Fangs and Claws [Closed]

[Lucyfer]

Lord Walder Frey was going to take much as an insult, and Lord Bolton not showing up was the least of his worries. Robb assumed as well that Lord Bolton would go. It was his son. Bastard or not, he ought to be there to see his child wed, at his own command. It’d be an affront to Ramsay if he wasn’t there. He didn’t even care that Lord Walder would be insulted, he cared for Ramsay and how he would feel if his father wasn’t even there to see his wishes carried out.

Caireann declared things set, and Robb’s brow furrowed. “No,” he denied. It wasn’t set. “We understand that we have to prepare for Lord Bolton and Lady Mormont leaving, and I suspect some of Highgarden will be going?”

“Of course,” Olenna said.

“Lord Umber cannot defend Lannisport on his own with Lord Farman, nor can we have two large armies leave Casterly Rock without adding to it. We need to consider how we wish to distribute the troops, and as Lord Tyrell is here,” he looked to Willas, “I need to know who is going to be in charge of the Reach forces. I think it would be best if they stayed here in Lannisport. Casterly’s defenses can be considered when we get there, but I want us prepared to add more soldiers to it, should both Lord Bolton and Lady Mormont choose to leave.”

“Can’t Lord Bolton leave behind the Dreadfort army, and you take Lady Mormont’s forces?” Lord Farman inquired. He didn’t want to say it aloud, but he considered the Dreadfort men better suited. Lady Mormont’s men were fierce – but he did not consider them the best for defense of a fortification. They were like the Vikary to him – great at leading attacks, but not the best at holding.

It seemed better if they went with Robb. If they were attacked on the road, they would do better at fighting without fortifications getting in the way. “Do we really need to have men and women of all the armies leave with their leaders?” It seemed asinine.

“No, but I expect—”

“You’re their king. Order them.”

Umber bristled at that. “He’s not a tyrant.”

“No. But I assume you trust his judgment. Or is it that your men wouldn’t listen to someone you appointed to lead them, if you had to go abroad?”

“That isn’t the case,” Lord Umber said.

“Then this should be no different,” Lord Farman stated plainly. “If I were to leave, but I was traveling in an already well-protected group, I would leave Ser Clifton in charge, and he would act in my stead. Lord Bolton hasn’t seemed to have any problems allowing Damian to act on his behalf, and I assume his men would listen to him, if he asked them to listen to Damian, no?”

Why were Northerners so thick-headed?

“I suppose…if Lord Bolton would agree to it, or if he cannot be persuaded, perhaps Lady Mormont,” he wasn’t sure who would be more agreeable, but it was a sound idea. Just…not what they did. Some of the army belonging to the Lord usually always went along with the Lord.

~***~

Lenore only tried to forget, or rather, distance herself from him. A part of her still wanted to. There was no getting over the fact that this was stupid, no amount of accepting it was temporary washed away the insanity of it, or the irrationality of it. She knew she was going to hurt herself in the long run. Like drinking a poison that worked slowly, she was going to suffer for this – but she got over all those poisons.

She may suffer for it, forever, but she would live. And right now, it helped her to live. The worst sort of poison.

Perhaps she didn’t know him sometimes, but right then he responded exactly as she wanted, feeding on the tension and crushing his lips to hers in a hungry kiss that she responded to immediately. The hand at his chin shifted, moved around his neck and found those golden locks. They twined in it, wrapped the locks in a fist, so she could pull back if she wanted – but she didn’t. If anything, she only wanted to apply pressure to keep him close, as she reached out a hand to his side, and she let it slide down to his hip as he broke the kiss to speak.

She used the moment to shift out of her chair, to join him on the bed as his hand found its way to her back. Only slight movements, keeping her lips near his. She bit his bottom one as she slipped onto his lap. If she was cold-blooded, then he was the warmth she craved to keep her blood from freezing in her veins, the sun in winter. Her warmth was stolen, but shared again with the source, “Do you really want to talk, lamb?” She teased him a bit, “Or would you like to make up properly?” They’d talked and shared quite a bit, coming back to this point – to realizing they still desired, and cared. Both.

There was probably a single word for it. Lenore didn’t care to breathe life into that thought, not as much life as she breathed into her current thoughts, the one that hooked a finger into the waistband of Jaime’s pants, or pulled his head back slightly, while uncoiling from his hair. She kissed his lips again, not deep, almost chaste, before she kissed his jaw, and then along it to his ear, whispered, “I can be gentle…slow. I know you’re tired….” More teasing, but she could, if such was what he wanted then. Adryan wouldn’t be checking in, and it wasn’t yet time for the other guard to come on shift. “Apologize for the hell I’ve put you through…a bit.”

 

[peritwinkle]

Willas felt the pressure of the council's demand for a leader, even if he had not already decided whether he would be attending the weddings at The Twins or not. In case of a battle, the best choice would likely be his brother, Loras, although he was unsure if leaving for such a long road as a cripple would benefit any of them. A part of him feared the fate of Lord Doran Martell, aware of his own importance, as the heir of Highgarden and the heir or his noble family.

The other wanted to protect Margaery at all costs, still more or less cautious of Lord Walder Frey. Everyone knew him as a vile man who did not know honour. His sister was young and easily manipulative. With or without Loras there, Robb or Lady Stark, the Riverlands were unsafe until the betrothals were brought to a favourable end.

"I will speak to my brother," he decided then. "I assume he will want to go, so I will be the one to stay behind. His Grace is right. Lannisport is the closest to Lord Redwyne's fleet, in case of an unexpected occurance." They ought to be prepared regardless. The hostages Tywin had won were not going to hold him back from attacking. He was not going to waste time waiting for an answer.

On the matter of splitting forces, it was Catelyn who spoke, agreeing with Sebaston. "I am sure Lady Mormont will not miss her daughter's wedding, and she will have nothing against leaving her forces behind." They were no use to them there. The road from Seagard to The Twins was safe. The Riverlands were safe. With only a few men, they could reassure their own protection as well as that of the lands they had conquered.

"She is an intelligent woman," Caireann added to steel Lady Stark's statement. "And faithful to her King. She would not oppose it."

"Faithful," Willas narrowed his eyes. "I do not doubt Lady Mormont's faith, but I do not believe you should place your trust in anyone who bends the knee, my Lady. Most of those who do have an interest solely of their own." It was risky to leave the safety of their strongholds, yet they could not insult Walder by refusing to go.

"Then do not mention it, Lord Willas," Caireann frowned, taken aback by his sudden comment. She turned her eyes to Robb, already slightly bothered, but made an effort to compose herself and listen. 'I hope at least you do not doubt that she trusts you... That we all trust you, and the armies, as well.'

~***~

The heat of her flesh against his felt like a dream, no longer vivid as it had felt, but rather unreal. It was there, he felt her pressure, her demand and desire, yet the sensation of her so near felt almost strange, after such a long time of not knowing it. It was almost painful; close as she was, her presence was inebriating him, muddling his mind and thoughts.

All that he knew was that he wanted her, longed for her. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

The slight tug of his trousers sent a shiver through his torso. A grin brightened up his face. Jaime closed his eyes and, pressing his forehead against hers, answered the tease with an imitation of her her bite, yet this once more fiery, deeper, as if he were looking to taste her blood to see if it was just as cold as her movements claimed. If the warmth of her skin was a mere trick, to mask the true nature of the Ghost of Castamere.

"Lamb," he whispered, before shifting from underneath her pressure and, slipping one hand over her back to support her, he would pull her down with him so that he was above this time. "You will never manage to exhaust me, Reyne..." No, for this time, he would make sure to be the one who exhausted her instead. 'And she deserves it, for all she's done to me.' For tormenting him as she did, so easily, without a touch of sympathy for the poor lamb who suffered.

He would meet her lips again for the last time, not allowing another word to part hers. His hands went to roam over her spine, her hips, and while one supported her beneath him, another slipped between her thighs, gripping at the tepid flesh, still touched by the cold of the night. He let it rest just above her knee, not daring to go further, as his kisses spoke for him, begging for more, demanding more even if he refused to speak.

If she so much wished for him to be the lamb, then he would obey, as long as the lioness allowed for a final wish before the massacre.

 

[Lucyfer]

Robb felt Caireann’s eyes, but he was more concerned by what Willas had to say, in truth. He didn’t quite understand why he would be so upset with someone who bent the knee. It was likely good that none of his men were in the room with him. How would they respond to having their entire role as vassals discarded so easily as having ulterior motives? He wondered at it, but didn’t speak to it, nor did he look back to Caireann.

Olenna’s laugh distracted him.

Olenna couldn’t help but laugh a bit at Willas’s statement, even as Caireann spoke. Not quite the words she’d say, and she could too easily imagine Lenore’s reaction. It was in her own thoughts, after all. ‘Do you think to be King, Willas, and not bend the knee?’ Lenore would not abide it, she had already made as much clear to Olenna that she would not see House Tyrell on the throne.

Fortunately, she would not see her own, either. “Willas, you forget yourself,” Olenna said, “When this war is done with, we’ll be bending the knee soon enough to some other monarch,” Olenna chided. She liked Maege, as well. Loyal, stubborn, and in some ways, dumb – but she liked the woman all the same. The world wasn’t made for only clever people to get ahead.

The world needed people like Maege who were too honest and too loving for their own good. Brutes – to remind people the meaning of love. “Though I suppose you do have your own ulterior motives – who doesn’t?”

Even Maege.

No one was free from selfish desires.

“Then it’s settled,” Sebaston said, pushed away from the wall, “Can I leave?” the blunt manner in which it was asked caught Robb by surprise. “I really want to sleep more.”

Robb ran through things in his mind, then nodded. “Yes. Lord Tyrell will speak with his brother, and they’ll determine who will stay behind to lead the Tyrell forces. We’ll leave for Casterly Rock tomorrow,” just a small group of them, to discuss the arrangements. “Hopefully when we return, the Redwyne fleet will be here to take us on towards Lannisport.”

Sebaston didn’t wait then, he moved to leave, wanting nothing more to do with this meeting.

~***~

The deeper bite was unexpected to Lenore, pleasantly painful, but it never drew blood. It spoke volumes before his own tease, before his own claims that he wouldn’t be exhausted first, in spite of his exhaustion on the training field. If this was what he wanted though…well, she’d offered him an apology. If he preferred to take it this way, to put his energy into it rather than relax and enjoy, then she’d see if he could keep up with her.

He may have silenced her with his lips, but she didn’t protest the new position, nor his wish. It did not mean she would be exactly a lamb – but she let him lead, while she followed closely in the dance their bodies knew, taking all there was and not letting on of exhaustion for as long as she could manage it, pushing him for more with light teases and hard bites, nails in hips and sweet whispers.

There was no crying out, she was never so exhausted she forgot where she was – though, she would give Jaime his credit…she was exhausted, pleasantly so, drenched in sweat and warm – burning and flush. She may have been touched by the cold earlier, her own nature or the night’s chill, but no longer, as she shared the bed with Jaime, too painfully aware she would have to leave it soon – and the air beyond was cold.

Soon was not now, however, and she intended to linger just a bit, before she had to pull back on her dress and leave him to his guard, or to Adryan. So, she pulled herself up a bit, raising on her elbows to look upon him as she hadn’t in so long – in a similar state of disarray as her. “You were holding back in the spar….” Not that she minded, but she couldn’t help the tease then, a not-so subtle way to let him know his energy here had been noticed. And appreciated.

 

[peritwinkle]

There was only so much left of the war and if they were all to live, Willas knew that he would be required to bend the knee to a King in the end. "It is up to the monarch to judge my loyalty, grandmother," the man said. He would not speak it, but his loyalty was almost entirely with his family. He figured that if the Alliance somehow threatened her daughters, Maege would not be so eager to comply to Robb's orders. That way, they had almost lost Sebaston.

It was the latter who requested that he left first, and Willas could not help but empathize with him. He was in pain, as strong as everyone knew him. A hammer was enough to deform even the toughest of steel. In spite of his sudden reaction, none of them opposed or denied him.

Yet, Caireann's hand shifted to him as he walked past her, briefly touching his wrist, where the bracelet would have been. Willas knew he had read the gesture well: the girl was frightened, and she had reason to be. A man's wishes and ideals could change overnight. In moments like these, it was difficult to keep the reins on a horse like him. Perhaps it had been the promise with the bracelet that had kept him from turning against them all to protect his daughter.

Thankfully, Sebaston was smarter than Tywin thought he was. Not so easily swayed.

"Tomorrow," Caireann repeated after Robb's statement. She was looking forward to seeing her uncle again, and for sure Lord Tyrion was no less enthusiastic, although the tension between them had not gone unnoticed. "We might line up with Lady Mormont's daughters," something to give them hope, as none of them seemed too excited for the wedding. At least the girls would cheer them all up, especially young Lyanna.

She would rise as well if everyone else did, as she assumed there was nothing left to discuss in Lord Farman's absence. It was good that he was at least claiming some time for himself to think. Still, the atmosphere was no less gloomy and she could only hope that lunch would make it take a turn for the better, with a bit of luck and effort from everyone's side.

~***~

It had been too long since his last moments with Lenore. Jaime was fatigued from that almost new yet familiar exercise all the same. After hours of training with the sword, he feared that if he rose from the bed, his numb limbs would fail him and he would just collapse on the floor. Thankfully, the chamber belonged to him. Lenore did not need to be escorted to her own apartments, especially not by her supposed prisoner.

The subtle smirk of pleasure on his lips widened at her statement about sparring, and he could not help but tease back. "It was never my intention to hurt you, Reyne. Otherwise who would be there to kill my father?" Bitter, but he supposed they had gotten used to those jokes over time. He was not entirely over it, of course; it was still a sensitive wound, more or less, yet in moments like these he truly did not care for some innocent jesting.

Jaime did not sit up with her, but remained down, watching her from a lower angle. She was still beautiful, even as she was drenched in sweat and flushed from head to toe. To him, it was how a woman ought to look, and he could not help but compared to Rosalind. They shared so much in those moments: the tease, the pain, the hatred, the passion. It was only the shade of red that helped him tell her apart from the dream of a lost love: Lenore's hair was of a deep crimson, while Rosalind's, as reflected in Caireann, of a soft russet.

"We won't get too much time alone soon," he thought to remind her. "Lannisport is coming back to invade Casterly. My father has been silent for too long," and those attacks meant nothing but warnings for what was to come. "I would appreciate it if you did not run away from me like that. You are not denying me, Lenore: you are denying yourself through me."

 

[Lucyfer]

Sebaston felt the touch, but it only caused him to flinch and draw his arms over his chest before he exited. He was nowhere near as sensitive as Lenore when it came to such affections, but right then, it felt like pity. There was a spike of anger in him that he swallowed down as he headed out, knowing the wrist she touched, knowing what was upon it just as well. He thought to throw it off and leave, but he didn’t, even if it burned into his skin right then.

His imagination, but a poignant imagining all the same.

He didn’t like it, then. He didn’t like this alliance. He didn’t want to be a part of it, but he was, and he had known from the start what it meant. Once one turned on Lord Tywin, there was no reversing that action. Even if he agreed with him, wrote that he’d back out, he would still suffer at the end because he had turned on him first. The fact that Tywin thought he was that stupid was almost insulting.

He was still allowed to leave, at least.

Olenna arched a brow as Caireann stole the last word, and indeed, she noticed a touch of irritation touch Robb’s features, though it faded quickly. Caireann didn’t know how this ought to go. Robb was meant to dismiss them, but the words were taken from his lips. Olenna wondered if he would even address it, or if he’d seethe under it and endure Caireann ending all of his meetings from now on.

The older woman rose, giving a polite nod, “I hope that we shall see them. I’ve heard much of Lady Lyanna, though I fear I will not see them until you return to Lannisport with them.” Certainly all of them would travel on to the Twins, or a good number of them.

Perhaps the eldest would stay behind to lead her mother’s forces, or another of them. She took a glance to Willas, “Margaery and myself shall stay here in Lannisport, so there is no need to bring us to Casterly for the tedious debates there, if you plan to go yourself.” She imagined Loras would stay as well, but Willas was moving into the position of representing them as a whole.

Robb looked to Caireann then, as the group conversations ended, “We’ll need to go prepare a contingent of men to set out for tomorrow towards Casterly,” not a large group, but they still could not go unarmed. “And write to Lady Reyne so she is not caught by surprise,” though she was likely going to be getting a slew of letters at this rate. No matter, “First, the men.” And he’d offer her his arm to lead her out, so they could go on to prepare for tomorrow’s departure.

~***~

‘Plenty.’ Lenore didn’t say that to Jaime’s tease, surprised he would even tease of killing his father. No, her intentions never changed, but she was aware of how he could not love her decision to destroy his father. She let those words fade, brushing her fingers over his flesh to remove some of the hair dampened to his face aside, pleased with his own appearance then.

He looked best this way – whether from training, or their own games.

“We never have much time, Jaime,” usually there was a guard near. Lenore could not take up a guard shift herself. She drew enough suspicion for the time she spent with him. Not enough for the questions to start being asked, but still…enough. She was amazed her father held his tongue for so long.

“Lannisport will return and leave again. You should take your time then with Caireann, and Tyrion, if they arrive,” she reminded him. She wasn’t the only one he had to focus on. There was his family, which was dividing itself. He should get all the time he could with them, just in case. She couldn’t offer him any time with Tywin. He would get to see Cersei, later.

Her finger trailed lazily from his face, down his neck, as he added insight into her. “Technically, I am denying you, as well as myself.” Though she knew what he was saying. “I am trying to get better at not avoiding those things which bring me some joy. I cannot make any promises, I can only say I am trying…and I hope you will try, as well. As long as it pleases you,” and as long as it pleased her, until they came to the inevitable end. “You’re one of the few safe spaces I have.” And she didn’t want to lose that. Not during the war, at least. She would lose it later, but then, she wouldn’t be faced with the hardships of war.

Only ruling. And that would be easier to deal with, easier to show her frustrations to those like Sebaston and Adryan, Ciaran and Gerald, as she tried to pull it all together.

 

[peritwinkle]

Sebaston Farman's eyes were as unsettled as his stormy seas, and as he pulled away, Caireann's own smile of benevolence faltered. It appeared that the message sent was either taken as an insult hinting at his weakness, or her affection was simply not desired. She had planned to speak to him after the council came to an end, make sure that he was alright after all, to reassure him that Cybelle would be brought home soon enough, but now that she thought about it, it was not the best of ideas.

As a Queen, she was not yet loved. Not even those she had made bracelets for trusted her wholly. Likely, they had all accepted the gifts as an act of pity rather than understanding and respect. 'She is sensitive. I could not refuse, lest I make her cry.' It was how Catelyn Stark still saw her, Olenna Tyrell, and now apparently, even Sebaston. Her whole reputation had been built on alms and pity.

But how could she blame the man whose daughter had been ruptured away from him, when her own had gone through the same calvary? Pain and suffering were at home in times of war; so was spite, and if Sebaston's mind was muddled enough with such thoughts, she could, once again, not blame him for leaving either, yet she at least hoped he was better than Lord Tywin thought. That he was smarter, and could make the best choice, even if he might not be wholly happy with the presumed aftermath.

On the other side, on Olenna's face she could read suspicion. They all remained silent for a brief moment, likely judging her for her sudden gesture towards the man, yet thankfully none of them mentioned it. As soon as he was out through the door, the Lady of Highgarden signalled that the meeting was over, as she rose with her ever so polite remarks.

Caireann's fingers trailed over the wood of the table before she rose, lingering for a second, contemplating. "Yes, Your Grace," she nodded absent-mindedly before turning around to take Robb's arm. There was so much left to do, she could not even begin to fathom the future. After gathering and organising the troops that were to lead them away, she had to attend her daily lessons in medicine and herbology, then write a letter to Jaime to inform him that she was coming, even if Lenore might tell him first.

Her gaze tarried back to Willas for a moment, to Catelyn, as if to make sure that everything was alright, at least with them. The tension which she felt in her heart then was unbearable, and she knew that they felt at least half of its intensity. There were always obstacles in a long climb, and that was one of them, yet one which she hoped they would all overcome one day. They were stronger than Tywin, stronger than his games. As soon as they returned from the Riverlands, they would strike back.

~***~

It was in those moments that Lenore's humanity showed through. She might be a Ghost, but she was not in the least transparent, at least not around those whom she did not trust. It was still a mystery to Jaime how or why she had chosen to open up to him; their whole relationship was cemented on lust and boredom, more or less. They had been forced to spend time together and lions were known to have a thirst for flesh, no matter the colour of their mane. It did make him wonder if their feelings for eachother were as real as they felt.

He shook his head as she brought up his family, closing his eyes at her graze. "Caireann does not want me, and I am fairly certain Tyrion hates me," for being so ignorant; he understood where the imp came from. "She is busy... She's a Queen now," spoken with a touch of derision, as he still did not and would not support the concept of the North being a sovereign land. Torrhen Stark had bent the knee for a reason. Through their delusional aspirations, the Starks were only breaking yet another vow.

"I've thought about it," he thought to add, eyes finally opening to fixate the ceiling. "There is no reason to make the choice. Until the end of this war, I am going to be your prisoner. If you lose, there is no way I can keep my father from executing Caireann," a morbid thought, but nonetheless true. It felt like the right time to break open his heart to her. "If you will, I will be either killed or exiled, although I do hope for the latter."

There had been no choice, in truth. He could not leave, and he could not protect Caireann even if he managed to leave. His father loved him, but he loved his legacy more and the fame that it brought. Caireann and Tyrion's betrayal had strained its reputation and that was a crime that the old lion would not forgive.

When Jaime looked back to her, his heart clenched painfully and his stomach tightened. Any moment could be their last and right then, he could not help but imagine the worst. He felt the ache, the pressure, the turmoil surrounding and suffocating him from all sides. He might have been granted freedom to move, but his mind and heart were not at ease. Not as they were fighting two separate wars with no solutions to either ends.

 

[Lucyfer]

Willas said nothing then to Lady Olenna’s words of Margaery and she staying, at least, nothing that Robb heard as they all began to clear the room. Lord Umber shot him a last look, offering only a firm nod to signal his own strength and acceptance of the idea of staying here to look after Lannisport while Robb was away. He could work with Farman, and maintain the city, no matter how upset the man was with the situation as a whole. He filed out with the rest, letting Robb to be the last to leave.

Robb did indeed let them all go before, Caireann’s agreeing words present, the man not thinking on their tone. It was more work – that was always exhausting. His arm was taken, but he did not move with Caireann until after the others had cleared. She would need to see how to go forward with mobilizing people, even if it wasn’t the whole army. Robb would have his own letters to write, but mostly, he would stay to assist with preparations for leaving, such as packing up supplies. They wouldn’t take down much of the camp – most of the soldiers would be staying, yet it was always good to assist.

As they left the conference room, he said, “I hope that was not too bad,” most were far worse than that, with more vocal disagreements shared or outright hostility, sometimes. This one hadn’t really had either – at least, not compared to what Robb had experienced.

He knew that Caireann may be upset with how she had misread a situation, that the meeting was not over. He didn’t know if that thought lingered to bother her.

Whereas Caireann was tense, Robb was not. To him, it had all gone well in the end, and that was more than he could say of some meetings that utterly stressed him out. “The next parts are easy.” Well, in theory. The actual work of mobilizing a camp was not so easy, but at least this way she would learn who to go to, and what kind of orders to give, what to think of when considering a short travel, and hopefully from that, what to think of when considering a longer journey.

~***~

‘Caireann does not want me, and I am fairly certain Tyrion hates me.’

How Jaime could even speak those words as if he believed them both astonished and enraged Lenore, after he had spoken of writing to Caireann, and of her responses. Nothing seemed to indicate either of those things, and she was sickened by Jaime’s self-depreciating behavior right then.

She had thought he was improving on it by these actions. Did he not see that Caireann clearly wanted to hear from him, by the swiftness of her letters? And how could he ever presume that his brother hated him?

He spoke of being unable to help Caireann, and Lenore felt her fists ball. She shifted then, as Jaime looked at the ceiling, and slid out of the bed to calmly return to her clothes, to begin to put the dress back on, if only so she wouldn’t slap Jaime for his utter idiocy at the moment. He seemed to think even she would kill him, and she chuckled at the mere idea of it. “I am not Tywin.” She would not be Tywin.

With the dress back on, she turned back to the bed and the man in it, and leaned over him, tilted his chin with the point of a nail. “You have two options, and neither are death.” Lenore stated, but didn’t say what it was besides exile, because the thought wasn’t comfortable. “Every Lannister does, except Tywin.” And there she pressed that point into his chin, “But if you ever say that you will let him kill Caireann again, when you have sworn to protect me, I will put death back on the list as one of your options, I assure you.”

She drew the point away, and drew herself up, “The same if I hear you continue to speak of how loathed you are by Tyrion and Caireann when everything points to the contrary. I know you are an emotional man…but sometimes, you have to think, Jaime – especially when your heart seems to hate you so.” Made him like his enemy, and think his allies were against him. He was as fragile as his daughter. “Caireann writes to you swiftly and with enthusiasm, telling you of all she is…she wants to hear from you. She wants to share her life with you.”

 

[peritwinkle]

It was a mystery to Caireann how Robb was immune to tension and fear. If that had gone well for him, then his other meetings must have been disasters. Thankfully, they had all at least agreed to one thing, but her hastened slip and Lord Sebaston's outburst had marked it to be not so pleasant in her heart. There was too much pain and suffering around them that the thought of a wedding would never be enough to overshadow it.

"It went well in the end," she agreed, chewing on her inner cheek. "They were all looking at me though... Lady Olenna. I saw her tense. Frankly, you were the only one there to remain positive throughout the whole meeting," and Lady Stark, but she had not spoken too much. Nor had Lord Umber. It appeared that the Tyrells would always have something to say.

And their words were not always kind.

Not that it was a bad thing. Them talking made it more difficult for Caireann to open her mouth before she voiced her thoughts, which always seemed to be out of order. The only thing she did well was study, and sadly, that was not something which would come in their aid soon. There was still much to learn until she dived into battle with Robb, more passively on her part, however. She was quick to think and judge, which was why the maesters would likely not allow her to leave so soon.

She would follow him eagerly to complete their daily tasks, as easy or as difficult as they might prove to be. In the end, she only had to follow Robb for the time being. It was soothing to see that the war had not changed him, that he was just as nurturing as before, kind and patient. For that sole purpose, her love and respect for him was only growing, even if he might not know. For the time being, she could only show her gratitude through affection, until she was finally able to act.

~***~

It did not take a witty mind to tell that Lenore was irritated by his sudden shift in attitude. It was only her lurid cheeks and tousled hair that softened the words that followed. Jaime was low-key proud of himself, for making her feel good after such a long time of bustle and disorder. Even in his mind and heart, things were better, in spite of those thoughts that refused to leave. He could, of course, keep them to himself, but just as he was Lenore's safe space, Lenore was his.

As she drew closer and threatened him with the claw, Jaime narrowed his eyes. 'I never said I would let him kill Caireann.' No, he would oppose it, but to no result. Even if he managed to persuade him, promise he would reclaim Casterly Rock as its heir, Caireann would refuse to leave Robb. For that, she was stubborn and daft, but he could never blame her.

When the point of her nail left his chin, he let out a theatrical breath of relief and closed his eyes. He found himself gritting his teeth at her calling him emotional, yet he could not deny it. He was emotional: he had fallen for her games, had hurt Caireann and whined about being hurt back. Tyrion had so easily swayed him with words he had already spoken in his mind, and he had embittered himself with an illusion of change. There was much he had to work on, and it appeared that Caireann was making more progress than him.

Jaime let the blanket slip away from his middle and rose to change as well. Whether the guard was gone or not, he could not risk being seen in the attire of his nameday. "It is not only me she wants to hear from," he spoke absently as he pulled up a pair of trousers. "I did not inspire her to become a medic, and nor did Tyrion." Lenore had still not written to her, whilst the girl always mentioned the Reyne in her letters.

"I know what you are thinking," he added, and turned to face her. "It does not make you Rosalind if you reciprocate at least half of the affection she's shown you. She's a child, Lenore. A child going into war, alone. She is not too different from you." They were both fragile in their own ways, both striving to be stronger than they truly were, only that they both showed their strength in opposite ways: Lenore through violence, Caireann through her dream of peace.

 

[Lucyfer]

'If you think lady Olenna is bad...' Robb did not speak the thought aloud. He could not find the words to warn Caireann that Lenore was worse - actively malicious. He imagined there would be no convincing her before the dialogue began, so he said no word on it. He also did not want Caireann to be too stressed beforehand. Robb knew this meeting wouldn't be hard...but he hadn't considered the last one was, either, and Caireann seemed tense.

Fortunately, they were able to get packed and leave the next day. The ravens would beat them to Casterly, but just barely. The road was easy, and the fortifications were looking better each day. The ring of steel was in the air, soldiers of the Dreadfort and the Vikary busy at training. He didn't hear Roose's voice, but he heard Gerald's high above the rest.

The reason he didn't hear Roose became obvious. The Lord of the Dreadfort stood with others to greet them, alongside Lenore. Their poise was not at all irked...with each other, anyway. Lenore's scowl told Robb enough - she was less thrilled with these weddings than she was the last one. Robb didn't need to ask why. When it came to war, he was learning that Sebaston and Lenore were still pragmatic, no matter their emotions. The weddings offered no benefit, and he knew that had it been Lenore, she would have refused outright.

Already did. Many times. Walder Frey and she would never get along.

"Your Grace," Roose greeted first, breaking from the line and approaching. "Ramsay has written. He will be on his way to the Twins soon." Roose said, offering news, "All is well on that front, and here." Nothing of Tywin. He knew of the letter to Sebaston now. He felt little - it was only Cybelle, the man still had his son. Yet, be knew better than to say that, especially after his decision to remain on this side. When they rose in victory, Sebaston would be a powerful ally. House Farman would have a near monopoly on sea trade, and that would be important to survival, come winter. "I trust your journey here was easy?"

"It was," he answered, "I am glad that Ramsay has agreed so easily."

"He knows the meaning of family," it was a not so subtle dig at the fact that neither Robb or Caireann knew that meaning.

Robb sensed it, but said nothing to it, remembered that Lord Bolton was usually quiet in meetings and was grateful then. The last thing Caireann needed was Bolton and Reyne being difficult.


At the gathering before, Lenore did find herself already tired of waiting. She didn't break early, but waited for Robb and the others to reach them, only then smiling, "Welcome back." She greeted them all easily. "There are some refreshments prepared in the Great Hall for you, and food for your men, as well." No Sebaston, but she saw Clifton. She had given her approval for Tyrion to join them, thinking it may help Jaime.

Jaime helped her. She may as well return the favor. His words of Caireann were acknowledged, but she still sent her no letter, nor did she plan to even while g she was away at the Twins. It may not make her Rosalind, but she had no desire to fill the girl's head with dreams of a mother all the same. Someone who cared, deeply, but no more. It was a balancing act, as it was with Jaime himself - accepting and ignoring the future.

"Thank you, lady Reyne." Robb said, noted the term refreshment over meal. "We will take a moment then. Is the meeting to be held in your study?" He knew it was still thought of as Tywin's.

"Yes."

"We will soon go there. With your permission, I would like Caireann present for the meeting."

Lenore wasn't surprised, just from Jaime's letters, though Roose arched a brow. "If she likes." Lenore answered, little care either way. There were enough redundant people in these meetings at times. "It is good to see you here no matter, lady Caireann," she did acknowledge. Good she was learning, but Lenore would have no patience for teaching in a meeting, especially one for a matter she disagreed with.

~***~

Time and tide were to the favor of Euron Greyjoy as his longship came into port. As always, the city reeked of shit, and he wad amused as he descended the ramp to see some of the merchants scurrying about. No doubt, word of his arrival would spread, quickly. He never really figured he would surprise anyone when he showed up in Silence, but he needed to make a point. A show.

His fleet was near, as well. 1000 strong. Skeleton crews for the moment, so he rarely used all of those ships in a fight, but he had them...and Tywin should know what he was courting. Know that Euron held all the power in these negotiations, from all the rumors he heard.

Those rumors were quite loud, reaching chook Braavos to Volantis, of a golden lion with no gold.

There remained potential here. On all sides, in truth, but Euron liked the scent of shit and desperation only a little better than blood and arrogance...well, when it was the perfume of others, anyways. "Lord Greyjoy?"

Someone on the shore was stupid enough to wonder. Euron snapped his attention to the copper haired knight. He gave him a wide, amiable smile, "Aye."

"Lord Lannister has been waiting. Please come with me."

It was on the tip of Euron's tongue to reverse the order and demand Tywin come to him, but he bit down on that desire at the last second and followed, the smile never diminishing. He needed to see how desperate Tywin was first, before he started to play.

He cast his eyes around the city, unimpressed, taking note of all he passed on the way to the Hand.

 

[peritwinkle]

The road back to Casterly was almost foreign to Caireann: the last time she had covered it had been in the context of her wedding with Robb, which now seemed so far away in the past. Too much had changed over that period of time, so little in the eyes of an outsider, but in her mind, she felt the strain of that change. It was there, pressing her down and keeping her from returning to who she had been before: a helpless child, as opposed to a learning Queen.

In the shadow of the past tragedies, Mina had insisted to come with her as always, yet this time there was no need to bring Jyzenne along. The handmaiden was grateful then, for the silence, although Caireann could not help but wonder at times how she could manage the loneliness, especially when she did not have any acquaintances there apart from herself. Lady Tyrell's girls would not suffice, not considering Mina's temper. She could barely stand Martha and the woman was only a hint above jaunty.

Two days had passed, and Caireann had ridden both her horses. Before the gates of Casterly Rock, she dismounted from her white steed's back and followed Robb to greet the hosts. She was not surprised to see Roose striding in first, words as bitter as ever, yet she did not take any to the heart. Loyalty aside, the man was likely not too happy to marry his son to the Freys either, no matter what advantages that might bring.

'So selfish of you to say it.' Being a Lannister did not make her any better than any of Walder's daughters.

Her eyes sought Maege, yet the woman was nowhere to be seen, and her absence put yet another strain on her mind. The thought quickly faded as soon as she saw Lenore; Jaime was not too far behind her; she would have assumed he was inside, as always. His letters had not let in on any change in his negativity, or at least not that she had noticed. He had only sounded happy for her achievements and nothing more. Perhaps seeing both his niece and brother would brighten him up a bit.

"And it is good to see you are well, Lady Reyne," Caireann thought to add after Robb and her exchanged words. "Thank you." She was happy Lenore did not oppose her presence in the council room, but the tension was still there. None of them liked the thought of another wedding, yet it was a necessity which they could not deny. Not after Robb had chosen to go against his vow. They were too close to the enemy's claws and separation was the last thing they desired.

Behind, her gaze fell upon the pair o green eyes that gleamed from between the tousled golden curls of her uncle. As they were welcomed inside the castle, Jaime drew closer, avoiding the looks of those around him and Robb, and invited Caireann into an embrace. "You look better," he smiled against her temple, thoughts trailing to the condition in which she had left.

"You look better," she reiterated, and as her father stomped away from his escort, she broke the embrace to gesture him towards the door with a short gesture. "I am going to be attending the council later, but I will make some time for you. Both of you." She knew they had argued and intended to fix whatever it was that kept them from speaking freely to eachother.

Before she continued, however, her eyes returned to Lady Reyne, filled with a languished happiness which she still could not decipher for herself. Gratitude, for her acceptance. Maybe even for having helped Jaime, as now she liked to think there had been a change in him, more or less visible. Their closeness had not gone unnoticed; of whatever nature it was, it had an effect on Jaime, both positive or negative, yet forever a riddle in the young girl's mind.

~***~

Clouds and rain were always a sign of abundance and fortune. Tywin Lannister was not a man with superstitious beliefs, but over the course of his waiting time, he had tried to build some sort of brightness in himself, positivity. The skirmishing parties, having already been sent without too much hassle, were going to do more for him than silence. If Euron Greyjoy refused to work with him, then he would find a way to tear the Alliance apart on his own.

He was informed of his arrival not too long before the ship moored. The sky was dark and shrouded in a veil of fog that obstructed their view of the sea, which had made spotting Euron's ship quite a difficult task. He had instructed his guards to bring him to the Great Hall, not yet into his study, as he was not comfortable knowing the man so close to his face.

He did not want him dwelving too deep into a land he had been exiled from, for a reason.

When the tall doors opened, his steps reverberated through the thick stone walls, mimicking Tywin's with a similar gravity. Euron Greyjoy was just as he knew him: tall, pale, and with an exotic appearance to him that made him difficult to lose in a crowd. "I hope you have had a good journey," the old lion bid, face as blank as white canvas, stern as ever.

It was good to see him alive, at least, and in private. Tommen had enough time to learn about politics and war games, and Cersei had no business meddling right then. He would manage on his own or not manage at all: as long as he had enough to satisfy a half-blinded sailor's needs.

 

[Lucyfer]

Jaime did not hide from Caireann or the rest this time. He was present and outside to greet them. For that, Lenore was grateful. The man needed to remind himself that he was, in fact, loved by Caireann, and by Tyrion. She could not be constantly telling him so. The pair embraced, though Tyrion did not seem to come any closer. She gave a nod to Ser Clifton, so he knew it was all right to move a bit away. She wanted an update on Sebaston.

She likely would not actually see him for a while, under the stress of this wedding.

As they all began to move inside, Ser Clifton did break a bit from his charge, expecting the knights of the area would be able to watch Tyrion if he tried to scurry off. Unlikely. Lenore clasped her hands behind her back as they walked, not breaking to go get refreshments like so many others. “How is my cousin?”

“Unwell, but he is managing,” he answered as they continued on towards the study.

Lenore gave a quiet nod. Then, “I think I’ll ask Ciaran to go back with the others to stay with Sebaston,” it wasn’t only for his sake. Lenore had no doubts Tywin would hear that many were moving from Casterly Rock. Their forces were still strong, but not quite as strong as they would be. Tywin may see it as an invitation. She had to be prepared for loss, and that meant making sure Lord Tarbeck was in the safer location.

Lannisport.

Of course if she told him that, he’d fight it. If she said instead that his friend Lord Farman needed some good company, he’d go.

~***~

Robb and many others did not go immediately towards the study as they went in, they instead went towards the Great Hall where the refreshments were, as promised. He noticed Lenore continuing on away, but didn’t follow. He expected it of her, she likely had other things to plan. With Caireann busy speaking with Jaime, he let his attention shift back to Roose.

“How are things here?” He asked.

“Well enough. Since the news, Lady Reyne and I have been preparing for Tywin to move. We expect he is going to once he learns that many forces in our army are away, but we ought to be ready to meet him.” Robb was a bit startled to hear it so bluntly put, but then another realization crossed his mind.

“You aren’t going to see your son get married?”

“No,” Roose stated, and Robb was almost certain the temperature of the room dropped several degrees. “My son does not need me, nor my army, present. He is only traveling from the North and on down, before he will return home to continue protecting the North with what forces have been left behind. It is more important that I remain here, especially as I am sure Lady Mormont will wish to go.”

He hadn’t asked her, but he knew she was much closer with her daughters than he ever would be to his son, and their relationship was far different. He may have gone, if it were Domeric…but Ramsay was not Domeric.

Robb reached to take a pastry then, knowing he needed something for his empty stomach. “That may make things easier…thank you, Roose.”

Lord Bolton just shook his head. Unneeded. Unnecessary.

~***~

Euron was led right to Tywin, and no one else. The Kraken wondered idly if Cersei Lannister was aware of the situation or not. She was Queen and yet, it still seemed she let her father do everything. Why Tywin didn’t just take the crown for himself was a mystery to Euron, and one he did consider asking as the stern man greeted him. “I’m here – that should answer your question,” he told Tywin as he stepped closer.

There was no point in distance, though the Great Hall offered plenty. He only went right to the base of the stairs, and canted his head a bit as he looked up at Tywin Lannister and wondered at what was in the man’s mind to be desperate enough to call him back. “I know why I’m here. You want my alliance. What I haven’t really been told is why I should care,” his lips curved in a smirk.

“As much as I could help, I haven’t seen much in it for me, considering the…rumors of your destitution,” truths of his destitution, “and the odds stacked against you right now. What do you have to offer that I couldn’t just go get from Lady Reyne or Lord Stark, and be more assured of?”

He had to be blunt with this one. Tywin may think he was good with games, but in negotiations, Euron knew better than to let him play any. They’d waste hours that way.

 

[peritwinkle]

As happy as Jaime seemed to be to see his Caireann, he would not keep her from fulfilling her duties, even if those meant resting before the council began. With everyone's attitude towards the hastened wedding, he figured none of them wanted to lose any time. It was early in the morning, which meant they had not traveled for too long before arriving at Casterly Rock. Some fresh appetizers and drinks were in order to kickstart the newcomers' day.

As Robb Stark made his way inside, Jaime stayed behind with his daughter. Tyrion had not come to speak to him, although he believed he would wish to address him later, if not only to thank him for being a bit more open in his letters. 'Mere words, but they accomplish more than actions.' It was true that he had been cold and he still was, but at least he had managed to slip some intimacy and cordiality between the lines.

Caireann took his arm, and were it not for the silence, perhaps she would have kept her lips shut; she turned her head to him and, with an playful sulk on her face, she spoke: "It is a pity that you are a knight, you know... I have been thinking. Were it not for... this... perhaps you could have had Casterly Rock. Perhaps you would have had a wife. I think you would make an excellent father."

The subject was pulled out of nowhere, so Jaime chose to protest it by remaining quiet. 'I am a terrible father.' She should have seen that, yet maybe the girl was choosing to only consider his latest demeanor. "I have a duty to fulfill after this war. I am still loyal to the King, Tommen," unlike her, but he did not let any bitterness slide into his tone. He saw the way she turned her head back to face the corridor, visibly touched.

She would always blame herself. Always struggle with her treason, but if the Alliance won that war, then Jaime was content that she had made the right choice.

The hall was not empty: those that had come to escort them, as well as residents of the stronghold were present to greet the guests and, implicitly, to taste from the refreshments Lenore had ordered for them. It was not a crime though: it was far more than enough for all of them, when it came to a simple snack.

After Robb's conversation with Lord Bolton came to a frigid end, she picked up some seasoned olives on her plate, along with a cup of tea, and came to sit near him. "I would have hoped to speak to Ser Adryan," she pouted, but knew that the man had other duties. He would not be attending the council with Lenore there. No, the woman and Lord Bolton would fill the entire room by themselves, with their constant, unspoken banter and coldness. "I have not heard from him in far too long, I thought-"

"Queen Stark!"

Caireann was interrupted abruptly by a higher pitched voice, yet too solemn for the age of that to whom it belonged. She had barely gotten the chance to settle down, as she turned around to answer the call, and for a moment, she found herself dumbfounded at the face which she did not recognise from the very beginning.

When she saw the fur embellishments atop her shoulders, the Queen in the North could not believed how it had not dawned on her from the very beginning. Lady Dacey Mormont was not much younger than her, yet she sported a lean build, with broad shoulders and pale cheeks. In those dark eyes shined a glint of ferocity, alike her mother's, who was only catching up with the daughter that had left her circle of protection. Behind Dacey pranced two of her younger sisters who looked too much alike, although it was not difficult to tell Lyanna apart from the rest. Her mature gaze spoke for itself, almost mirroring Lenore's. It was how Caireann imagined the Reyne had looked like in her years of childhood.

"King Stark," Dacey saluted the man next to her, then nodded to the others which she knew too well. Robb, she had met before, but the Lannister girl was something new. Not necessarily bad; she trusted the judgement of her mother, so if she deemed Caireann worthy, then she was to comply, no matter what her younger sisters believed.

~***~

Tywin was not surprised that the man wanted to get right to the essence of it all. He was not one to linger, which he very much appreciated. Sebaston Farman had not answered his letter, and Dorne had chosen to remain silent as well. He was not a man of patience, but nor was he one to make hastened decisions. There was time to wait, not enough, but still...

Until the future came, he ought to remained tied to the present.

A glint of derision brightened his eyes at Euron's statement about Lenore Reyne, but only briefly; he knew that the man would mention it. Inevitable. "Neither Lady Reyne nor Lord Stark would let you reclaim the Iron Islands," the lion said promptly. "So far, they believe they have the advantage. I remind you that Theon Greyjoy is still tied to House Stark." Robb would never allow Euron to rebel against the Greyjoys when they had a chance of getting them on their side.

"I shall reiterate," he continued. "Should you join me, you will no longer be exiled from Westeros. You have my support in reclaiming Pyke. There is no need for petty games of what-ifs." He was more than sure the scouts he had sent to Volantis had not been too thorough, otherwise he would not be speaking to a blue-lipped sailor right then. "I am not going to offer you what you do not wish for. Tell me what it is that you desire, and if it favours both of us, then," he turned his palm towards him in a gesture of generosity, "I believe we might begin to cement an allegiance."

'You will never have anything better, Greyjoy. Not with the Ghost. Not with Stark.' It was his only opportunity, and he could take it now.

He only had to speak.