Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4178877.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_&
      Related_Fandoms, Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Jaime_Lannister/Arya_Stark, Past_Jaime_Lannister/Cersei_Lannister, Jaime
      Lannister_&_Tommen_Baratheon
  Character:
      Arya_Stark, Jaime_Lannister, Tywin_Lannister, Tommen_Baratheon, Cersei
      Lannister, Tyrion_Lannister, Daenerys_Targaryen, Daven_Lannister, Joffrey
      Baratheon, Lancel_Lannister, Genna_Lannister
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Pseudo-Incest, Arya_is_Pro-
      Lannister, Original_Character(s), Magic-Users, Age_Difference, Aged-Up
      Character(s), Alternate_Universe_-_Age_Changes
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-06-21 Completed: 2015-06-26 Chapters: 19/19 Words: 52967
****** For Love And Legacy ******
by Aelara_Vayne
Summary
     Arya sold her soul for power and Jaime sold his for love. Only one of
     them got what they paid for, but Jaime hasn't given up yet. Not when
     he's found the one thing worth fighting for: his son.
     Temp Warning: Under revision. 5 of 19 chapters revised.
Notes
     Occurs post-Red Wedding, but ages and time periods are changed around
     to lessen the age difference a bit. The time between Ned Stark coming
     to the Capital and the start of the story is 5 years. Arya is 17,
     Jaime is about 34, Tywin is in his fifties (having had the twins at
     about 20), Tommen is about 2 and a half. Arya was 12 back at the
     start of GoT, Jaime was 29, Tommen was conceived right before Jaime
     left the Capital for the War (figure 9-10 months for Cersei being
     pregnant after that point), but the war only lasted about 3 years and
     Ned Stark was in the Capital for about 2 years.
     One last thing, I listen to music while I write, and the themes of
     the song generally direct the feeling of the character in a scene. So
     I figured if anyone gets curious about the song behind a chapter, I'd
     put the name in the note. Absolutely optional to listen to, but I
     suppose it comes out to a fanmix when the whole thing is done.
     Song for this chapter: Lion by Hollywood Undead
See the end of the work for more notes
***** The Reunion *****
King's Landing was no less repugnant than the last time she had been there, and
that was five years ago. The stench of the all but rotting city was
overwhelming, and she had to fight the urge to lift a scented scrap of cloth to
her nose to mask the smell. Such a reprieve, while tempting, would be
displaying weakness. And Arya despised showing weakness; no matter how little.
Besides, Tywin was enduring the same without so much as grimacing, so Arya
couldn't very well let herself be outdone. That didn't mean she couldn't
complain.
"I'd sooner have stayed at home, father," she hissed in equal parts reverence
and bad temper. No matter how annoyed she may be at being dragged along to a
'Royal' wedding between her despised 'nephew', her least enjoyable acquisition
from joining House Lannister, and a little Tyrell Queen-to-be, Arya couldn't
bring herself to be fully rude with Tywin. It was to him that she owed all her
newfound wealth and influence.
"As would I, but our presence is both expected and necessary. It would give
away our position to not be seen at my grandson's wedding," Tywin replied with
no inflection. He had likely heard far too much of her grousing, but, to his
credit, he never admonished her for it. More than likely, he shared her
distaste for the Capital and all those housed within.
"My sweet sister wants you for her Hand," Arya pointed out sourly. "She's been
trying to get you to agree for years, but this time I fear she'll have grown
tired of asking and demand it of you."
"Children do not demand things of their parents," Tywin corrected in a voice of
iron. "And be clear, it is King Joffrey who is in need of a Hand, and his Grace
will learn not to demand things of me; same as his predecessors. My place is in
the West, preparing it for the winter, and, after this farce, we will return
there."
"I said what I meant," Arya spat, but allowed some good humor to creep into her
heart. "I hear it's your son who really needs a 'hand' anyway."
Tywin didn't bother replying this time, and Arya could see his mouth twitch at
the sides in an effort to quell what would have been a dark scowl. He had been
in a foul mood since word had reached the Rock that Jaime had both survived his
Northern imprisonment as well as returned to the Capital. That had been months
ago, and Arya had grown tired of avoiding the subject. Robb and his bannermen
were already defeated and feeding the crows, and Tywin was still annoyed about
Jaime. Patience was a virtue she had in abundance, but only for things that
concerned her personally. Her father's enduring anger at his first and second
born sons was something that only served to exasperate Arya.
She could sympathize with his fury after learning about Jaime's affair with his
twin, but that was old news now, and the punishment had already been doled out.
Even if the affected didn't know they had been punished yet. Word of the
Lannister twins crimes had spread throughout the Westerlanders quickly during
the war, and, eventually, even Tywin could not ignore them. A well placed
inquiry had proven the rumors to be true, and her father's anger had been a
frightful thing to behold for those unfortunate enough to see it up close.
Arya had been just fourteen, and a cupbearer to him at Harrenhal at the time.
For a time, she believed she had fooled him about her identity, but soon
learned that no one fooled Tywin Lannister. So she spent her half days nursing
grievances with commanders of Tywin's army, the Queen, and Joffrey, and the
other half hoping fervently that Robb would bring her home soon. But the days
and weeks had dragged on like years, and her brother had continued refusing to
trade for her and Sansa, who was still in the Capital. Winter started to creep
in, and Arya realized one morning, as Tywin read an intercepted raven's scroll
aloud about how Robb had arranged a marriage for her to one of Walder Frey's
grandsons without her consent, that her brother just didn't care enough to save
her from the South.
Figuring that out had rocked to her the core and left her despondent. She
walked through the halls of Harrenhal, an already depressing place, like a
ghost with dead eyes. Until Tywin had taken her aside one night and given her a
lecture that she still refused to forget.
"Do not rely on others to do your saving for you, girl," he had said to her
with his warm hands on her shoulders. It had made her feel like a child
listening to her father for the first time in his presence. He had always been
kind to her, but never had he allowed her to see anything more than his cold
facade. "If you want to be free, then you'll need to seize it yourself. I've
grown fond of you, impetuous as you are, and it disappoints me to see you go so
meekly into self-mourning."
Arya had known that he didn't mean for her to try to escape, but for a time she
considered it and her impassive stare turned cunning. At the time, she thought
she could hide her emotions well enough, but Tywin had seen through her again
and offered her a new path. On the day that she had planned to run away in the
night, he informed her that they were going west to Casterly Rock and she would
accompany him and he would make a place for her there. "If you're here come
morning, of course," he had added with a raised eyebrow.
By this point, she had been sitting in on all his war councils in the guise of
serving the gathered commanders wine and water. Each day and each peek at his
maps and letters, she learned a little more about warfare and how it was waged.
She listened to every speech and tactic, and, sometimes, she managed to guess
the next move before Tywin even announced it. She envied his power and how
every man waited with held breath to hear him speak. Watching from over his
shoulder, the lust for power had begun to take root in her soul to fill the
gaping hole where family once sat. If she couldn't have her old life back, then
she wanted to build an even better one all on her own.
Arya knew herself well enough to know that she could never look Robb in the eye
again, so where else did she have to go? She wanted to learn, and here was the
best in the Seven Kingdoms giving her that chance. Her mind was made up
instantaneously, and she cornered Jaqen and called off their escape. It wasn't
until years later that she realized that Tywin would have never let her escape
in the first place, but he still let her make the choice to follow. She loved
him even more for it.
Turning her eyes away from Tywin and back to the looming city gates, she could
make out several heads skewered on them. Her own father's head, her 'real'
father, had long been removed, but she could still remember the sight as though
it was yesterday. Somehow, seeing his severed head on the wall had been more
upsetting than watching it roll down the steps of the Sept of Baelor, staining
the ground red as it stopped at the feet of a city watchman. None of the
memories bothered her anymore; Arya Stark was a long dead girl, and Arya
Lannister had a much brighter future waiting for her than marrying some
nameless lord and giving him a few brat sons. Arya Lannister carried two fresh
forged Valyrian steel swords at her sides and commanded the respect of all of
Tywin's bannermen.
A smile graced her features as she slid a hand down to the hilt of the Lion,
the sword she wielded with her left hand. The Wolf was wielded in her right,
and they were beautiful to behold. The pommels were carved into the shape of
the heads of the animals they were named for, and polished till the golden lion
gleamed and you could see yourself in the eyes of the grey wolf. Together they
represented her life and the dual nature of her soul; both a Northerner and,
yet, still a Southerner. A Stark made over as a Lannister. As much she-wolf as
she was lioness.
The swords were all that was left of the ancient spell-forged sword Ice of
House Stark, and Arya was glad to have them. She may not be loyal to the Starks
anymore, but she could do Ned Stark one last kindness by one day cutting off
Joffrey and Ser Ilyn's head with the Wolf. Even though she knew that he would
never want a tribute to him done in blood, however, he wasn't here to complain
either.
Her hood kept hitting her cheeks gently as the cool air blew through the city.
She pulled it up further and surveyed the state of the streets. Abysmal is what
she would call them if asked. The small folk seemed to cower back from their
party as they steered their horses towards the Red Keep. Every single person
looked underfed and weak, and the city felt subdued. It was a far cry from the
bustling, lively city she had seen in her youth. These people were dying in
droves, she knew from the piles of bodies stacked in alleys that they passed,
and it wasn't even winter yet.
The last winter had been shockingly short, but the summer following it had been
even shorter. This time the winds were blowing frighteningly cold, and the war
had left every hold in the Seven Kingdoms scrambling to prepare. The Reach and
the West were best off aside from Dorne, where the winter rarely touched. Arya
had seen to it that the Westerlands were both ready to endure a long winter as
well as any conflict that might occur during that winter. It had been the first
job she had been put in charge of, while she was still a Stark, and it gave her
the chance to bond herself to many of the principal Lords of the West, who
appreciated the food she had sent to stock their stores.
Tywin had trusted her not to spend his unimaginable wealth without care, and
she had been with him long enough to want to do the job perfectly. Making her
father proud had always filled her with a sense of great accomplishment; she
was succeeding where Cersei had failed. So Arya had put sent assistance to
farms all throughout the West to ensure the harvests had excellent yield. For
every farmer soldier she liberated from the war, she replaced him with a well
trained, and well paid, sellsword. This meant that the army teemed with real
fighters while they still managed to get ahead on food stores. With her taking
care of the preparations for winter, Tywin had more time to devote to the war
effort. It wasn't until after her official adoption that they had switched
jobs, and then Arya had finished his work for him on the battlefield. That's
when people began to look at her as a true Lannister, when she got down into
the mud and shed blood for their House. Now, the soldiers of the West all knew
her by name, face, and reputation. She issued an order, and they jumped to like
Tywin himself had given it.
She could see the steps of the Red Keep now, ones she remembered seeing for the
first time only five short years ago, but this time they were all but hidden by
the swarm of knights and Kingsguard. The welcome party hadn't been quite so
interesting the last time, Arya recalled, since the Starks had ridden long
behind the King after the incidents at Darry. She had to fight down a shiver of
equal parts lust and lingering annoyance as she recalled what happened there.
It left her looking forward to her interactions with Jaime to say the least.
She hoped that he remembered that night as clearly as she did, but it didn't
matter if he had forgotten; Arya would remind him.
Now the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Jaime was at the forefront with the
strained smile and a hand of solid gold to match what was left of his once
beautiful hair. His cloak was as white as it was years ago, but Arya would have
sworn it looked brighter back then. His armor was as brilliant, but it couldn't
redeem the plain fact that Jaime Lannister looked like a shell of his former
self. He was still as handsome as she remembered, but his eyes looked haunted
even from this distance. The dark circles under his eyes gave his lack of sleep
away, and he was fidgeting instead of exuding confidence like a lion.
Arya's interest was piqued though, and she found herself staring at him as she
did the first time she saw him as a young girl. She was too young to appreciate
his pleasing face back then, but she could acknowledge his handsome features
now that she was a woman. The years had not been kind to him, but he was still
stunningly beautiful. His hair was cropped short, but appeared to be in the
process of growing back. His face was only slightly lined at the corners of his
eyes and it was his scars that aged him more than anything. A quick look at
Tywin reminded her that Lannisters seemed to age well.
Still, the only thing that seemingly hadn't changed about the Kingslayer was
his dagger-like smile that cut across his face; at least he faked it well
enough.
"Hello father," Jaime called when they got close enough. "Good to see you
again. I hope you didn't worry too much about me during my imprisonment."
He looked as unhappy to see Tywin as Arya knew her father was to see him. Their
enmity was mutual then, she observed and made a note to pry one of them about
it later. She expected that Jaime would be the saving grace of this little
misadventure, so she looked forward to the chance to interact with her new
'sibling'. Perhaps more than cursory investigation would take place as well, if
reports of Cersei's newfound disgust in her twin were true. Nothing would
please Arya more than to steal away something that belonged to the Queen of
Cunts.
"On the contrary, I was preoccupied with winning a war. I had little time to
spare on thinking about a reckless commander who got himself captured," Tywin
deadpanned. He didn't bother to dismount as he rode past Jaime and Arya smirked
under her hood.
"Wonderful to see you too," Jaime muttered under his breath before looking up
at Arya. "Welcome my Lady, I don't believe we've had the pleasure." He didn't
recognize her, but she could scarcely blame him. Her hair had been a mess back
then and she wore simple Northern dresses. Now her hair was long enough that,
should she release it from its tie, it would flow down her back like a river.
Her clothes were elaborate and done in crimson befitting a Lannister. However,
who he thought she was, riding by Tywin's side, she did not know. A dignitary
from the Riverlands, probably.
With a sharp smile she decided to correct him in his assumptions. She pulled up
on her reigns to stop her mare and dismounted fluidly. Her shoulders rolled
slightly to stretch as she approached and removed her gloves. "We have," Arya
finally corrected and lowered her hood to stare him in the eyes as she added,
"Brother."
***** A Tale of Two Fathers *****
Chapter Notes
     Song for the Chapter: Lullaby by Nickelback (You'll have to trust me
     on this one. Preferably the music video.)
     Happy Father's Day to Jaime, more or less.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It was a few hours after the arrival of the wedding guests from the West, and
he was still reeling. "You... adopted Arya Stark," Jaime repeated for what felt
like the thousandth time. His father looked as unfazed as he had been when
Jaime burst into his chambers an hour ago. The years apart had not made Tywin
any more forgiving of foolishness, and Jaime knew he was being foolish at this
point. Certainly there must have been a clear reason for adopting the girl
rather than arranging her a marriage to a suitable Lord. Jaime never claimed to
understand everything his father did, but it often turned out for the best.
It had been years since he had seen the little Stark girl, and now she was a
proper woman. Beautiful and looking more like her aunt Lyanna than ever. Her
legs and torso seemed to have grown into match her long face, and now she stood
just shorter than Jaime himself. He hadn't even recognized her under the
crimson silk and fine leather of her riding clothes, and, when she spoke, her
voice was cool and composed instead of its old petulant tone. Clearly, his
father had been hard at work in making a civilized woman of the wild beast that
she used to be, because she reminded him of his father in every way. Even her
eyes had grown colder until they looked more steel than ash.
"She is now a Lannister, and, unless you have something of substance to say, I
suggest you take your leave, Lord Commander," Tywin replied without ever
lifting his eyes from whatever it was he was currently writing. Ever warm and
inviting, Jaime thought sarcastically.
"I just want to know why," he bit out in annoyance. Surely his father didn't
need to torture him for a simple answer. There had to be a reason, and Jaime
felt entitled to know what it was since it warranted giving him a new sister.
He wanted to know why his father, who had despised his youngest son, was
willing to open his home and his heart to a girl with whom he shared no blood.
Tywin glared impassively at him and dismissed him with an icy response, "That
is no concern of yours, and I expect that you'll keep your distance from your
new sister. Lest we have another scandal on our hands."
Jaime didn't like the implications in that sentence, nor the way his father's
eyes darkened as he said it, but he covered it with a jape, "Hand, singular, in
my case." His father had given no credence to the 'rumors' about him and Cersei
before, so he likely didn't give them any more thought now either. If he had
come to believe the truth, then Jaime would have expected himself to be hanging
from the gates by now. Not even his son would get away with tarnishing his
father's glorious legacy.
His response got a reaction out of Tywin as he glared coolly at Jaime's new
appendage with obvious distaste. It seemed as though his father was as
displeased to see Jaime 'short-handed' as he was himself. Likely, he believed
Jaime shouldn't have come back alive if he wasn't going to come back whole. He
wouldn't be alone in that opinion if Cersei's utter rejection of Jaime's recent
advances was anything to go on.
His sister had all but abandoned him since he had returned to the Capital. She
not only shunned him from her bed, but from her side as well. His twin had
demanded Ser Meryn as a personal guard at all times, and Jaime was left
following behind Joffrey most of his days while Ser Loras, the arrogant little
rose, was free to guard his own sister, Margaery. The only other Kingsguard
Cersei would deal with was the Kettleblack, and he kowtowed to her in a way
that made Jaime's blood boil. His sister graced the lout with her brilliant
smiles and sent Jaime her anger. It was as if their promises, their love and
the bond of blood between them, suddenly didn't exist and Jaime was some
unwashed peasant begging for her attention. The only good thing about being
stuck as Lord Commander to a brutal King and half-mad Queen was that no one
missed him when he shirked duties under the guise of leadership.
His father eventually decided that he would stand Jaime's presence no longer, a
common occurrence as of late, and snapped, "Go; I have work to do and I'll not
be distracted by your blathering."
"It was lovely to catch up, father," Jaime spat angrily as he left the room
before Tywin could make a comment on his tone. How had so much changed in under
three years? He could withstand his father's disdain if only he hadn't already
had his fill of Cersei's scorn. Lannisters were not known for their inviting
personalities, but at least they hadn't turned on each other in the past. It
was as if his time as a captive had allowed the whole world to turn itself
upside down while he was away. Cersei despised him, his father despised him,
Arya Stark was now Arya Lannister, and Joff himself was as mad as Aerys. Jaime
had killed one Mad King and made another.
Not for the first time, he longed to talk to Tyrion, but his brother wasn't
there. Jaime thought about him as he walked quickly down to the seaside to at
least swing his sword, even if he couldn't cut anyone with it. Unfortunately
the lack of connecting blows made the stress relief negligible.
Tyrion was in exile and his little Stark wife was missing. His brother had been
cast off by Joffrey not long after the Battle of the Blackwater, which would
have been lost without him. All Jaime knew was what Cersei told him, and that
was that Tyrion had killed Ser Mandon Moore in the fight for some unknown
reason. He didn't believe a word of it, and it upset him that Cersei couldn't
even spin him a pretty lie to tell himself at night to justify why he stayed
loyal to his vows. Sansa was gone in the night before she could be questioned,
and Jaime half feared his sister had murdered her and wouldn't tell him.
It would be fitting for how his life was going lately. He had made a vow to
Catelyn Stark, and to Brienne before her death, and now both his charges were
'Lannisters'. The one daughter that should have been easy to find was gone, and
the one that had been missing for years was suddenly in plain sight and calling
him 'brother'. Arya Stark didn't seem to be in any hurry to get home either, so
it seemed his vow was all but useless.
"Uncle?" a small voice sounded and he looked down to see Tommen clutching a
castle wall. Jaime forced himself to relax visibly and smile; Tommen might be
the only person to enjoy his company lately. He might be the only one Jaime
enjoyed being near as well.
"Nephew," he greeted cheerfully and swept the small boy into his arms. Tommen
immediately pressed his face into Jaime's neck and hugged him back. They had
grown quite close, no matter how inadvisable that was, in their mutual lack of
affection from Cersei. For someone who prided herself on being an infallible
mother, Cersei had all but abandoned this cub. Every time she spoke of him it
was to compare him unfavorably to his brother or deride him for some small
matter that she couldn't be bothered with. It broke Jaime's heart every time
and forced him to break every promise he made to himself not to get any closer.
Tommen was safer the further Jaime stayed away, but he just couldn't pull back
when he saw him so deeply lonely.
Jaime half wondered if Cersei's rejection was because Tommen looked so very
much like himself. The boy was so obviously his son that most Lords had given
up concealing their glances back and forth between them at feasts. None, of
course, were stupid enough to voice their opinions on the matter to the King or
his mother. Though, at this point, most would be too frightened to raise issue
with it if the truth was revealed. Joffrey was a maniac with people who dared
to cough too loudly in his presence, so Gods help anyone who thought to call
him illegitimate to his face. Jaime hoped that one day he'd be able to look the
little shit in the face, smile, and detail how he fucked his mother while his
'father' was passed out beside them. Telling him that Ned Stark had been right
all along.
Shaking himself from his dark thoughts, an admittedly difficult task, he looked
down at the boy in his arms. He was smiling now that Jaime had hold of him.
Tommen even smelled like himself, he noted as he pressed his nose into the
feather soft blonde hair on his son's head. The Gods had given him one blessing
in his cub's health and freedom from madness.
Tommen was two now, as he had been conceived right before Jaime left the
Capital to lead the siege in the Riverlands. He was a lucky boy to have been
conceived just before Robert's death, and allowed him to be counted among his
children. Cersei had carried him during the early days of the war, and he was
born not long after Jaime's imprisonment. To this day, he felt an immense guilt
for having missed his birth, but he knew it was unavoidable. It may not have
changed anything anyway; he had been there for Joffrey's birth and that didn't
change that Jaime found him to be an insufferable cunt.
What little emotion he had felt at the birth of Myrcella, who remained in
Dorne, and Joffrey had been apparently bottled up until Jaime saw Tommen for
the first time. This boy wasn't his nephew or his niece, as the first two had
been, this child was his son. And not even Cersei could take that from him this
time. She had always insisted so viciously that he stay away from the fruits of
their union that Jaime had ignored the first two children until after they were
walking and talking. Now he would give his other hand to go back and experience
the early years that he missed for Tommen.
His son suffered deeply, as the least loved child of an already cruel woman,
and Jaime felt more guilt for who his mother was than the fact that he was his
father. And, as much as it pained him to think of his twin as 'cruel', he knew
that Tommen would flourish better away from his mother. His boy was shy and
quiet, often hiding from everyone that wasn't Jaime, and it stifled his bright
mind.
Together they weathered the storms that were Cersei's moods lately. Some night
she raged, others she boasted, most she drank all the way through. It was if he
blinked and suddenly Robert had taken up residence in his sister's skin. That
wasn't what frightened him most though: it was the idea that she had always
been like this and he hadn't noticed. Perhaps she had, because Jaime knew
himself well enough to know he was only interested in sex before. The emotional
side was something for husbands and wives, not for twins getting up to
interesting mischief, as he had been fond of thinking of their time together.
He had always kept himself as a brother to her emotionally even as they were
still lovers. But now he was both celibate and without a sister, while Cersei
'ruled' and Joffrey brutalized and the city rotted around them.
One day, he promised himself and his son silently, one day, he'd make things
better for the both of them. The truth was, though, that he had no clue how it
would work. He was bound to the Kingsguard for life, and he wouldn't insult the
memory of his brothers in arms who died before him by abandoning it without
good cause. Yet, every month that flew past him, Tommen grew meeker when he
should have been becoming a bold little lion cub. They had dressed a lion as a
stag and forced him to dine on grass.
"I don't remember you being the pensive type," his new 'sister's' voice came
from somewhere he couldn't see. "It's a nice change from your annoyingly loud
mouth and cocky affectation, but strangely I seem to miss it anyway."
"My Lady," Jaime said as sweetly as a poisoned arrow in the heart. He was in no
mood to entertain her today. "If you're lost, I'd be happy to escort you back
to the castle."
Arya appeared from behind a rock and he had to stare at her attire. She had
changed out of her traveling clothes and into an outfit better suited for a
whore than a Lady of the Rock. It appeared to be a corset and leather breeches;
both made too small. Her arms and shoulders were bare and Jaime felt his face
heat. Tommen turned to look at her and Jaime reflexively covered the boy's eyes
to keep him innocent. What had she been thinking wearing that outside the
castle walls? Any man with a cock between his legs was a threat when she was
walking around looking like something out of a brothel. He could name at least
three of his own Kingsguard who wouldn't think twice about dragging her into a
dark corner and breaking their vows for a few hours.
She seemed to find his unwillingness to look at her amusing, because she
laughed and said, "Spare me, I train in less during the summer. This is
conservative for my usual swordplay dress off the field. You should see what I
wore during the hottest parts of the summer; the men of Lannisport made grand
excuses to visit the Rock to watch me train. Luckily, my soldiers are better at
keeping their fantasies for the privacy of their bedchambers." She approached
him slowly, with swaying hips that teased him against his own wishes, and
continued, "One would think that a man like you would be as eager to make
memory of it."
"Perhaps I misjudged why my father was so eager to bring you into the family,"
Jaime sneered even as he pointed his eyes anywhere but on her nearly visible
tits. Her bosom wasn't overflowing from the tight clothing, but it was
definitely on full display. If he had to guess, she had picked the outfit
specifically for hunting him down, if he remembered her nature right from
Darry. She had been staring after him even then, and time probably hadn't
helped quell those desires. He was accustomed to having women throw themselves
at him, as he had been on the receiving end of the behavior since he was
thirteen, but it still surprised him that the little Stark was the type.
Arya laughed, a colder sound than it should be though it sounded genuine, and
replied, "That's not his vice. Only yours." Jaime carefully put on a mask of
amusement to conceal the surge of anger he felt at her statement. It was clear
that she was trying to hit him where it would hurt, but damn her if it wasn't
working. Tommen didn't need to hear this from her. His son was blissfully
ignorant of the situation surrounding his birth, and Jaime intended to keep it
that way.
"Then if you'll excuse me my Lady, we'll be going," Jaime purred as he moved to
step around her. The sly bitch stepped into his path again and he reared back
with a proper glare this time. The Lannister name suddenly fit her well.
"No I don't think I will," she cut back with a sharp smile and looked down at
Tommen. "Who is this handsome little lion?"
"Tommen," his son piped politely from behind Jaime's golden hand. Arya reached
out and gently pushed his 'hand' out of the way to get a better look at the
boy. Jaime was annoyed beyond all reason, but he didn't need to set a bad
example on how to treat Ladies for Tommen. He very nearly snarled that his son
was, in fact, a stag, but he felt it'd call too much attention to her phrasing
and nothing made Jaime sicker than even thinking of saying it.
"My, you're a lovely one, aren't you?" she spoke softly, melodically, to
Jaime's surprise. Up till now, he had only heard her speak in cruelly twisting
tones and biting sarcasm. Pretty much as all his kin did. This new tone suited
her loveliness much better, he determined. "You must have been born after I
left King's Landing. I take it you're the little Prince?"
Tommen frowned slightly, but nodded. His son didn't like to be called a Prince
for some strange reason, but Jaime had never succeed in getting an answer about
why. More than likely, he felt ill being lumped in with Joffrey as part of the
Royal family. His brother was cruel beyond reason to Tommen and Jaime had to
restrain himself from being a kinslayer as well as a kingslayer twice over.
Out of the blue, Arya leaned in and pressed a kiss to Tommen's head before
Jaime could pull the both of them back. "You seem sweet enough," she commented
with the same gentle tone as before. It worked as a spell on Tommen who perked
up and his bright green eyes sparkled at Arya. His whole demeanor relaxed and
Jaime could tell that he liked her, which, in turn, helped to make Jaime relax
as well.
"Thank you, m'Lady," Tommen mumbled shyly and Jaime was proud of how well his
son could speak at such an age. Jaime hadn't been half as advanced at the same,
and it gave him pleasure to know he hadn't passed his own limitations onto his
boy. Unfortunately, he must have beamed a little too brightly at his son
because Arya fixed him with a knowing stare. Just as Jaime went to frown at
her, she smiled slightly and swept a hand down towards the sea.
"Shall we?" she asked with a quirked up eyebrow and a casual hand rested on one
of her sword hilts. He had to wonder how she knew he was going down there to
train.
"As you wish, my Lady," Jaime acquiesced and hoped he wouldn't regret it later.
 
===============================================================================
 
They walked in silence to the place where Jaime often trained with Ser Ilyn.
Lately he trained alone more often than not, but it didn't help him improve. It
was still better than being mocked by a mute's eyes and clucking noises.
His new sister carried not one, but two swords at her hips, and Jaime was
curious as to why. Fighting with two blades was a rather uncommon style for
Westeros, so where had she learned? Not only that, but it was a very difficult
thing to master. Jaime had been training from the age of six with just one
sword and wasn't considered to be 'talented' until he was thirteen. This girl
would be seventeen now and couldn't have started training before the age of
twelve. By then, it should have been too late to learn. But then what did that
say about his endeavors to learn with his left?
When they reached the area, he set Tommen down on a outcropped rock and gave
him a quick kiss on the top of his head. His son gave a delighted mew of
pleasure and tilted his head up to press a kiss of his own to Jaime's cheek.
For good measure, he showered a few more on the little boy before walking over
to where Arya was standing. He wasn't quite sure why she wanted to accompany
them, and he was a little annoyed but willing to investigate her skills.
Arya gave a quick glance at the roaring sea crashing against the rocks and then
one towards Tommen. "I take it he can't hear us?" she asked with a hushed tone
that even he strained to catch.
"No," he responded louder. He was often happy to know that Tommen couldn't hear
his loud curses of frustration when he trained, so he couldn't likely hear a
conversation between them now. He was appreciative that she thought to ask
before saying anything inflammatory.
"He's beautiful," Arya commented with a slight toss of her head in Tommen's
direction. "Seems at least one good thing came of your mistakes." Wasn't that
the truth, he thought as he scowled at her viciously. It filled him with anger
that was better directed at himself, because she was right and he knew it.
"I'd ask that you keep your rumors to yourself," Jaime growled as he fumbled
with his sword. "Did you come here to spar, my Lady, or gossip?" She didn't
look impressed with his response and drew one of her own swords, the one for
her left hand. The shine of the dark metal left him half blind for a moment as
his mind registered what he was looking at in her hand.
"That's Valyrian steel," he exclaimed hotly. "Where in the Seven Hells did you
get that?" His eyes fell on the second sword with fear that it was also made of
the rare steel. The same type of sword he had never owned despite years of
longing. To say he was jealous was a deep understatement. House Lannister's
sword, Brightroar, had been lost for centuries and he had lost an uncle in the
most recent effort of trying to reclaim it. Now this little girl had at least
one; possibly two.
"They were nameday presents from father," she taunted mockingly; again, she
knew exactly where to cut to hurt him most.
All at once Jaime was furious. Furious at her for calling his father her own,
when she already had a father who had loved her back. Furious that his father
had gifted an adopted wolf pup with something he had never thought to give to
his firstborn son; swords he could have passed to his own son. All the rage
inside him from the past several months of shit he had endured bubbled up at
this moment. All of Cersei's rejection, his father's disregard, Brienne and her
fate for saving his life. The years he spent as Robb Stark's prisoner. His
brother's plight and his son's lonely life. It all came roaring back like the
lion he was failing at being. He wanted his life back, and this girl suddenly
felt like a proper target for all his building pain.
He swung before he could he could even process what he was doing, and, the next
thing he knew, the beautiful sword was blocking his own. She pushed him back
and swung at him fluidly. It was with barest fractions of a second that he
managed to get his own sword up in time to block the blow, but he staggered
back at the force. She was strong. The girl didn't look like much, but her
swing was as good as Brienne's and that was truly saying something. His heart
clenched as he thought of his friend, and he was blinded by rage again.
Again, he lunged and she parried. Arya smiled wide and continued to put him to
absolute shame. Suddenly her choice of attire, as he broke out into a heavy
sweat, didn't seem so odd. It allowed her a good range of motion and she looked
cool and comfortable. Jaime, on the other hand, had never felt so defeated. All
his training and he couldn't be a seventeen year old girl, who, he noted, was
also using her left.
She was obviously, patronizingly, careful not to cut him as they sparred for a
few minutes, and that just made it so much worse for Jaime. He was tired of
being unmanned and it appeared that was all he would find here today.
A sweep of her leg out of nowhere, and he was flat on his back with her sword
at his throat. The point rested on his skin and a drop of his blood welled up
instantaneously. The pressure of the sword was removed a moment later and a
hand was thrust down at him to pull him to his feet. A simple glance at Tommen,
all wide eyes and concern, and Jaime didn't even want to take it. Sinking into
the ground and ceasing to exist felt like a better option. He finally took it
after she refused to withdraw it.
"You're better than expected," Arya remarked in an oddly impressed tone. "I had
expected you to be hopeless, but you've clearly trained well with the left.
With a little more work--."
"I was just beaten handily by a woman half my age," Jaime snarled while turning
away to hide his shame from Tommen. There went any chances of his son looking
up to him. He had so fervently hoped that Tommen would still find him worthy of
admiration and aspire to be like him in some ways. Hoped that his son would
adopt his best qualities, and listen when Jaime helped to ward off his worst.
Now, his son would turn to another for a mentor, and Jaime would have to endure
listening to another person dear to him praise someone else.
Arya, to his surprise, laughed but not cruelly. "If you knew how many men I've
beaten at swordplay, you might feel better. I haven't lost since I was still
sparring with Broom at the Rock." Broom was the master-at-arms who had also
trained Jaime, and he had been beating him since before he was a squire, so
that made him feel all the worse.
"Boasting isn't an attractive quality, my Lady," he muttered and rubbed at a
sore shoulder.
"I'm not boasting." And maybe she wasn't, given how easily she had put him in
his place, but Jaime had to believe that she was at least worse than he used to
be. If he started letting himself fear that she was good enough to beat him at
his best, then he would truly be undone.
Feeling like a child beaten at a game of 'knights and maidens', he interjected,
"You were also using your left."
"My left is my dominant hand," Arya responded and her eyebrow went up again.
"When I tell you you've done well, you've done well. It's no faint praise
coming from me, and one you'll not hear again if you keep complaining. Now stop
sulking at come at me again. Don't let your son see his father give up so
easily." Jaime didn't even bother correcting her as he lunged again and dove
right back into the fight.
 
===============================================================================
 
Two hours later and they were both sweating, though Arya less so, and had taken
seats on the rocks on either side of Tommen, who seemed delighted by the
sparring. Jaime had improved after a few rounds and felt better when he managed
to defend well enough to not get any wounds. After a while, she had stopped
taking it easy on him, and he could appreciate that at least. Pity would have
been far too bitter to swallow. If he was going to lose, he preferred to lose
with dignity. Now the center of attention was his son, who's excitement was
making Jaime feel more like he had just fought through a whole war and won
rather than losing to a girl during a spar.
"How old are you, youngling?" Arya asked Tommen sweetly and Jaime had to marvel
again at how much her cold demeanor could change when she spoke to him. It was
like she was going from a glacier to a warm hearth in a single question. He
realized suddenly that it was because she reminded him of his father so
immensely that her change in personality threw him every time. When she wasn't
speaking, her face sat in a single expression with little given away. She still
managed to be cocky, but that was mostly youth. It was as though she was a
younger Tywin, before the years and loss of his wife had beaten all the joy out
of him. Then, when she spoke to Tommen, Jaime was reminded of his own mother;
gentle and soft, but still proud and strong.
"Two," Tommen chirped happily. He was leaning against Jaime but playing with
the pommel of Arya's sword, the one with the Lion's head. Jaime hadn't seen him
so outgoing and happy in... Once he thought about it, he realized he had never
seen his son look so content with a stranger.
"Mm, you'll be fighting with a sword soon enough. You'll want to be just like
your Uncle Jaime, won't you?" He gave a start at the realization that she had
censored herself, and he sent her a grateful look. She kept her smile in place
as her eyes found his for a moment.
And, Gods, if her darkened eyes didn't send a whole wave of lust through him at
once. He bit the inside of his mouth to keep himself silent and get his emotion
in check. Fighting always made him want to fuck, and this was no exception. His
mind supplied all sorts of things he'd love to do with her. I could make you
cry out for hours on end, he thought hungrily. But his face betrayed no emotion
until she looked away and he grimaced from the effort. It had been so long
since he had felt so much lust for Cersei and needed to hide it in the face of
others that he had almost forgotten the control it required. His primal urges
had always been a little too strong for control anyway, and this girl had a way
of getting on the wrong side of them since Darry.
He could probably seduce her if he tried, he knew. She was obviously interested
from her demeanor, and their short past together provided the opening. But
Jaime was long accustomed to denying himself what he wanted most, and taking
her to his bed could be disastrous. If Cersei was to learn of it, Arya would
meet a far worse fate than Brienne and his father would likely hang him on the
spot. So he bottled up the thoughts and his pent up needs and stored them away
in the back of his mind. He could always take himself in hand later in the
night.
His son was oblivious to this exchange and bounced a bit with joy next to
Jaime. "I want to be just like him," Tommen announced proudly, only tripping
over a few words. Jaime felt his heart nearly burst from love and he wrapped
his good arm around Tommen to cradle his son to his chest. The little boy
nuzzled the soft leather of his coat and closed his eyes. They sat in silence
together for almost another quarter of an hour as the sun set, and, when he
looked down, his boy was fast asleep. Jaime lifted him carefully into his arms
and stood to head back up to the castle. When he held his son, it was as though
he had the most precious thing in the world in his arms and his lack of a hand
never hindered him less.
Arya put a hand on his shoulder before he could walk away. "Does he know?" she
asked softly with a nod towards Tommen.
"No, and he won't know," Jaime said firmly with a shake of his head. "He's a
Prince. I won't put him at risk by changing that."
"He needs a father, Jaime," Arya said sternly, but her voice was more velvet
glove than iron fist. "Not an uncle." Jaime wished that was true. He wished it
with every breath he took. But if the truth got out, Tommen would be known as a
bastard and nothing would sadden Jaime more. At least like this, Tommen had a
future to look forward to as a Prince. He would inherit the Stormlands or
Dragonstone when Stannis was defeated. Even if he acknowledged him as his son,
Jaime wouldn't even be able to give him Casterly Rock because his father would
never legitimize him.
So instead of agreeing, like he wished with all his heart that he could, he
spat, "His father is dead." She frowned at him then and walked away before he
could say anything more.
Chapter End Notes
     Revised June 26th.
     Much, much longer now with more detail about the setting and Jaime's
     feelings on it.
***** Threads of Fate *****
Chapter Notes
     A lot of each chapter, plus editing, is written as I prepare to post
     each chapter. I write about 1200 or so words in a text editor, and
     then add in where I feel it's necessary on Ao3. Therefore, errors
     slip past me until the 3rd or so read through. Please point out the
     ones you notice!
     Song for this Chapter: Under the Water by The Pretty Reckless
See the end of the chapter for more notes
As enjoyable as the afternoon with Jaime had been, the welcome feast in the
evening was still a potent reminder that this was not going to be a pleasurable
visit. Arya had returned to her rooms and donned more appropriate clothing for
the feast, making certain to adorn herself with jewelry and to let her hair
flow freely down her back. She wasn't going to wear a gown, no matter how
bitterly any of the Ladies of the Rock complained, but she could still look
beautiful in a doublet designed specifically to fit her womanly body and her
leather breeches.
She walked side by side with her father and held her head up high with a
dangerous smirk. Her appearance was the perfect picture of superiority as she
spotted Cersei, her vicious son, and his little Tyrell bride. They were
greeting the guests who had arrived that day, as it was far more than just
their party from the Rock, and all three smiled when they caught sight of
Tywin. Cersei and Joffrey looked haughty as Tywin approached, likely preening
at the fact that they had such a powerful bloodline, and Arya resisted the urge
to gag.
"Your Grace," her father greeted the idiot King, ever tactful, and nodded to
Cersei. "Daughter."
"Father. You've had a long journey," Cersei said sweetly as she moved to slid
herself to Tywin's right, where Arya was standing, but she stepped up and
blocked her path.
"Your Grace, Queen Mother," Arya said with false geniality. Cersei fixed her
green eyes, more wildfire than emeralds, Arya noticed, on Arya and blanched.
"Who are you?" she demanded in a breathless, hushed voice, like she couldn't
quite breathe.
"Your sister, by law," her father said with pride lacing his voice. Arya could
have laughed because she knew he had done it just to upset Cersei. "Arya
Lannister." Tywin looked unimpressed at Cersei's wild gaze flicking between the
two of them, and at Joffrey's quickly enraging features. She smiled fully and
waited for the fallout.
The little rose Queen spoke first and stepped up to grasp at her hands with a
charming exclamation of, "It's good to meet you, my Lady! I'm Margaery. You
must be Sansa's sister."
"Well," Arya said good-naturedly. "I used to be. Now I suppose I'm her sister-
in-law. Funny how that happens. It's good to meet you as well, my Lady. Or,"
she paused to feign thinking for a moment and then smiled. "Should I call you
'your Grace'?" Margaery returned her smile two-fold and Arya could tell this
girl was smarter than she appeared. Another player in the game, it seemed.
"You-Your wolf," Joffrey stuttered in rage. "I should have your head."
"Come now, my love," the Tyrell girl soothed to her furious betrothed. "Lady
Arya has been very courteous. Leave the past in the past, and let's go greet
the rest of the guests." Joffrey did not look like he agreed, but shot his
mother one long look and then followed his bride off into the crowd. Arya could
see the hand not held in her's was balled up into a shaking fist.
Cersei had remained quiet this entire time, but she looked even more livid than
her son. Tywin was staring down at her with a raised eyebrow as if to say 'what
do you intend to do about it?'. Apparently the answer to that question was to
whirl away from them and stalk into the crowd without another word, her
Kingsguard following like trained dogs looking for a pat on the head. Arya
found Jaime in the crowd, guarding from a place against the far wall, and their
eyes met from across the room; he looked concerned by the interaction. She
smiled provocatively at him and winked.
 
===============================================================================
 
That night, she retreated to her chambers early and mused about Jaime and his
little son. The man was everything she remembered and more, now that he had a
human touch to his personality. And Tommen was a sweet boy. Arya found herself
drawn to his happy smiles and soft voice like a mother lion to her cubs cries.
It awakened a maternal instinct that she wasn't even aware that she had inside.
It would have been worrying if she wasn't too busy worrying for the little boy.
Cersei was as much a cunt, if not more, than when they had last met. And the
woman had sent the Gold Cloaks after her to kill her back then.
Jaime had tried to kill her once too, under her direction, back at Darry, but
she had told no one of it at the time. It followed her fight with Joffrey and
Sansa's first betrayal. To this day, she could recall the fury within her when
she learned that her friend had died for the pair's lies. Her sister had given
her the first lessons on how little flesh and blood meant without loyalty. Now,
Arya was as pleased as anyone to hear her sister was on the run from Cersei. It
amused her that her sister's perfect little daydream had come crumbling down on
her head. Jaime, though, she had promised him directly that she would cut his
heart out for his botched murder attempt. It would have been as simple as
telling the King in confidence, but she didn't need the King or Ned Stark to
get her revenge for her, so she had concealed his attempt on her life for this
long. To this day, not even Tywin was aware of it.
She knew that Cersei was the real culprit, but it didn't change that the only
thing that kept her alive was the well timed glint of his dagger and her
intuition. Well, that, and her ability to outrun a man in full plate armor.
Arya could still remember her fist connecting with his jaw as she saw the shine
of the dagger in the torchlight.
"Would you like me to escort you back to Darry, my Lady?"
A blush covered her cheeks, even though her frown didn't change, as she
remembered his strategy for lowering her defenses enough to get close. Jaime
had led her to believe he was going to kiss her. Looking back, she could scoff.
No one had been interested in kissing Arya Horseface. Now that her body had
caught up to her face though, she got plenty of attention from suitors. Sansa's
teasing from years ago no longer held sway over her life, and it felt
triumphant to overcome it. Arya now felt as beautiful Sansa, if not more; her
sister had never managed to catch Jaime Lannister's eye.
Her charms obviously were in full effect today, because Jaime had been
interested during their spar; she could see the gleam in his eyes. A shame that
his cock was promised to the biggest cunt in Westeros, a fact she was
interested in changing. A shame twice over that Tommen was Cersei's son, as the
boy was a perfect little lion cub. Arya was not one for children, but the
little copy of Jaime made her ache for cubs of her own. It was a desire she
always feared would arise later in life, long after she was done winning the
wars and political games that came with being a ruler. She supposed that it was
a desire better uncovered now, though, because she was still in a position to
do something about it. It was a thought to ponder as she endured her stay in
the Capital.
Now that the day was over, and she lay in bed alone, she felt a heat building
inside her as her mind turned to Jaime again. He sparred well for what he had
survived and that got her blood pumping hot. And he was handsome enough to get
her wet with just a heated glance after their fight. The promise of sex and
passion in his eyes had been almost too much to bear, but she had managed to
keep the want off her face. Jaime was the one fantasy she had never let go of
in her years at the Rock. As soon as her body had become old enough to lust,
her thoughts turned to the man and unfolded her imagination into several
persistent dreams. Her hand slipped beneath the sheets of its own accord as she
leaned her head back into her pillows and pondered what his body was like under
that armor. She knew he'd be muscled still, a proper maiden's fantasy, and
probably well endowed. Surely, Cersei wouldn't have kept taking him to her bed
if he hadn't been.
Arya's thoughts grew more heated as her hand caressed between her legs. She
hoped he was thinking of her in his own chambers at this very moment. Maybe he
was all stretched out, lazily tending to his cock with his remaining hand while
he thought about all the things his eyes said he wanted to do to her after
their spar. It was a lovely enough thought to push her to climax.
 
===============================================================================
 
The next morning found her avoiding the great hall, as Arya had no interest in
mingling with Cersei or Joffrey again. At this point, she had best start
checking her food for poison, because her new sister would be looking to punish
her for her new name.
So instead of seeking out food, she paced through the godswood, listening to
the trees and the soft footsteps following her. Tommen had caught sight of her
just before she left the castle and had scampered along after her ever since.
Amused, she didn't let on that she could hear his hurried attempt to keep up.
She slowed suddenly and he accidentally crashed into her legs as he was still
running at his full speed.
"Oof," Tommen puffed as he fell down, but he didn't cry out. The soft moss on
the ground had cushioned his fall. She turned and looked down at him fondly as
his big green eyes blinked back. With a smile, Arya swept Tommen up into her
arms and held him close; he fit as nicely in her arms as she had expected.
"Hello, little one," she greeted softly. Tommen nuzzled his soft hair against
her collarbone in response and Arya took the chance to return the gesture.
"What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be with your mother?"
"No," Tommen murmured unhappily and a terrible frown took the place of his
tranquil attitude. Such a sad face on the little cub left Arya with more than
just a pang of heartache for him. How lonely must he be? Joffrey was a monster
as much to his family as he was to everyone else, and reports indicated that
Cersei spent her days finding the bottom of a barrel of wine and attempting to
control everything but the weather. Tommen most likely ended up ignored by
everyone but Jaime. It was the life of a bastard son and Tommen didn't even get
the benefit of getting his father's acknowledgement from it.
"Shh," she soothed apologetically. "You can stay with me." He nodded silently
and pressed his cheek to her skin as they walked through the godswood together.
Every now and then she would stop and let his little hands shoot out to touch a
flower. He cooed with delight at the soft petals and would pick a blossom to
rub it against Arya's face. She not only allowed it, but lowered her face
encouragingly. This seemed to make Tommen very happy, as he got a wide grin
every time.
"Where is your Uncle Jaime?" she asked after they had circled the wood a few
times. By now, Tommen was back to his content mood.
"Guarding Joffy," the tiny boy whispered sadly. "I miss him."
"I'm sure he'll be done soon, and we can all go back down by the sea again.
Would you like that?" Arya asked, almost overwhelmed with tenderness that she
had never felt before in her life. This boy was special, that much was clear.
She could feel a new rising emotion as she watched his face transform into a
bright smile at the suggestion.
"Papa will come too?" Tommen asked joyfully before his mouth dropped open and
he looked terrified. "Uncle. Uncle."
Arya blinked down at the little boy in her arms, but hastily responded, "Yes,
your father will come as well."
So, he already knows, she thought to herself. It made sense; Tommen talked well
for a child of his age, so he was obviously smarter than most would give him
credit for being. And Jaime hadn't really taken any precautions that she could
see to keep the boy from figuring things out on his own, aside from panicking
at the subtlest of suggestions. With the rumors circulating King's Landing like
flies on a corpse, it was only a matter of time before the cub could point to
the proper lion who fathered him. Nothing about Tommen indicated that he was a
stag, and the boy had to know that in his heart.
"Don't tell," he pleaded in a voice soft as the wind. "Please."
"Not even Jaime?" she asked carefully. It broke her heart to have to ask,
knowing that his father's acceptance and love would probably be the most
meaningful thing Tommen could ever receive. Jaime would give it, could give it,
but the repercussions if anyone found out were definitely grave. Robert was
dead, so he wasn't around to kill the children of his wife and her brother's
affair, but Stannis was still in rebellion. People were desperate all over the
Seven Kingdoms to depose Joffrey as quickly as possible, including amongst
those who called themselves his allies. The confirmation that all three of
Robert's children were, in fact, bastards by incest, would be all the other
Lords would need to rise up in support of Stannis. Most believed that no one,
no one, could be worse than Joffrey, though Arya knew enough about Stannis to
know he could be just as bad.
"People talk, and I listen," Tommen stumbled over his words trying to convey a
deeper meaning than a young child could hope to do. "Uncle is my papa, but it's
a secret. Uncle can't know. He'll be mad."
"No," Arya corrected gently. "No I don't think he would be. I believe he'd just
tell you to keep it a secret. Who else have to said this to?"
"No one," he whispered. "Was going to ask mother." His mouth twisted angrily as
he said the word; far too bitterly for a two year old child. "But she will be
more angry than papa." Cersei, you wicked cunt, Arya cursed in her head. She
was blessed with a good man to love her as well as a perfect child, and she
chose to throw it all away for a fool's grab at power. Of course, that fool's
grab required her to shower Joffrey with affection and praise to allow her the
chance to control the Kingdoms through 'guidance'. Tommen likely had never
received a kind word from his own mother in his life. Arya held him closer.
"She's still your mother, little one," she pointed out, though it felt horrid
to do so. Like she was going to choke on the words as they spilled from her
lips. A woman like Cersei deserved no praise as strong as the word 'mother'.
Even Arya's own mother, who she had long parted ways with emotionally, had been
better than Cersei. Just as much a fool perhaps, but twice as loving.
"Can you be my mother? I like you. You're nice, like p-Uncle." Tommen asked
hopefully; his bright green eyes tearing up as he looked up at her. Arya was,
again, stunned into silence. It left her feeling like what was left of her
heart had been thrown into a pot of Wildfire. The pain in her chest tore at her
with claws like knives and Arya could feel the parts of her that made her a
lioness rearing up in possessiveness. The surge of protectiveness that followed
was no surprise, but it still dwarfed all other emotions inside her. But, Gods,
if she didn't know a bad idea when she saw one.
"I-You can call me that if you like. But don't let anyone hear you," she spoke
softer than before and kissed his forehead. This cub needed her, and she wasn't
one to fight fate. She knew the feeling of the strings tugging at her inside,
because it was the same feeling she had when Tywin had offered to bring her to
the Rock; it was what she was meant to do. With a deep breath, Arya composed
herself. She could do this; Arya wanted to protect him, and Arya always got
what she wanted. Right now, Tommen needed her to be strong for him. The same
way Tywin had been strong for her, though she was no daughter of his by blood.
"Would you like to see something amazing?" she asked the little cub
conspiratorially, who nodded enthusiastically through his still welling tears
of joy.
She dropped down into a crouch and sat him down on her knees. Her hands
extended out in front of her and she willed the power into her fingers. The old
blood of the Children and the First Men, a Stark birthright, that she had
learned to control over the years. It hadn't been easy, because she was alone
with no one to teach her how to make it all work. No one in the West had
bloodlines this old, so she was likely the only one with this power in the
South. She might have been one of the only ones in the North as well. It was
hard to say. Jaqen had helped her understand. His magic was different; the
magic of the Faceless Men was tied to their God, but it was similar in its
execution. Only death could pay for life, and blood had power. That was
standard for magic of all types.
From beneath her fingers, a blue rose grew out of the soft soil. It came from
seedling to blossom in seconds, and Tommen gasped with awe. His little hand
reached out to touch it and make sure it was real; he cooed with delight when
it was.
"What in the Seven Hells?" Jaime asked from behind her, and though she didn't
jump, he had managed to sneak up on her.
"Magic," Arya explained matter-of-fact. "The Red Comet, do you remember seeing
it all those years ago?"
"I do," Jaime admitted wearily as he lowered himself down to stare at the
flower. His expression told her that he was unnerved by the show of her power.
At least he didn't pretend it hadn't happened like his father had the first
time he saw her perform a feat.
"It meant that magic was being reborn. The Targaryen's dragons hatched in the
far East. Red priests and priestesses began performing miracles all over the
world, and, according to some reports, the Others returned as well. During the
war, I met a Faceless Man and he helped me understand what it was that was
happening to me. The Starks have the blood of the First Men in our veins, so
magic should be natural for us. Albeit, my siblings probably didn't even get
any; given their Tully coloring. If they did, it certainly didn't keep them
alive," she finished with a shrug.
"Your sister...," Jaime started before Arya interrupted. She knew what he was
about to say: her sister was still alive. It didn't matter. Sansa had betrayed
her far too many times for Arya to give any thought to what happened to her
sister.
"Can rot," she cut him off sharply. In fact, as far as she was concerned, Sansa
may as well have been dead for years.
Chapter End Notes
     Revised June 26th.
     A new scene at the beginning and changed some phrasing throughout.
     Some scenes in the next few chapters may not make sense because of
     the added scene.
***** Happiness is Relative *****
Chapter Notes
     Songs for this Chapter:
     During Arya's Monologue: Famous Monsters by Saliva
     Last Scene: Counting Stars by OneRepublic
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Jaime wasn't sure what had occurred between his son and Arya during the short
period of time that he was stuck guarding the King as he broke his fast, but it
had a marked effect on Tommen. His boy was all but glowing the rest of the day
as they went together to the seaside to train again. Whatever had happened,
Jaime was silently thankful for it. He rarely got to see Tommen this happy for
so long. Cersei generally came along and ruined any good moods before Jaime got
to memorize his son's smiling face. A few pleasant memories were in order at
this point.
Thinking of Cersei, he frowned. Her mood from the night before had been blacker
than spilled ink and twice as mercurial. She had screamed at volumes that
threatened to shake the castle about Arya's adoption after the feast. Why she
considered this to be a such a catastrophic event and worthy of taking out on
him, Jaime wasn't sure. It was perplexing for sure, given their father's
nature, but hardly worth losing her mind over. So their father had decided to
make a new favorite instead of reconciling with one of them, but it wasn't as
if Jaime had talked him into it. Perhaps she still harbored some lingering rage
at him for failing to kill her after her wolf mauled Joff's arm. If she had any
idea of how close he had come to losing his life due to that folly... Well he
hoped that she would have cared back then. These days, she would likely throw
him to an actual pack of wolves before claiming to give a passing thought about
whether he lost his life doing her dirty work.
Tommen had endured her rage as well for making the childish mistake of speaking
well of Arya in the calm before the storm. Cersei didn't slap him, she never
did, but the cold fury she sent his way was worse than any violence she could
have doled out. Tommen had whimpered through his tears, a great sin to Cersei
as well, and rushed off to bed to avoid the rest of the conflict. Jaime hadn't
even gotten the chance to kiss his son good night. Afterwards, the woman he had
once loved with every fiber of his being spent several minutes going on at
length about how weak she found Tommen. She called him a 'meek housecat' rather
than a proper lion, and Jaime's stump had ached with the desire to hit a wall
with all his force; as he would have done if he still had a hand.
Cersei had ranted well into the night about what she would say to father to get
him to undo this adoption. Her lingering faith in the Gods was all that was
staying her hand from having Arya killed in the night; as idiotic as it was for
her to have faith at all. If the Gods existed, Cersei surely couldn't hold any
favor with them for all her sins. Jaime would hold even less, he was sure, but
he only prayed for Tommen anyway.
He had been relieved beyond reason when she had finally dismissed him and
allowed him to retreat to bed, but the image Tommen crying was burned into his
thoughts and kept him awake all night. So he could count many worse things than
finding his happy son perched on Arya Stark's knee and cooing about a magic
flower.
Arya's personality had changed again overnight. The cold of her eyes had
receded slightly and a pleasant smile found its home on her face. She looked
young and beautiful as she cradled Tommen to her chest as they walked, refusing
to let Jaime hold him. He had tried to snatch the boy away from her but was met
was a sly smirk and a swift dodge. With his desperation for a little fun, it
became a game quickly, and he walked faster to cut her off and steal his little
cub back. His new sister responded by running ahead, making Tommen giggle with
delight, and turning to taunt him with another grin. Not to be outdone, he ran
to catch up to her, like he was seventeen himself again.
"You'll have to be faster than that," she called mockingly and ran all the way
down to the ocean. Jaime just laughed and sped up.
 
===============================================================================
 
"Is your 'magic' always so ostentatious?" he asked playfully as they returned
to the castle from their sparring session in the early evening. Every brazier
they passed, the fire surged and grew with an audible rush of air.
"No," Arya replied smoothly, if not with a slight mischievous tone of her own.
"Sometimes it's quite subtle. I just happen to be in a good mood."        
Jaime was as well, although he felt half starved. They had been down by the sea
since mid morning. Tommen must have been hungry as well, but he had fallen
asleep in Arya's arms before they had even gotten into the gardens. His head
was pillowed on her shoulder and his golden hair spilled over to mix with her
exceedingly long dark locks. Jaime looked lovingly down at his son and felt an
honest smile tugging at his lips. He looked very comfortable in her arms.
She caught his stare and smiled again. "You've done a remarkably good job with
him, Jaime. You must be proud."
"Every day," Jaime whispered before he could catch himself, though the emotion
lacing his tone caused the words to become stuck halfway in his throat. He
swallowed loudly and coughed a bit to hide his embarrassment. He rushed for
something else to say and out spilled, "Would you like to join me for dinner,
my Lady? Tommen will need to eat before bed. I fear we've missed the meal in
the great hall." There, that was an effective cover.
"Aren't your chambers in the White Sword Tower?" Arya asked with slight
curiosity.
"Officially," Jaime said with a roguish grin and continued, "I've always found
them to be... lacking, so I commandeered a more suitable replacement when I
returned to the Capital. Being Lord Commander has some benefits." It was true,
the White Sword Tower had lost all appeal to him after so many years tied to a
pole as a prisoner. He wanted a feather bed, and no one was going to deny him
one. Besides, it helped to stem his longing for Cersei. The sparse chambers in
the Tower left him lonely, and thinking of his stolen hours in her Royal bed.
"Then I will," she agreed with a nod as he steered them towards his rooms.
He was truly happy that she approved, because he wasn't quite done with
spending time with her yet. Tommen adored the woman, and she was starting to
grow on Jaime too. Today found her charming and inviting as opposed to the
reserved and mocking person she had been the day before. It seemed as though he
had passed whatever test she had been giving him.
The first servant they passed, Jaime took aside and told him to fetch a meal
befitting a noble Lady and the Prince. The man nodded vigorously and scampered
off the moment Jaime's hand released his shoulder. His legacy still struck fear
into the hearts of many a man, it seemed. A wonder, considering how often Joff
and Cersei mocked him in their cups. It was a little reassuring actually. Maybe
he could continue sparring with Arya and improve, and then he could remind
everyone why they all feared him in the first place. He almost missed the
whispers of 'Kingslayer', if only because it kept them all on their toes. When
he walked through the court lately, all he hear was 'cripple'.
Before they could get back to his chambers, two Lannister guards came rushing
towards them and stopped just in front of Arya. She looked curious but annoyed
at their sudden arrival and shifted Tommen in her grasp to better address the
men.
"My Lady, Lord Tywin requests your presence in his solar," the bigger man
announced, paying Jaime absolutely no mind whatsoever. Even the soldiers
disregarded his presence and authority as a Lannister of the Rock now. It was a
humiliation he could not let stand.
"Then he'll wait," Jaime cut in before Arya could respond. "I've asked the
pleasure of my Lady sister's company for dinner, and she's agreed." He needed
to reassert his dominance over these fools. Surely they knew who he was, and
being Tywin's eldest son should still mean something to the household guards.
But apparently, from the lack of response, he was wrong. Instead, both men
turned to give him what he could have sworn was a hateful glare from under
their red helmets, and Jaime opened his mouth to berate them. If they thought
they could dare to step on the lion's tail and leave with their throats intact,
he'd prove otherwise.
Unfortunately for him, Arya spoke first, "As he's said. I'll be joining Ser
Jaime for dinner. Father will wait, or we'll speak on the morrow. It's of no
consequence to me, so tell him I'll be there when I'm done. Understood?" Her
voice was all iron this time, and the men bowed before turning around and
rushing away. No one had ever commanded such unfailing respect besides Tywin,
and Jaime was astounded. He turned to look at Arya and found her staring back
at him with her grey eyes sparkling in the firelight; they looked as much like
Valyrian steel as her blades. He flinched, as he always did when meeting his
father's gaze, and quickly resumed leading them to his chambers to cover for
it. He felt ever so faintly emasculated, and that was threatening to ruin his
excellent mood.
"You seem to have a handle on being a proper Lannister, my Lady," he managed
with only slight sourness on his tongue. She didn't really deserve his
contempt, but it was a bitter drink to swallow. Once upon a time, Jaime had
been a paragon of their House with his brilliant sword skills and quick wit. A
few years as a prisoner had not broken him, but it didn't seem to matter to
everyone else. Most had lost their fear and respect for him.
"I've learned from the best," she explained almost patiently. "Our father has a
low tolerance for failure." Jaime barked a dark laugh. It was very true, and he
had failed his father too many times too count. All those lessons in his past
that he paid no heed to then made more and more sense as the years went on.
"Somehow," he paused to open the door to his rooms, "I think your actual father
would be rolling in his grave to hear you call Tywin Lannister your 'father'."
Arya made a face at that like it bothered her for him to say it and drawled,
"Ned Stark is entombed at Winterfell, so I doubt his ghost can hear me all the
way this far South. In any event, it doesn't matter. The Starks are dead and
here I am; alive. I owe that to my own resourcefulness and our father,
brother." She sounded so convicted that Jaime felt sorry for the late Lord
Eddard in his own right. But it was the word 'brother' that left him barely
suppressing a shiver. It disturbed him that just the word could almost undo him
completely. Before, he thought his relationship with Cersei was specifically
because they were twins, but now he wondered if it was just a fixation on
sisters. If he was going to break out in a cold sweat every time a girl he
hadn't even been raised with called him 'brother', then maybe it was just the
word and the illicitness that got him going.
"Ser Jaime, just Jaime, or Lord Commander, if it please you my Lady." By now
the annoyance was slowly starting to bleed into his voice, and he felt his
earlier happiness evaporate. It hadn't lasted near long enough for his tastes.
He weighed asking about her father for a moment before deciding to throw
caution to the wind and inquire, "Why do you hate your father so much? Ned
Stark was a good man."
She actually looked surprised then and replied, "I don't hate him. Robb or
Sansa maybe, but not him. I just think he made a supremely foolish decision
that nearly got us all killed, and I find it hard to forgive that. It was
mostly Sansa that led to his downfall anyway, since she ran off to tell Cersei
as soon as Ned Stark packed us up to return North. But he was the one who told
your sister that he knew about the children and, somehow, he expected that to
turn out differently than the King dead and his own head rolling down the steps
of the Sept of Baelor. But, no, I don't hate him. He might have been the only
Stark I really mourned, to be frank."
Jaime sighed at her explanation. "So you even have father's disgust for
foolishness. How can you have changed so much in so little time?" He really
wanted to know, because the transformation had been so complete.
"I was your father's prisoner, in all but name, during the war," Arya started
almost breathlessly like she was enraptured at the memory. "I would have died
if not for him. The Mountain was picking a prisoner a day at Harrenhal and
having a man called the 'Tickler' interrogate them. They would put a rat in a
metal crucible, strap it to your stomach, and heat it from the bottom. The rat
would panic and begin to try and burrow out of it, and, well, it only had one
way out."
Jaime felt sick at the description, but nodded to encourage her to continue.
"It was my friend's day to be interrogated, and nothing I could have done would
have stopped it. But Tywin rode in, all in crimson armor, and I stood up and
met his eyes. He got down off his horse and asked me why I was dressed as a
boy. I told him that it was safer to travel like that, and he praised me for
being smart." Arya looked more like she was describing a God had reaching down
and blessing her than receiving a compliment, but Jaime knew his father well
enough to understand the feeling.
"He took me on as his cupbearer and freed my friend, so I played along like I
was some little lowborn girl from the Riverlands. He saw right through me the
whole time, but let me imagine I had him fooled. I looked enough like Lyanna
Stark back then to tip off any careful eye to who I really was, but only Tywin
figured it out. I sat in on his war councils and served the commanders all
while I watched the war unfold from his side," she detailed with an odd pride
to her tone.
"Why would my father let a little Stark prisoner see his war plans?" Jaime
asked with a tilt of his head.
"What did he really have to fear from a fourteen year old girl?" Arya replied
with a grin before continuing her story, "I had a friend at Harrenhal, the
Faceless Man I mentioned earlier, and he helped me do away with the Tickler
and, later, Lorch, who caught me reading one of Tywin's letters. He deserved
it." Her voice was a whisper now. "He murdered Yoren."
"Who?"
"Yoren," she repeated. "He was a man of the Night's Watch who was going to take
me home after they cut Ned Stark's head off. He was a good man, and he stood up
for me when your sister sent the Gold Cloaks after me and...," the brooding
girl stopped oddly and then left off with whatever she meant to say as she
continued, "They ran off and came back with a force of Lannister soldiers,
Lorch among them, and that's when they killed Yoren and half of the others. The
rest of us got carted off to Harrenhal, and that's when it all began."
With a smile, she broke from her reverie and finished the tale, "Well, after
nearly a year of waiting for Robb to save me, we received word that not only
did he refuse our offered trade, he had promised my hand to one of Frey's
brood, and I gave up waiting. I planned an escape and Tywin saw through that
scheme like clear water. He offered to bring me to the Rock, and I was smart
enough not to refuse. Over the next few years, I worked my way up in respect
through the House. By that point, pleasing father became an addiction because I
wanted someone to recognize me as someone worth caring about. Robb thought of
me as a 'little girl', and wasn't willing to risk angering his bannermen to
save my life. I wanted to prove to everyone how fatal a mistake it was to
underestimate me."
Jaime ruminated about her experiences for a moment before softly saying, "You
must realize that father would have never let you leave. If he had you watching
his war council, then it would have been throwing his position into the dirt to
let you take that information to your brother."
"I know," she agreed wistfully. "He always held the cards, but I appreciated
that he taught me the lesson of how the world worked. He could have thrown me
in some dank cell and offered the trade to Robb, and my brother still would
have refused. Getting to see it happen, watching Tywin draft the letter, and
reading the reply, it all made me stronger in the end. Even if it broke me at
first. By the end of my stay at Harrenhal, they were already calling me
'Tywin's daughter'."
He didn't know what to make of all of it, so he tried to steer the conversation
back to light-hearted territory by saying, "My experiences weren't quite as
hospitable I'm afraid. It was cold, wet, and I was tied to a pole. The best
thing that came of all that was that I earned a deep appreciation for the
luxury our name affords."
"Unfortunate that Cersei has been about as tender as Robb, it seems. You look
terribly undersexed, brother," she said with a half-playful smirk. "I don't
know why you forgo other women to take that to bed, but it's not my place to
comment." Jaime went to retort, but she added, "Nor is it mine to judge."
"I've heard enough japes, my Lady," he growled, quickly angry with her for her
reckless mouth. "I'd appreciate if you kept them to yourself in the company of
my--nephew."
Her eyes flashed for a moment before she shoved Tommen into his arms, only
jostling the sleeping boy slightly, and pressing them into an embrace. "Hold
your son, Jaime," she had some emotion in her voice that Jaime couldn't place,
but he was too busy trying to make certain that Tommen hadn't been awake to
hear that. What in Seven Hells was she thinking? Someone, anyone, could hear
her.
"Be silent!" he hissed after finding Tommen still asleep. It was a small
comfort as she wasn't done.
"He knows, Jaime. You really think your son doesn't know his father? Don't be
dense. Tommen needs you, as any child needs their father. He accidentally
called you 'papa' just this morning. While he was lucky that I'm the only one
he's told, who knows who he'll accidently spill that secret to next time? He
deserves a proper explanation and your love. Don't you dare try to shirk this
duty; this is far more important than any of your fucking vows," Arya said in a
tone that reminded Jaime of their father. The same one that implored him to do
the smart thing, the right thing, or make the proper choice for the family.
Only, this time, Jaime actually wanted to make it.
Still he was both speechless and terrified. Tommen knew? How and when?
A knock at the door signaled the arriving food, so Arya stepped away to let
them in and gestured towards the table. The servants brought in a meal
resembling a feast. Several meats and fruit, wine and cheese, and some cakes
for dessert. It allowed him a small relief that at least someone was listening
to his commands.
"Out," Arya snapped when they had set the table, and they had the good sense to
flee. No surprise; she had a fearsome aspect when she wanted something done
quickly.
The smell seemed to rouse the sleepy boy in Jaime's arms as he nuzzled against
his father's coat as he started to wake. "Mm," Tommen mumbled and flopped his
head back against Jaime's shoulder. In any other situation, Jaime would have
laughed at how similar they were; he also hated getting up when he's been
sleeping peacefully.
"Food, Tommen," Jaime coaxed with a glare at Arya to keep her quiet. She just
sat watching him expectantly, but she mercifully didn't speak.
"Okay," his little voice murmured and Jaime set him down in a chair and fixed
him a plate of his favorites. The same favorites Jaime had as a child. Arya
added in a few pieces of more nutritious food from over his shoulder and he
sent her a withering glare. She matched it and added another piece of fruit.
"He doesn't like them," he insisted as he moved a pear of his son's plate.
"They're good for him," she replied in a stern tone and put it back. Jaime's
glare intensified each time they exchanged moving it, but Arya didn't seem to
care. "Better than two different pieces of cake."
"I'll eat it," Tommen agreed as he put a hand on Jaime's to stop him from
moving the offending fruit off the plate again. "I want to be strong like you.
Joffy doesn't like them, and he's bad at swords."
"As you will," Jaime sighed and set the plate, pear and all, down in front of
Tommen who picked up the piece of fruit before all else and began nibbling on
it. To his credit, he only made a small face as he ate the whole thing in a few
bites.
"Tommen," Arya started softly and Jaime's breath caught in his throat. No, she
couldn't; she wouldn't. It seemed that she would, because she gently commanded
his son, "Tell Jaime what you told me this morning."
Tommen fixed his eyes worriedly on Arya and then turned them quickly to Jaime
before bringing them back to stare at her pleadingly. "No," he whispers.
Suddenly, Jaime wanted to know more than his lungs wanted for air. He needed to
hear his son say it aloud, to make it real.
"I swear to you, little one," she pressed gently and reached her hand out to
cup his tiny chin in her hand. "He won't be angry with you." Tommen just
nuzzled at her hand with a frightened expression on his face.
Angry? Tommen thought he'd be angry with him? He felt like a fist had driven
itself into his gut. He had never meant to make his son fear telling him
anything. Fear was for Cersei and her dark moods or for Joffrey and his
dangerous anger. Jaime was supposed to be the safe haven for Tommen and the one
that he could always come to with a problem. And yet, it seemed he hadn't been
so clear about that as he thought. "It's--," Jaime choked a bit. "It's alright,
Tommen. You can tell me. I promise I won't be mad."
"You're my papa," Tommen whispered as quietly as a mouse. "I heard you and mama
talking. Yelling."
"Oh Gods," Jaime said as all the air in his lungs rushed out of him and he fell
to one knee beside Tommen. His mouth opened and closed a few times, uselessly,
before he managed to ask, "How long have you known?"
"Long time," his boy, his son, tried to say a little louder, but his voice was
still so frightened. He thought Jaime was going to reject him like Cersei had
rejected him. Jaime felt weak, sick, and sad, like he had managed to fail
already at the one thing he promised himself he wouldn't. Tommen deserved so
much better than this. Jaime's arms went out immediately and he pulled his son
into his lap. Tommen wrapped his arms around Jaime's neck and pressed his face
into his neck.
"Not mad?" his son asked carefully. The fact that he felt he had to was just
another blow.
"Gods, never. Tommen, never. I'll never leave you, you understand? I'll be here
for as long as you need me. I--," he could barely continue as the room around
him blurred. When was the last time he cried? When his mother died or before
that? "I'm so sorry."
"Nooo," Tommen whined. "Not sorry. Why sorry?"
"Because I'm not a very good father," Jaime laughed sadly as he clutched this
little, living, breathing thing that he made to his heart. "I never planned for
this."
Tommen pulled back and put a hand on each of Jaime's now tearstained cheeks.
"Hush," he commanded. "Perfect papa. Love you." His proper little lion, he
thought proudly; fuck what Cersei said.
"I love you more than anything, Tommen," he assured softly and kissed Tommen's
nose. The little boy squealed and pressed half a dozen kisses on Jaime's face
in response. They embraced tighter and he felt like the pieces inside him were
mending together. It put the rest of his suffering into perspective.
He wouldn't mess this up, not this time, he thought to himself. This was the
most important job he'd ever been tasked with and failure was not an option.
His eyes found Arya, who was eating a pear of her own, as she looked on at
their display of affection with her eyes the warmest he'd ever seen them. She
was smiling, and he noted it might be the most honest smile he's seen from her
yet. Weakly, he returned it. He felt like he owed her for bringing this out in
his son, and in him. It was a long time since someone had managed to get under
his skin enough to touch his heart. Brienne had been the last.
"Come now," she ushered them back into a chair, but this time Tommen sat on his
lap. "You're both starving so eat." And with the weight of the world suddenly
off his shoulders, Jaime felt his smile grow. Around a table of food, with the
warmth from the hearth spilling out into the room, he felt at home for the
first time in years. Arya fit him and Tommen so well that he could almost
delude himself into believing they were having a family meal, and even the lie
made him feel a little better.
Chapter End Notes
     Revised June 27th.
     Lots of added content, and a little removed. Phrasing was tweaked to
     better fit the earlier updated chapters.
***** Taming The Lion *****
Chapter Notes
     All Arya + Tywin.
     Song for this Chapter: The Rains of Castamere
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Arya had intended to visit Tywin's solar immediately after dinner, but she
instead stuck around to follow Jaime to tuck Tommen into bed. While she wasn't
sorry, her father wouldn't be pleased with her delay, and Arya expected to pay
for it.
The little cub, who felt more like their little one now, smiled as they both
kissed his head and put him into bed. The precious thing was asleep before the
door had even closed on them. Jaime was radiant with joy and pulled her into a
tight hug the moment they were alone. Hearing the validation of his fatherhood
from his son seemed to open the floodgates of Jaime Lannister's heart, and the
once notorious Kingslayer thanked her profusely. Time had changed him for the
better and it was never more clear than when she saw the tears on his cheeks as
he and Tommen had their moment. He probably feared that she thought him weak,
but Arya had never seen him look so strong.
To be honest with herself, she liked this new Jaime. He was genuine, which was
a rare quality among highborn. Not only that, he was a good father and loyal to
a fault. For all of Cersei's failings, he had never abandoned his twin, and
Arya longed for such commitment. Even more than she wanted him, she wanted to
be a part of the family he seemed to be building, piece by piece, with Tommen.
It was enough to convince her to take the hard road, and try to convince Tywin
to let her set aside her arranged marriage for Jaime. While it would have been
ideal to get to grow closer to him before doing so, Arya had little time to
spare.
Her adoption was stipulated with a strict clause about her marriage. She must
marry a Lannister before her eighteenth nameday or forfeit her position within
the House. Also, her husband had to be picked from the branches of the main
House, so a Lannister of Lannisport wouldn't do. That left her few choices for
a groom, but Daven Lannister, her father's nephew by marriage and second cousin
by blood, had been offered to her as a husband. He was a good man that Arya was
both close to and fond of; an excellent military mind as well. However, she
didn't love him and it would be a long time before she believed she could bring
herself to do so. Daven was boisterous and jovial, whereas Jaime was cocky and
cunning. He would suit her far better as husband and Daven would make a good
political match for re-strengthening their control of the Riverlands.
This meant that she could have Tommen brought along with them so she could give
the little cub a better life, and a proper family. They could spin it like they
were fostering him with his 'uncle', while Arya worked on securing an adoption.
Once Jaime acknowledged him as his son, the rest of Cersei's lies would
unravel, and Arya could use this marriage to increase the chances of her
succeeding at bringing Joffrey down in the future. Tommen and Jaime got to go
free from her tyranny and web of lies, and Arya got herself a son and a good
husband, while still undermining her enemies.
Of course, convincing Tywin Lannister to let his youngest daughter marry his
oldest son, when incest had all but been the ruin of their legacy, was going to
be no small feat. Blood ties or no, Tywin considered himself to be Arya's
father, and Jaime was still his son, whether they were at odds or reconciled. A
match between the two not only fit ill with her father's wishes, but would draw
the ire of the Lords of the West, who wanted nothing to do with Jaime nor
Cersei. Due to the rampant rumors, the knowledge of their sordid affair was all
but public and the West abhorred them more than most. Thousands of
Westerlanders died fighting their war for a King who turned out to be as mad as
Aerys. Fathers and sons perished all so Joffrey could torture whores and murder
babes. Worse than all that, they had tarnished the legacy of the great Tywin;
an irredeemable sin to those most loyal to him.
None of it mattered, because Arya was confident that she could change his mind.
If he could see through the murk of war to see the best things about Arya, then
he would see her side now and relent. Tywin may not have been the kindest
father or liberal with his love, but he did love his children. Only Tyrion was
an exception to that rule, and only because Joanna had died on the birthing
bed. As time went on, though, even his hate for Tyrion lessened. Since his
youngest son was in exile before he found out about his twins' affair, he had
begun to speak more favorably of Tyrion, though it was still tinged with anger
that he might have been incapable of banishing. Tywin had spent his entire life
building a future for his family, and his wife had been taken from him, his
twins had failed him, his youngest son was born deformed despite the price of
blood Joanna paid for him. He had been forced to find a new hope in Arya,
because he was still just a man. Yet, all was not lost, because Arya could
return his son to him and give him grandchildren. She may not be a Lannister in
blood, but could still further his line.
 
===============================================================================
 
"Where have you been all evening?" her father demanded of her when she strode
into his solar. He was still hard at work managing the West from a thousand
miles away with several neat stacks of letters waiting for his perusal. It
would keep him up through most of the night, and Arya pitied him for it. Even
her infamous father needed sleep, as all men did. Arya knew what it was to be
in that position; she had lived it while he was at war and she was left helping
to tend to the Rock. Uncle Kevan and Aunt Genna had been there as well, but
eventually most of the duties still fell on her head, as they had Tywin's. She
had a sincere feeling that her father had convinced the two of them to delegate
more and more to her as a test, one she knew she passed. Arya smirked slightly;
it was exactly the sort of thing he would do.
After she was casually sitting in the chair across from him, she answered,
"Supping with Jaime and Tommen."
"My fool son, you mean. I believe I commanded your presence hours ago." He
spoke with no inflection, but Arya could still hear his distaste. Her father
could rarely hide things from her eyes and ears. They had been calling her
'Tywin's daughter' for her similar disposition far longer than she had been a
Lannister by law, and she had learned long ago what emotion corresponded to his
barely changing tones and expressions.
"And I sent word that I would be late. You'll just have to forgive me quickly,
because I have something I want so discuss," Arya explained in a relaxed voice,
finally catching his full attention. Her father looked up from his letters with
a frown. He wasn't an idiot, and her requests would likely not shock him in the
slightest therefore it did her no good to pretend, so she spoke directly, "I
would like Jaime to be absolved of his vows and to return with us to the Rock
following this farce of a 'Royal' marriage. I would have Tommen come as well.
The West would be a better home for him."
If Tywin Lannister was the type of man for humor, he might have laughed at her
then, but they were a serious pair. Instead, his frown deepened and his
shoulders twitched as he dug in for a fight. Arya squared her own and tilted
her head, willing him to deny her this. It had been far too long since they had
last had a proper fight. They didn't argue much, but when they did it often
scared lesser men out of the room. Arya loved knowing that he respected her
enough to treat even her most lofty requests with seriousness, even if it meant
that first she needed to battle him down from refusing.
"No," he denied firmly and resolutely. Most would have stopped then and excused
themselves to clean the piss off their boots, but Arya met his eyes and set her
face into a determined mask to match his own.
"I don't believe I stuttered, father," she replied blankly with a touch more
defiance. Arya wouldn't press further into rudeness with him, because she loved
him too fiercely, but a note of rebellion often got him listening more
seriously than if he thought she would back down.
"Nor did I. No." Arya could see his jaw clench as he said it and knew it was
because she had only made her face more unwavering. The golden green of his
eyes seemed at war with her own sharp grey, but Arya knew her stare could be as
formidable as her father's. Valyrian steel could cleave anything in two like
parchment.
It was known throughout the world by anyone who had ever met her father that
his gaze was impossible to hold for long. His stare never broke or softened,
and lesser men looked away as though burned. She had even see his family flinch
from it at times. Once, she had asked him why he had chosen to take her in as
cupbearer instead of throwing her in a cell, and he said, "Because you looked
me full in the eye and didn't turn."
Their staring match went on for a long while before he inevitably resigned
himself to the fact that she wasn't going to give up, so he asked, "Why do you
want him absolved of the vows he has proven many times over to value more than
his duty to his family?" Tywin did not shift his eyes away from hers, but he
was clearly growing angrier by the minute as he continued, "He's incapable of
handling even the simplest commands or responsibilities. I trusted him to
secure Riverrun and he managed to end up captured. I trusted him to represent
our House in the Capital, when he should have been accepting his place at the
Rock, and he nearly brought ruin to it. Jaime is a fool and I did not adopt
you, name you my heir, and arrange you a suitable marriage for you to throw it
away like he did."
Immediately, she felt guilt at asking this of him. Tywin had done so much for
her, to keep her alive and give her a future, and she truly was asking him to
put most of it at risk. She was making a dangerous wager that the bannermen
wouldn't stop supporting her claim once she married Jaime, but that could be
false. They wouldn't back Lancel, who was had also been fucking Cersei, but
they might back Daven or even Martyn, when he came of age. The family liked her
well, and wouldn't betray her easily, but how good was she to Tywin if she
couldn't even fulfill the role he had put her in? In essence, he had picked her
to be the wife to his bloodline heir and rule in her husband's name, which is
what the bannermen believed they were accepting. Jaime was disgraced in the
West, so they might forgo accepting her as their Lady if it meant remaking a
Lord of him. It gave her pause, but she still couldn't back down, especially
not now that she had brought it to him. Arya refused to lose to even her
father.
The opposite side of that, was that their bannermen accepted blood above all
else, and Jaime would give her a grandson to Tywin directly. If Cersei came
looking to inherit the Rock in her own right, only a son by Jaime would be of
better claim. Arya believed this was a more likely scenario, and was willing to
risk it all on the hopes that she was right.
"I know what I'm asking of you, father," she said in a voice of steel. "But
I've made my choice, and this is what I want." He would hear her roar tonight
if it came to that. "Jaime is a far more important match for me than Daven
could ever be."
"Please, do explain, daughter," Tywin demanded and his words were filled with
cold anger and doubt.
She stood and walked around his desk, while never breaking their warring stare.
Her hand rested on his shoulder as she elaborated, "Allow me to regale you with
a tale of the future that could be, father. When you die and I am named your
successor, a woman of 'traitor' blood, immediately Joffrey will take issue with
it. Cersei will claim it is her right to be your heir; now that Tyrion is in
exile and Jaime is forbidden to carry on the line. Uncle may be firmly in
support of my right, but people will go to war for a daughter of your blood,
not for a girl you adopted into your House. When you are gone, I cannot be
assured that those who support me will not bend under the maddened threats from
the Capital. So long as Joffrey has hold of the throne, I cannot be guaranteed
of my control in the West. Not without a true Lannister heir of my own."
Tywin sat silently, but she could tell he was listening intently. "Where else
will I find myself a proper heir? Daven is the son of your father's younger
brother's son. Your nephew by marriage, yes, but not a son of a ruler. He is
talented at war, but Jaime was one of the best. He is still your son, and any
children we should have will be your grandchildren by both blood and
reputation. If you fear that I will let him control me or the West, rest easy,
father," Arya persuaded. She may make a husband of Jaime, but he would never
make a proper wife of her. "I am a lioness of Casterly Rock as much or more
than I ever was a wolf of Winterfell. I do not bow for even my husband.
Remember, father, it's the lioness that hunts the prey. If I must, I will bend
him to my will, as I have bent everyone else."
There is nothing her father despised more than losing or being made to look
weak, Arya knew, but then there was also nothing more that made him more proud
than knowing he raised a strong child. One that refused to bow to him as much
as he had refused to bow to his own father. A child who could live up to his
mark on history and leave her own. When the men at Harrenhal began to call her
'Tywin's daughter', it was initially an insult to her cold nature. Later, they
spoke it with such reverence and respect that only her father commanded before.
He had raised her up from a gutter rat with a family of soon to be dead
'traitors' and made a ruler out of her. She had commanded men in battle,
effectively ruled the West while Tywin was away, and garnered the esteem of
every man to cross her path. Arya had given Tywin had every right to be proud.
He rose then, finally breaking their stare, and looked to the raging fire in
the hearth. "As you will," he conceded, with badly hidden pride in his voice.
"But I will not see my legacy, the legacy of our House, burn for him or his
sister. But clearly I need not worry about your ability to convince him of what
I could never manage. Daven will be displeased; he was quite fond of you."
"I and of him," Arya admitted. Daven was the real loser in this scenario, but
her cousin had a knack for finding the good side of everything, so she trusted
he would rebound quickly. "But I must think of my future too, and this secures
my power better than he ever could." For her own sake, she failed to mention
that her first order would be to make Tommen a Lannister rather than a Waters,
as a bastard of King's Landing would be. She could deal with his anger
regarding that after she had it finalized. With some luck, perhaps she could
convince Tywin to accept that as well.
"And should our gambit succeed? You'd make a King of my son?" Tywin asked,
sounding unimpressed.
"I never claimed to want to be a Queen, father," Arya dismissed with a note of
anger, though it wasn't aimed at him. "I just want their heads." Discussing
their plans for the Capital often left her teeming with a fury that had no
proper outlet. It also left her hungering for a swordfight.
"Who will rule when you've cut the heads from all those with a 'claim'? I
raised you to be smarter than that, girl. I did not serve under three idiot
Kings to lose my grip on the Iron Throne in my last hours. Whether a Lannister
sits upon it, or rules from the position of Hand, I will see to it that our
House is known for its long-reaching power so long as it stands."
"Don't fret, father," Arya soothed as she walked to the hearth and ran a hand
through the flames. They licked at her skin, but it didn't stay still long
enough for them to singe it. "I value our legacy even more fervently than you
do. I sold what was left of myself to get a piece of it, if you recall."
"'As I have bent everyone else'," Tywin repeated, gave a huff of his almost-
humor, and looked her fondly. "Soon enough, girl, it will be your legacy
carrying our House to glory."
Power had never been her vice until she met Tywin. Arya Stark was a girl who
wanted to swing a sword, while Arya Lannister got one taste of cutting down an
enemy and suddenly wanted to cut down the rest. Once you start slashing the
competition to pieces, and begin climbing the ladder of power, you never truly
stop. One taste is one taste too much to ever stop craving the climb, it was
something all the members of House Reyne had learned the hard way. Arya knew
that much every time she heard 'The Rains of Castamere' and looked at her
father. At just two years older than her age, he had crushed two Houses to dust
so completely that they wrote a song known throughout the Kingdoms about it.
Her brother had been murdered to the same tune and every feast heard a
rendition. But her claws were just as long as her father's and sharp with
youth, and Arya looked forward to the day she could use them to shred her
enemies to pieces.
Chapter End Notes
     Revised June 27th.
     Added some length, changed phrasing extensively, and made their
     exchange a little more typical of their relationship in this story.
     I.E. Better reflecting her respect for Tywin.
***** Two Parts of One Whole *****
Chapter Notes
     Porn for the sake of plot, but the plot waits until next chapter.
     Segmenting it so if explicit bothers you, you can skip this chapter.
     Song of this Chapter: Like Nobody Else by My Darkest Days
Jaime dreamed that night, after returning to his chambers alone. Not of
wildfire, his usual nightmare, or of Tommen, his favorite dreams of late, and
not even of Cersei, who still haunted him in his sleep. No, he dreamed of Arya
Stark. Naked and wanton, in his bed, and crying his name to the heavens.
"Gods," he groaned as he woke from the dream. He was still achingly hard; a
small mercy as it saved him from needing clean sheets. Sleeping in the nude had
both its perks and drawbacks.
He raised himself up on his elbows and glared at the tented sheets. He didn't
need this. He was too old for her and belonged to Cersei, whether she wanted
him or not. This was the first he'd ever dreamed of anyone but her in this way.
"It's because of yesterday," he muttered aloud as he slid a hand down to his
cock to satisfy its need before rising. Or he would have, if the object of his
sudden desires hadn't come striding into his room without so much as a knock.
"Pardon me?!" Jaime cried as he pulled the sheets up to his chin and brought
his legs up to disguise his arousal.
"Oh please," she laughed. "I'm seventeen, I've seen a man's cock."
"Seen many, have you?" he hissed but didn't move from his uncomfortable
position.
"Yes," she replied and moved closer. "It comes with being in an army camp. If
what you're asking is how many I've had... well that's no business of yours
unless you're planning on trying to have me yourself." She sounded deliciously
seductive and Jaime felt his cock give a very interested twitch. He pinched his
arm to make absolute certain that his dream was over; it was. Which meant that
he had no outs for this situation as she sat herself down on the bed beside
him.
"What are you doing in my room, my Lady?" he demanded.
"Waking you so we can spar, just the two of us," Arya explained with a devious
grin. Gods, she could tell couldn't she? "Tommen is in lessons this morning,
I've been told. I have something I need to speak with you about. It's rather
important."
"How did you find that out? And what is it that we need to discuss?" he asked,
frowning, and shifting away from her. No such luck, she took it for him giving
her more room to seat herself fully on the bed. Arya leaned down, her hair
brushed his cheek, and he could smell whatever oil she had anointed herself
with.
"It's spiceflower and cinnamon," she commented in a softer tone and Jaime
turned the color of blood. Did he say think it aloud or was he just smelling
her that obviously? "And I heard it from some servants. I'll tell you what it
is in a little while. I've been hungering for a spar all morning. Do you
usually sleep so--."
He shifted again and his one handed grip on the sheets failed him, they slid
down to his waist and pooled in his lap, where they tented again. Together
their eyes went first to his groin, where he was painfully hard, then to each
other's eyes. Her eyes went wide and dark as she stared him down for a long
moment. His lips felt so dry that he couldn't even imagine trying to speak, but
he felt like he needed to say something.
Jaime felt her hand touch his chest, distantly as his mind felt like a fog had
taken up residence there, and the next time he had a coherent thought, he was
flat on his back against the bed. She swung a leg over his hips and lowered her
mouth to his in a heated kiss. The resulting thrust of his hips against hers
couldn't have been stopped if Jaime had been tied down.
His tongue found hers, wet and inviting, and her hand gripped what remained of
his hair desperately. When he felt her press down against his crotch, his blood
surged like a wild horse in his veins and he had to roll them over to pin her
beneath him. His right arm, missing it's hand, braced him against the headboard
as he ground his frustratingly hard cock down against her leather breeches. Why
was she still dressed?
Apparently, Arya agreed as she tore off her tunic and unlaced the breeches with
one hand. They were tangled in the sheets already, separating what skin she
uncovered from his own, but he couldn't care yet as he put his mouth to her
neck and licked the perfume from her skin. Such a sweet subtle smell, compared
to the disturbingly artificial flowery scents that Cersei enjoyed.
Her breasts were free after a moment of fumbling and his tongue tasted each one
liberally. Both nipples perked up to meet his hot tongue and she moaned loudly
as he flicked it over each hardened bud. His teeth enclosed one and he sucked
it into his mouth roughly. Arya's nails dug into his neck and pressed him
closer to encourage him further. He was gone then, in a sea of want and need;
nails on his skin was his greatest weakness that Cersei never indulged. The
feel of the red lines rising on the skin of his neck made his cock throb below
him.
"Breeches," he growled and tugged the sheet away from them. Arya shed them in
seconds and wrapped her long legs around his hips. They kissed and he lost
himself in her mouth as his good hand slid down to her cunt to find her wet and
wanting. "Gods," he gasped, forehead resting on hers. His cock had never felt
so fucking needy in his whole life. His little lover wasn't much better off as
his fingers were soaked with her wetness and she was already canting her hips
against him wantonly.
"Get inside me," she told him, no, commanded him. How could he refuse?
Jaime tried to slide himself inside her smoothly, or what he would have thought
to be smoothly if he hadn't hit a wall of sorts. His prick wouldn't slide any
further into her body after just an inch or two. For a moment, he was
dumbfounded as he wondered why there was resistance. Putting himself inside
Cersei had been as easy as breathing. Suddenly it occurred to him all at once.
"You're a maiden?" he hissed incredulously.
"Is that a problem?" Arya growled, digging in her nails again, and fixed him
with a desperate lusty glare.
His cock certainly didn't think so, but his head felt wrong taking this from
her. If she had kept maidenhood intact for this long, after the life she's had,
then who was he to steal it away? He was not her husband, and if he were to
accidentally leave his seed inside her a bastard between them would be
disastrous.
"I--," he started and his brow furrowed in an effort to pick the right words.
She pulled herself up to look him in the eye and he had to hold back a moan as
her wet cunt slid against his aching cock. "I want this," she explained. "I
want this, Jaime." Each of her words was punctuated with a soft roll of her
hips that kept them sliding against one another. The tension in Jaime's muscles
grew with every pass of her womanhood against him. By now his cock was as slick
as she was and dripping with his own fluids.
"Not brother now?" his annoying nature forced him to ask, though the humor was
tempered with restraint in his voice as he tried to keep himself from impaling
her. Apparently she found it amusing anyway, because she smiled.
"If you want to be, brother," Arya purred and ran her hand over her breasts. "I
just want you inside me. Don't leave me like this. Not now, please."
Once again, he was undone. The way she purred 'brother' was the way he used to
purr 'sister' at Cersei. His twin had hated hearing it during sex, because it
reminded her of their sin and Cersei had always been less attached. She had
almost left him for Rhaegar, after all. For Jaime, it had always been Cersei.
Now, he just wanted someone to want him back. Truly and as much as he wanted
them.
With a nod, and a final impassioned kiss, he finished sliding inside her and
felt the breaking of her maidenhood, but didn't look to see if she was
bleeding. Jaime was far too entranced by her tightness, the warmth of her
around him, and how wet she was. He could scarcely recall if Cersei had been
this tight when they were young. He couldn't even remember if she had been a
maiden the first time. But Arya was a perfect example of maidenhood and
loveliness; the sort of woman you'd beg the Gods for on your wedding night.
It seemed as though Arya approved as well, given her throaty moan and her hands
grasping at him in need. "More," she gasped as he paused to appreciate the
feeling of being one. But he didn't dare refuse the request, and began to
thrust in earnest. Arya's legs were wrapped tightly around his waist, leaving
bruises on his hips, and he was on his knees between them. Her dark hair was
splayed all over his pillows, coating them with her scent, and he was using
both his good hand and his right arm to support her lower body.
Jaime groaned and lowered himself, looking for a kiss that she readily raised
herself up on her elbows to give. Their tongues were slick as their sexes as he
used every ounce of power in his body to satisfy her. He wasn't the sort of man
to leave his woman unfulfilled. The bed slammed against the wall with a
frightening amount of noise, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Let the
whole of King's Landing hear them now. Let the world know he was still man
enough to make a woman want him.
Sudden as a pouncing cat, his lover lunged up and settled herself in his lap,
forcing him to sit on the bed and wrap his arms around her torso. Her arms went
around his neck and her mouth to his ear to whisper in it softly. "More,
Jaime," Arya breathed, igniting the flames inside him all over again. "Make me
yours."
The urge to spill inside her right then was only tempered by his eagerness to
make her finish first. She was raising and lowering herself on his cock now;
trying to increase the sensation. He sped up his thrusts to meet her pace and
brought his good hand awkwardly to her cunt and rubbed encouragingly. Arya
tossed her head back with a gasp of delight, her long dark locks flying
everywhere and driving him wild with lust.
"Come on, sister," he coaxed desperately. "Come for me."
And, Gods, did she ever. Her already painfully tight cunt clamped down on his
cock so hard that he bit straight through his lip in an effort not to spill.
Arya caught sight of the blood on his lips in her euphoria and latched onto his
split lip to suck on it. Enflamed, he kissed her with the force of a man denied
sex for years. Love making and proper sword fighting were his two vices, and
he'd had neither for so long. Now she had given him both in so short a time.
Overwhelmed by his need to claim and mate, his thrusting had reached a fever
pitch as she worked through her own climax, but, by the time that she was going
limp, he was still hard. The need inside him built quickly to a critical amount
and he lifted her off him just before losing control and filling her with his
seed. Instead it painted his belly white.
Jaime fell back against the bed, feeling boneless, satisfied beyond all
compare, and hungry from exertion. She followed him down and laid her head on
his chest as she took her place in the crook of his arm. Even now he marveled
at how perfectly they fit. It made all the years of playing cloak and dagger
with Cersei fade from his mind like a lifting fog. But an ounce of fear crept
into his heart at the thought that, this was it, he had finally separated from
Cersei entirely. He found solace in another woman's arms, and would likely
never feel hers ever again. He knew the guilt would be crushing.
"Mm," Arya purred and licked the skin of his neck. She sounded as utterly
content as he felt. More liquid than man.
"Agreed," he laughed and turned to kiss her. The guilt could wait.
***** Telling Truths *****
Chapter Notes
     The aftermath of the porn. If you skipped last chapter, all you need
     to know was that they made love.
     Song for this Chapter: Oats in the Water by Ben Howard
They made love at least three times more before she managed to tear herself
away from his embrace. Jaime was a possessive creature, and Arya enjoyed it
against all odds. At least she knew he'd make a compatible husband now.
"Come back to bed," her lover groaned from his place amongst the tangled
sheets. He was covered in a light sheen of sweat and there was still drying
seed on his abdomen. Arya allowed herself to admire his beauty as she poured
herself a glass of wine and downed it. Jaime was the picture of satisfied lust
and contentment. If he had any doubts about taking her to his bed, after
Cersei, then he hid them from her well.
"Perhaps we should do something useful today?" she asked playfully from safely
across the room. To be true, she would have just as happily slid back into bed
with him and continued claiming her mate until the sun rose on the morrow.
However, she knew that they needed to have a serious discussion about their
future, and that would not be easy amongst the sheets.
"Absolutely not," Jaime purred as he held his arms out longingly towards her
and repeated, "Come back to bed."
"We were supposed to spar," Arya pointed out and turned to look at him fully.
She had never felt so incredibly beautiful, and she wanted him to see every
inch of her now. Let him see all his marks on her skin and all the places he
tasted.
"Is that not what we've been doing? I think I've given you a number of sword
wounds this morning already," he looked over her naked body with unrestrained
lust. "I'll give you a few more if you come back to me."
"When I heard a lion could mate forty times in a day I thought it was
undeserved praise, but perhaps I was wrong. You have more stamina than I
expected of you. Not that I'm complaining," Arya said as she turned to the
mirror to survey the marks he'd left. Her neck was a mess of love bites and
bruises. And her hips sported a single hand print on the side opposite his
remaining hand. Just looking at them made her shiver with delight. The way he
fucked, she could almost feel the potency of him, and his virility. They would
have no trouble giving Tommen siblings.
He climbed out of bed and walked up behind her with his arms wrapping around
her waist. "I fear I've defiled you, sister," Jaime whispered as he bit her
earlobe and rubbed the palm of his hand on her belly. "The fact that I managed
to not spill inside you amazes me to no end. You'll never know the willpower it
took to keep your belly bastard free."
"Maybe you shouldn't have held back," she moaned slightly as he slid down to
bite at her shoulder. "We'd make quite the swordsman, don't you think? Surely
Tommen could use a brother or two." Arya didn't want a litter of ten children,
but she couldn't help but long for a day where a few of her cubs could spar and
play at Casterly Rock. Her mother had often told her that, when she met the
right man, she would lose all fears about giving him sons. She had rejected
that notion from the moment she heard it, but it was beginning to look true.
Jaime brought her back to the present when his hips met the back of hers in a
desperate thrust. "Don't talk like that," he pleaded. "Or at least come back to
bed before you do."
"Why shouldn't I?" Arya breathed and turned around to face him. Their bodies
fit so perfectly that she could hardly blame his intake of breath. Her hands
cupped his roughly shaven face and brought it down for her to kiss. She licked
at the wound he'd not only given himself, but reopened each time he fought not
to come into her womb.
"As the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, I'm not in any position to be
fathering any bastards on any more sisters," Jaime growled with lust dripping
from his voice. His good hand was clutching at her hip tightly. Arya felt drunk
at just the scent of him; all sex, sweat, and primal musk. It was making her
feel more like a lioness in heat than one stalking her prey.
"You seem to disbelieve yourself, Jaime," she pointed out seductively. Her hips
swayed slightly in his hands and she pressed her breasts fully against his bare
chest. Convincing him would be easy. "Why don't you abandon the vows of
celibacy once and for all, and rejoin us at the Rock? You belong in the West."
He pulled back from her and raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "Why, my Lady, does
it sound like you've been planning this speech all day? What aren't you telling
me?" Arya smiled at his caution and tilted her head just far enough to the side
to bare her throat and all its love bites to his eyes. Jaime couldn't resist
staring and let himself be pulled back into her arms.
"I want to give you a better path, Jaime," she whispered against his skin. "I
want to give Tommen a better life. You won't find it here, and you know it.
This city reeks of death and pain. Bring our son back with us to the Rock,
where it smells of the sea and clean air. Let our cub know what it is to be
lion amongst a pride instead of masking him as a stag amongst greater beasts.
He's a babe in the woods, Jaime, and I want to bring him home."
Jaime fixed her with a wide-eyed stare that Arya met with no fear, and no
hostility. She would lay her soul bare if that's what it took to get him to
agree.
"Our son?" he asked slowly, carefully, tasting the words in his mouth. His eyes
left hers and darkened as they fell to look at the cold stone beneath their
feet. "He's... He belongs with his mother." He sounded sad and uncertain.
"No," Arya corrected possessively. "He belongs with us. Tell me you can't see
it every time he smiles."
"You've just met him," Jaime said desperately. "You've known him, what, days?
How could I justify taking him from Cersei for that? What if you decide that
suddenly, he's too much a burden and he's no longer 'our' son? How do I know
that you just don't want to make a husband of me so you can give the West to
your own children?"
"I firmly intend to give the West to my children. Tommen is my child. And I
don't need you to do that, if I wish it. I am trying to pull you back into the
pride when you've not even realized you left it long ago. You are not your
father's heir, but, together, we could be," she pressed gentle but firm. "I
can't abandon Tommen. He is mine as surely as he is yours. It doesn't matter
that my womb didn't carry him; he was meant for us. I know fate better than you
ever could, brother."
He shuddered again and Arya knew she had won. "How would this even work?" he
asked in a skeptical tone. "Cersei isn't going to allow it. She never was good
about sharing her toys, even with me." That made her smile sharply and Jaime
raised an eyebrow at her expression. "What?" he asked again.
"I have," she trailed off to feign counting. "A hundred thousand men at my
command, Jaime. I don't particularly care if Cersei wants to 'allow' it."
"You couldn't possibly be suggesting starting another war over this?" Jaime
hissed frantically. "No one would take up this cause. The moment they know--."
"They already know," Arya cut him off. "Trust me; everyone already knows Jaime.
It's been acknowledged in the West for over a year. Your father knows, your
uncle and aunts know, and all our bannermen know. It's why you were removed as
the heir. Officially..." She stopped as she was filled with uncertainty about
finishing for the first time.
"Officially...?" Jaime prompted.
"Officially you and your siblings were disowned when I was adopted. You're all
Lannister by reputation, not by law," she finished. It felt like a hollow
victory now, when she had been overjoyed to hear it when Tywin told her on her
nameday. "As long as your father and uncle are alive, it will stand. As long as
I am alive... It will stand. The bannermen were not happy to learn about how
many of their sons died fighting for Joffrey's false claim. The only reason we
don't raise in revolt is that it's easier to pull strings from a position of
peace."
Jaime looked blindsided by this news, and Arya felt guilty for having to be the
one to tell him. Weakening her mate brought her no joy anymore. Together, they
would stand strong in unity.
"I see," Jaime laughed, though it sounded bitter. "I suppose that explains why
no one seems to give a fuck what I command lately, and why father acts like
he'd prefer my head on the walls than in his presence. But we reap what we sow,
and I sowed quite a bit of discord."
"We will undo it, Jaime," she purred soothingly and pressed close to him again.
"We will build a family as strong as father ever could. The West will flourish
and we'll give it all to our sons and daughters. Help me build a brighter
future, brother."
"Father will...," he stopped and swallowed. "He won't allow it."
"I've already informed him of our intentions."
That provoked a genuine, pleased laugh and Arya basked in the sound of it.
Jaime was a man who rebounded from tragedy at an astonishing rate, and it never
ceased to amaze. "Informed him of our intentions?" he asked playfully,
bitterness receding from his face and voice, and he pulled her tight against
his body. "You knew I'd relent to your seduction, my Lady?"
"Of course," Arya murmured lovingly as she bit softly on the skin of his
collarbone. "I told you already: 'I know fate better than you ever could'."
Quickly, she pulled back and smirked. "However, I never intended to seduce you
today. That came as a surprise. A welcome one, but a surprise nevertheless."
"When did you become such an incredible woman?" Jaime asked as he started to
kiss along her throat and she sighed with pleasure. "I remember a dirty little
girl who wanted to be kissed and liked threatening men twice her size. Finding
you grown, healthy, and shaping the world to your desires was the real
surprise. I made a vow...," he paused in thought for a moment. "I made a vow to
your mother that I would return you to her, did you know that?"
"I heard rumors," she said softly as the conversation steered itself back to
seriousness. "I'm sorry about your friend."
"She was a good woman," Jaime muttered with sadness in every ounce of his tone.
"She didn't deserve to die like that. No one deserves to die like that."
"Why did he do it? Joffrey, I mean."
"It was Cersei," he shook his head as he said it. "Jealous. Used her time as a
member of Renly's Kingsguard, and, Loras's repeated accusations that she killed
Renly, to convince Joffrey to condemn her to death. I tried... I tried to save
her. I begged Cersei, but she wouldn't hear it. Maybe it even drove her anger
further. I've barely spoken to her since, though she still likes to request my
audience so she can yell in my direction about all her woes. Power seems to
have driven her to madness."
"She was always mad, Jaime," Arya pointed out, though it didn't make her happy
to say it. "It was always there."
"That's what scares me most," Jaime whispered as he clutched Arya against him.
"How could I have loved someone like that? My brother is in exile, my father
hates me, and my sister is worse than the King I killed. Where did it all go
wrong?" He stopped suddenly and looked at her with guarded eyes. She could feel
him almost shaking as he raised his good hand to touch her cheek. "Do you know?
Do you know about what I did? To your brother."
"Bran? Yes; I've always known. I figured it all out not long after Cersei
executed my father." She hadn't call Ned Stark 'her father' aloud in years. It
felt strange, wrong, and natural all at once. The same way calling Tywin
'father' felt all the time. Jaime just watched her with a guilty expression. "I
don't blame you, Jaime. Robert would have had you both killed, and her
children. Then we wouldn't have Tommen. Maybe I would have felt differently if
Bran had died, but I know that nothing is fair when the lives of the ones you
love are at stake."
Her lover was silent for a long time and Arya just laid her head down on his
shoulder. They eventually sat down on the bed again, but made no moves to
continue making love. Right now, just touching was enough to soothe the demons
away from his thoughts.
***** Freedom Well Earned *****
Chapter Notes
     This one took a while to write, since it's very long. If anyone is
     wondering how I do this, I post, take about 30 minutes to an hour
     break, then start writing the next one. This chapter just turned into
     a monster as I knew where I wanted it to end, but it needed to cover
     a lot of ground. So errors are likely until I proofread.
     Songs for this Chapter:
     First half is: You Call Me a Bitch Like It's a Bad Thing by Halestorm
     Last scene is: Panic Room by Theory of a Deadman
When Jaime woke up again, he knew right away not to move. Arya was still
sleeping soundly on his chest, warm and lovely, and he wanted to watch her
sleep for awhile. Her hair was spilling over his shoulder and onto the pillow
next to his head, so he turned to smell the lingering spiceflower in it. It was
masked by the scent of sex, but that only made it better. He couldn't remember
ever being so utterly happy in his entire life.
From the time that he and Cersei had begun experimenting with each other's
different parts and changing bodies, they had needed to hide. Every encounter
had been rushed and fulfilled only the basic sexual urges. At Casterly Rock, in
their youth, they had slept in the same bed for years until they were caught by
a servant. After she married Robert, they never shared a bed again. He could
stay in hers for a few hours, but always had to leave before long.
Even the guards at her doors were threats and they would have raised eyebrows
if he had spent the night in her chambers. It was easier to explain away visits
that lasted well into the night than it would be to explain leaving in the
morning. Selmy would have loved to catch Jaime in such a position, and though
he knew the man to be honorable enough to spare Cersei and the children, he
would have like Jaime best in all black rather than all white.
Now, no one guarded the doors, and no one expected anything of him today, so
they had all evening if they wished it. The relaxed pace was entirely new for
him, and he loved it. It allowed him the chance to taste every inch of her that
he wanted, and she had been more than accommodating. In a few hours, they had
long eclipsed the ground he once shared with Cersei, who had a Lady's
reservations about some acts. Jaime had never felt a mouth on his cock until
Arya thought to give it to him. He had returned the favor until she was sobbing
from pleasure. Jaime just felt like the Gods had opened their arms to him again
and spilled forth the bounty of the Heavens into his bed. No creature such as
her could be anything but divine in nature.
The door slammed open, shaking the room, and causing Jaime to sit up violently.
His right arm reached for his sword, but met air as he remembered his lack of a
hand. Refusing to flail, not in his own chambers, he looked up to meet the eyes
of the intruder only to find Cersei in the doorway.
She looked pale with shock, as he noted she was staring directly at Arya, who
had woken and raised up of her own accord. They stared at each other for so
long that Jaime feared Cersei might faint, but he made no motions to catch her
if she did.
"You," Cersei started in a voice that promised blood and pain. "You little
whore. Fucking my father wasn't enough for you?" Jaime half expected Arya to
laugh, but she just smiled so sharply that anyone else would have fled.
"Our father, sister, and I've not been fucking him," she said simply, though
Jaime could hear the threat in her tone.
"How dare you? Your family is known for its treasonous blood. Your father, your
brothers, and your sister. I will have your head," Cersei snarled. She probably
thought it made her look like a lioness, but, so deep in her cups, it just made
her look drunk and foolish. "You think your little Northern cunt will be enough
to steal away all that is mine? I will--."
"Never. You will wed the King," Arya spoke, foreboding. Cersei looked like she
was going to faint again, and Jaime had no idea why. "Aye. Queen you shall be,
until--."
Whatever Arya was about to say was cut off by Cersei running from the room as
though Robert's ghost was after her. Jaime looked from where Arya sat next to
him to the door where Cersei had been standing. He had never felt so confused
in his life.
"What was that?" he demanded as he stumbled out of bed and awkwardly pulled on
his breeches. The lack of his hand made this a trying task that he had yet to
master. Luckily, Arya noticed his struggle and reached over to tie them for
him. He could get used to that, he noted with ill-timed amusement.
"Nothing," she replied, though her sing-song voice indicated that it was,
indeed, something. She sounded infinitely pleased to have caused Cersei so much
fear, and Jaime just wanted to know how she had done it.
"Mama?" Tommen's voice called from the hallway and Arya immediately perked up.
"Here, little cub," she called back and Jaime heard his son's little footsteps
padding along the stone. When had he begun calling her his mother? Jaime felt
like he was getting left in the dark more than usual. Tommen came around the
corner, into the room, and he took one look at her, still naked, and saw the
bruises. His boy cried out in horror and rushed to her, clutching her leg, and
looking up at her sadly.
"You're hurt," Tommen whispered through his welling tears. "She hurt you."
"No," Arya cooed and lifted him into her arms. "That's from training, not from
Cersei. Don't fret, my little one. Did she see you come in here?" Tommen shook
his head and wiped his tears away. "Good. Now how about we go see your
grandfather? It seems we have much to discuss with him."
"Grandfather scares me," their cub muttered. "Mean." Jaime laughed as he pulled
his shirt over his head and slipped on his coat. Tommen wasn't wrong. Arya just
gave him an exasperated, but tender look and shook her head.
"He can be, sweetling, but it's because he's busy looking out for all the other
lions and families of the West. Sometimes, he even looks out for the families
of the other Kingdoms as well. He tries very hard to keep the world at peace,
and that benefits everyone. Right now, he's worried about the people of King's
Landing, because your brother isn't a very good King. Do you understand?" Arya
explained carefully to their boy, who just nodded silently and listened like it
was the most important lesson he would ever receive. "We're going to go talk to
him about going home to Casterly Rock; just you, me, and your father."
Tommen's mouth hung open in stunned joy when he heard her say that. "Yes!" he
said with no small measure of excitement. "Please, papa, please?"
Jaime smiled and took his son into his arms. "You don't need to convince me,
Tommen. I've already agreed to it. How would you like to see where your father
grew up?" A shiver of elation ran down his spine at the ability to call himself
'father'.
"Yes, yes, yes," Tommen repeated in delight. He kissed his son on the head and
waited for Arya to finish dressing, though he was sad to see her body covered
up. It gave him an odd sort of courage to know he would see it again; tonight
if he was lucky.
He worried about what Cersei would do now, though. She wouldn't be happy, but,
surely, she wouldn't dare cross their father. Tywin Lannister was still the law
where almost any guard was concerned. His gold filled their pockets and his
army was the biggest in the realm. It wasn't as though Joffrey's court was
overflowing with allies. The Reach would support him, but not in a war against
his own grandfather. Even they weren't so bound to the crown that they would
fight for the losing side.
As they left the room, Jaime could see several Lannister guards milling around
down the hall, clearly observing from safety. Arya put a hand on his shoulder
to keep him still, and walked over to speak with them. He couldn't hear what
she said, but it must have been a command given the way they bowed deep and
rushed off in the other direction.
 
===============================================================================
 
A short walk later, and they were in front of Tywin's solar. Jaime shifted
Tommen to his good arm to knock with his golden hand, but Arya laughed and
strode past him into the room. He blinked at her back; this woman didn't
believe in knocking apparently.
"And to what do I owe this interruption?" his father's voice came from inside.
Jaime held Tommen tighter and walked inside.
"I think it's time that Jaime, Tommen, and I take our leave. Cersei will be
marshalling some force against us, as we speak, and I'd prefer to be on my way
before that happens," Arya spoke informally and sat herself in the chair
opposite Tywin. His father didn't even seem to care, which half frightened
Jaime at this point.
"The wedding is not for another week yet," his father pointed out as he scanned
some letter. Arya shrugged for her own benefit.
"Would you prefer that I make a show of force in the Capital?"
"Why is it necessary?" Tywin asked sternly as he finally looked up at her.
Their eyes met and Jaime felt like winter had come all at once. Even Tommen
quaked in his arms at the sight of his grandfather's stare.
"Cersei thought to barge into Jaime's room not long ago, and took issue with my
presence," Arya said simply. Jaime frowned and fought down the urge to jape
about the fact that she had also 'barged' into his room that day. It didn't
seem like the time to note that both his sisters had boundary issues.
"Your," father started deadpan. "Presence." Arya smirked and Jaime blushed, so
he covered it with a smirk of his own. Tywin, to his credit, just sighed and
sat back in his chair. His children's antics were beginning to age him where
time had failed. "She spent the greater part of the morning in here, presuming
to lecture me on how to conduct affairs in the West. I dispelled her mistaken
notions for her, and she was displeased. I planned on having guards at your
door tonight, but perhaps that will no longer be enough."
"I don't need guards at my door; ever," Arya interjected, but Tywin ignored it.
"Fine. I will allow you to return to the Rock, and I will organize having the
King release Jaime from his vows. Tommen will be, officially, fostered with his
'uncle', and you will marry within a fortnight. I trust you will handle
explaining the circumstances to Daven on your own." Jaime didn't think it could
be so easy, though now he wanted to know what his cousin Daven had to do with
this. "Take two horses, twenty men, and go now. Before Cersei can respond."
Arya smiled and leaned across the desk to press a kiss to his, or he supposed,
their, father's cheek. Tywin frowned, but Jaime could see an emotion in his
eyes that hadn't been aimed at him since he was fifteen. A small burst of
jealousy followed, but he quashed it. Arya had earned his love, and Jaime had
just thrown it away. It was far too late to be bitter about it.
"Thank you, father," Arya said smoothly, and excess love didn't creep into her
voice like it did with Jaime or Tommen. He could still tell it was there.
"Tommen, thank your grandfather," she told him as she pulled their cub from his
arms.
"Thank you, grandfather," Tommen murmured politely from behind Arya's
sheltering arm. Tywin nodded, and Jaime could have sworn he saw his mouth quirk
up.
 
===============================================================================
 
They left after that and rushed for her chambers. Arya didn't think they should
take much at all, as the ride to the Westerlands wasn't that far on the Gold
Road. They could receive hospitality from one of the Lords on the border.
They found her rooms mercifully empty, and she started throwing her important
effects into a rucksack. "Throw all of this in there, please," she said with an
arm swept towards her desk. There were not many papers scattered on it, but
Jaime started rounding them up anyway. "And the jewelry," she called from
somewhere behind him. He could hear the soft clicking of metal and occasional
louder clanks, so he could only assume she was putting on some type of armor.
It was a good idea; Cersei often wore small pieces of it with her gowns when
she felt threatened.
"Fuck," she laughed with a slightly strained tone, and he turned to glare at
her for cursing in front of Tommen, who sat on her bed quietly watching.
Instead, he found himself shocked into his own silence as he saw her slipping
into a full suit of armor. Her curses seemed to be from the annoyance of trying
to get the thing on alone, which he could understand wholeheartedly.
"Why?" he asked simply and hoped she understood.
"You never know," Arya replied ominously as she slid her hands into gauntlets.
The whole of it was beautiful work, and Jaime found himself growing half-hard
from just seeing her in it. It was dark plate with gold and red accents. The
pauldrons asymmetrical; a roaring lion and a snarling wolf to match her blades.
The lion was always on her left, with her dominant hand, with her heart. She
had tied her hair up in a long tail from the upper part of the back of her
head, and it still fell long enough to brush her back. She looked ready for
battle at a moment's notice, and Jaime was hard pressed to tell if she looked
better like this or naked.
"It," he tried and failed. "It looks very good on you."
She turned to face him fully and he could see the sigil of their House on her
gorget. "You like it?" she asked seductively. "Father gifted me with the full
set; the Lannister name, the swords, and the armor on my seventeenth nameday."
Jaime blinked at that. He would have thought she had been adopted much further
back. He didn't get to comment on it though, as she tilted her head towards the
door and said, "We need to go." He nodded and grabbed Tommen for them to go.
 
===============================================================================
 
Of course, it would have been too easy, he noted as they walked out of room and
saw Cersei surrounded by the goldcloaks. She took one look at the bag on his
shoulder, Tommen in his arms, and Arya in armor, and cried, "Kill her! Kill
both of them!"
Jaime couldn't remember a single time in his life where he had actually feared
his twin, but he did now. She had twenty men with her, maybe more, and they
were in no position to fight. His heart felt like it was going to come out of
his chest and he pulled Tommen against him. His eyes flicked from one side to
another, finding no way to run, and then back to his furious sister's face.
"Cersei, please," he started to beg, but Arya shoved a hand out in front of
him.
"Lions don't beg," she said softly to him, and took a step in front of both
Jaime and Tommen. He felt weak and useless again. How could he protect his
family like this? "Protect our son," she whispered again, only for his ears,
and Jaime swallowed thickly. No, this couldn't happen. Not like this. He wasn't
going to lose everything before he even got a chance to enjoy it.
The goldcloaks didn't care about his panicked thoughts though as they advanced
on them, swords scrapping against their sheaths, and fire in their eyes.
Murderers, he thought, monsters. Tommen sobbed in his arms and buried his face
against Jaime's neck.
"You feel so confident?" Arya laughed, cocky still for some reason. "If you
value your lives, you'll run now, children. I play for keeps."
The men laughed back cruelly and one swung at Arya. Jaime would have screamed,
like a fucking maiden, if he hadn't heard the song of her steel as it blocked
the blow. Tommen looked up in terror, but gasped as Arya attacked with a
riposte and got her blade in the small space between the gorget and the helmet.
Blood hit her face in a spray as she sliced right through his throat.
Another came at her, swinging wildly, in poor form Jaime noted distantly, and
Arya's right hand yanked her second blade from its sheath. She parried his blow
and used the lion-headed sword to make a devastating cut under his other arm.
He screamed and fell as another came to challenge her. She formed a barrier
between Jaime and Tommen and the attackers. He felt foolish for not being able
to protect them himself, but grateful that, thank the Gods, she was better. It
was still too many to fight, as they began to come in twos. They all crowded in
to attack at once, and Arya managed to hold them off with her two swords and
some unholy strength.
Tommen was watching, watching men die for the first time in his young life, and
Jaime could smell the heavy stench of blood around them. He was still
terrified.
"My Lady," several voices called at once, and Jaime felt his heart nearly give
out. Fifty men, in Lannister red, rushed from each side of the hallway. They
drew their swords and forced the goldcloaks back in a wave, with Arya pressing
them forward.
"You dare attack our Lady?" one shouted at the goldcloaks, at Cersei, and
brandished his sword. "We'll paint this city in your blood." All of the
Lannister soldiers cried out in agreement, and Arya pulled back from the fray
with a smirk.
"I would think twice before challenging the West, sister," Arya laughed, high
from the bloodlust, he knew. "We've got more men, more food, and more money.
Now clear my path, or I'll mount your head on the city gate before I go."
Cersei seemed to know the battle was lost, because she turned on her heel and
fled again. She didn't even spare a glance back at Tommen before she left. Only
when she was out of sight, and the goldcloaks were smart enough to follow, did
Jaime finally let himself breathe. Arya turned to him then, sheathed her
swords, and tilted her head. She was waiting for him to let her know that he
was still with her.
"Let's get the fuck out of here, please," Jaime rasped, and Arya smiled.
"You're right. Let's go home."
The men came along with them all the way to the stables and some of them
mounted horses alongside them. In a full party, they rode out of the gates and
onto the Gold Road.
***** Where The Heart Is *****
Chapter Notes
     Daven is one of my favorite Lannisters, but we don't see him much in
     the books. I wanted to write about him, since he ends up the Warden
     of the West in the series. I feel like he's a good companion for
     Jaime.
     Song for this Chapter: City of Ocala by A Day to Remember
They were laying in a bed in an inn at the far side of House Vance's lands in
the Riverlands. The men were camped outside and guarded the perimeter, so Arya,
Jaime, and Tommen could sleep in peace. They had decided to all share a bed, so
their little cub was snuggled tightly between them. He was more on Jaime's
chest than anything, and Arya was in the crook of his arm. Her lover was still
awake, and Arya had been pretending to sleep long enough to recognize that it
wasn't going to change.
"Sleep, love," she whispered in the darkness, careful not to wake the cub.
"We've got a long ride tomorrow." He turned to look at her, and she could just
make out his frown in the moonlight.
"I failed you," he whispered back, and it broke Arya's heart. "I failed you,
and Tommen. If you couldn't fight, we would have died. If the soldiers hadn't
showed up, we would have died. How can you marry a man who can't even fight by
your side?"
"You will fight again, Jaime. I promise," she assured soothingly. "You couldn't
have fought them anyway. I needed you to hold Tommen and protect him, and you
did."
"I clutched him to my chest and prayed to Gods I barely believe in, you mean. I
protected no one."
"Oh, Jaime," Arya sighed and slowly nudged Tommen more fully onto his father's
chest so she could drape herself over him as well. "I believe in you more than
you believe in yourself. Tommen knows you can fight, and so do I. You suffered
a loss when they took your hand, but you had the bravery to pick up a sword
again."
"Brienne convinced me of it," Jaime muttered bitterly. "If not for her, I would
have starved myself. I wanted to die."
"Brother," she started and Jaime shook his head.
"No, please," he said, while turning his head away from her. "Don't call me
that anymore."
Arya's patience finally failed her and she leaned in close to bite his shoulder
roughly. Her lover yelped quietly and turned back to her fast as lightning with
a glare on his face. "Stop that," she hissed. "Stop pitying yourself. I'm
certainly not marrying you for your extreme power of self-flagellation. I love
you, you idiot. If you hadn't noticed by now, then I fear you're being slow."
Jaime's face softened in the moonlight and she licked the place where she bit
to soothe it.
"Cersei may be a cunt," she whispered with some humor in her tone, especially
when Jaime huffed and looked down at Tommen. "But I am not. When your father
adopted me, he made himself my father and gave me three new siblings. Besides,
I like the way you react when I call you that. And, the way you say it when you
call me 'sister'. Don't ruin what we've got because you're angry with Cersei."
"She would have had me killed. My twin," he emphasized. "I trusted her more
than I trusted anyone else. I loved her more than life. I've given up asking
why it had to be this way, because it's become clear that all that changed was
my eyes got opened. Now I wonder why I was so willing to ignore it before. I
didn't overlook Aerys's madness..."
"Aerys wasn't your twin sister. I don't blame you, Jaime. Now all you need to
do is stop blaming yourself. The next time we're in a fight, Tommen won't be
there and I will need you to fight with me. How will you ever be able to
perform if you're so full of doubts?" Arya asked gently and laid her head down
on his shoulder. Tommen made a soft mew in his sleep and nuzzled at his
father's bare skin, prompting an honest smile out of Jaime.
"At least someone is comfortable," Jaime whispered to his son playfully, who
kept on dreaming. "As much as I enjoy getting to bond with both of you at the
same time, I'd have liked having you all to myself just as much." He sent her a
pointed look and raised an eyebrow.
"In the morning, if you can keep it to just once," she promised with a laugh
and returned to trying to sleep.
 
===============================================================================
 
Come morning, they passed Tommen to a guard and had him sent down to eat. Jaime
started unlacing his breeches the moment their little cub was out of the room,
and Arya stalked over to help. They met in a desperate kiss and Arya felt the
burn of excess bloodlust from the previous day's fight start to heat her blood.
It wouldn't be just once.
By the time they were done, it was mid morning, but the guard in charge of
watching Tommen had been smart enough to keep their cub busy. Arya climbed back
into her armor, and Jaime walked down to break his fast with a spring in his
step. He hadn't even bothered to fix his mussed hair or conceal the scratches
she had accidently left on his chest and neck. Instead, he wore his coat and
shirt open slightly to put them on full display. Cocky devil that he was.
 
===============================================================================
 
The ride to Lannisport was both long and comforting. Each place they passed,
Jaime would point it out to Tommen and give him a lesson about it. Nothing had
left their little cub as breathless as his first mountain range though, and
Jaime had delighted in explaining the name of every peak and valley. Tommen
soaked it up like sunshine on a flower and often asked questions that his
parents had to consult with each other to find the right answer for.
The city welcomed them properly though, with the smell of fresh baked bread and
the ocean on the air, and Lannister lions flying high over the city. The men at
the gate had gaped for a moment at Arya before opening it quickly. She could
hardly blame them; she was meant to be in the Capital with Tywin for another
month. Though she was certain that her father would be hot on their heels once
he heard of Cersei's attack. They would need to prepare the West for any
conflicts.
The people of the streets moved aside for their party as they rode through to
the Rock. The City Watchmen stood at attention and Arya nodded in their
direction while Jaime explained every storefront to their son. Tommen was all
wide green eyes and eager hands as he reached out towards every new sight
longingly. The city was one of the safest in the Kingdoms, and Arya could have
easily just let the boy off the horse to explore. That would have to wait
though, as she needed to speak to her uncle, and soon.
The gatemen of the Rock were more enthusiastic to see her, though they cast
Jaime a suspicious glare. Her lover didn't see it, his eyes were trained upward
on the huge castle before him; his home. So she just winked at the men and
motioned for them to let her inside. Changing Jaime's reputation in the West
would be long, hard, and slow, but she could start now by showing them that she
claimed him as her own.
"Arya, child," uncle Kevan greeted the moment they were in the courtyard. He
was surrounded by much of the household, who rushed out to see them arrive.
"Tywin sent a raven ahead. You're not hurt are you?" He was a kinder man than
his brother, and Arya was fond of him.
"No, uncle, we're all fine."
"Uncle Kevan," Jaime greeted boisterously. "The years treat you well." Uncle
just smiled tightly, but said nothing in response. She would need to have a
word with him about it. If Tywin had accepted it, though, then Kevan would in
time.
"Is that JaimeI hear?" another voice called over the crowd. The mass of people
parted to reveal a man who looked far more lion than human. His beard grew
unruly and his hair was just as long, creating a golden mane about his face.
"Coz!" he roared and launched himself over to pull Jaime into a hug. Her lover
gently nudged their son out of the way and submitted to the tight embrace with
equal feeling. He probably was just pleased that someone was happy to see him.
"Cousin," Arya greeted as Daven broke away from Jaime long enough to pull her
into his arms as well.
"Arya, looking as lovely as ever, I see," Daven said with a grin. "I see the
trip to the Capital hasn't broken you of your penchant for armor outside
battle."
"On the contrary, cousin, it's reminded me of the necessity. Cersei wasn't
happy that I meant to steal my brother away for the Rock," she laughed and
lifted Tommen up. Her little cub puffed up in the sight of Daven, who could be
fearsome to children with his wild mane, and extended his own arms for a hug.
"And who is this? A lion cub?" Daven teased as he snatched Tommen out of her
arms to hug him properly. Their son just smiled and grasped two fistfuls of
Daven's hair to stay steady. "Oh you're Jaime's boy, I can tell. You've got his
grin. Spitting image, if I do say so myself." Jaime smiled proudly and Tommen
squealed with happiness at the comparison. He turned back to Jaime with a sly
smile of his own and whispered conspiratorially, "Keep this one out of
Lannisport. Else the girls will grab him up and keep him until he grows into a
second you."
"He'll never want for a wife, for sure," Jaime laughed. Daven threw a hand
around Jaime's shoulders and steered them inside the castle.
"Come on then, coz. You'll need to regale me with the tale of what the hell
happened at Riverrun." Jaime shot her an inquisitive stare, so Arya smiled
reassuringly and gestured for him to go on. Her lover nodded and followed his
cousin, laughing every now and then at Daven's japes.
"Gods be good," Kevan muttered incredulously. " You smiling? In full view of
everyone else? Tywin wasn't japing; you're in love with him."
"Follow me, uncle," Arya commanded good-naturedly. "Let's discuss the King's
Landing situation."
***** Wounds Long Healed *****
Chapter Notes
     Eydis guessed this right on time. I swear, this was actually part of
     the story BEFORE that comment.
     Song for this Chapter: No Regrets by Dappy (N-Dubz)
Jaime felt warm and welcome. They had made it home, where he knew every
crevasse and every step on every stair. This is where he belonged; where they
belonged. Here at the Rock, no one would ever dare to harm them or their son.
They could start a whole new life, and Jaime could finally be done with the
damn Iron Throne.
"And so they came out of nowhere, the whole lot of them, and caught us from
behind. Out maneuvered father too from what I heard," Jaime explained with his
eyebrows raised and a wide grin on his face.
"Those sons of whores. I thought you were truly dead, coz," Daven laughed
loudly as Jaime told him the story of how he came to be imprisoned in the
North. He had to agree, but that didn't mean he wanted to have his son hearing
such language. Arya was bad enough with her curses. Jaime did his best to keep
their son innocent as he could manage; he had many years yet to grow up. "Did
Stark actually fuck his wolf though? I heard one of the Freys claiming it the
last I saw uncle Emm. Said that his little Westerling bride was a cover for his
true habits. Would explain why he didn't manage to get a son on her."
"Hush," Jaime chided and turned to Tommen. "Don't listen to your cousin Daven.
He's got a loud mouth." His son nodded vigorously, but the gleam in his eye
said he was lying. His little cub seemed to like his cousin, though Jaime
couldn't blame him. Daven had that effect on most men.
"I prefer 'uncle Daven', thank you. This one is you and Cersei's boy, I'd
expect?" Daven asked with a nod of his head towards Tommen, and Jaime sobered
slightly. So everyone did know. At least his cousin didn't seem to care much.
Daven hadn't been the sort to judge, and they had grown up close, though his
cousin was the same age as Tyrion.
"Officially," he muttered as he took a sip of his ale.
"No!" Tommen cried. "Arya is my mama."
Daven turned his head down to Tommen and raised a huge eyebrow. "Oh really
now?" he asked and leaned down. "She's your mother?"
"Yes," Tommen said matter-of-fact. His little green eyes seemed to be daring
Daven's hazel to challenge what he just said. Jaime smiled softly; their boy
was growing bolder by the day.
Daven looked between Tommen and Jaime a few times, with a furrowed brow, before
finally asking, "You and Arya...?" Jaime nodded. "Argh!" his cousin shouted
suddenly and slammed his ale down, sending it splashing over the table. "Damn
you, Jaime! Damn your hide. That was supposed to be my woman. Come on now, coz,
you could have had anyone. Then you chose the one I was promised."
"Oh," was all Jaime could say. Now he understood what his father had meant
about talking to Daven, back in King's Landing. "Sorry?"
"A woman like that only comes along once in a generation, cousin! You lucky
swine," Daven growled and drank the remainder of his ale. Tommen just looked
between the two of them and Jaime shrugged at his son. "It's that face of
yours. Aren't you supposed to be getting old now?"
"Not for some time yet, coz," Jaime said with a smile.
"I suppose you must have it out for cousins," he muttered. "After Lancel."
"After Lancel?" he repeated in a curious voice.
 
===============================================================================
 
"Did you know?" Jaime asked in an almost angry tone as he walked into what was
supposed to be Arya's solar. The guards had said this was where she would be,
so he had to trust their judgment. This room had never really been used when
Jaime was a boy.
The second his eyes fell on Arya, he was about to clarify what he meant but was
shocked into silence by what he saw looking back at him. A moment after that
and he was pressed with his back against the wall and fixed his eyes on his
betrothed desperately.
"What in the Seven, fucking, Hells is that?" he whispered as loudly as he
dared, lest it notice his presence.
"She," Arya corrected sweetly. "Is Visenya." Suddenly, Daven's parting words of
'watch out for Visenya' made a whole lot more sense. It was a lion, or rather
lioness, sitting on the lounge. Fully grown and staring at Arya with its huge
golden eyes.
"Do you...," his voice failed him. "Do you just have a penchant for dangerous
pets? A direwolf wasn't enough? What if Tommen had stumbled in here? Are you
insane?"
Arya gave him an exasperated look. "Please, she's perfectly tame. I've been
able to control her since she was a cub herself. Tommen would be in no danger.
Father lets her sit in his solar while he works sometimes. Doesn't he,
Visenya?" The lioness didn't respond, but instead tilted its massive head
towards Arya's outstretched hand. His love just reached out and scratched it
behind its ears. "She and I are bonded," she explained eventually. "I had the
same with Nymeria, once upon a time. But I've raised Visenya from cub to adult,
and she knows what I will and won't accept. Her mate is less tame, but I can
control him when necessary. And he wouldn't dare defy Visenya."
"Ah," he noted, but stayed against the wall. "I don't suppose you could ask her
to leave, so we could talk?"
"You'll need to get used to her eventually," Arya laughed, but gestured towards
the door. The huge animal stood and stalked right past Jaime into the hall. He
didn't breathe until it was gone. He made a mental note to make sure that
Tommen was kept on the opposite side of the castle from wherever this monster
slept.
"What did I know now?" she asked when the door closed behind the lioness.
"About Lancel and Cersei," he said with a dark bitterness on his tongue. Not
only had she left him, but she was bedding someone else. Arya actually looked
shocked at that.
"Yes, I... You didn't?"
"No!" he exclaimed hotly. "No one thought to tell me about that little fact
while I was in the Capital. And you didn't tell me you were engaged to Daven.
Why are you still keeping things from me? I thought we'd be on the same page at
this point."
"I wasn't keeping the engagement from you," Arya said softly. "I just never
intended to marry him after I met you. He's a good man, but I knew what I
wanted when I saw it. I trust Daven wasn't too upset when he found out?"
"He cursed at me for the better part of an hour about it, even while he was
explaining how thoroughly Cersei had betrayed my trust, but he got over it. He
seems to think you picked me for my looks," Jaime started to relax a bit in her
presence. It was as though just being near her drained the pain from his veins.
"Does it really matter if she was fucking him?" she asked with some gentle
prompting. "Does it matter now?"
"No," he sighed. "No I guess it doesn't. It's just... I thought I had grown
strong enough to actually leave her, but she had left me long ago. I had truly
just been deluding myself about my usefulness to her. I was a relic of her
past."
"Her loss," Arya purred and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You're all mine
now. And I don't intend to let you go any time soon." At that, all the tension
fled Jaime's body like it had never been there to begin with. This woman worked
magic on him far more intense than her winter rose display.
"What's it like?" Jaime asked as she kissed her way along his neck. "To know
the future."
"What gave you the idea that I know the future?" she murmured against his skin.
"I just figured you did, since you always seem so confident in everything. You
were confident enough that we'd be able to leave King's Landing, and that we
could bring Tommen with us. I had been trying to plan such an escape for
months, and you pulled it off so easily. How could you do that if your magic
didn't allow you to see the future?" This had been nagging at his mind for
days, and he had longed to ask her in privacy like this. Their time on the road
had always been in the company of at least one other person.
"I can't see it clearly," she said slowly, likes she was considering her words
carefully. "I dream sometimes, and those usually come true in some fashion or
another. But I can't just 'see' the future. I can feel when things are falling
into place. The same way I felt when we sparred that first day. Maybe I even
felt it as far back as Darry."
"It would explain why you didn't have me killed," Jaime laughed into her hair.
"I told you then, I didn't want the King doing my killing for me. Ned Stark
would have leapt at the chance to put your head on the spike if he had any idea
of what happened in that forest." Jaime felt terrible just thinking about it.
Cersei had argued with Robert for hours after Joff's arm was mauled. They
argued deep into the night while hundreds were still out searching for Arya.
The King had passed out on the floor of the room Lord Darry had given them, and
Jaime had offered to carry the oaf to the bed. Cersei refused that and begged
him to make love to her, which he did happily. Right before she came, she cried
out for him to go kill Arya, and Jaime had known it to be a command. If she
could ask him to kill one Stark child, he could be told to kill another.
He had trekked through those woods for hours and, by some stroke of ill-luck,
been the one to find Arya. The monster he was then had taken quick note of her
reddened cheeks and tried to seduce his way close enough to slit her throat.
She was utterly receptive, and he almost couldn't do it. She was the first time
he had ever been tempted to kiss another woman besides Cersei. But she was a
twelve year old girl and he was a twenty nine year old knight in service to his
Queen. He knew she needed to die, so he drew his dagger to do the deed. But,
thank the Gods, she caught sight of the dagger's glint and punched him so hard
that he feared a broken jaw. By the time that the world stopped spinning, she
was gone and he was sure he was doomed.
But, for all his curses and racing heart, she hadn't told the King a thing. He
cornered her alone afterwards and he could remember the way she snarled that
she would make him pay for it one day on her own. 'Cut his heart out', she
promised. And maybe she had succeeded, except she hadn't killed it. Just
claimed it all for herself.
***** Survival of the Strongest *****
Chapter Notes
     This one gets a bit dark at the end to explain a little more
     backstory.
     Songs for this Chapter:
     First half: Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy
     Last Scene: Cradle to the Grave by Five Finger Death Punch or The
     Monster by Eminem.
"He gave you my chambers?" Jaime asked from behind her, aghast. Arya laughed
and nodded. Tywin had repurposed Jaime's old chambers for her, ones fit for the
heir of Casterly Rock, even before she had been adopted. The room was entirely
hers now, with jewels on the vanity and letters scattered about the once barren
desk. The sheets had been replaced with darker bedding to suit her tastes, and
the servants had brought out several pelts to keep them warm now that winter
was setting.
The rooms were quite useful now, because they had adjoining rooms for any
children Jaime would have had as the heir. This meant that they could give
Tommen a room right beside theirs. And any siblings they might give him. Their
little cub wasted no time in rushing off to pick the biggest room; the one
meant for the firstborn son of the heir.
Jaime was still muttering in disbelief behind her as she set her effects down
and began to soak in the feeling of home. Normally, she would call Visenya up
here and bury her face her fur, but Jaime still seemed weary of her pet. It
would take time before she could introduce Tommen to her without her lover's
heart giving out.
She had a wedding to plan on the morrow, and that, oddly enough, excited her a
little. It made her feel half a child again, and too much like Sansa, but Arya
felt she deserved a little contentment at this point. They had earned it, she
felt.
She spared Jaime a glance and found him surveying the bed with barely
restrained interest. He looked up at her and she could see the promise of
little sleep in his eyes.
 
===============================================================================
 
The next morning, Arya felt sore from the waist down. It was a good feeling,
she decided, as she stretched like a cat in the early morning light. Jaime had
immediately tucked Tommen into bed and rushed to get her all to himself.
Something about being home seemed to enflame him more than usual, as their
lovemaking on the road had been much more tempered. Or perhaps it was just
having pure privacy again. Nevertheless, he made certain to remind her of why
she was making a husband of him. It was the first time, though, that her thighs
were sticky with seed.
"Come inside me," she had gasped desperately as he pressed them both to the
point of climax. His hips were hitting against hers with bruising force as he
tried to get as deeply inside her as he could manage. His expression made her
fear that he was going to refuse her, but he just buried himself fully within
her cunt one more time and flooded her womb. That was just the first of many
times in the night. The desire to quicken left her dizzy with lust and
eagerness to breed, so she had matched every thrust with a roll of her hips for
the remainder of the night.
Arya couldn't tell if she had quickened, and that saddened her. She had hoped
fervently that her magic would be able to tell her definitively whether his
seed had taken hold in her belly. There had been an expectation that something
would happen, that just hadn't, and she wasn't sure if she hoped more that she
had quickened or that she hadn't and her magic would tell her when she did.
She sighed and moved to get out of bed, but was quickly yanked back in as Jaime
woke up enough to wrap his arms around her middle. "Don't you dare," he growled
in half sleep and never opened his eyes. "It's too early."
Arya had learned very, very quickly on their journey to the Rock that Jaime
only woke early when it was required of him. If there was no one to tell him to
get out of bed, then he was content to remain there until noon.
"Come now, brother," she tried to persuade. "We'll eat and then go spar. I'll
be busy all evening, and this may be our only chance to enjoy each other's
company today."
"I can enjoy you so much more in bed."
She opened her mouth to say more, but a small knock at their door let her know
that their cub was awake and looking for his parents.
"At least someone knows how to knock," Jaime groaned and tried to pull the
covers over his head. Doing so released Arya, who took her opportunity to flee
and did so with haste.
"One moment, little one," she called as she pulled on some clothes. Afterwards,
she found him outside her door, but not standing on his own. Instead, he was
dangling by his tunic from Visenya's mouth. Arya blinked down at him, and he
blinked happily back up at her. "Enjoying yourselves?" Tommen nodded and
Visenya let out a muffed noise of affirmative.
"Can I keep her?" Tommen asked innocently.
"Keep what?" Jaime's voice came from the pile of sheets on the bed. Arya
grinned and let the two of them into the room. Visenya was familiar with her
chambers, so she immediately walked to the bed and leapt onto it, with Tommen
still hanging from her jaws. Jaime felt the weight on the bed and peeked out to
find their son and her pet staring him in the eyes. His shout of fear and panic
echoed off every wall, and Arya could have collapsed from laughter.
"What's wrong?" Tommen demanded of his father as Jaime kept extending his hands
towards their cub to steal him from Visenya, and then getting nervous and
pulling them back. "She's a nice lion."
"Please," Jaime choked out to Visenya, who regarded him with minor curiosity.
"Please give me my son."
She didn't, but she did put Tommen down and began to groom him like a proper
cub. Jaime looked pale enough to faint at the sight of her huge tongue mussing
up their son's golden hair. Or maybe it was the knife-long teeth inches from
his head. Arya wasn't worried; Visenya was almost an extension of her
personality. At worst, she could enter her mind and command her to release
Tommen.
Cats were harder to control than dogs, and lions harder than direwolves. But,
lions were lazy creatures when they were fed, and Arya always made sure that
Visenya ate well enough. It made their bonding process much easier. Though,
now, the lioness could be starved and she would still heed Arya's will.
"She'll obey you better if you're not afraid of her, Jaime," she pointed out as
she finished dressing. It was true, as well. Visenya was smart enough to listen
to other people than Arya, but the success of their requests varied. Only Tywin
had ever succeeding in commanding her as well as Arya did, and he didn't even
use magic.
Footsteps announced the arrival of another, and Daven's hair often arrived in a
room long before he did himself. "Cousin, Arya, Vii, Tommen," he greeted to
each of them in turn. Visenya turned to look at him when she heard her least
favorite nickname, and snarled loud enough to shake the bed and cause Jaime to
snatch Tommen into his arms. Daven laughed uproariously. "Relax, coz! Her roar
is much worse than her bite. I've had this girl biting at my ankles since she
was still taking milk for supper." To prove his point, he walked up and ruffled
the fur on Visenya's neck, who quieted down to allow it. Arya swore her lioness
was attracted to Daven's mane sometimes, given how much she let him get away
with. Jaime still didn't look convinced, but Tommen looked more enraptured by
the lioness than he had before.
Daven turned to look at her after that and put his great hands on his hips like
a scorned woman. "Cousin, you were supposed to be my bride, if you recall. Now
who am I to marry? Jaime can fend for himself just fine. Throw him out into
Lannisport and he'll come back with five more children at his heels."
"You'll have to forgive me, Daven," she said with a smile. "I fear I've fallen
for the spell of being his sister. I can't stay away. Besides, you know I like
to keep my father and uncle on their toes. I'm sure Lord Frey would be happy to
provide a daughter for you."
"Gods, you can't mean it," her cousin sagged like his tone. "I'd rather marry
Jaime myself than take one of Walder Frey's girls to bride."
"My dear, sweet brother tried to wed me off to one of his grandsons, once,"
Arya growled with a false sweetness in her voice. The memory of finding out
left her as furious as knowing that Robb refused to trade for her during the
war.
"And I'll swear 'til the day the Gods drag me off to one of the Hells that's
why you killed him."
"What?" Jaime barked from his place on the bed. "What did you just say?"
Arya shrugged. She knew she would have to explain the circumstances of her
brother's defeat eventually, and now was as good a time as any. "The plot with
Frey was my idea," she explained simply. "I paid him and Bolton off, and
guaranteed them the support of the West. Robb crossed Frey by marrying that
Westerling girl, and we needed to end the war. So I thought, why the hell not?"
"Your mother died in that fight," Jaime hissed in horror. "How could you--."
"She wasn't supposed to die," Arya muttered under her breath, but Jaime
apparently caught it. She spoke the next part louder, "Thousands were dying,
Jaime. The war was going to end with someone dead, and it might as well have
been him."
"He was your blood," he said with a clear confusion and desperation to
understand. "Your brother. I could understand how you could forgive father for
doing what he had to do during the war, but how could you carry it out on your
own?"
"It wasn't like he valued my life," she spat. "How long did you rot in the
North while he was willing to let me rot in the South? He left me in the lion's
den, and didn't expect for me to start roaring like one. He could have made an
attempt to trade for me and Sansa at any time, but, instead, he was content to
keep you as a fucking pet." Jaime went quiet and she could see understanding
bleed into his features alongside pity. It made her angrier for some reason,
but not at him.
"Joffrey could have been flaying me, for all Robb cared. No, all I was good for
was securing him crossing at the Twins. When he broke his 'vow' to Frey, did
you know that he assured him that I would not do the same? Edmure may have
taken my brother's place, but I still would have gotten no choice in the
matter. You'll notice that they didn't marry off Sansa instead. I was the
second born daughter, the wild one, a pawn in their game," she ranted, letting
all the bottled up fury inside her out at once. Daven looked astonished; he
knew her to be a very reserved woman. Her new and passionate display of
emotions that Jaime brought out in her would likely come as a shock to most
that knew 'Arya Lannister'.
"I didn't intend for my mother to die there too," she sighed as the energy fled
from her. "I thought she would stay at Riverrun, but, even if she didn't, I
didn't think they would harm a woman. I was half right; it took her slitting
one of Frey's grandchild's throat to get them to kill her and be done with it.
Frey even sent me a 'condolences' letter and asked for my hand for one of his
sons." She laughed humorlessly at the memory of how tactless the man could be.
"He did his job well though," she mused darkly. "They call it the 'Red Wedding'
now. I had them disguise the assassins as musicians, and they played my brother
off to the sounds of 'The Rains of Castamere'. No one even knows it was all my
idea."
"Good," Jaime said with a swallow and a distracted kiss to Tommen's head, who
was staring at Arya in a way that let her know that he had no idea what she was
talking about. That was a good sign at least.
"Why is that good?" she asked as she slid into a chair.
"Because you're better than that. Let them remember you at your brightest
moment, not your darkest." She smiled; that could apply as equally to both of
them.
***** From This Day Until Their Last *****
Chapter Notes
     My coffee maker broke today, so all chapters today are written with
     either red bull or no caffeine at all. Be prepared.
     Song for this Chapter: Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift (This is gonna
     be a strange fanmix.)
Jaime was in no mood for this today. They had been home at the Rock for a month
and a half now, and the people around him had finally started acclimating to
his presence, so they dodged out of his way as they paced the halls of the
castle. Tommen was missing, and he knew just who was responsible for that.
He felt out of place walking about the castle in finery like what he was
currently wearing; a richly embroidered doublet and red silk shirt. His hair
was long again now, and brushing his eyes in a way he was amazed that he once
missed. His golden hand shone every time it caught the light and he wore a
long, crimson cloak to ward off the cold. It was the first time since they had
been back that Jaime felt like a real Lannister again. It was far more
bittersweet than he remembered.
"Tommen?," he called while he peeked his head around corners. His son was still
missing. Growing annoyed, he rushed up to the Stone Garden. Every tree seemed
to taunt him with the fact that his cub could be behind any one and Jaime still
couldn't find him.
A muffled roar gave him hope, and he ran towards the source only to be
disappointed. He was looking for Visenya, and had found her mate and sister
instead. Aegon and Rhaenys were mating in a secluded part of the garden, and
Jaime threw them a withering glare. They paid him no heed.
"I don't suppose you know where your sister or my son is?" he asked for good
measure, but Rhaenys just turned and snarled at him. Jaime bared his teeth at
her back, and turned on his heel. "At least you kept yourselves hidden. Doesn't
that make Visenya jealous?" he said loudly as he walked away. He knew it
didn't; Arya was always telling him how she wanted more lionesses for her
pride. Apparently the whole thing only needed one male to the rest female.
Lucky beast.
Visenya was the matriarch of the pride though, and the smartest lion among
them. Arya's bond with the animal made her nearly as smart as any man, and
twice as crafty when she wanted to stay hidden. Tommen had grown into loving
their long games of 'hide from Jaime', and, normally, he was happy to indulge.
Today was just not the day. The lioness was pregnant, something Arya had been
delighted to learn, and that made her rather fond of stealing Tommen away for
hours to practice being a mother.
He finally found them in the furthest point of the garden on a cliff by the
weirwood, where the sea crashed against the rocks hundreds of feet below.
Visenya had her massive head resting on top of Tommen's back as he slept
peacefully across her paws. He looked so comfortable that Jaime felt the
annoyance bleed out of him. He still gave Visenya a chastising glare when she
opened her golden eyes to see who had disturbed their nap. She gave a soft
growl of greeting.
"Come on, you," Jaime whispered as he lifted Tommen away from his favorite
playmate. "We're going to be late now." Tommen roused from his sleep long
enough to press a sleepy kiss to Jaime's cheek and fall back against his
shoulder. It had been a long day for the both of them already, and Jaime
couldn't really blame his son for wanting to sleep through the rest. He'd have
him carried down to his room after the ceremony.
Cub in hand, he motioned for Visenya to follow, and half ran to the sept. His
father was waiting on the stairs with an impatient frown. Jaime was supposed to
be here almost an hour ago.
 
===============================================================================
 
"I was beginning to think you had fled," Tywin said with ill-temper. He just
grinned mischievously like he had planned it all along, and passed Tommen to a
servant to take him to his seat. He could see his son wake up and pop his
little blond head over the servant's shoulder; he looked upset that Jaime had
handed him off.
"On the contrary, father, I've been looking forward to this all month," Jaime
said a little breathlessly as he straightened his clothes and hair. In sight of
the sept again, he felt like a pauper.
"Go," his father urged with a glare. "You're meant to be inside the sept."
Jaime glared at him before moving at an unhurried pace inside; he refused to
leap to his father's commands today. Visenya stayed by his father's side, and
he glared at her too; traitor. Tywin had been back for a fortnight and their
relationship as father and son had only worsened. He had stopped letting
himself care after awhile, because it just made him bitter when he saw how easy
it was for Arya to interact with the man.
He had learned quickly here that there were two Aryas: his lover, and the one
everyone else got to see. He liked to think that he got the Stark and they all
got the Lannister, because she was all light with him and darkness with the
rest. Jaime understood the necessity. It was also quickly apparent that she was
the real ruler in this castle. His father had taken the chance to relax in his
advancing age now that he had a proper heir to handle the bulk of the work. He
handled the correspondences with the rest of the realm, and Arya ruled the
West.
That meant that no one could see her at her weakest, and Jaime often found
himself despising her long work hours. She would be up into the night balancing
costs and staring at a map of the West to make sure their borders were well
defended. Stannis was still in rebellion, and, though they were no longer fully
backing the crown, they couldn't let the rest of the Kingdoms know that. It
wouldn't do for them to lose hold of the Capital. Cersei may be mad, but she
still needed money and that was enough to know that they had hold of the
thickest string on the King puppet.
The sept was loud on the inside with all their bannermen and their wives
crowded inside with countless Lannisters. This was a big affair for the West
and one long overdue, given that Jaime had fled marrying in his youth. The
septon seemed to be preening at the chance to officiate such a marriage.
There was one head in the bunch that didn't look like the others as Jaime saw
him and felt a small wave of jealousy flood his heart. It was Arya's blacksmith
friend, looking uncomfortable in finer clothes than he had likely ever worn,
sitting in a pew near the front. More clothes than he usually wore, Jaime
thought hatefully. The man often worked his steel half naked and covered in
soot. That was how he looked when Arya thought to introduce Jaime to him, and
he had been full of suspicion ever since. There was no indication that there
was any feeling between the two of them, but Arya seemed oddly fond of the man.
Fond enough to have him attend her wedding. The man looked up and met Jaime's
eyes and shifted uncomfortably again. Jaime smiled sharper than a dagger and
let some menacing go into his eyes. Arya never said he had to be nice.
The change in music signaled his bride's arrival, and Jaime's gaze snap to the
door where she stood at Tywin's arm. His heart almost gave out when he saw her
and his knees went weak. She was in a gown.
Jaime was certain that she didn't even own a gown, let alone allow herself to
be married in one, but she had proved him wrong. Her hair was no longer
straight as it usually was, and, instead, fell down in dark curls. She had on a
heavy pendant of rubies to match her low-necked crimson gown. He had seen her
in red before, many times, but he had never really noted how astonishingly
beautiful she looked in their colors. The gold embroidery shimmered in the
light as she walked, and Jaime felt as adoring as the crowds looked. He wanted
to fall on his knees there and worship his bride. She looked twice the god than
any of the facsimiles adorning tapestries on the walls.
She wore no maiden's cloak at all, which both amused him and made him sad all
at once. He was the one who should have no cloak to give; she was the Lannister
now and he was just 'Ser Jaime'. Even worse, he wished she had worn a cloak in
Stark colors. He and Ned Stark may have never gotten along, but it sat ill with
his new found honor to have a good man's memory fade because his daughter
wanted nothing to do with the House of her birth. Stark had been the most
honorable man that Jaime had ever met, and he could appreciate it now that he
was older. The man deserved better.
That was a thought for a different day though, as his father gave Arya away.
The septon started the ceremony, but Jaime couldn't hear the words. His whole
world dissolved into Arya's eyes as he looked at his bride. His love; his real
other half. She was smiling, just for him, without a care of who saw. He felt
like the smile on his face threatened to break him in two.
"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection," the septon
repeated and Arya held out her hand to touch Jaime's arm. That's when he
remembered that he had a part in all this too.
Jaime laughed and managed not to sound nervous as his love turned from him and
allowed him to cloak her in the Lannister lion. It fit her gown perfectly, and
he had to assume that she had planned that.
"My Lords and Ladies, we stand here in sight of Gods and men," the septon
continued, and Jaime returned to ignoring him. Arya was smirking at him now,
and their eyes were having a whole conversation of their own. What she would do
to him during the bedding, and what he would do to her. They had been making
love every night, several times in an evening, and they still weren't sure if
she had quickened. He knew his bride wanted a child from him already. He could
feel it when she dug her heels into his hips as he put his seed into her belly.
"With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my Lord and husband," Arya
spoke clear and loud. Jaime's heart swelled so big that he feared his doublet
would bulge on the left.
"With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my Lady and wife," he
replied and swept her into a passionate kiss that belonged better in their
bedchambers than their wedding ceremony. Daven let out a roar of laughter
somewhere in the crowd below them, and Jaime could hear Tommen's little claps.
"That'a boy, Jaime," Daven called, slightly slurred with ale. Tywin turned and
gave him a lingering stare, before turning back to the septon.
The septon smiled and continued, "Here in the sight of Gods and men, I do
solemnly proclaim Ser Jaime of House--." Tywin must have glared at the man
because he stopped short, coughed and corrected, "Ser Jaime and Arya of the
House Lannister to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and
forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them."
The crowd burst into polite clapping, no one overly enthusiastic to have Jaime
for a Lord again, but he paid them no mind. They could all go choke on the
wedding feast for all he cared. He had the one thing he ever really wanted: a
woman that was all his from now until his final breath. And she squeezed his
hand encouragingly as they walked back up the aisle.
***** Darker Yet Before Dawn *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry for the lack of chapters today, a rainstorm managed to knock
     the power out for several hours.
     Also: I have no idea how I managed this, but I had spelled Valyrian
     wrong like, oh, 5 times prior to this chapter. I fixed those, and
     feel very silly. I swear, I knew how to spell it but still messed it
     up.
     Song for this Chapter: Get Thru This by Art of Dying
Their chamber door slammed against the wall as Jaime kicked it open with Arya
in his arms. She had to marvel at his strength given his lack of a sword hand.
They were already fully entangled at the mouth and slightly drunk as the rowdy
guests cheered behind them. The wedding had been a calm affair until late into
the feast, and now the men were hungry for a bedding.
They had motioned to strip her of her gown and carry her up to their chambers,
but Jaime had sent them one sharp smile and lifted her up himself. Her husband
had been delightfully cocky all night after the ceremony, and Arya was loving
every minute. Her feelings about his boasting and bragging had changed once she
was the object of affection being bragged about.
"Get'er out of that dress," someone called, but Jaime just turned to the door
and closed it behind them with a grin.
"For my eyes only," he shouted to the din of disappointed cries, and laughed
drunkenly as he hurried to strip nude. And his eyes did indeed find her a
moment later, as his clothing hit the floor piece by piece. Arya smiled
seductively and unlaced her gown slowly. Her husband growled impatiently and
reached out his good hand to try and speed the process up. Instead, Arya shoved
him onto the bed and forced him to lay back as she straddled his waist.
"Watch," she purred and ran her hands over her body. Her cunt was already
dripping with need, and she was eager to try again for a child. The same way
they had tried last night, but, perhaps, the wedding night was lucky. Tommen
had been asking for a little brother and calling Visenya 'sister' for the last
week straight, and it was making Arya desperate to give him one. Then, she told
herself, she could return to reuniting the Seven Kingdoms with her duty to the
House already done.
Her hands pushed her long gown off her body, and she shuddered at the feel of
the silk on her skin. She didn't like gowns, but she could appreciate how they
made a woman feel. Jaime's darkened green eyes roving every inch of her skin
made her feel the same: like the most beautiful woman alive. He never seemed to
get tired of her; no matter how many times they made love. Arya loved him for
it.
"Stop teasing me," Jaime groaned and ran his hand along her torso to tug at one
of her nipples. She gasped and ground down against his standing cock. It didn't
enter her, but they slid together just enough to make her shudder from the
friction. Jaime lost his patience then and flipped them over; consumed by the
desire to mate.
"Hard, husband," she murmured as he slid into her and made them one. "Until I
can't even think straight."
"I'll give you everything," he whispered in her ear, as he licked the shell of
it.
 
===============================================================================
 
Arya was exhausted in the best possible way the next day. They had made love
well into the morning and slept for the rest, until Tommen had come looking for
them. Their cub wanted to watch them spar, and, though they were tired, neither
of them had the heart to refuse him.
Daven had spotted them sneaking out of the castle and immediately swooped in to
follow. He and Tommen had grown rather close, like a proper uncle for their
boy, and Arya knew Jaime enjoyed his cousin's company. He kept her boys busy
while she sat through long meetings with father and uncle Kevan about the state
of affairs.
Stannis was hunkering down for the winter, but there were reports that the Iron
Bank had chosen to back him for a King. Sellswords were seen in his company,
and Arya knew enough to worry about a second 'rich' force in this war. Stannis
was a desperate man, and he could be driven to dangerous measures if they
prodded him too much. It kept her awake some nights; trying to figure out how
to beat him if he wouldn't meet them in the field.
"Come on, Jaime, you can do better than that!" Daven cackled as Arya beat him
again soundly. Jaime sent him a dark look and retook a fighting position for
the next spar. He had gotten much better over the last month, but the change in
hands was still holding him back. She knew it could take years for him to get
as good as he was, but her husband was as impatient as she was the opposite.
"My Lady," a voice yelled from above them. Arya looked up in annoyance to see a
courier rushing down the steps to the training yard. "A raven came, and we
think you may want to see this."
"Who was it addressed to?" she asked with a sigh as she sheathed her sword.
Jaime took the chance to lean against his and breathe after their intense
fighting.
"No one, my Lady, but it's... Well you'll have to see."
He handed her the scroll and she unraveled it to find it momentarily
unreadable. This wasn't the common tongue, she noticed with surprise, it was
High Valyrian. Who in the hell still wrote in High Valyrian? She could read it
though, with some effort, and her brow furrowed with concentration.
"What is it?" Jaime asked curiously, and Daven carried Tommen over to peer over
her shoulder.
"What in the Seven Hells?" he muttered under his breath; unable to read it.
"My Lord," Arya started aloud. "I am writing... To. Inform? Inform you..." It
was well written, but it had been so long since she had to use this skill that
time had dulled it. She couldn't read the next word, but the one after it told
her all she needed to know. "Targaryen has sent..."
Arya's blood ran cold and she turned on her heel and ran towards the castle.
She needed her father, and she needed him now. Jaime and Daven shouted in
surprise after her, but she didn't slow her pace. If this letter said what she
feared, then preparations needed to be made.
"Fuck," she cursed loudly as her sides burned from running. They had been so
foolish to wait this long to deal with the Targaryen girl. Now it threatened
their position more than anything else ever had. Arya reached her father's
solar and threw the door open violently. "Father!"
Tywin had been reading at his desk, but he stood at the sound of her voice. His
eyes went to the letter in her hand, and then to her pale face. "What news?" he
asked gravely.
"The Targaryen cunt," she started, breathless and angry. "This," she waved the
paper for effect. "Says she's sent her unsullied and one of her three dragons
towards White Harbor out of Pentos."
"That's impossible," her father said calmly. "The we have contacts in Pentos,
and the Pentoshi won't submit to a conqueror Queen."
"And the little Queen stole a march on them. She has her own powerful contacts
there," a Lorathi accent came from the door. Arya's mouth went dry as she
turned to see Jaqen H'ghar standing there, once again wearing Lannister armor,
just as he had been back at Harrenhal.
"Who are you?" Tywin demanded. "How did you get in here?"
"Relax, father," she said softly and met her old friend's eyes. "Valar
morghulis."
"Valar dohaeris," Jaqen answered. "A girl becomes a woman, and she still spends
her days with Tywin Lannister."
"The Targaryen," Arya pressed. "Is this true? Did you send it?"
"No," Jaqen said sternly. "A girl knows better than that. My order cares not
for the politics of Kings and Queens. Yes, the Dragon Queen sends one of her
children, but we are not involved. Not unless we are paid our price."
"Then why are you here?" she demanded. "Why come at all?"
"To warn a girl to place her bets confidently," her old friend said
cryptically. Jaime stumbled into the room as he spoke, panting and looking at
Arya with half panicked eyes. From the wheezing in the hall, she figured Daven
was out there as well.
"Who," Jaime paused to breathe. "Are you?"
Jaqen looked between Arya and Jaime and smiled. "A girl truly becomes a woman
then. My congratulations."
"Just tell me what you mean," she growled in uncharacteristic impatience.
"'Place my bets confidently'? What does that mean, and why would you even care?
The Faceless Men have no reason to warn me at all if they won't be involved in
the politics." Jaime lunged away from Jaqen after that, and her old friend
smiled like he enjoyed it.
"We've been watching a girl grow, and a man was given the honor to deliver our
message," Jaqen said as he stepped back into the darker part of the room. When
he emerged, he was wearing a different face and used a different voice. "Heed
our warning, Arya Stark."
"Lannister," she corrected harshly. Jaqen, or whoever he was, smiled and walked
out. She collapsed into a chair. Pentos wasn't that far from White Harbor by
boat. They would need to move fast, or the Targaryen would get a foothold in
Westeros. The winter might slow them, but if they managed to take hold of the
Neck, the North would be entirely cut off from their support. And the Northern
Lords were ripe for the conquering with their lingering hatred for the
Lannisters.
"What is going on?" Jaime snarled when no one explained.
"Daenerys Targaryen has sent a small army and one of her dragons to White
Harbor, from Pentos," Arya whispered with her head in her hands. "The letter
says the dragon may be as big as Balerion the Dread. We need... We need..."
"Gods," Daven spat from the hallway and Jaime went white.
Rushing footsteps let her know that some of the guards had come to see what the
ruckus was about, so she needed to put on a brave face. She sat up in her chair
and fixed her eyes on the first one she saw. The man froze and looked down at
the ground quickly. Arya informed him in a voice of iron, "Find Maester Volarik
and tell him I've commanded him to call the rest of the banners and the ones
who left following the wedding. Have him send ravens to every hold in the West
commanding them to marshal as many men as they can manage and send them to just
outside Wayfarer's Rest."
The man didn't even spare Tywin a glance as he rushed off. Her father looked at
her with a dark frown and said, "You can't mean to meet her in the field."
"No," Arya conceded. "I mean to arrive before them." She stood and prided
herself in the ability to keep her legs from shaking. "Jaime," she said softly
to her husband. He looked at her with wide, frightened eyes, looking for
reassurance that this couldn't be happening. "Pack our things. I'll be busy
getting all this in order, and we'll be riding at first light."
 
===============================================================================
 
Arya didn't see her husband again until it was late into the evening when she
returned to her chambers. The day had been spent holding council with the
bannermen who hadn't left the Rock yet. No one was happy to hear the news, and
most thought Arya insane for driving their force into the North to face the
Targaryen's dragon head on. She didn't care; if the Dragon Queen took hold of
the North, they may never root her out, and she may come down South with an
army of supporters behind at her back. It would be easier to deal with her
forces now, while she remained across the Narrow Sea, and scare her off sending
the other two dragons at them.
Jaime had packed up all their clothes, and their armor was waiting for them for
the morning. He still looked stunned and horrified though, and she could hardly
blame him. His arms went around her tight as vices the moment she stepped
through the door. She felt the day's strength leave her and she collapsed into
his arms.
"I have no other choice," Arya choked as she fought down her fear. "We have no
other choice." Jaime didn't say anything, but kissed the top of her head. They
slid down the wall together and she crawled into his lap like a child.
"Who will watch Tommen?" he asked eventually.
"We'll bring him to Riverrun; to aunt Genna. She will take care of him well
while we're away," she said into his shirt, muffling her words. They would be
gone so long, and her little cub would be lonely.
"Can we win?" he sounded more like it was a statement rather than a question.
"Of course," she laughed humorlessly. "We'll just need to slay a dragon."
***** Old Friends *****
Chapter Notes
     Sansa is somewhere off with Baelish, if you wonder from this chapter.
     Song for this Chapter: Fine Again by Seether
There used to be a point in his life when the sounds of a bustling encampment
was exciting to him, but that was a time long past. Now Jaime found the noise
to be distracting and upsetting. Tommen didn't seem to like it either, as he
was clinging to the small scrap of Jaime's shirt sticking out of his golden
armor. Visenya, Aegon, and Rhaenys walked at their heels as Jaime carried his
cub towards his and Arya's tent.
They were outside Wayfarer's Rest, but only for the night. They would be moving
on to Riverrun as soon as the sun came over the hills, and Jaime would have to
be parted with his son for who knows how long. He wanted to soak in his
presence before it was too late.
He found Arya hunched over a map with their father at her side. Neither looked
happy, but that was to be expected given the situation at hand. She, at least,
looked up and smiled at them as they entered the tent.
"My little lion pride," his love greeted. "Come to listen to us bicker over how
to get to our destination as fast as possible?"
"More like I've come to make sure you don't skip meals," Jaime japed as he
bounced Tommen in his arms to get a better hold on him. "I don't trust you not
to forgo everything but planning for this upcoming battle." And he had good
reason; they hadn't even made love the night before, because she was busy until
nearly morning. When she had finally climbed into bed, she seemed to be shying
away from his touches, and he took it to mean fatigue. His fears that his new
bride was growing tired of him were assuaged by her passionate kiss in the
morning, so he knew it wasn't that she took issue with him personally.
"Mama," Tommen cried out as he reached his arms out towards Arya. Another
problem with this sudden rush to war was that she had been too busy for their
cub too. And his love knew it, as her face was consumed by guilt and she
snatched their cub away from him. Tommen nuzzled her hair and made a sad
mewling noise; another of Visenya's behaviors rubbing off on him. Their cub
seemed to think he was an actuallion sometimes, and Jaime was perplexed by it.
His father sighed and left the tent at a brisk pace when he realized that Arya
was now thoroughly distracted. "Ignore your grandfather, little one," she
purred. "He's touchy today."
"Today?" Jaime muttered incredulously as he turned to look at the map. Visenya
growled at him in response; the stupid beast liked his father better than Jaime
too. Ignoring her, he ran his eyes over the expanse of terrain between them and
their destination. They had a long way to go until they reached White Harbor,
and it didn't look to be a fun journey. Reports said snow was falling in the
northern half of the Riverlands.
"I had a strange dream last night," Arya started suddenly, and he was curious
about her tone; it sounded pensive.
"About what?" he asked with a tilt of his head.
"I don't really know," she said oddly as Tommen pressed kisses to her cheeks.
She paused to return them threefold. "There were three boys, or young men, and
they were fighting a dragon. The oldest in appearance couldn't have been more
than twenty. He looked determined, but worried. He looked... Just like you. I
thought it was you, for a moment, but he had both hands." Jaime glared at her
smirking face, and she added, "Just as good looking though."
"Me!" Tommen announced boldly, and Arya laughed. It was happier than he had
heard her since receiving that letter.
"Perhaps it was, my little cub," she cooed sweetly. "I'll bet you will look
just like Jaime when you're grown."
"Was that all?" he inquired, oddly curious about this dream.
"No," she said slowly. "The second boy looked as much like you as the first,
but he was so different at the same time. His eyes looked to be a different
color, but I couldn't really tell in the lighting. This one had a giant grin on
his face, like he had been waiting for this moment his whole life, and appeared
almost manic. He was definitely the leader of the three. But the weird thing...
He had one of my swords in his hand, the Wolf, but not the Lion."
"This wasn't a magical dream was it? Do you even have those?" Jaime asked with
growing interest. Maybe someone else would kill the fucking dragon for them.
Surely there had to be a thousand blond haired, green eyed young men in the
Lannister army. The coloring was very common in Lannisport.
"I don't know," Arya replied. "Dreams are difficult. I can't always tell what's
special and what's just my imagination running away from me in my sleep.
Generally, my dreams mean nothing at all. But this one just made no sense. The
dragon though... Gods it looked big enough to swallow a horse whole."
"Balerion the Dread could have swallowed the whole carriage," Jaime pointed
out. "So maybe this one is smaller than that."
"It was the color of cream and breathed golden fire," she detailed. "It was
beautiful in a sinister sort of way." She sounded breathless as she described
the monster, and Jaime hoped that she didn't intend to try and tame the one in
White Harbor. He shot Visenya a dirty look for good measure, and the lioness
rubbed her giant head roughly against his leg.
"What about the third boy?" he asked as he remembered that she hadn't described
the last one.
Arya thought for a moment before responding, "He had dark hair, it looked black
in the shadow of the dragon. He looked the most frightened of the three, but he
seemed to be drawing his strength from the second boy. They looked to be very
close, so I can only assume they were friends. The two blonds may have been
brothers, but I'm not sure."
"I don't suppose there is any chance that you've seen the future, and they'll
kill the damn thing for us?" Jaime asked hopefully.
"I don't see the future like that," she laughed. "It's never that clear. I
sometimes, rarely, will dream something that may indicate the future. Like Ned
Stark standing in the crypts at Winterfell on the night before he died. I never
saw his head roll, but it still would have told me he was going to die if I had
known what I was seeing at the time." She stopped for a second and shrugged.
"Besides, it wasn't White Harbor. It was in King's Landing, on the shores of
Blackwater Bay."
"Mores the pity," he sighed. "I don't suppose your next dream could tell us how
to slay a dragon."
"They were fighting it with swords," Arya said thoughtfully. "But the swords
would hit the scales and without doing much. Each blow wounded the dragon
slightly, but not enough to kill it. Its eye appeared to be bleeding though, so
maybe they aimed for weak spots. Whatever they did, it worked, because my dream
ended with the middle boy holding my sword aloft and it was on fire; the dragon
was dead behind them."
"If only it was that easy," he said wistfully and scratched Visenya behind the
ears.
 
===============================================================================
 
The next day found them at Riverrun, and Jaime under siege from his aunt Genna.
"By the Gods, Jaime, you've finally grown into a man," she crowed as she pulled
him into a tight hug against her ample bosom. "If only Joanna was here to see
it. She would be so proud of you." His father disagreed as Jaime could hear the
low sound of utter disapproval that he made. "Stop being sour, brother," she
snapped at Tywin. "Let me adore my nephew in peace."
"By all means, Genna," his father said coldly and steered his horse around them
"Now let me see this boy of yours," his aunt gushed. Jaime didn't dare refuse
and grabbed Tommen away from Arya to use as a shield. "Look at that face! Just
like his father." Tommen, ever the sweet thing, went happily into her arms
after that. Jaime smiled; it filled both of them with pride when people noted
their similarities. Arya tried to slip around their aunt, but Genna took quick
note of it and chastised, "Don't you try to escape from me, young lady. I don't
believe I've gotten a kiss yet."
"So you haven't, aunt," Arya said genially and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
"To think, my niece married my nephew. I suppose we should have all seen this
coming, but I expected it to be Cersei. A good thing it wasn't; I hear your
sister has lost her mind," Genna said with a 'hrmph'. "Wildfire and letting
that boy King abuse his subjects? To have such shamefulness in our House almost
makes me want to ride for the Capital today and grab her by the ear like the
silly little girl she's proven herself to still be."
"She's evil," Tommen hissed.
"Not evil, sweetling," Genna corrected. "Just stupid."
 
===============================================================================
 
They decided to spend the night at Riverrun, because it was the last real bed
they would see for some time, and they would be riding from dawn until dusk the
next day. Jaime laid in bed, waiting for his wife to finish with her meeting
with father, and frowned in the darkness. Tommen was sleeping peacefully in the
room over, and Jaime almost longed to go in and hold him awhile. Luckily,
before he got that desperate, the door opened quietly and Arya slipped into the
room.
He was silent as she stripped and slid into bed next to him, naked as usual,
and put her head on his chest. Apparently his breathing gave him away, because
she said, "You needn't stay up for me, Jaime."
"I wanted to talk," he said softly. "I wanted to know--."
"Why we've not been making love?" she finished for him and he took in a breath
out of fear.
"Yes," he whispered in a shaky voice. He wasn't sure why the lack of sex was
making him so worried; he had been celibate for years, so a few days of nothing
wouldn't kill him. But they had been having so much of it throughout their
relationship that the disappearance of her passion had left him scared that he
was about to be abandoned again.
The blacksmith had stayed behind at Casterly Rock, so he knew that she hadn't
been bedding someone else. Or at least he thought he knew; it wasn't like Jaime
expected Cersei to be bedding Lancel. Now his mind surged with jealousy at the
thought of the Lorathi that Arya still wouldn't name from the Rock or even his
cousin Daven, who had taken charge of part of their forces as one of her
commanders. He knew, logically, that Daven would never betray him like that,
but Jaime was upset and wanted to have someone to blame.
"I'm afraid, Jaime," Arya said simply in the darkness, so he couldn't see her
face. "I've been hoping so hard that I would quicken each and every time that
we made love, but now... What if I did, and I couldn't fight? What if I did,
and I miscarried because I didn't know? What if I did, and I... There is always
a chance in war... I'm not afraid to die--."
He stopped her right there. "You're not going to die," he snarled. "Not now;
not ever, as long as I breathe. I won't allow it."
"You don't control the future, Jaime," she said, stronger this time. He could
already tell that she was about to shut down any attempts he might make at
convincing her not to fight. And how could he say them with a straight face?
She was a better fighter than he was now, and even he wouldn't back down from
the battle.
"I won't-I won't spill inside you then," Jaime said lamely, trying to take the
conversation away from the talk of death. "I promise."
"Oh Jaime," she sighed and lifted up to kiss him. He let his tongue tangle with
hers and show her how deeply he needed to be one with her again. Her hands
drifted down to his cock and he went hard in an instant. "Then make me yours
again. Remind me of how you feel when you're inside me, brother."
 
===============================================================================
 
They left the next morning, with their party, and their cub in Genna's arms.
Jaime knew his aunt could be trusted to keep Tommen safe, and Arya left Visenya
and her pride behind to play with him, but he still felt like a piece of his
soul was getting left behind. Arya looked the closest to crying that he had
ever seen her, as they hugged their son to their hearts before leaving.
Tommen seemed to understand, though it killed Jaime to see him cry. He had
kissed each of their faces half a hundred times, and made them swear by the
sun, moon, and stars that they would come back for him when the battle was
done. He had done one better and swore by the Old Gods and the New.
The road through the Riverlands was cold and depressing, now that the main
sunshine of their lives had been taken from them. All he could hear was the
sound of hoof beats and clanking metal; everyone was sober and silent. This
wasn't a normal war they were riding off towards; this was a dragon and an army
of some of the best fighters in the world. They may have been able to marshal
30,000 from the Westerlands and Riverlands, but the rest had to be left behind
to guard the West. To defend the city and the coast, they would need to rely on
picking up the City Watch from White Harbor and troops from the surrounding
holds. Moat Cailin was only recently freed from the Greyjoys, and Roose Bolton
held no love in the North for them to capitalize on.
Arya seemed sure that Bolton planned to betray them now that winter was setting
in; thinking the snows would keep the Southerners out. He was only warden of
the North as long as Sansa remained missing and without heir, and, should Sansa
be dead, any children between Arya and Jaime would still have better claim to
Winterfell than Bolton. His ambition would be the death of the man, and Jaime
wasn't sad to hear it. He just hoped that Hoat was somewhere in the North and
made the mistake of crossing his path.
"My Lady, my Lord," a soldier called as he rode up beside them. "You... We may
need your help up here, my Lady. Your talents with the lions in particular."
"Why?" Arya asked, cold as ice with everyone but Jaime lately, and kicked her
horse to ride to the front of their troops. He followed and quickly noted that
the march had stopped for some reason. The soldier didn't answer, and, instead,
galloped off towards the front of the host; a bold move likely made out of
fright, Jaime suspected.
"It's bigger than a fucking horse," a man cried, and another shouted, "Look at
how many there are!"
Now Jaime was deeply curious, so he pressed his horse to go faster. He managed
to get ahead of Arya, and looked back to smirk at her as he made it to the
forefront first. Or he would have, if the voices of the men around him hadn't
alerted him to a grave mistake first, "My Lord, no!" It was too late for that,
because the next thing he knew, his horse was missing its throat. The beast
fell, and Jaime went with it.
"Shit," he yelled aloud as he hit the ground with a slight roll. Luckily for
him, he had been thrown from the saddle and his leg hadn't been crushed. It
would do him ill to be a cripple twice over. His head lifted and he found
himself staring into two giant yellow eyes accompanied with bloodied teeth. He
forgot to be afraid, shocked beyond all reason at what he was looking at, and
familiarity took over as he greeted, "Hello, Nymeria."
***** The Eye of the Storm *****
Chapter Notes
     This one is a tad shorter than some, but the next one is probably
     going to be very long and take me awhile to write.
     Song for this Chapter: Bad Girl's World by Halestorm
Arya leapt from her saddle as she made it to the front and saw Jaime surrounded
by a pack of wolves so large that she couldn't count them. Nymeria was at the
front, and she felt her heart swell with memories.
"Nymeria, leave him," she commanded as instinct took over, but her direwolf
didn't back down. All the wolves around her growled at Jaime, but didn't lunge.
Her husband was kneeling and staring at the wolf three times his size calmly
and without fear. She momentarily stunned. Why had he reacted so badly to
Visenya if Nymera, who was much bigger, was nothing to him? He reached a hand
out and ran it through the fur on her head, and Nymeria seemed as shocked as
Arya felt because she sat back on her haunches and tilted her head at him.
The growling from her pack stopped immediately, and some stepped up to sniff at
Jaime, who continued to pet her direwolf as though he was in no danger at all.
After a moment, Nymeria seemed to judge him friend rather than foe and licked
his cheek. Then all the wolves rushed in fearlessly to examine this newcomer;
none seemed to care about the thousands of men standing before them in the
host.
"I seem to have found your pet, wife," Jaime called from under a pile of
younger wolves. "And she seems to have missed me." Arya just gaped at him and
flicked her eyes between her husband and her wolf.
Nymeria seemed to take note of her after that, and stalked over to her side and
nipped at her fingers. It didn't hurt, and Arya knew it wasn't meant to.
Overwhelmed, she lowered herself to the ground to stare Nymeria in the eyes and
said, "I've missed you, stupid wolf. You always were a pain to control." Her
wolf licked her and howled loudly. Everyone looked up to watch as the rest of
the pack flooded out of the wood. There had to be two hundred among them, and
they all looked to Nymeria for direction. Her wolf just looked back to her and
waited.
Arya took a breath, long and deep, and tried to grab control of their minds. It
wasn't easy with so many; her lion pride only had three to keep a hold on.
Slowly, she started to feel it work and, one by one, their eyes all went grey
like hers as she slid into each of their minds a little bit. Her eyes closed,
and when they opened, she would have bet they were milk white as she was seeing
through Nymeria's eyes. She looked at her frightened looking husband and then
to her own body through her wolf and, sure enough, her eyes were completely
clouded over.
From what she could feel, all the wolves seemed to be willing to submit as long
as Nymeria did, so she prompted Nymeria to give a howl of acceptance. Every
wolf, even the pups, howled back in response and shifted anxiously. They all
awaited her command. So she commanded them to follow, and withdrew from their
minds.
Arya stood, walked over to her husband, and helped Jaime to his feet. The
wolves around him seemed sad at the loss of their new pack member, and they all
fixed her with confused stares. She smiled down at them, happy to have a wolf
pack of her own. A lion pride and a wolf pack, she thought with amusement.
Perhaps her Stark blood was good for something after all.
"Tommen is going to want a pup," Jaime said confidently. "Will it be safe for
him to have one?"
"Yes," she replied and picked up a little one tugging at the laces of her
boots. "They're only half direwolf, so it should be easy enough for him to
tame. What color do you think he'd want?"
"We'll let him pick," her husband declared with a nod and a smile. Arya
returned it and led him to her horse; the pack followed.
"Why didn't you fear her?" Arya asked curious to know. "You were terrified of
Visenya at first."
"Your brother introduced me to his wolf many times during my stay as his
prisoner, and Nymeria might as well be an extension of you. I knew she wouldn't
hurt me," he surmised with a shrug. "I'm glad I wasn't wrong, but my horse
wasn't so lucky."
 
===============================================================================
 
It was a fortnight until they had reached their destination, and Arya was
tired. Jaime was half asleep in the saddle beside her, as they rode into White
Harbor, flags flying proud. The Northerners all glared angrily at them as they
passed, and Arya fought down the urge to snarl back at them like the lioness
that she was. Nymeria did the job for her, and no one was stupid enough to
glare for long.
The city was beautiful, all caked in fresh snow, but that didn't make her any
more eager to be there. They had been unlucky to get caught in the snow on
their way into the North and that left them unable to stop to secure any more
soldiers. They would need to make do with what they had, and it didn't feel
like enough. If the Dragon Queen's forces decided to land at Oldcastle instead
of White Harbor, it definitely would not be.
"Lion scum!" some voice called from the safety of the back of the crowd. Arya
let the ice of her heart cover her features and she held her head high and
proud. She didn't need to let these fools think they had upset her in any way.
The merman banners of House Manderly flew all over the city, as they rode
towards the New Castle. To some, the Manderlys were known as the 'Lannisters of
the North', with their large stores of gold and belief in the Faith. But they
were nothing in comparison to the true force of House Lannister, and Arya
intended to remind them of that today.
Lord Wyman was waiting outside the New Castle, with an enraged look on his fat
face, and Arya fixed him with a cold stare. His brow broke out into sweat,
despite the cold, and Arya could see him flinch as he made a show of looking
over their forces to break her gaze.
"Lord Tywin," he greeted nervously, but loudly, ignoring Arya. "Why have you
come so far North? I received no notice--."
"We sent none," Arya said fluidly as she slid from her saddle and walked
towards him, removing her gloves as she went. She hated when people ignored
her, and nothing made her want to put a man in his place more. "Let's go
inside. We have much to discuss, my Lord." She motioned for them to bring forth
the one prisoner she had thought to bring along, and her men shoved Lord
Wyman's son, Wylis, to the front. "Release him," she commanded, and they
obeyed.
"Wylis!" Lord Wyman cried as his equally fat son was allowed to go to him. She
had made sure that he was well kept and well fed before returning him as a show
of peace. "Thank you, my Lady. I--Who are you?" Arya lowered her hood, and the
man reared back. "A ghost! Lyanna Stark back from the damned grave!"
"Arya Lannister," she corrected, harsher than necessary; the man couldn't know
she had changed Houses. Lord Wyman stuttered an apology and looked between her,
Jaime, and Tywin, who was content to sit back and watch her lead. He liked to
correct her on her mistakes later.
"You've got Ned's look," the man wondered aloud and Arya put her head up high
and walked into the castle without another word. She could hear Jaime behind
her japing snidely, "Look now, my Lord, you've managed to infuriate her three
times in five minutes. You may have taken a new record."
 
===============================================================================
 
"You must be japing," Lord Wyman shouted across the table as Arya informed him
why they had ridden into his city with no warning. "The city is unprepared! If
you had sent notice--."
"If I had sent notice, you could have organized a surrender before I reached
you, and I would be facing Unsullied and Northmen as well as a dragon. I
refused to risk it," Arya said coolly with one hand tapping a meaningless beat
on the wood of the table. Looking bored at the sight of their panic seemed to
unnerve most men, and Arya had mastered the art long ago. "We will bolster your
ranks, our army is 30,000 strong and waiting outside your gates. Surely,
between us, we should have no issues repelling the little Targaryen's splinter
force."
"Splinter... Splinter force?" the man sputtered. "She's flying a dragon towards
my city, and you have no idea when she will arrive! How well will your men
fight when they roast in their armor?"
"You sound fearful, Lord Wyman," Jaime said with a sharp smirk. "Perhaps you
should find a stallion capable of carrying your fat arse and flee. We'll defend
the city, and go home heroes." Arya admired his ability to feign the courage,
since she knew he was even more worried than the lump of a man before them.
They would be doing the fighting, after all.
"I will not be mocked in my own castle!"
"You really believe that this is your castle whilst I am staying within its
halls, my Lord?" Arya threatened casually. "I do not like to repeat myself, but
if you insist: I have 30,000 men outside your walls. I will be making the
decisions here, or you will be taking your leave."
"Your father--," Lord Wyman started foolishly.
"Her father is sitting before you," Tywin finished in his most intimidating
voice. "And you would do well to hear my daughter's commands. They might yet
save your pathetic hide."
Jaime and Daven shared a smirk, and Kevan, who had been silent up until this
point, coughed to hide a small laugh as Lord Wyman turned to stone at the
words. As much as Arya loved hearing it, she still felt outdone by her father's
presence. His legacy commanded so much more respect than she was able to pull
from it. Lord Tywin Lannister was a name that every man pissed themselves when
they heard he was outside their gates, but 'Arya Lannister'? She was just a
little girl playing at war for anyone outside the West.
"If the letter was truthful, and my source backing it up was correct, then her
forces should be sailing into the Bite in under a fortnight. We must prepare. I
want the walls stocked with barrels of pitch and every archer in the city
should never want for arrows. Make sure the wall separating your harbors is
best defended. Surely, my late brother would have equipped you well to handle a
siege by sea, though one never came," she commented lazily, as though it was
all coming naturally to her. The effect was immediate, and Lord Wyman fixed her
with a cautious stare and nodded. Confidence could unman someone as well as
cruelty.
"Good; see to your defenses and I will see to putting men along the shore. The
snow should hide the red of our tents quickly enough, and our encampment will
hide behind the dunes. They shouldn't be able to see what we've got on the
ground until they land."
"And the dragon?" her uncle asked calmly. "How do we intend to bring it out of
the sky?"
"I haven't decided," Arya conceded. "I'll need to see it first, but prepare
siege weapons."
"You think it will be that big?" Lord Wyman questioned with his hand trembling
on the tabletop for all to see. "Siege weapons could destroy a whole ship if we
managed to hit them, but we don't have many and not enough ammo. A flying
dragon will be harder to hit. Surely it couldn't be big enough that we wouldn't
miss. It would have to be bigger than one of their ships."
"Likely bigger," she said as she looked away and hoped she was wrong.
***** Long Live Us *****
Chapter Notes
     This consumed my evening. A rare multi POV chapter.
     Songs for this Chapter (take your pick):
     Adrenaline by Shinedown
     Pirates of the Caribbean Theme covered by Epica
     Black Sails Theme by Bear McCreary (This goes with Arya's speech.)
     Part of Me by Katy Perry
     Saeed by Infected Mushrooms
     Or pretty much anything off the Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance
     soundtrack.
It felt too soon to actually be happening, Jaime mused as his eyes settled on
the dark wings on the horizon. They had only been preparing for three days, and
it was already time for the test. His right arm ached where his sword hand had
once been. How was he supposed to fight this? He'd be a dead man before the day
was out.
"Gods help us all," Daven prayed from Jaime's right. Arya was silent as the
grave on his left with father to hers; they both wore ominous frowns. His
cousin continued muttering, "I've not even had any sons." Jaime counted himself
lucky in that regard. He had Tommen to remember him if he was to meet his end,
and to carry on his bloodline, if not his name.
"Alert the men," Arya commanded the gaping guards behind her with an unshakable
confidence. He envied her; she faked it so fucking well, he thought jealously.
"Get them in position along the beach to deal with the Unsullied. I'll figure
out something to handle the dragon."
"How long do we have?" Jaime asked and his voice sounded dead already to his
ears. The real answer to that question was: not enough time.
"Two, maybe three hours, if the wind stays against them. The dragon will be
here sooner. An hour and a half at best," she replied as she turned from the
balcony and headed off to get into her armor. Jaime followed with one last look
at the deceivingly tiny black beast out at sea. They walked in silence to their
chambers, and Arya didn't even collapse as he had expected when the door shut
on them. She was already ready for the battle, he could tell, because her fear
was gone from her face and behavior. His wife was already ready for the do or
die.
"What do we do?" he asked, feeling foolish for always needing to look to her
for guidance. He wanted to be the one with the plan for once.
"I'm going to kill it," she said smoothly as she pulled her armor on piece by
piece. His heart stopped at the determination in her tone.
"You'regoing to kill it? Don't you mean 'we're' going to kill it?"
She looked him full in the eye as she clarified, "I said what I meant Jaime."
She didn't look to be japing, and Jaime knew that meant she was completely
serious. His jaw dropped and his heart began to race. She had to know that was
a suicide mission. He couldn't lose her like that.
"No," Jaime growled. "No you can't be serious. We have siege weapons. We'll
knock it out of the fucking sky."
"I can tell already from the way it moves that we won't be able to hit it. We'd
never get a clear shot, and, even if we did, it looks to be fast enough to
dodge. And once it's on the ground, then what? Someone will need to kill it;
the arrows won't pierce its scales. It will have to be swords or pikes, and I
can't trust anyone else with this job," Arya explained, and Jaime was at least
thankful that she didn't sound excited about it. It gave him hope that he would
be able to convince her not to go through with it.
"Anyone else, please. Arya, my love, sister, anyone else," he pleaded, falling
to his knees before her in a way he would do for no one else. His hand clutched
at hers and he brought it to his lips desperately. "Not like this. Don't leave
me yet."
"I have to do this, Jaime," she whispered regretfully. "I just know that I have
to do this."
She had been so distant for the last few days, and Jaime often found her waking
from her dreams with a start, drenched in sweat. There was something she wasn't
tell him, and he wanted so much to know what it was, but he hadn't pried. He
thought that she would tell him in time, but it never came up.
"Just tell me why," he breathed and put his head against her thigh. "I don't
understand."
"Neither do I," she murmured and slid down to join him on the floor. "I'm
sorry, Jaime. I just know I need to do this. I had a feeling for the last few
days. Fate just seemed to be aligning this way, for some time now, and I wanted
to ignore it. Now that I've seen it, I know I can't let anyone else die like
that for me. No one is better than I am, so why would I ask someone else?"
Arya cupped his face in her hands and smiled in a way that wasn't quite sad,
but not happy either. "How can I ask men to follow me through the Seven Hells
and back, if I'm willing to hide behind high walls and not fight for them? The
men are terrified of that beast, Jaime, but I know how to fight through fear."
"You don't need to die for them, Arya," he begged. "No one will think less of
you."
"You're right," she agreed in a very serious voice, one that had him listening
intently. "But they'll think higher of me if I manage to kill it. I could win
the North's everlasting support, by winning White Harbor today, and beat back
the Dragon Queen for years. No one would ever dare cross us again, and we could
add 'Dragonslayer' to the family titles."
"Fuck the titles," he spat. "Fuck the legacy. This isn't about that! This is
about me losing the love of my life to dragonfire. I won't sit idly by while
you throw your life away for father's dream of being the greatest House of all
time."
"You think this is about father's legacy?" she asked softly and caressed his
cheek. "No this is much bigger than that, Jaime. I need to beat her back and
frighten our enemies. I won't be able to fight them all through the winter, and
I need to make a show of force now. If I fail here today, we're all going to
die by dragonfire anyway, and I will lose so much more than just my life."
"I don't understand," Jaime demanded again. "Why? What more is there to lose?"
"Tommen," she said gravely. "All of our armies. Unless I can get that dragon on
the ground, it could fly over top of us and roast them alive. If I can get it
away though, and, wound it at least, then we could have time to push back the
Unsullied and maybe land a hit with a siege weapon. Once the Targaryen's army
is out of the way, they could finish off the dragon. But, make no mistake, if
we do not win here, it won't matter. She'll gain a foothold, and she will
conquer the Seven Kingdoms."
"How do you know that?" he asked angrily; he wasn't willing to give up on this.
"She could find nothing but rejection here and decide to return to Slaver's Bay
where she already conquered several cities. The snows will keep her up North
all winter."
"Dragons don't care whether there is snow on the ground, Jaime," Arya said with
a sigh. "She will fly her three fucking dragons to Casterly Rock and burn
Lannisport. We may be able to hold out at the Rock, due to the nature of our
castle, but not forever. She could wait and starve us out. Then who stands
between her and the Iron Throne? Joffery? Stannis? Practically no one at all,
and then we'll have another Queen who believes in burning her enemies alive."
"Relax, my love," she continued after a moment of quiet. "I refuse to die
today. I won't let it happen. I've already seen it all in a dream."
"You said your dreams didn't work like that," Jaime pointed it out miserably. A
conversation earlier in the week had informed him that her magic would likely
be all but useless against a dragon, so he didn't even have that hope.
"This one did," Arya said with a whisper and a squeeze of Jaime's good hand.
"Now get into your armor. We'll need to get ready."
 
===============================================================================
 
Arya felt like a monster for not telling him the whole truth, but she knew what
Jaime would say if he knew, and she couldn't afford him interfering. She had
dreamed of this, for the past several nights, and now she knew for sure what it
all meant. It felt like two little flames had taken up residence inside her,
and they both glowed with power. Power that needed to be fed from the heart of
a dragon, or so her dreams indicated. Unfortunately, the dream failed to
mention if she was going to survive this encounter, but it didn't really
matter. Either she lived, and the dragon died, or the dragon lived and she died
one way or another. It was something that she wouldn't, couldn't let happen
anymore. There was no other option; Arya had to win.
"I will bet it all," she mouthed to no one, willing Jaime to understand what
she couldn't say. "To win it all back double." Arya had come up from nothing at
all. She was born a Lord's second daughter and then became an orphan of
'traitor' blood. When she had met Tywin, she could have kicked and screamed and
been thrown to the dogs, but, instead, she convinced him to raise her up as his
own. She had, little by little, bet everything many times over and won each
one. Now was when it mattered, and she would not back down from the challenge.
Not anymore; not with her whole future on the line.
Her dreams had been horrible sights to behold until she began dreaming of
winning. First she saw what was at risk if she lost: Lannisport ablaze,
Casterly Rock blackened and crumbling, Jaime's dead body hunched over their
son, and silver blond hair and violet eyes on the Iron Throne. Then she saw the
battle, and how to win. Arya knew already what it was going to take, and she
was prepared to do it.
It helped to make her feel more confident; if there was only one option, then
that's what would happen. Arya never lost.
 
===============================================================================
 
They walked out, both in shining armor, to address the troops. She could see
the dragon fully now, and it was huge beyond reason. Jaime swore and said,
"Gods it is Balerion the Dread." Arya had to agree; she had seen Balerion's
skull in the dungeons of King's Landing, and this monster was most certainly
the same size. Oddly enough, he was the same color, and that gave her some
hope. Her most recent dreams featured the same creature, black and red with
black fire, a proper Targaryen dragon. She killed the same beast in her dreams.
Nymeria growled low in her throat beside them, and Arya ran her gauntleted hand
through her fur to calm her. She and her pack would be with the defense; any
excess people or animals around the dragon would just be collateral damage.
The commanders and troops were waiting for her address below the wall, on the
ground, and she stood from above. Daven fixed her and Jaime with a nervous look
and tossed his head and great mane backwards towards the quickly advancing
dragon and ships of Unsullied. Arya ignored it and scanned her eyes over their
forces. It would be enough, she decided, as she could see how well positioned
they were to deal with the Unsullied as they came ashore.
Her father and uncle Kevan walked up behind her and she knew it was time. With
a deep breath, she began to shout, "My Lords, commanders, and men, I know you
look upon the beast before you and feel fear in your hearts. Don't despair; I
won't ask you to kill it." A few laughed nervously in the crowd, but most just
kept staring at her expectantly.
She paced slowly along the wall as she continued, "This woman, the Targaryen
child who fled with her brother when my husband and father put an end to the
reign of her father, Aerys the Second of his Name, The Mad King, now presumes
to return to Westeros to rule over all of us. She would see your Liege Lord's
head on a spike for the bravery to bring down a man who had once been his close
friend. She would see my head on a spike for the sake of being a daughter to
one of the men who rose against her father. She would see my husband's head on
a spike for saving the city of King's Landing, and all those within from
Aerys's Wildfire."
A few of the men murmured at that, but Arya paid them no mind as she went on,
"She would see my son dead for the sin of being a Lannister." Her father gave
her a peculiar look, but she ignored him. "She would see your sons dead for the
sins of being the sons of our bannermen. She would rule over your wives and
daughters and children, telling them you were traitors to the crown that never
belonged to her in the first place, and they would mourn you in secret. She was
born at sea, and has no homeland to call her own, so she hopes to come steal
ours."
"Some of you are Northmen, some of you are from the Riverlands, and others are
of the West, but, today, you are all brothers in arms. Put aside your petty
differences and hatreds, because today you're not fighting your neighbor. You
are fighting to keep the daughter of a mad man from coming and claiming her
'birthright'. You are fighting to keep Westeros free of the tyranny of House
Targaryen," she cried to the sound of applause. "You fight for the chance to
fight your enemies a different day. This woman isn't this House's or that
House's enemy; she is enemy to all those who live and breathe in Westeros. She
wants to conquer all of us equally."
The men were yelling encouragements now, and her family looked on with proud
expressions, but Arya couldn't stop yet as she swept a hand out towards the
sea. "Stand with me today, and stand with me tomorrow, because you will see it
dawn. We will be victorious here today, and, together, we will rebuild the
Seven Kingdoms. United in peace and stronger than ever before. Fight now for
your families and for yourselves, not your craven King who hides behind his
mother's skirts and massacres children. We will see our Kingdoms whole again,
but not under the Dragon Queen's rule."
Arya took a deep breath and made one final yell, "As long as I stand, I will
never stand for my people burning alive. I will break our enemies down until
only dust remains, and then I will scatter them to the wind. Stand firm and
strong, and do not break the line. Do not give way to allow them a foothold in
our realm. What do these 'Unsullied' know of our winters? What does Daenerys
Targaryen know of our Houses? Today we will give the little Dragon Queen her
first lesson in the workings of Westeros: cross us if you dare."
She turned from them as the cheers erupted across a force thirty thousand men
strong, shaking the castle's stones as she walked towards her father, head held
high and fire in her eyes. Tywin looked at her, and smiled. It was like being
struck by the hand of a God, and Arya felt her heart speed up even further.
"You make me proud," he said simply, sincerely, and put his hand on her
shoulder.
"If I die today," she said under her breath, so Jaime wouldn't hear. "Tommen is
my heir."
"I will see it done," her father agreed and let her pass.
 
===============================================================================
 
Jaime knew at that moment that he had stolen the hand of a very important woman
away from thousands of suitors. He had somehow come to marry the real Queen of
the Seven Kingdoms, and he hadn't even noticed until now. She was every inch
what Joffrey only claimed to be: a ruler.
Arya walked away from the thunderous, almost deafening applause that the
Unsullied were sure to hear, like it was nothing more than a chat with a
servant. Jaime, amazed, went to follow her, but a hand on his shoulder stopped
him short. His father was looking at him, sternly compared to the smile he had
just given Arya so freely. Jaime had never seen his father smile in his whole
life until that moment, but it seemed so meaningless when he could hear a
dragon roaring from the bay.
"I expect you will be going with her to slay the dragon," Tywin stated and
Jaime was struck by it. He had never even considered trying to help her slay
it. What was he going to do with his missing hand? Still, he nodded. "If she
doesn't come back alive, do not bother doing so yourself."
He felt gutted for a moment, a bare second, before his blood surged in furious
rage. "I will do as I please, not as you command me, father. You may notice,
I'm not a child anymore. Now get out of my way; we've got a dragon to attend
to." Jaime shrugged the hand off his shoulder and stalked away after his wife,
without a single care as to how his father received his words.
Arya must have heard it, because she turned to give him a wide stare with a
lifted eyebrow as they turned the corner. He just shrugged again, and smiled
more cockily than he actually felt. "I don't suppose you need some help?" he
asked good-naturedly.
His love laughed and said, "Oh don't worry, I always intended to have you come
with me. We'll both be heroes."
"Or at least we'll die together," Jaime finished, still grinning.
With that, they rushed towards the tower furthest out into the bay. It was as
close as they would be able to get to the dragon, who was now swooping low over
the water and breathing black fire that boiled the sea. Jaime could almost feel
the heat from the breath, it was so close now. He could make out some features
on it; it was black with a red spine and horns and blood red eyes. It looked
like it had flown right off the Targaryen banner. And, Gods, was it huge beyond
all compare. Their largest work horse could have ridden right down its gullet.
Arya was staring at it, as the sound of its beating wings grew louder.
Suddenly, he heard her laugh and turn to the remaining guard on the tower, the
only Northman who had been brave enough not to flee already, and commanded,
"Get me a bow and some arrows. The best you can find. Now."
"I thought you said that arrows wouldn't do anything?" Jaime hissed as it
became increasingly apparent that this dragon would be close enough to burn
them in minutes. Their position on the tower put them at level with the
monster, and the walls weren't high enough to conceal them. "The scales--."
"I'm not aiming for the scales," Arya replied with a sharp, confident grin.
"My Lady," the guard cried, breathless, as he rushed back up the tower
clutching a bow and quiver full of arrows. Jaime was impressed; the man had
brought back a rather fine bow.
"Dragonbone," Arya declared with an approving smile. "Good, this will do. Now
go tell someone to have our horses saddled and pass the word along to open the
gates."
"O-Open the gates, my Lady?" the man stuttered.
"Yes, do you think the dragon is going to stop at a closed gate? The shore is
well defended and you can have them shut it after us, but we'll need to get
out," Arya said with some annoyance. "Now go." The man was smart enough to flee
after that.
"How are you going to hit it?" Jaime asked nervously now that they were alone.
Arya didn't answer him, but waited. Jaime looked between her and the
approaching dragon several times before settling his eyes on her; she still
didn't draw. "You could take a few practice shots," he suggested desperately,
which she met with a glare. The dragon was close enough now that Jaime could
smell the sulfur of its breath and see steam rising off of it in the cold
morning air.
"Now," Arya said finally, and drew... and released. She didn't pause, and she
certainly didn't aim. And then she turned around and left.
"What?" Jaime cried.
"Never hold," she said as she rushed down the stairs of the tower. A horrible
roar filled the air and Jaime turned to see the dragon reeling in the air like
it was going to crash to the ground; its eye had an arrow straight through it.
Gaping for a mere second, he turned and ran after his wife, who he found
already in the saddle. "Hurry," she called as she galloped away without waiting
for him at all.
"Seven Hells," he growled and lunged into his own saddle and kicked the horse
to a gallop. He had picked one hell of a woman, for sure.
A crash that shook the entire city, scattering dust from the towers, and
setting the men to cry out in exultation alerted Jaime that the dragon had,
indeed, fallen from the sky. Jaime felt emboldened, and brave again. Like a
teenager off to fight his first real battle. Like he wasn't riding against a
beast seventy times his size with one hand and no experience with this. Seeing
Arya, calm as ever, pull a dragon from the sky had filled his veins with fire
and courage. It gave him hope that they could do this. As long as they were
together, he wouldn't let them fail.
The streets were lined with people cheering them on as they rode out as quickly
as their horses would take them, and the gates were open as Arya had ordered.
Jaime spotted the exhausted, collapsed guard from the tower by the gatehouse,
and he made a note to have him knighted for this. And now, he felt like he
would survive to see it happen.
Outside the city, the snows were thick, but not as bad as they could have been.
Arya had it all cleared each morning to prepare for this, and the dragon had
fallen on a part of the land where no snow currently lay. Jaime hoped that made
the landing even worse for the beast, who seemed dazed even from a distance.
He looked to his wife, and saw her grinning and leaning forward in her saddle.
Like this was her true calling, and Jaime couldn't even believe he had thought
to deny it to her just an hour ago.
"I hope you have a plan," he called with laughter that seemed manic.
"Don't die," she returned with a laugh of her own. "Don't get breathed on."
That actually seemed like it would be easier than expected, because the dragon
appeared to have fallen onto a tree that punctured one wing and seemingly
pinned it to the ground. It was moving its head around sluggishly as they rode
in close as they dared, and hopped off their horses. No need for good warhorses
to die.
"It's rather wounded," Jaime pointed out gleefully. "Perhaps we've already
won."
"I don't think so," Arya said with a smirk, and, with no more warning, drew
both her swords and charged the beast on foot. That is when Jaime's fear kicked
back in as he saw her duck and weave under a massive clawed foot that rose up
to crush her, and then slide over the other to get to the dragon's blind side.
All the bravery fled from him, but the fire in his veins stayed and that was
enough to spur him forward.
The dragon was flailing as Arya sliced at its side with her steel, so Jaime
thought to try his hand on the side pinned to the tree. This was, in hindsight,
a bad idea as the dragon whipped around and let forth a torrent of fire that
missed him by a foot and set the tree ablaze with black and red fire. Angry at
having missed, it swung around again to try another breath, but Jaime slid
between the body and tree around to its backend.
"Jaime, no," Arya cried out from the other side, and Jaime quickly learned why
as the tail, long and sinuous, was thrashing about wildly. It whipped just
above his head, leaving him disoriented from the sound, and the next thing he
heard was it crashing down just in front of him. Confused, and lucky beyond
measure, Jaime tried to run around to the side where Arya was, but the tail
came down again blocking his path. It moved, fast as lighting, towards Jaime's
feet in a perfect sweep and he instinctively jumped. The soles of his greaves
just barely caught the scales and sent Jaime tipping forward towards the
ground, but he managed to recover with a roll that left him on the proper side
of the dragon.
"Very close," Arya breathed as the dragon swung its huge head towards them.
They both lashed out and Arya managed to slice through part of its horn, though
Jaime's blade was all but useless against the scales. His wife gave him a quick
look and said, "Sheath your sword." He did so, and she tossed him her left
blade, the Lion, and continued to fight with the Wolf.
He would have marveled at the lightness of the blade, at its perfect killing
potential, but the dragon was angry and flailing harder at every hit. It
managed to stand slightly to free the wing it had trapped under its body, and
they both had to close in near the head to avoid the now flapping wing. Arya's
hair was hitting her face wildly from the wind created by the wing, and she had
to look away for a moment to clear her vision. It was then that the dragon
managed to wrench the tree it was pinned to free from the earth and turn fully
towards them. It's mouth opened, and Jaime could smell the sulfur breath and
feel the heat of its fire. If it breathed, they were dead, and all for not.
Fearful of losing his wife, of losing their fight, he lunged forward with a
powerful yell and shoved the blade right through the soft part of the dragon's
lower jaw and up into its snout, effectively pinning it closed. Fire poured out
of the sides, but at angles that directed it far from Arya and Jaime, who were
now down one sword.
The beast, however, seemed to notice it was losing this fight, and began to
flap harder than ever with its damaged wings. The power alone was making up for
the holes in one wing and the tree embedded in the other, and it began to lift
off the ground.
"Not today," Arya screamed and threw herself on its back. Jaime shouted
incomprehensibly in surprise and followed her, barely clinging to some of the
spikes in time to secure himself before it launched into the air clumsily.
"What now?" he called, as he clung for dear life. The dragon was flying
erratically, and Jaime could see the Unsullied landing on the beach on the
other side of the bay.
"We land, in one piece or many," Arya responded as loud as she could over the
beating of its wings. She inched up its neck, pushed back by the wind, and
tightened her legs around it and swung down towards its throat. Jaime's eyes
went wide, as he could hear her yell with effort and felt the dragon lurch
violently in the air. Arya's legs started to slip, and, as though the world was
moving five times slower than usual, he could see her life flash before his
eyes. She was falling, his wife, his love, and if he let go to grab her, he
would fall too. So that's exactly what he did, as he threw his hand out and
released his grip on the spikes of the dragon's back. He managed to get her by
the ankle right as she started to fall, and he was dragged forward by her
weight. Together, they were slipping off the back of the dragon, fifty to
seventy feet in the air, and now they were at risk of hitting the beach, where
it appeared the dragon was crashing towards.
The slide felt slow and seemed to be taking forever, and Jaime was sure that it
was some heightened state before death causing it. Until, that is, Arya yelled
for him to pull her up, which is when he realized that his armor, and the laces
on his golden hand, had caught the spikes and stopped their fall. With an
inhuman strength that he didn't even know he possessed, he pulled her up,
armor, sword, and all. His wife gasped and held onto him as the dragon fell to
the ground with them on its back. Her sword was flaming against the dragons
scales, and Jaime thought it looked even more beautiful like that. But not as
beautiful as Arya looked, hair everywhere, her own blood on her armor and cuts
on her face, but a smile just for him.
The impact of the dragon on the sand jarred him, but not as badly as he was
expecting because they both were thrown onto its leathery wing and bounced off
into the sand as the dragon slid further along the coast. They laid there in
the sand for a moment that felt like an hour, with Arya still in his arms, and
he realized all at once: they were alive. The dragon, he spared a look at,
wasn't moving, and they were alive. They had killed a dragon, and they were
alive.
The world around them was oddly quiet, as Arya stood first, and squared her
shoulders. Jaime walked over to the dead monster and found the Lion still
sticking out of its jaws, he pulled it out and it blazed as brightly as its
twin. He handed it to her with a grin that threatened to split his face, and
pulled his own sword from the sheath. Together, triumphant, they walked over
the dune where a thousand Unsullied were gathered on the beach and ten thousand
Westerosi were gathered on the hills. They all looked at them, and Jaime
noticed that the fighting hadn't even begun yet. Arya laughed brightly, and
held her swords to the heavens.
The cheers from earlier did the ones they greeted them with now absolutely no
justice as the roar of the army shook the ground, the castle, and the trees
around them. The Unsullied seemed to realize what they had just gotten into, as
some began to flee back to the boats. Arya made one wave of her sword in to
signal the word 'loose', and hundreds of flaming arrows flew from the towers
and onto the boats, lighting them on fire.
With no escape route, and no dragon, the Unsullied quickly resigned themselves
to their fate and rushed the front lines. Arya made another motion 'charge',
and their men greeted the foreigners with pikes. They cast each other an eager
glance, and ran down the dune to join in the combat. If a dragon didn't do them
in, a bunch of already defeated eunuchs wasn't about to.
 
===============================================================================
 
When the battle was over, Arya had never felt such fatigue in her whole life,
but they had won. Jaime lifted her into his arms as they made it back to the
castle in one piece, and Daven cheered drunkenly behind them; their cousin had
drunk almost an entire barrel of ale as soon as the fighting was done. Tywin
was waiting inside, with an almost disbelieving look at her flaming swords.
Their fire was petering out, but the blades were still red hot. The inside of a
dragon's heart and mouth seemed to have no ill effects on Valyrian steel, which
was forged by dragon breath in the first place. Lord Wyman looked like he was
going to piss himself at the sight of them.
"I see you've succeeded," her father congratulated. "You'll be remembered for
this for centuries."
"We will be remembered," she corrected with a smile at Jaime. "I would have
died if not for him. So make your peace."
"So we shall," Tywin agreed with another smile, the second on the same day, and
placed his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "Today, you've both made me proud." Her
husband gaped like a fish, and their father walked off to deal with the
politics side of war.
"He smiled twice today?" Jaime asked incredulously. "Perhaps we did die, Arya."
"Mm, I think he's just pleased," she laughed. "Think of what everyone will say
about our House now: The Dragonslayers."
"It's got a better ring to it than Kingslayer for sure," Jaime japed.
"I thought," she said carefully, running a finger along his jaw. "That perhaps
we'd let the children go by that title. I personally like Kingslayer, and I
think 'Dragonslayer Twins' is a good legacy to give to our sons."
"Oh and you're so sure we'll have twins?" Jaime teased with a kiss to her
forehead.
"Quite, since they're in my womb right this moment."
Jaime laughed and then he seemed to understand what it was she was saying,
because the next words out of his mouth were, "What did you just say?"
***** A Life Full Circle *****
Chapter Notes
     This story is at the same time almost done and yet far from over.
     There is a significant time skip ahead, that I may just break into a
     sequel and wrap this story up before it happens. I'd just continue
     writing in a new story, so that they could be read back to back
     without the need for a disorienting time jump in the middle. So
     feedback if you'd prefer to see it all lumped under one name rather
     than broken into two.
     Song for this Chapter: Centuries by Fall Out Boy
Jaime was furious with her after that, but it was the comforting type of angry.
He was clearly floored by her announcement, and had dragged her up to their
rooms immediately afterwards. He was intermittently growling and turning around
suddenly to run his hands over the armor on her stomach with a gentleness that
amused her greatly.
"They're safe, Jaime," she assured him with a smirk. "I can still feel their
lives inside me. Before the battle, they were just tiny flames of magic and now
they're both roaring fires. The dragon's magic was strong, and now that magic
belongs to me." Arya shrugged and added, "Or to us, I suppose."
"You could have miscarried!" Jaime snarled in terror as he kicked open their
chamber door. "You could have died."
"But I didn't," she purred and began stripping her armor away. "I knew I
wouldn't, because I wouldn't allow it to happen."
"Just a few weeks ago you were afraid of this," her horrified husband asserted.
"You said so yourself. Why the change? Why didn't you tell me that you already
knew?" And then he frowned even deeper and said, "And why haven't I been coming
inside you for the last two weeks then?"
"You're worried about that?" she laughed as the rest of her armor fell away,
leaving her in normal clothes. With a mischievous smile, she went to help Jaime
out of his armor as well. Arya couldn't recall a time in her life where she
wanted to fuck more than she did right now. "I could only feel them as of a few
days ago. I suppose your seed took hold back at the Rock, maybe on our wedding
night, and I just couldn't feel them until they had grown. I've been so busy
that I didn't even notice the signs."
Jaime took that as a cue to examine her, so he pulled her shirt over her head
and started looking at every inch of her skin. Arya purred deliciously as his
hands ran over her belly and then her sensitive breasts. They were already
beginning to swell, and it made his touch almost unbearably arousing. Her hands
sped up on loosening his breastplate, as he furrowed his brow and kept touching
her everywhere.
"And you're sure?" he asked for the hundredth time.
"Unequivocally," she assured as his armor came loose. "Now, brother, fuck me
until I scream."
"Gods," her husband gasped. "What in the Seven Hells did that dragon do to
you?" It was a question that didn't need an answer, because Jaime was as hard
as she was wet. Fighting filled their blood with need, and Arya wasn't about to
sit idly by while her husband was right here in front of her, just waiting to
be seduced.
She dropped to her knees and kissed along the leather of his breeches where it
covered his cock. His eyes met hers and she reveled in the darkness of his
emerald gaze; he wanted her badly. Now they weren't coming together to make a
child, they were coming together to celebrate their success on the battlefield
and off it as well. Their son would have siblings, and the twin lives they
created inside her were flourishing. Sons, she could tell.
Her magic had never felt so strong, and every fire in the castle roared with
life as Jaime gave into her lusty request. It tingled in her fingertips as his
lips touched her skin and burned in her belly as his cock slid into her cunt.
It poured from her like water as she came, with his seed filling her uselessly,
and her fingers dug into Jaime's neck. His blood flowed down his back as her
nails broke skin, and, distantly, she noted the cuts on her hands from fighting
all day had opened as well. Their blood mixed together as it ran along his
skin, and Arya thought it looked lovely in the candlelight.
Their lust was so potent, so all consuming, that Jaime recovered even before
she was done reeling from the first release. He continued thrusting into her,
shaking the bed with the force of their lovemaking, and Arya cried out from the
pleasure that was almost too much to bear. Her lover growled possessively as
she could feel her fingertips heat up and probably sear his skin. If she hadn't
been so lost in her own passion, she would have known to be worried; she had
never lost control of her magic before. But Jaime was pushing her over the edge
again, and this time only the solace of sleep waited afterward.
 
===============================================================================
 
She woke slowly the next morning, feeling warm and alive, but drained from the
previous day's activities. Jaime had his arm thrown over his waist and his hand
rested on her belly, where their children were growing inside her womb. She
smiled and allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of their blaze of magic within
her. Their sons would inherit her blood, and her magic with it.
Arya laid back down amongst the pillows and sighed blissfully. That's when the
first inkling that something was wrong set in, and she puzzled over what it
could be. She wasn't wounded, and her children were burning brighter than even
the previous day, so it wasn't that. Her head turn to look at Jaime on her
left, whose face was pressed into the pillows and his golden hair spilled
everywhere. He was breathing evenly and his arm was tight around her waist,
but, somehow, she knew it was something with him that was wrong.
Her eyes narrowed as she ran them over what skin she could see; there was dried
blood on his back, but that was from the night before. His skin glowed in the
morning light, and his hair was brighter than she had seen it in some time, so
he looked healthy enough.
Then it occurred to her all at once. He was on her left, which meant the arm
around her was his right. Her eyes went to his hand, whole and unblemished,
resting on her stomach. She grabbed it up gently and ran her fingers over every
digit. It was smooth, and barely sword roughened at all, but it was there. Her
eyebrows went into her hair as she reached over to shake him awake.
"Jaime," Arya hissed. "Jaime."
"Mm?" he hummed as his head came up from the pillows and Arya realized that it
was much more than a new sword hand that she was dealing with. "What is it,
sister?" he asked in a half asleep, totally mischievous tone. It suited his
face even better now than it usually did, because his face was young and
unlined. Jaime was a far cry from being old, but the man, no the boy, before
her appeared to be the same age as herself. He finally took note of her shocked
face and opened his eyes more fully, they were brilliantly green. He repeated
with insistence, and worry crept into his voice, "What? What's wrong? Is it the
baby--." He lifted himself up and staggered slightly as he misjudged his right
arm's length now that it had a hand. Funny, she thought distantly, how quickly
he had adapted to not having one after a lifetime of being whole.
Jaime lifted his right hand to his face with horror, disbelief, and excitement
warring on his features. He opened and closed his fist and touched his face
before waving it at her slightly. "Did you do this?" he asked incredulously as
he continued to examine his long missed hand. "Is this magic?"
"Well," Arya choked out. "It's certainly something. But I didn't... I didn't
even know I could do that. I've never tried."
"I never asked, but now I'm sorely regretting it," Jaime cried with a smile
breaking out over his face. He looked so beautiful that it threatened to make
her faint. Jaime was a beautiful man in his thirties, but at seventeen? He was
magnificent. "I don't know how you did it, but thank the Gods you did! Arya,
you're," he paused to draw in a gasp of awe. "You're fucking perfect, do you
know that?"
"I didn't even try to do it," she pointed out, but it was weak to her ears as
she was still just staring at his young face. His chest was bare of all hair,
not that he had much to begin with, and slightly less muscled. His hair was
much longer now and shone like beaten gold. Jaime hadn't even noticed the rest
of himself yet.
"I don't care if you tried or not," he laughed joyfully. "You've given me back
my sword hand, one way or another, so thank you!"
"That's not all," she whispered and he finally looked up to see her eyes glazed
and confused. Unable to explain in words, she urged, "The mirror, go to it."
Jaime carefully climbed out of bed, and then he seemed to realize what she
meant.
"What in the Seven Hells?" he exclaimed loud enough to bounce off the stone
walls as he rushed to the mirror to examine himself. "I'm-I'm so young."
"Yes," Arya agreed as she rose from the bed to follow him, to touch him and
make sure he was real. "You are."
They stared at his reflection for a long time, as she ran her hands over him as
he had done to her the night before. He was the same, and, yet, so different.
He looked much like he had when he had come to visit Winterfell in her youth,
though he was further from that age now than he had been before. All the scars
off the war had faded from him and he was renewed. She tried running some of
her magic over his skin only to find that it was indeed all real, and not
simply a glamour that her mind had conjured up.
Eventually the shock subsided enough for him to whirl around and fix her with a
suspicious stare. "You prefer me like this, don't you, wife? Was I getting too
old for you?"
"Oh hush," she snapped though it was obvious he was japing. "I liked you fine
the way you were."
That seemed to sober him slightly, as he reached out to take her hand; he made
sure to use the right. "Do you still like me now?" he asked carefully. "I'm
not... Too young now, right? If your magic did this, surely you wanted it on
some level?"
"No, or," she paused to think. "I liked you as you were, I loved you as you
were, but I still love you now, of course. I never dreamed of making you
younger, like me, but I did dream of you whole. I wanted you to have your sword
hand back, so we could continue fighting together for the rest of our lives. I
wanted you to live a long and happy life with me, and I didn't want to outlive
you. But, no, I didn't long to make you young again." She hastily added, "Not
that I'm complaining. You're quite beautiful."
"Handsome," her husband corrected, deadpan. "I tired of being called
'beautiful' when people were still mistaking me for Cersei."
Arya laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck; he was the same height at
least. "You could pass for a woman without teats in a gown, love. I believe
beautiful fits."
That seemed to awake the lust from the night before in him because he smirked
and lifted her, stronger now than ever, into his arms and carried her to the
bed. "Allow me, my Lady," he purred as he spread her legs with his hands. "To
remind you of just how much man I am."
"When you're fucking me, brother, I prefer you to be more a lion," she returned
with equal purr to her voice.
"You want me to be an animal, sister?" Jaime questioned as he licked along her
thigh in one long swath. Arya could easily see why Cersei had taken her own
twin to bed now; in his youth Jaime was the perfect picture of sexuality. She
wasn't sure that, if they had been siblings by blood, that she wouldn't have
done the same. His tongue traveled along the length of her leg and stopped so
close to her cunt that she almost sobbed. He looked up with shining green eyes
filled with dark promise and finished, "So be it, but be careful what you wish
for or else you just might get it."
***** The Sun Sets In The West *****
Chapter Notes
     Okay, so I decided to go with the two stories plan. So there is an
     epilogue coming to this story, that will tie up a few of the loose
     ends, and the rest will come in the second half. I will post the
     second story at the same time as I add the epilogue to this one, so
     you don't have to wait between stories for the continuation. I intend
     to write at the same pace, so no fear about me leaving off here
     either. After it's all done, I intend to go back through and do major
     revisions that may be worth a second read through.
     Songs for this Chapter:
     Born to Rise by Redlight King (More like Arya's PoV.)
     There's No Going Back by Sick Puppies (Jaime's PoV.)
Jaime felt more god than man, and the first person to make the mistake of
ruining that for him was going to leave in pieces. He felt alive, whole,
energized. Just young again. So young that he hadn't even recognized he was
beginning to feel older the way he was before. Half his age had been taken off
him by whatever magic Arya had accidentally performed, and Jaime wasn't about
to question the generosity of the Gods. He walked through the halls of the New
Castle with a spring in his step and a dagger-like smile on his face, and, for
once, it wasn't for a lack of happiness.
He whistled the tune to 'The Rains of Castamere' as he ducked into the great
hall to break his fast. His father, uncle, and Daven were already gathered and
discussing something or other. Jaime grinned wider and quickly snuck up behind
them.
"Morning," he greeted cheerfully as he slid in beside Daven. Every pair of eyes
at the table turned to look at him with varying degrees of shock and horror.
Jaime just let them bask in his presence as he piled up a plate of food; Arya
had wrung every ounce of seed out of him that morning and he was famished from
the exertion. His little wife was tucked away in bed, happily asleep, and Jaime
was loathe to wake her yet. They would be riding for home today, if they were
lucky, and she would need to be astride a horse all day. Her pregnancy would
likely be sapping her energy soon, and Jaime looked forward to the chance to
take care of her for once.
"I take it Arya found a way to restore your hand," his father said calmly,
though Jaime could hear the note of amusement in his voice. He was best versed
with Arya's magic, and it didn't surprise Jaime that he wasn't overly
concerned.
"She thought that slaying a dragon was price enough for returning it to me," he
japed and lifted his right hand up for everyone to see. "All I had to do was
make her scream--."
"That's enough," Tywin cut him off sharply with a disapproving glare. "Save
your obscenity for the troops." Jaime laughed and felt almost relieved that his
father hadn't changed entirely overnight, like he had himself.
"As you will, father," he conceded with a smile.
"You lucky cunt," Daven sighed and Tywin sent him another glare. "Oh, sorry
uncle. Lucky 'fool' then, coz. How do I get your wife to make me younger? I can
make her scream just as well as--."
"I do believe I said 'enough'," Tywin said harshly. "Now both of you, be
silent. We've been discussing how best to use our new Northern alliance to our
advantage. The people of White Harbor consider us to be their saviors, and our
influence has grown significantly from this victory. They are eager to rally
behind a 'Stark' again, so Arya will need to be the one to negotiate. We should
use this opportunity to secure the North. Bolton was a good pawn for a time,
but he cannot be trusted. Especially now that reports tell us that his bastard
is twice the madman as his father."
"Isn't that always the case?" Jaime japed, and Daven laughed, but his uncle and
father sent him withering glares. His uncle was as resistant to such references
as his father considering his own son had fallen into Cersei's bed. Jaime just
smiled sharply, "Come on now, that was funny. What joy do I have if I can't
even make light of my own mistakes."
"Your mistakes nearly brought our House to ruin, and every peasant that Joffrey
murders puts their blood on our name. You have just recently proven your worth
to me again; I would not suggest you so quickly tarnish it with ill-made japes
and disregard for the seriousness of your position," his father lectured. "Your
duty is to stand by Arya and support her, as a wife would do a husband. And to-
-."
"I'm the wife?" he sputtered and Daven cackled at his cousin's misfortune. His
great hand slapped Jaime on the back and he roared, "If that isn't the truth!"
Jaime just shot him a warning glare and turned back to his father to raise more
issue with that statement, only his father didn't seem willing to hear it.
"And to give her children that carry on the family line," Tywin finished.
"What about Tommen?" Jaime asked as he steeled his features. If his father
intended to fight him on this...
"Tommen has been named Arya's heir, and I will have him adopted and legitimized
by her when we return to the West. But, as you may remember, not always do our
firstborn children display the qualities necessary to rule a House. I would
have never thought you would turn out to be a disappointment, but it happened
anyway. More children will ensure that there will be an heir prepared to rule
among them," his father explained with an impatient glare, like he was annoyed
at Jaime for even asking such a foolish question.
"Well," Jaime said as he leaned back and relaxed a bit. "You needn't worry.
She's with child." Daven let out a pathetic whine that Jaime sent him a
gloating smirk over, and his father raised an eyebrow.
"Congratulations, nephew," Kevan offered with a sincere tone. "I'm sure the
child will be healthy."
"And she is certain?" his father demanded before Jaime could respond to his
uncle. He nodded and Tywin frowned like he was receiving bad news. There was a
moment's pause before his father said, "I suppose it was inevitable."
Immediately after that, his father got up and left the great hall with a
peculiar look on his face.
"What's wrong with uncle?" Daven asked tactlessly as he looked between Tywin's
retreating back and Jaime's confused face. He shrugged at his cousin and
continued to watch his father until the door swung closed behind him.
Their uncle spoke after Tywin was gone and explained, "He's worried for her.
Remember, nephew, my brother lost his wife on the birthing bed. He's torn
between pride and fear for her health. He knew it was coming, but I don't think
he truly ever prepared for the news."
"I see," Jaime commented with a slight nod. It made sense, and he felt badly
for telling him around a table of other people. Perhaps he should have waited
and allowed Arya to break the news to him. It was a fair concern, but Jaime
couldn't even wrap his head around the idea of Arya dying on the birthing bed,
so he pushed it from his thoughts.
They finished eating in silence after that, and Jaime retreated to his thoughts
as he rushed to finish. He wanted to spend some more time with Arya before they
had to leave, and they would be saddling the horses in a few hours unless Lord
Wyman wanted something from them. He thought he might have to kill the man if
he did; he wanted to be home with Tommen now.
 
===============================================================================
 
It was almost another month before they had gotten back to Riverrun, and Arya's
nameday had come and passed with almost no fanfare aside from Jaime's love. He
looked at his beautiful wife, and to her stomach. It hadn't started to swell
much yet, but he could feel it changing a little more each day. He looked
forward to when she was swollen with life and forced to let him tend to her all
day long. Cersei had forced him to stay away from her from the moment she
learned she was with child to the day that she was to give birth, when she
allowed him to return to her side for the hours of labor and then kicked him
out again for the first few months of the child's life.
Though her middle hadn't begun to round yet, she was still experiencing
symptoms brought on by her pregnancy. His little wife was a proper lioness
lately, and found a reason to get viciously angry with every little annoyance.
Jaime, ever the masochist, found it endearing and forced himself into her
company every hour of the day while she snarled at him to leave. The only times
of the day when she seemed glad to see him were when he was making love to her
to satisfy her raging lust and when he was bringing her meals.
Arya hadn't yet experienced any sickness as a result of the children, but her
tastes in food had changed slightly to prefer saltier flavors. And she seemed
more motivated to spar than ever, but Jaime had been trying his best to keep
her from doing so at every opportunity. She was, infuriatingly,stillbetter than
him, even with his hand back, but at least now he could keep up for three times
as long.
They were riding into Riverrun, with their army behind them and Nymeria's pack
at their side. Jaime was interested to see how the wolves would mix with the
lions, and he found himself actually missing the stupid beasts. But not even an
ounce as much as he missed his son.
"Papa! Mama!" Tommen's voice cried out as they rode in close, and Jaime leapt
from his saddle like a man possessed to sweep the little boy into his arms as
their son rushed to meet them. Tears sprung to his eyes as he picked up his boy
and spun him around.
"Tommen," Jaime breathed and inhaled his son's scent; he was still as perfect
as he remembered, if a little bigger.
His son pulled back and smiled at him as he tugged at a lock of Jaime's hair.
"Different, papa," he said confidently. Jaime realized then that he must look
absolutely nothing like his son remembered.
"Uh, yes," Jaime agreed sheepishly. "How did you know it was me?"
"I dreamed about it," Tommen replied with a nod and turned his bright green
eyes to Arya, who had closed in to press kisses to their cub's face, before
Jaime could question him on what that meant. "Mama," their little one giggled
in greeting and returned the kisses. "Missed you so much," he whispered as he
hugged the both of them tightly. Then, curiously, he asked, "Where are babies?
I dreamed there were babies. And puppies."
Arya laughed as Jaime stared at his son, dumbfounded by this new development,
and she said, "They're still in my belly, little one. They'll be here in a few
months. Are you excited to be a big brother?"
"Yes," their cub exclaimed with glee. "I'm gonna be the best big brother;
ever." They smiled at him lovingly, and Jaime made a note to ask Arya about his
dreams later. Tommen seemed eager to just spend time with them and talk about
all the things they had missed on their trip North. "Look, mama," he begged
with what sounded like pride in his voice. "I learned how to take care of baby
lions. Visenya is a mama too."
Sure enough, Visenya had come walking out with her pride to greet them, and
each lion had a cub in its jaws. The small animals mewled softly as they set
them down on the dirt, and Visenya approached Arya to nuzzle at her leg. Jaime
shot Nymeria a glance, and the great direwolf crept up behind them.
Aegon and Rhaenys seemed weary and both hunched over the cub they had carried
out, but Visenya turned to Nymeria and licked her snout without preamble. The
wolf returned the greeting, and, the next thing that Jaime knew, all the wolves
rushed forward to mingle with the lions like old kin. Aegon still didn't look
happy, as wolf pups nipped at his tail, but he just let out a great huff and
settled down on the ground to give them free reign to climb all over him.
Tommen was watching with an awed look on his face at the size of Nymeria, who
dwarfed Visenya and her pride, so Jaime took the chance to pick up a pup by the
nape and hold it up for his son to see. "You can pick one for yourself, little
cub," he offered much to Tommen's delight. "Any color you'd like. But you'll
have to take care of it yourself. Can you do that?" His son nodded vigorously,
and Jaime knew he wasn't lying. Tommen took to responsibility like a fish to
water.
A shriek let him know that his aunt had come out of the castle to see the mass
of wolves in her courtyard, and Jaime and Arya chucked to themselves. They sent
each other a look, and Jaime knew what it meant beyond all doubt: Let's go
home.
***** Epliogue: Whatever May Come *****
Chapter Notes
     Alright this is the end of the 'For Love and Legacy', but not the end
     of the story. As you may guess from this chapter, and the previous
     warnings of an upcoming time skip, the next story will have both Arya
     and Jaime, as well as their sons in a new situation far into the
     future. It ties in heavily with this story, because it wasn't really
     supposed to be a sequel. It should be posted at the same time as this
     chapter under the name: 'Queen's Gambit'. More information about it
     will be in the notes for that story, but you really need to know: it
     will contain more warnings than this one and the added content may
     put people off reading. Please read the warnings for the next story
     very carefully, because this story can end right here and not tarnish
     your opinion of it.
     Major revisions will be happening on this story over the course of
     tomorrow and the next day, so you may want to check back and reread
     it's all done. While I do that, the sequel will be updated slowly, so
     fair warning.
     Song for this Chapter: With Arms Wide Open by Creed
     (Also, if you wonder why I picked these names, it's a personal
     preference thing. Almost all male OCs I dream up have a very limited
     set of names, and these fit twins the best. I didn't really want to
     repurpose something like 'Tytos' or 'Tyrion', where things may get
     confused later. They get to be as unique as 'Jaime' and 'Cersei'.)
Arya wasn't sure what she expected childbirth to entail. She had prepared for
the unglamorous side, and her aunts Genna and Dorna had warned her hundreds of
time about the pain. It wasn't the pain that bothered her now, she had taken
sword wounds, but the boring length of it. She had been laboring for hours
already, and the Maester was making no indications that it was almost over.
Jaime sat by her side, pale as a ghost, and clutched harder at her hand than
she at his. He had been away from her went she went into labor, which was a
rare occurrence lately, and Arya figured he must be angry with himself for
leaving when he did. She had just convinced him to go spend time by the sea
with Tommen for a few hours and give her some time alone. Her sweet husband had
been stuck to her side almost from the moment she told him she was with child,
while back in the North.
"It's going to be okay," Jaime assured himself under the guise of assuring her,
and she scoffed. He didn't even glare at her, as his frightened green eyes met
her tired grey. It was hard to believe that he had been there for the birth of
both Joffrey and Myrcella.
"I thought you had done this before," she muttered as another contraction
rocked her body. "You're entirely too nervous."
"That was my sister giving birth to my nephew and niece," he replied softly.
"You're my wife, and these are my children."
"I'm not going to die, Jaime," she sighed. "I think you'd come and drag me out
of whatever Hell they threw me in anyway. And our sons are as much alive as I
am right now; I can feel their magic, remember?"
"I know, but," Jaime looked at the Maester nervously. "Just in case."
"Suit yourself," Arya said, resigned, and continued to push. Her magic had been
stronger than ever since the dragon, but she didn't always know how to control
it properly. She had a sincere feeling that she could speed this up with it,
but had no idea how. At least, she hoped, her healing, which had been increased
to the point of absurdity, would continue after she was done getting these
children out of her womb. It would be helpful in putting her body back in
fighting condition, and make sure she was able to return to making love to her
husband quickly.
"Keep going, my Lady!" Maester Volarik encouraged. "I can see the crown of the
first one."
That was enough to spur her forward, and she pushed harder. The sooner this was
over, the sooner she could meet her sons and rest. Jaime, smartly, stayed put
as the Maester asked him if he'd like to see the child crowning.
"No, I've seen it once, and I will serve my wife better if you are not busy
pulling me up off the floor," Jaime hissed as he almost crushed Arya's hand in
his grip.
Arya laughed, against all odds, and pushed one more time. That appeared to be
enough, because the next thing she heard was a baby's cry, and Jaime fidgeted
violently in his seat.
"Do not stop pushing, my Lady," the Maester commanded as he handed the baby to
a midwife, but Arya could hear the happiness in his voice. She knew her first
child was healthy.
The second came bare seconds after the first, and Arya felt relief flood her
body along with exhaustion. Both babies were hastily cleaned, and they were
graced with the glorious sound of their wailing lungs. They were already
vivacious things just seconds into life.
"You've borne two sons, my Lady," Volarik said with pride. "Both healthy, and
you seem to be doing very well for your first children." Jaime deflated next to
her out of pure relief and gently released the hand that he had crushed. Arya
looked it over for good measure to make sure he hadn't broken any bones. Two
smiling midwives came around the Maester holding two small bundles in their
arms. Arya's arms shot out of their own accord to receive her son.
"The firstborn," the midwife said sweetly as she laid the baby into Arya's
arms. "He looks just like his father." The moment her skin touched her son's,
the baby stopped crying and looked up at her and Jaime with large grey eyes
under a soft patch of golden blond hair.
The second midwife handed Jaime the twin, and she heard her husband take in a
shaky breath as he held his newborn son for the first time. Her eyes caught the
Maester's and she pointed them towards the door quietly. He motioned to the
midwives, and they all left the room to give them privacy. As soon as the door
shut on them, Jaime sobbed next to her and Arya finally let the pinpricks of
tears in the corners of her eyes well up and spill over.
"They're," Jaime choked. "They're perfect. Arya, they're perfect."
"Yes," she agreed softly as she cried with her husband. Both boys were no
longer crying, but staring at them like they didn't understand why they were
crying. The second infant had green eyes to match Jaime's and wisps of dark
brown hair to match Arya's. They had a little of each of them in their
features, but the firstborn was so clearly Jaime's son that no one would ever
mistake him for otherwise. He looked a lot like Tommen, she noted.
They had already picked out two boy names, since Arya was quite sure that it
was boys that they were expecting, and she looked down at her sons, Adrian and
Damian respectively. It was their choice to break from tradition with the both
of them, and choose new names rather than honoring old.
Adrian, the first boy, reached a tiny hand out and put it on Jaime's cheek to
touch his rolling tears. Confused, their tiny son pulled his hand back and
stared at that before making a soft cry of joy and repeating the motion. Jaime
smiled, and Arya's heart swelled to sizes she didn't even know it could.
"Go get Tommen," she begged Jaime, and her husband nodded while he carefully
positioned Damian in the crook of her free arm. He disappeared out the door for
a few minutes, and Arya watched as Adrian nuzzled at his twin's cheek. She
smirked; Jaime was rather excited at the prospect of two boys, because he half
feared his attraction to siblings would be passed down, and he figured that two
boys meant they would be safe from such things. She still expected that he
would try his best to keep them apart more than he had been with Cersei.
"Mother," Tommen's voice came from the doorway. Their first cub was three now,
and growing like a weed. He soon wouldn't fit in Jaime's arms. He had taken to
using the words 'mother' and 'father' more often lately to show them he was
growing up and responsible. He didn't seem to understand why that made them
melancholy from time to time.
"Look, my cub, you're a big brother now," she explained as Jaime sat down with
Tommen in his lap next to them. "You must always love and protect them, do you
understand?" Their son nodded solemnly. Adrian looked up at his big brother and
let out a little mewl. Tommen smiled at him, and the infant reached up a hand.
Tommen extended his own and Adrian's little fingers wrapped around it tightly.
"I love you, little brothers," Tommen whispered sweetly. "I'm going to teach
you so much."
"We'll teach them together," Jaime murmured as he pressed a kiss to their son's
head and reached his own hand out to let Adrian grasp on of his fingers. Damian
looked on quietly, but that didn't seem to be enough for his twin, who grabbed
his little hand too and brought it up to hold Tommen's. Her boys laughed
happily, and Arya marveled at how perfectly her life had fallen into place.
It felt easy to thank magic, but she knew it was equal parts hard work and
luck. Finding Jaime, Tommen, and even Tywin had given her a future she was
proud of beyond measure. A future worth fighting for each and every day. And,
now, as she looked down at her two newborn cubs, she had every reason to
believe the future yet to come was going to be just as glorious.
There were still wars left to win though, and battles left to fight, but the
winter had set in fully now and it looked to be a long one. Her enemies were as
paralyzed by it as she was, but the West was prepared for a winter that could
last ten or more years. And, when the snows thawed, she would be ready for the
battles ahead of her and meet them with swords in hand. Her husband and sons
would be there too, by her side, to carry on their legacy, the legacy of House
Lannister, for as long as they all should breathe.
Let the Dragon Queen come, let Joffrey marshal an army if he could, and let
Stannis try to crush them. They would beat them all back and turn them all to
dust. She wasn't just fighting for her future anymore, but her family's. And,
for once, she understood her father's intense reliance on 'legacy', so he could
leave something worth having for his children and his children's children. He
had given them the tools, and the guidance, but what they did with it was
theirs to determine.
Arya already knew what she wanted, and now she had the courage to grab at it.
Three years of planning and waiting, and, when this winter was done, she was
ready to put her father's plans into action. Gods help who dared to stand
against them now.
End Notes
     Revised on June 26th.
     Lots of added content and the song associated with the chapter
     changed for a better fit.
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