held the docile nature of a stag.

Jaime had been right all those years ago, when he told her it would be safer to let Robert ship her away. Her children were in danger, by simply being in the same holdfast as their elder sister. If anyone suspected, she would make Jaime kill them, before they could breathe a word.

Despite her worry, her children, (apart from Joffrey who shared his mother's disdain for the frozen land to the north), seemed quite excited to visit Winterfell, to see the sister who was more a stranger, and meet the child she'd birthed over half a year ago. Sweet Myrcella had been chirping away about Sylvia to Tommen more often as of late, relaying all her fondest memories of their sister, while Joffrey rolled his eyes in contempt. He'd called her memories a child's fantasy, that Sylvia had never been all that Myrcella described. The queen knew that wasn't true; she'd often seen the two girls play together, but did not move to correct her darling boy.

Now they were here, to the bleak and dim place that had fashioned her daughter into the Stark's pawn, to bend as they wished using her defenceless heart, her love for Robb Stark and the child he'd given her, against her. Robert had mentioned finding Joffrey a wife, and Pycelle told her that her husband wondered on marrying him to Ned Stark's eldest daughter. After the initial revulsion, Cersei realised she could repay the Starks for turning her daughter against her, by taking young Sansa Stark from them, making her Joffrey's queen and loyal only to the crown. A daughter for a daughter, she had thought.

The lioness lowered her gaze from the battlements and high towers of Winterfell castle, and passed her emerald eyes over the dour household gathered about the courtyard. Nothing had changed and once more, she wished Robert had listened to her for once, and married Sylvia to someone from the west. She would have been happy there, warm and safe...the western lands grew such beautiful lilies, and she knew Sylvia would have loved that. That would never happen now that she'd given Robb Stark a child; even if the boy died, the Starks would never let the baby go and Sylvia would never abandon her daughter.

Finally, as she passed over the grim face of Lord Stark and then his even grimmer son, the queen caught sight of her eldest, holding a fur wrapped bundle out to her father. Her sweet little doe smiled so prettily at Robert, and Cersei remembered when she'd done the same with him, only holding her sweet baby twins out for him to see, their little prince and princess. Who could have ever wished for such a blessing? The queen shivered under her fox pelt, a pinch of grief striking her heart at remembering the bliss she'd once known so momentarily. Those days were a thousand years gone, just like her Steffon, and still, the pain was as sharp and fresh as the first day. But her girl still remained, and she'd not only lived, but prospered. She'd grown into a fanciful little girl, an elegant lady, and now was a wife and mother.

Cersei had been so sure that after Steffon had gone, Sylvia was sure to follow. One cannot live with half a soul, she'd wept into Jaime's shoulder once. One twin cannot live without the other, but somehow, Sylvia had. Despite the pain Sylvia brought by reminding her every day of the little boy she'd lost, Cersei knew it would be far more painful—if not unbearable—to live in a world where her eldest girl was not. She loved her daughter, as much as she loved her golden cubs, and no one, not even her beloved twin, could take that away.

Her sweet twin, the other half of her...she only felt whole, only felt safe when he was with her, inside her, by her side where he was meant to be. She needed him now, to remind her that their children were safe, that he would kill anyone who would threaten them without delay. The golden haired queen tore her eyes away from her daughter to search for her brother. Almost at once, her green eyes were drawn to Jaime's strong form as he stood beside Joff, their darling little boy. She smiled a little. Her son was like his father, strong, handsome, fierce and powerful, nothing at all like that fat oaf Robert. Thank the gods it was Jaime who had planted him inside her—after years of pain and humiliation under Robert as his wife, she never wanted him to leave her with anything ever again—not a bruise, not his seed.

Sylvia and Steffon had been the only good thing Robert had ever given her (besides a crown), but Steffon was gone and Sylvia was distant, while Jaime had given her three beautiful lion cubs.

Speaking of her cubs, she heard sweet Myrcella and gentle Tommen emerge from the wheelhouse as well, their gentle footsteps pattering over the soggy earth to stand neatly behind her, their septa behind them.

"So, where is she?" she heard Tommen ask.

"Erm...oh, over there, see? The one with the black hair, with father." Myrcella whispered back, giddiness evident in her soft voice. Of her three children, Myrcella was most excited to see Sylvia again. They were sisters, best friends really, always together talking and whispering and giggling and playing. Cersei knew their bond had suffered over time, along with the fact they could never be as close as Sylvia would have been with Steffon, but Myrcella was very happy to see her elder sister, and never once voiced any complaints or doubts about the visit.

"Oh...She's nice right? Like you promised?" Tommen asked timidly. Despite his elder sister's stories about Sylvia, Joffrey's words against the eldest princess seeped into Tommen's head and made him doubtful and shy of Sylvia.

"Yes, Tom. I would never lie to you. Sylvie loves you, she tells me so in her letters sometimes." The queen did not need to look back to know her little cub was smiling and blushing.

The queen pulled her eyes away from her son and brother, fisted her skirt out of the way and moved forward, her eyes still trained on her daughter's face. As Robert moved on to the pretty redhead he meant to make Joffrey's queen, Cersei gave Lord Stark a soft, civil smile and offered her hand. As before, the icy old lord kissed her knuckles swiftly, as his little wife curtseyed deeply. Cersei hardly paid attention, and once she'd offered them a brief word of greeting, the queen walked past them and to her daughter.

Her little doe looked up, her eyes alight, and a sweet smile on her lips. "Mother," she said.

"Sylvia darling," her mother replied. Gracefully, the queen leant down and kissed her daughter's cheek, her arms coming up to embrace her, but not as tightly as her father had. A soft coo came from the infant in her arms, and as she pulled away, the queen looked down at her grandchild...and held her breath, biting her cheek so hard she drew a little blood.

She was a little black haired beauty. Her son had been beautiful too, hair as black as a raven's wing, eyes as crystal clear as the shimmering sea. Like her mother, this little baby had such dark hair but did not resemble her mother's twin beyond that. Still, it was her downy onyx hair that brought upon memories of her son, which cracked against her heart mercilessly. She steeled herself, and smiled at the infant, thinking that her daughter did mother quite a beautiful babe.

"Minisa, after Robb's grandmother," she heard her daughter say. The queen grinned at her daughter, giving her an affectionate rub on the arm, her eyes betraying nothing. She needed Jaime, she needed him desperately after this; she needed to forget her troubles and worries and old drudged up pain in his arms. In the warmth and strength of his embrace, when he was in her, around her, and melded with her, nothing could ever be wrong, at least in that moment. The baby gave another impatient grunt.

"She's beautiful," the queen managed.

Mother looked like she was about to say something more, when father broke out, "Ned! Your crypts!"

As before, mother protested with regal grace, but father heard none of it, and at once, both he and Lord Eddard had disappeared through the archway leading into the catacombs beneath Winterfell. Sylvia looked back at Robb, knowing he was watching the two men disappear as the rest of them had. He met her eyes, hard and lordly, and she hoped he truly understood why she never wanted Mini to be named Lyanna.

"My queen," Lady Catelyn broke in, trying to diffuse the awkwardness. "Please, do me the honour of showing you to your chambers. You must be weary after so long a journey. Robb will show Prince Joffrey to his, and I'm sure Sylvia would be more than happy to see to the younger prince and princess."

Queen Cersei looked back to the elder woman, he eyes now cold as she watched her husband descend into the wretched dark void leading to the crypts where his beloved corpse rested. After a terrible second, the queen gave her a tight smile, and glided towards her. Robb touched his wife's arm tenderly as a farewell, and moved towards the prince and his tall handsome uncle, solemn and serious.

"Sylvie!" she heard a soft girl's voice cry with glee. Sylvia hardly managed a cry in reply, before her little sister's arms wrapped around her waist. She looked down into her golden curls, her head now reaching past her bosom, and Sylvia's heart ached so sweetly. Oh, how her sweet little sister had grown! Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Sylvia still half thought Cella would be the little four year old she had been when she left the Capitol. But six years had aged her sister, and now here she was, just over eleven and grown so much. She wriggled her arm out from under her baby and wound it around her sister's shoulders. In her arms, Mini cooed once more, but she didn't sound so distressed this time.

As Joffrey followed Robb into the castle, walking past his sisters, the young prince rolled his eyes. Princess were supposed to be proper, and controlled. To show such emotion was undignified and womanly. Stupid girls.

Soon, Myrcella pulled away to look up at her sister, her big green eyes shining happily at her blue. She looked so much like mother, Sylvia thought, all of her beauty and grace. She didn't think she'd been this happy since Mini was born, her heart so elated and warm she thought she would spontaneously start dancing like a fool. She leaned down and kissed Myrcella's cheeks, giggling when Myrcella giggled at the old familiar contact. How sweet it was to see her sister after so long without her.

Then her eyes glanced up and caught sight of the small golden haired little boy starring bewilderedly behind Myrcella, and her heart stumbled. She knew him at once. He looked a lot like Uncle Jaime, somehow. His nose would grow long like his; he had the golden hair and green eyes of the Lannister house, and the strong square shape of uncle Jaime's jaw. She pulled away from Myrcella and smiled at him. The King's Guard and Robert's household were moving behind him, taking the luggage and crates away to the rooms and stores. The Starks household still remained, but soon they would be set back to work, helping the royal convey to settle in.

"Tommen?" she asked. He nodded. She smiled brightly. "I'm your sister, Sylvia." She shifted the baby in her arms. "This is my daughter Mini." Both Tommen and Myrcella eyed the little bundle curiously. It was a rare thing for them to see a baby, and it was a rightly fascinating thing. "The last time I saw you," Sylvia pondered out loud, "you were still just a swell beneath mother's dress." Tommen smiled, but it was a weak, timid smile. "You're tall now. You'll be taller than Joffrey's Hound one day."

"M-mother makes me eat my beets. She-she says they'll make me tall and strong." He offered timidly. Little Tommen Baratheon was so very aware that this stranger woman was his sister, but still, he was afraid she would laugh at him like Joffrey. She seemed happy to see Cella, but she knew her. What if she didn't like him? What if she called him stupid and weak and pathetic like Joffy had, so many times before? Would mother tell her to stop? Yet as she smiled so kindly at him, his fears began to melt away. Well, he thought, if Cella likes her so much, and Joffy won't talk to her, how scary can she be?

"Mmm, mother used to make me eat beets as well, but I was never as tall as you when I was six."

"Really? I don't like beets."

"Nor do I." And just like that, Sylvia earned her first real smile from her littlest brother.

Hello MY BEAUTIES! give me them reviews...GIVE IT! My precious...

also, I've been feeling my last few chapters have been lacking. Is this coming through to you guys?