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Fangs and Claws [Closed]

Robb barely acknowledged the exit of Mina. Only enough to wait until she was gone. He moved forward, and Caireann met him part-way, her hand falling on his shoulder, and he stopped there, looking down at her as she looked up at him, trying to soothe him with her words. Robb did not want words, though. That was the last thing that he wanted right then, he’d had enough of words and how they could sting.

No, he wanted to forget words right then, and so his hand reached for her chin, her cheek, to cup it and keep her head tilted up as he brought his lips down to hers, a crushing pressure that he needed to feel then. To remember that softness that loved him – that he loved.

Lenore’s words were lies.

As he parted his lips from her, his breath was shaky, but his words were still firm. Eyes closed. “I need you.” He opened them to capture her gaze in his. “Now.” Earnest passion as the hand at her cheek moved behind her head to undo her hair, so he could have those strands splayed.

He’d move to kiss her again as well, his hands could multi-task – hold her near and up, and undo her hair. Crush her against him.

~***~

An anger built as Jaime tried to say he didn’t care for the Alliance, but cared for her. It was a contradiction, but one they lived by. She wanted his father dead, but wanted no harm to come to Jaime. He wanted no harm to come to her, but wanted his father to live. It was not an easy situation for either.

Not now. Not ever.

He drew closer, and Lenore resisted that instinct to step back then. She held her ground and her own fists clenched, nails digging into her palms as she let Jaime speak his piece, even if she wanted to slap him to make him shut up. ‘All I have is pride.’ Though it wasn’t true.

She had the Alliance. She had Hill, Vikary – hell, she held Jaime Lannister, and had spoken with Olenna Tyrell. She was no longer the Hetherspoon with naught but a lie. She was the Reyne with an army, and Robb was her ally, not an enemy.

Perhaps…she should have been cordial. In the Council, she would have been at Robb’s side and defended him from the thorns. She knew how to endure such barbs and sharp words, but Robb did not. She had…what had she done?

The anger wanted to remain. The pride. But her head lowered, the glare faltered, and in the silence her fists relaxed. Jaime was right, but her tongue wouldn’t form words to admit the error as it started to register in her head. She did…have something to lose besides her pride. More important things than her pride.
 
Robb did not wish to listen to her words, and instead pulled her to him, crushing his lips against her with an ardent desire. Caireann closed her eyes at the warmth of his flesh to hers and the pleasurable pressure, trying to resist under the strength of the kiss. She tasted fire on his lips as he demaded more of her, and right before she ran out of breath, he broke away to hold her, voice trembling with a mixture of lust and anger, ire and passion.

His eyes only opened when he claimed her, and did not hesitate before pressing his lips to hers once again, fingers curling in her hair to undo the braid. Shuddering, Caireann fought to answer with the same ardor, but there was fear in her movements, wavering, for his abrupt gestures. Yet, she knew it was her duty to be there for him when he needed her, when life was only too hard for him to endure solely on his own. And she did not mind the love, the affection, even when it came with such assertive motions.

Caireann's hands moved beneath his shirt to pull it off if allowed and throw it away to reveal the burning flesh, then found the back of her own dress to pull at the laces. Her lips did not leave his own, moving rhythmically in a dance of fervour and zeal, as though it were for the first and last time she tasted them. She only broke away to breathe again, to cup his cheeks and slowly lead him towards the bed.

"Robb..."

Her gaze followed his, drowning in the blueness of his eyes, now too dark and sorrowful. It was not how she wanted to see him, and when she met his kiss again, she forced his hastened movements to turn calmer so she could keep up with his pace. Whatever had caused his pain awakened the wolf inside of him, and while Caireann knew he would never cause her harm, there was hesitation in her heart, concern when his arms seized her so eagerly, thirstily, as if he were afraid to lose her.

~***~

'There.'

Although the fire of frustration and pride still danced in her eyes, Lenore Reyne turned humble in front of him. She acknowledged her mistake, it seemed, Jaime relaxed at the thought that he no longer risked to have his cheekbone broken under her palm. For once, she appeared to have understood what the outcome of her actions could be, and that he feared just as much. There ought to be a an apology, silent if not genuine; as long as she was a head of the Alliance, she needed to maintain at least a formal relationship with Robb Stark.

She had already made too many mistakes. If she had any hopes of redeeming herself, insulting and accusing him was not an advisable start. "You and I are too much alike. We both know regret... Caused by our vanity." It was what had broken his already frail connection with his daughter; why she despised him now, and felt unloved. "He needs you there, at the council. Hill is not enough; he does not have the resonance of your voice. Regardless if you've convinced Olenna Tyrell of your cause or not." He did not know if that was true, or had been her way of seeping more worry into Robb's mind.

Jaime limped forward then, dragging his left leg behind, and groaned at the pain that seemed to crush his bone. His hand sought to brush a strand of her scarlet hair away from her face, hesitated, then fell back to his side. "Consider remission," both from him, and towards him. The boy was young, stupid even, but this Alliance concerned more than simply those implied in it. If they fell, only the Gods knew what could happen to them...

To the two women in his life that mattered most to him right then.

When he returned to his seat on the edge of the bed, his leg was throbbing in a dreadful pain, blood rushing to his forehead and temples. Jaime ran his hands through his hair and looked up at her, waited to hear what she had to say in her defense, for there would certainly be a hint of pride left on the tip of her tongue, venom that she had not yet spilled upon Robb. His thoughs had been clouded by anger as well in front of him, but with a Godly power he did not recognise, he eventually found the strength to overlook it. It had not been the time nor the situation to encourage an argument, considering their position.
 
Caireann responded to him, even if the wolf could feel the fear in her gestures. It was enough for Robb to know that she also wanted him, and he knew he would not hurt her – not intentionally, so he tried to keep her movements in mind. The shirt was removed as her hair tumbled down, and as his hands went to find the laces of her dress, so did her own.

His hands gripped them as the kiss broke, and pulled harder, faster, to get the laces as loose as he could in as few gestures as possible. He had intentions to move towards the bed as well, as the dress started to slip from her. So he had no troubles following her lead as she backed that way, gaze not leaving her.

Caireann was everything in the world at that moment. The anger he felt was molded into something new, something not nearly as damaging – but still just as furious and demanding.

So when the kiss sparked again, he took it. He met it, and broke away, to devour more of her, placing burning kisses along her jaw, her throat, her clavicle, until he reached the cloth that still hung around her. With a swift gesture, he pulled the dress down while they were still standing, only to then bring her down to the bed, to pin her there beneath him. He kept an arm free to make sure he didn’t just fall atop her and crush her.

~***~

‘Too much alike.’ Olenna had already made the comparison of her to Tywin, but she supposed this flaw was shared among the lions. Pride, in some areas, that was difficult to swallow down. A flaw, but a flaw that so many times she would have willingly died for. That was the curse of it – what seemed a flaw was also their most guarded treasure.

The only thing they could keep unto death.

She looked up as Jaime groaned, saw the hand, but it never touched her. For a moment, Lenore was not certain if that was good, but determined it was. Soft things, soft gestures, even if desired right then would not be pleasant in the long term. This was…difficult enough. This confessing silence.

Pride did burn still at the edges, pride that didn’t want Jaime to touch her then, to make her state apparent. Pride that wanted Robb to come and apologize first. Lenore might have spoken it, but Ser Hill had stepped back in, worried more by the silence than he would have been by shouts. The sound of the door broke her reverie of thoughts, snapping her to respond. “I need to apologize to Lord Stark,” she told Adryan, who stared dumbfounded at her as she moved to her own bed and brought her knees to her chest. “Tonight. When you leave. Please.” Every word seemed to hurt but she needed to.

Apologize. Make no excuses and apologize. Hill looked to Jaime. “What the hell did you do?” Lenore resisted the urge to throw a cup at the knight.
 
The sound of Robb's voice still echoed in her ears, threatening to never leave her mind. As her fingers traced shapes over the burning skin, her lips loved above his temples in quiet hums, soft and soothing. She could hear the beat of his heart, heavy and loud, reverberating like drums in the rhythm of his breath. It was like a melody to her, which she enjoyed listening to like a lullaby.

"Will you speak to me now?" Caireann's voice was nothing but a whisper. He had appeared to be too troubled to speak before; demaded her body instead of her reassurance. His movements had been rough and strong, but she had ket her silence towards the new feeling. While his hands had moved with firmness, the softness of his kisses had remained the same, as sweet as the love she knew he carried for her.

Now, with droplets of sweat glistening upon his skin in the light of the fire, he was no longer a predator, but once a again a vulnerable boy resting in her arms. Sudden as it seemed, it was how she wanted to see him; how she was not afraid of him, even if he had not willingly tried to seep fear into her with his sharp gestures and tight tugs.

With his head resting by her side, Caireann placed a hand over her chest to cover the flesh better beneath the ermine. The other stopped tracing its patters, wavered above his lips, and started playing ontop of them to feel them moving as he spoke if he chose to answer her. He might wish to rest, afterwards, and not speak to her, which she entirely understood, even if it was not what she preferred.

~***~

There seemed to be a battle in Lenore's mind, her eyes following him in a combination of fear, regret, and the remains of a quenched anger. Their solitude did not last for long; Hill stepped into the room at the sound of silence and appeared just as taken aback by her submisiveness as Jaime felt. In truth, he had half-expected Lenore to try to fight him and call him an idiot.

"I used my rationality," he answered the query with a sigh and bent down to take his crutches, before lifting himself back up on his feet. "Surprising, isn't it?" There was no reason to pursue the conversation in front of the Reyne, unless he wanted her to change her mind. If pressed, he would have done the same; apologising was never easy, especially for a lion.

As the sun was slowly beginning to fade into the shelter of the clouds, Jaime knew it was going to rain. Rainfall cleared her mind the best, and as he neared to exit to the balcony, he gestured for them to do the same. "Gather your thoughts before you speak again." There was an odd gentleness in his voice, pity almost, for he understood how painful stepping over oneself's pride was. He could hear it in her voice and feel it in her movements, her wavering.

Once again, a caged lion. This time, she would take the first step towards freedom.

He would advise her in what to say, but knew Hill was far better at those things. Had Caireann been there, she would have done the same, but he supposed Robb had rushed into her arms after the argument, no wonder. He could only hope she would change his mind again, just as she had done with Karstark.
 
Robb's breathing evened out. His heart still pounded, but it was slowing with each ragged breath. He did feel more calm now, in Caireann's arms. She asked him to speak, and though he was tired, she was owed an explanation.

"Yes," he answered.

He tilted his head up to look at her, "I am sorry for my approach," grateful she allowed it, but he had not stopped to ask. To tease or to prepare her better - to play more. He hoped he had not hurt her. She did not act hurt, but....

A sigh parted his lips. The Ghost knew how to make words haunt. He had avoided them, but they returned. "You believe I love you, don't you?" She would wonder why he asked, "I saw Lenore...." It was not Willas that upset him, but her. The woman Caireann liked so, that others seemed to respect. "

"My mother thought she should be returned to the Council...she acted as if she had no interest in it and seems to think I am only using you." He wasn't - even after this he did not believe it, though the guilt dug in. Claws. He needed to know that Caireann did not think that way of him. Did not believe he was just using her.

Tricking her. "I don't understand it." How Lenore could care for Caireann and revile him. How others respected her when she seemed not to have their interests at heart. It was all personal. Her pride made that clear.

~***~

Rationality. Logic. Lenore always returned to those things but it took longer than this. If she was always consumed by pride, they would never follow her. Yet it was never so quick and Hill could not help but to feel a new, nagging worry. Jaime Lannister shouldn't have the ability to influence her so.

Perhaps he had training from putting up with Cersei or Tywin but even so...something was amiss.

'You have no idea....' Hill didn't say that as Lenore uncurled herself to go out in the rain. He followed - he would see Robb that evening to ask him to see Lenore again, to indicate she knew she had spoken in anger. Right now he would give her peace.

Her agreement was fragile, as obvious by her silence. She didn't sit either, but stood, so Hill slipped into the second chair on the balcony. He didn't want to continue that topic lest he ruin everything, but he wasn't sure where to begin.

Did she believe half of what she said to Robb? Why did Jaime's voice matter?

Lenore spoke, "How are your aunts?"

He managed a wane smile. Better topic, "They're well, mostly. Selene doesn't have much time for me." He visited them after his shift. They rarely had time for him at night, but Selene had a daughter. Quite busy.
 
Fingers curling in his hair, Caireann struggled to find the words to soothe him again. He spoke of his doubt in love, of how Lenore Reyne had insulted him, but she could hardly believe it. Still, there was no question that he was telling the truth, yet she wanted to think it had not truly been her the one speaking, but the lion inside of her, the pride that always seemed to seep through her whenever the harsh reality did not please her. It was in her nature, though the girl doubted why she had not inherited the trait.

"Robb..." she sighed, closing her eyes for a moment to take in his words. "I am sure Lady Reyne did not mean whatever she has said to you... Vanity, that is one of her biggest flaws, but it does not describe her." It was not what she wanted to believe, at least. She had spent enough time with the woman to understand at least a part of how her mind worked and see the world from her own perspective. "She is still hurt after the incident... After her contribution to the council was cut off."

She presumed it was what had pushed her into acting so frigidly in front of him, lowering himself as much as to dig into his wounds with harsh accusations.

Caireann leaned in then, and shifted to look into his eyes, cupping his cheeks to have him face her. "I know how such words can seep doubt into your heart," she whispered, eyes locked on his, "and I know how tough of a battle you are fighting... But whether it's you and me now... Whether it's you and me in the very end, I will never, ever cease to love you, with every single ounce of my heart," for he had given her his affection the way no one else ever had, promised her protection and delighted her with the sweetest of words, illusory or not.

Bending in, the ermine that covered her slid down, and she pressed her bare chest to his, so he could feel her heart beating against his own. "Do not listen to remarks that are only spoken to discourage you bring you down. Lady Reyne does not mean you any harm, of that I am certain." It was not within her interests, regardless. She was a head of the Alliance, and their cause would never survive if it crushed from the foundation. They needed eachother more than the walls of arrogance they had built around themselves.

~***~

The cold, brisk air of the early afternoon was sheill enough to slink through him like piercing arrows, awakening every bit of his mind left numb by anger. Jaime hoped that Lenore felt the same, for at least it seemed that way. As he sat down on a chair next to Hill, he listened to her speak of his aunts, and was slightly taken aback by the sudden change in subject and atmosphere. At least it was a break from the pain of a lost battle, allowing her to steel herself for what was to come.

"I would be pleased to meet your family, Lady Hill," Jaime spoke with a smile curling his lips, "though I am afraid I will be mistaken for my brother." Tyrion and brothels went along too well. It was enough that he had allowed himself to be taken prisoner; if word that he had visited a pleasure house during his confinement reached the ears of his father, it would be as much as an insult as it was a joke. He doubted the Lord believed in the genuinity of the Reyne, either; her identity could just as easily be masked beneath a signature.

A false name, for the sake of a victory, yet Jaime could no longer force himself to doubt it.

His family was as strange as a puzzle with missing pieces. The more he tried to understand and fit them together, the harder he struggled and the farther away the solution seemed to be. "You would love to meet Caireann's aunt, I bet," he turned to Lenore then, teasing bitterly. "You would love her just as much as she does." Not at all. If there was someone in that world the girl despised, it was Cersei. Jaime was still puzzled how she was so drawn to Lenore when the woman was as sour as her.
 
Robb did not believe her, not fully. Lenore may not have meant what she said but she meant to hurt. Savored it as a lion did a kill. She had enjoyed that. She trained her tongue as well as Olenna - the Reynes should have been known for it. It was probably why Roger was killed...or at least one of the reasons.

Even he knew that wounded animals often lashed out the fiercest, though. They did not distinguish friend from foe. When he was hurt he would say things he regretted - perhaps even she did.

Lenore vanished from his thoughts when Caireann cupped his cheeks and she became his world again, filling him with her presence, her warmth and faith in him. He inhaled it as one might the scent of a freshly baked pie. A promise of good things. The warmth of her own flesh, the slight pulse of her heart, confirmed her feelings for him.

How could his own be less, when it felt intense in the moment. Consuming and burning.

A hand pressed itself to her cheek. "I will try not to - but there is no way for us to work together if she remains obstinate." And he knew not how to turn from it. He would usually ask Bolton or Catelyn, but Bolton and Lenore weren't on good terms, and he was worried Catelyn might become upset with Lenore. A mother's nature was to protect. "What is it about my approach that offends them?" Lions. His other hand moved around her, to rest on her back over her heart. "You told me I have a way...that I should not go with you to Jaime," perhaps she understood what he did wrong.

Lenore was at fault but he had a hand in setting the mood.

~***~

Adryan snorted, "No, they wouldn't mistake Tyrion for anyone. They love him." Hill had to roll his eyes. "I am sure they would have plenty of stories to tell you of him." Most indecent. Also amusing. They liked him more than Tygett. "I am sure they would love to meet you. You, Lenore, Carise isn't happy with." The madam. The one like a mother to him, who now ran things.

"The Reyne thing?"

"Yes."

Lenore just smiled. Carise would be upset. She prided herself on being good at sizing up clientele. She let it slide - she would see them when she was free, rumors be damned. They were friends in an odd way. "I think I would like your sister." She told Jaime. Doubted it - but she might understand her.

Lenore wasn't the only one living in Tywin's shadow. "Or hate her. It depends." On Melara. On what happened. But Lenore wasn't sure she would ever ask...wasn't sure she wanted to know. "I think I will like Tyrion best of your kin."

"Most do," Hill sighed. "Pays too well to be hated." And Lenore allowed a laugh, letting the heated emotions dissolve. She would calm, and this time, be prepared and warned of Robb's next visit.
 
Caireann's hands did not leave his cheeks, palms pressed against the warmth of his flesh as her way to reassure him. His eyes still hid concern over his conversation with Lenore, in spite of her promise she had meant no harm. It was her way, after all; her words always stung, and not always did she meant them to come out that way. She had spoken bitterly to her as well, and it had taken her time to understand that the woman allowed her pride to step ahead of her at times.

She ran her thumbs over his temples, pressing lightly to soothe him, and her lips found the crook of his neck, then his jaw, his cheeks and the corner of his lips. How innocent and vulnerable he still was, even when he fought to prove himself a wolf... Caireann shook her head at his inquiry, canted her head and gazed into his eyes with an almost amused simper on her lips. "You do not have the tact," she sighed, "the patience. If you are denied, your method of convincing is... demanding."

He knew he was a King, was aware if his authority and slowly, that power muddled his mind, his perspective on things. "You have to learn to listen, and not allow yourself to be so easily provoked." She ran her hand over his forehead, caressing firmly, warming up his skin. "That is why I want you to let me speak," she chuckled. In situations like these, she would have tried to avoid a sensible subject as much as possible and tried to feed Lady Reyne's pride if needed. Sacrifices needed to be made if he wished to obtain his goal.

A thunder boomed in the distance, brightening the clouded sky. There was no jolt from her side this time, only a slight shudder at the sudden noise. It did not take long before she could hear the sound of rain crashing against the walls and the sea agitating with rising waves. Her eyes then turned back from the grey painting to the blue poem before her. Smiling, she rolled to her back, allowing her curls to briefly cover her bareness. In that moment, she no longer felt abashed by his presence; she trusted him too much to hide.

"Just give in," Caireann murmured. "Try to overlook her flaws... Give her another chance to redeem herself."

~***~

Jaime pursed his lips at the thought that Lenore might even like his brother more than him. He was an imp, and his appearence was not the most attractive, but he was as intelligent and as cunning as a lion. Perhaps Cersei envied him – it was the reason why she despised him the most. That, and the fact she still believed he had killed their mother when brought into the world, which was as ignorant as Cersei had ever been when it came to their brother.

"It guess it's good that Caireann took her good traits from him," he let out a sigh, watching the rain slowly break through the clouds. "But she also took the stubbornness... And the lack of love." No, she was not loved by any of the lions, aside from him and Tyrion. Jaime had never given Myrcella, Tommen or Joffrey as much attention as he had given her, mainly because he felt like they belonged to Cersei, and the woman made it clear it was that way. Caireann did not have a mother to claim her, so she struck with the leftovers.

He did not truly wish to see Lenore and Cersei in a room together. He was more than sure they would poison eachother the second they met, even without Cersei knowing of the relationship between Jaime and her, though it wouldn't be difficult to tell: red hair, pale skin, venomous lips and a sharp mind. Those had been the characterstics of Rosalind as well, and even though she was a good woman, Cersei could never overlook his interest in her.

He let out a sigh and averted his gaze, pursing his lips at a sudden thought of home. "I don't want to think what will happen to them," he mumbled. "Tyrion must have already drank his liver out because of Caireann... No word from the poor girl; he only knows she is alive." Perhaps that was even worse than knowing she had been killed. In death, people often found more peace than their lives could ever offer. The man would imagine her tortured and chained, struggling to pull through each day.

And had he been him in Tyrion's place, Jaime would have lost his mind, if he hadn't already.
 
Tact.

No, Robb probably did not have tact. Eddard Stark had always taught them to be honest, and in some ways, that ruined their tact. Sansa was taught tact as a Lady needed, but Robb was going to be Lord of Winterfell. Truth and Justice should say everything for him, and he should be well-mannered…but he might lack tact.

Her touch did sooth, even with the criticism. A slight smile curved on his lips, “I suppose not,” the Westerners had tact. Lies. Poison. Charm. All of these on a whim, when they wanted it – and that was why they wanted Lenore in the Council. When she was good – she was good. It was how she could hurt so well, too.

She knew where to strike. How to strike. “I will…see if she would like to talk again this evening,” it was the last chance he had, they were meeting in the morning for the Council, after all. Perhaps he had to learn to endure this, too. The Queen of Thorns would not be much kinder, if she was kind at all. Willas would not be, either.

The Roses had Thorns, and if an Alliance were agreed to, he’d have more problems dealing with them, then with Lenore. It might be good to see if he could get her back on his side again. Rather than the Roses. He turned his head as she moved onto her back, grinning a bit at her ‘give in’. He shifted himself up, tilted her chin up.

He knew she was talking about a wholly other situation.

But he did not care right then. He was feeling better from her words, her touch, her ideas – he could try this again.

And try more again, as well, “Thank you. I think I will give in,” and he took her lips into his, giving into the allure of her beauty besides him once more.

~***~

“Caireann has plenty of love now, Jaime,” Lenore reminded. “Not just Robb,” that was not what she meant. Hill cared for Caireann. Lenore did. Maege seemed to, and others would. Willas was now here, after all. “Her luck is changing,” hopefully for the better, even if things with Robb fell to pieces.

Yet the topic of Cersei and Tyrion bothered him. “Nothing. Not if I have any say,” and Lenore had sent Sebaston so that she would have a say. Certainly, though, Tyrion was worried, and the thought crossed her mind to let Jaime right to Tyrion…but it was destroyed immediately. There was no way she could let him, with their guards.

Even if she did…if a letter arrived for him, it would never see him. Likely, would not see her, either. She had barely gotten to see Tywin’s letter. Still hadn’t responded to it.

“Rumors travel. This is Lannisport, still a Lannister town. Robb’s a fool if he does not think word is getting to Casterly at least. I am sure Tyrion knows Caireann is safe.” Jaime, he’d know little on, except for today, when he was out with Hill. “But let’s talk of better things.” Conversation could be tricky with enemies, when they moved into these territories.
 
The wind was humming outside the walls of Stafford's castle, and the moon, faded behind the clouds, bathed the sky in a cold, somber glow. Light pierced through the windows of the room and rested on the cheeks of those who slept beneath warm furs. Caireann shifted in her slumber, patting the place next to her to feel for Robb. He was the first image that she pictured when her mind started to awaken, and as soon as her hand reached the ardent flesh, her heart caught the rhythm of a lively beat once again.

She found the strength to turn to the side to take in the view of him, but her muscles seemed to be burning. Numb, she moved a leg to wrap around his and pulled herself closer. "Is it late?" she whispered to him. It could have been midnight, as far as she knew; the night was too dark to discern anything other than thick clouds and black fog. "I feel as though I slept for an entire day..." and would have slept more, had it not been for the vivid dreams that had stained her mind.

Nothing other than dreams of him, of what they had done, flowing through her thoughts like Wildfire, unable to be quenched.

Yet, she knew that soon he would have to leave her side to speak to Lady Reyne again. Perhaps it was a good thing, after all; time alone would clear her mind of him for a while. And Mina would sure be suprised to hear Robb had been all but mad at her when he enetered her room that night in such anger and rush... The maiden did not shy away from asking more personal questions, especially when they concerned her and Robb, and Caireann always found herself answering in all honesty, to Mina's own enjoyment.

And if the Tyrells dined in the Great Hall that evening, whether the feast had ended or was to take place, she would come to tell her about the topics of discussion between the guests. She had expected Lord Willas to come to see her, but found herself slightly disappointed when he did not, although she could not explain the reason behind her concern with him. She forced her mind to focus on Robb once again, hoping she had not disturbed him too early, but he never seemed to mind opening his eyes to her after a good sleep.

~***~

Jaime spent the rest of his afternoon struggling to avert his thoughts from his brother, but they always seemed to slide back into his mind. From time to time, he would peek at Lenore to make sure that she was not reminded of the argument with Robb from earlier. And even if it was still in her head, she hid it well enough, which was rather surprising coming from her. Through her insensibility she was, in one way or another, a rather emotional woman. When she did burst she was as venomous as a viper.

When the air turned colder, he decided to lay in bed, and by the time the sky darkened his legs were already numb. The more time he spent in a horizontal position, vegetating like an infirm, he found his thoughts becoming more vibrant, painful even, and they levitated around memories of home and relative peace. He wanted to move, to fight and sprint with a sword in his hand. He wanted to see Caireann most of all, speak to her and make sure that he had not damaged her frail heart too badly.

"Prepared?" he found himself asking the Ghost, who now appeared as pale as moonlight. "I don't know if you still want me here when he comes or not," although he would have been interested in hearing her words from his own perspective. He trusted he had a certain control over his rationality that could improve her situation in front of Robb Stark; he was a young boy, after all, who took too much pride in himself that he could handle. Northern or not, his voice did not lack the frigidity and bitterness of his mother's.

Fingers anxiously tapping on the surface of the bedside, Jaime pursed his lips in an effort to hold in another comment or piece of advice. Lenore's reason had its limits, and he did not want to stain her thoughts with his own. It was up to her then to have her fate determined; with just a word thrown foolishly, she risked losing her seat in the Council for good, or being dragged into a cell and crushing the Alliance beneath her feet.
 
Robb was not certain how late it was. He had let himself drift in and out of sleep when their play had ended. He was disturbed by every little thing, it seemed, but he did not mind much. Waking up to Caireann’s warmth, or the feel of her skin, was not unpleasant – and he kept telling himself he wouldn’t fall asleep, anyway.

He still did.

He stayed awake though when Caireann finally woke and spoke to him. Her leg wrapped around his own, and he let his eyes flutter open to meet her gaze as she asked after the time, “No, not terribly,” he knew that. He’d heard enough traffic outside their door earlier to know it was not too late, despite how dark it seemed.

A lazy smile curved his lips then. He could have slept all day, but he knew he should not. He forced himself to sit up, to stretch up, and to then remember, “Lord Willas did want to see you,” when she had the time. “He said he would be in his own quarters most the day, but he may now be in the Great Hall, as well,” Robb said.

He had his own meeting to attend to, now. Lady Reyne, once more. As he moved a hand to brush back Caireann’s hair, though, he was jolted by the knock on the door. “Lord Stark?” It was Ser Hill’s voice. Robb couldn’t help the laugh that parted his lips. So…Lenore wanted to see him as well, then. For some reason, he could not think that was a bad thing.

“I’ll be there in a minute, Ser Hill.” He turned the touch to a kiss instead, leaning forward to place it on Caireann’s forehead, before lifting from the bed to dress.

~***~

It took some convincing for Ser Hill to leave them, as Yularen was running late – no doubt exhausted by having to stay up even later that day. That, and the sleeping aid couldn’t be helping him in waking up. Ser Hill seemed more paranoid Lenore would leave the room again, but she was quite firm on the fact she wouldn’t.

If she greeted Robb like that, it was all over.

‘Hetherspoon.’

The word rang as a reminder of who she needed to be. Humble and apologetic. An act and a truth, the role a shield from the name she bore. Tybalt had let her split it in two, told her it was a game. Hill. Hetherspoon. Reyne. The only way to win the game was to pretend, and Lenore could sink into that old and familiar role again, even if it felt like putting on a dress of knives that was three sizes too small, now.

She still couldn’t force herself to sit, but she’d at least stopped pacing. Distracted herself with tea. Yularen was also late again in bringing dinner. “Here, the study, the balcony,” Lenore gestured when Jaime spoke, “It does not matter.” All that mattered was getting it over with, as quickly as possible.

Well, it mattered. But she was trying not to act as proud as she was. Didn’t want to say she wanted Jaime out, because she didn’t want him to watch. Besides, he had been the one to bring sense to her. It was possible his presence might help. A reminder. The consequences and the stakes were too high to drop back into the role of Reyne.
 
Caireann's heart warmed up at the sight of his smile, and she curled up closer to him to enjoy it and listen to his words. He spoke of Willas and his desire to see her, which immediately disquieted her. "Lord Tyrell..." she let a sigh part her lips before closing her eyes. She was looking forward to meeting him, but feared what she might hear from him - that, perhaps, he was still interested in their betrothal.

With Ser Hill's voice outside the door, Robb kissed her forehead and rose to dress. She was immensely grateful he had not come inside unannounced again, otherwise it would have been more than an awkward situation, although it did not take much guessing to suspect what they had been doing. Her eyes followed Robb in his hastened movements to pull something over himself and she lifted herself up as well, blanket wrapped around her body, to pull him into a one last kiss before they parted, deeply and thirstily.

"Remember to give in, and I'm serious this time," the girl chuckled before breaking away from him to find her own attire. He had ripped off most of the laces, sadly rendering it unwearable, so she picked up a lavender dress that was slightly large for her, but fit well around the bust. She clumsily began tying the laces at her back, muscles still sore from the exhausting afternoon.

No, there were no regrets for what they had done.

She would watch him leave when he was ready, and would go find Thom to lead her to where Lord Willas was. As late as it was, Caireann expected they were likely having dinner in the Great Hall, but she had no intentions of going there again after Lord Lymond's outburst. With a bit of luck, she would find him in his quarters as Robb had indicated.

~***~

Lenore's stress echoed into Jaime as well, and frankly, he was more and more tempted to stand up and make her sit. It lingered even in the way she spoke, quickly and briefly, as though her own rush would get things over with sooner. No, it was not how it worked, and after Hill's leave, time seemed to have slowed down significantly. Especially since all he did was watch her.

"Just an apology," Jaime bit his lips, "that is all. Then you may be on your way." It was not as simple as that, not even for him. He doubted he would be able to keep his own mouth from making bitter remarks at the Stark. Lions had their vanity and arrogance with them wherever they went, and in spite of his efforts to prove his maturity in front of her.

With his legs throbbing from lack of movement, he stood up and leaned against the wall to keep himself on his feet. "I can't wait to be able to walk again," he sighed and looked over at her. "I'll be able to punch Robb Stark's face myself and not have you do it for me." He could bet her words had hurt more than just a fist, and for that he was secretly thankful. At least he had gotten the chance to see it in person.

Though, he doubted that by the time his limbs started functioning properly Caireann's heart would still be lusting after him like that. Their affair had sparked too quickly, and it would end just as quickly. It was only a matter of time until they found someone better, until they realised their stupidity... Until war shattered their innocent hearts and she came running to find respite in his arms.

Just like he would, after Lenore faded.
 
Robb chuckled as well, after Caireann left him with the reminder of her lips. Her words. Give in - don't demand. 'Roll over and play dead.' It wasn't that bad, but he knew this was still going to be a bit difficult. "I will." Lenore wanted this to work, too.

When he was dressed he stepped out to find Hill waiting. He fell in step with the blond knight immediately, the other clearly wanting to waste no time. He seemed a bit frazzled. Robb expected him to speak for a while, but he didn't until they got to the stairs. Then, the knight let out a breath. "Lenore does wish to apologize to you," he said then, "and I want to apologize on her behalf. I won't speak further for her on that." He could not truly apologize for her.

Only state her intent. "Thank you for coming." Hill added. Robb only gave a nod before following Hill up the steps and towards the lion's den, as he was coming to think of it. He heard the voices of Lenore and Jaime before the door was opened, muted by it, and then silenced by their steps.

~***~

Lenore cast Jaime a mildly irked look as he reminded her it was just an apology. It wasn't - but it almost helped to think of it like that. Almost. At least now she had tea, sweetened with nightshade. It at least tasted good, even if the amount was beyond normal recommended dosages. The normal didn't serve its purpose any longer.

She wasn't sure this would but placebo worked.

"Make it worth it. You'll only get one shot for both of us," Lenore would not be able to pull off a good punch. Not enough strength to put behind it. Her gaze shifted to the door at the sound of steps. Sipped the tea. Wouldn't set it down. Holding it would help.

Hill entered first with Robb following.

Lenore stepped forward. Her head inclined slightly, "Lord Stark," she greeted, without the venom. "I apologize for my earlier behavior towards you. You came in good faith to speak of a return to the Council and I gave you every reason to forbid me from it. I am sorry and I am grateful that you have come to see me again."

It was Nora Hetherspoon that spoke, always the shield of Lenore's pride. The words were no lie, of course, just trained to be spoken in this way. Highly formal. No excuses. The blame had to rest entirely with her. This was his Tybalt learned to live under Tywin's rule.

"I am willing to discuss working alongside you for the betterment of our alliance again." Tea. Shut up and drink the tea before she rambled and said something stupid.

Robb hid some of his surprise but not all. He had to clear his throat. He could only say, "Your apology is accepted Lady Reyne. I was led to understand it had been a while since we last spoke and there was much unsaid in that time." He caught her gaze. "You have spoken with Olenna."

"We both agree it would be imprudent to support contenders for the throne who are against you - if the Tyrells support you." So they had spoken seriously. "We can present options when we have serious contenders but our goal is to keep the South unified. They will support that." Might support separation but it wasn't what Lenore wanted.

Hill moved to stand near Jaime. Lenore seemed to pull it together - now Jaime had to.

Robb nodded. Groundwork had been done. She was still acting in favor of the Alliance. "So she does not want it for herself."

"No." Her children might but Olenna seemed smarter.

"And you will speak in the council for the benefit of a sovereign north?"

'I would not be here still if....'

Sipped tea. "Yes."
 
Thom's eyes scoured the surroundings as though he were venturing into a forest. He held his arm for Caireann to take, and she did not hesitate before doing so. Silence followed as they paced through the corridor that lead to the Great Hall, yet Caireann's mind was everything but quiet. She fought to keep her thoughts averted from the possible reaction of the crowd upon seeing her again, or from what the Roses would say when they met her.

Too many worries. Too much anxiety that echoed in her already clouded mind. Mina had warned her to be cautious with their thorns, but frankly, she did not know what to say once she did come face to face with Lord Tyrell. Compliments were not her forte, especially in front of strangers, in spite of having been taught to be courteous and polite.

Voices rose the closer they came to the ground floor, and as soon as they reached it, they were greeted by a group of Tyrell guards in silver armour, all adorned with similar features, yet none of them truly resembled a rose. "Lady Lannister's presence was requested by Lord Willas," Thom spoke faster than her, concern limpid in his tone.

"Lord Willas is dining," one answered, though there was a curl in the corner of his lips as his eyes landed on the girl. "Shall I-"

"He has finished dining," spoke another voice from behind them, and Caireann's eyes shot up to meet the tall figure of Willas Tyrell, leaning against his cane as he stepped towards her. The guards parted to give him space, and Thom inclined his head before stepping back, yet he did not leave her presence. "My Lady," the man smiled, and offered to kiss her hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you in person after so many years."

~***~

Tea seemed to be like a drug to Lenore, for the woman held the cup as though it were her shield. As soon as Hill returned in the presence of Robb Stark, she immediately stiffened and stepped to greet him. Apology first. It was what Jaime had wanted to hear, but not what he had expected, though it was good to see she had gotten rid of that burden so quickly.

When it was accepted, Jaime allowed himself to breathe out in relief, though anger was slowly beginning to accumulate in his chest once again. Robb Stark's mere voice irritated him. Hill must have noticed his uneasiness; he approached, as a silent reminder to keep his mouth shut as the two children spoke. He had no intention to interfere, as long as Lenore did not start shooting venomous arrows at him again.

As they spoke of Olenna, he did wish to express his mistrust. The woman was not particularly known for her kindness as the rest of her kin; she was simply just and straight-forward. "Putting your trust in Olenna Tyrell is almost as bad as in Lenore," Jaime shifted his gaze to meet Robb's. "I think you should be interested to know why they chose to consider joining you, since you have, truthfully, nothing that could benefit them," he shrugged.

He meant it as a warning to the Ghost - whatever was discussed in the council, and that which came from the mouths of the Roses, always had to have a double meaning. If the North separated itself from the rest after the war, it meant the South would be left to rot in the remains of the battle, in chaos and anarchy.
 
“Olenna Tyrell is better than me,” Lenore dared to say with a touch of a smirk, “Though her obtuse nature hides worse lies than mine.” Lenore wasn’t the only one with an interest in poison, but she’d not out the woman. She didn’t know it for certain, had only heard of the poisoned casks in Highgarden. “We’ll find out why they’re here, though I suspect it is because they want a hand in selecting who will rule them.”

Better said, the ability to control them, as she and Olenna had discussed. “And you know my reasons.” Discussed before, in writing. It was as simple as she was complex. Revenge. Pure hatred. Robb had an army and a will to seek that revenge to protect his own. He had nothing against any but Joffrey, and she only sought Tywin.

They were not, in the end, needlessly cruel.

He knew why she struck out at Karstark. “We will make sure that we unravel their intentions,” Robb agreed with Lenore then. It was the only bit of advice he’d heed from Jaime. The Roses were beautiful, but their petals hid those thorns. “I have spoken with Willas, but learned little,” he confessed. “He was not interested in understanding things better before.”

“And no visit from Olenna?”

“No,” he shook his head, “Nor do I expect one. The Council is to be held tomorrow morning.”

Lenore let her eyebrows raise. “And I?”

“You may come. You will finish your confinement, however.”

Lenore managed not to roll her eyes. She inclined her head, shut them briefly, and felt a rush of exhaustion push through her. The eyes were heavy. ‘Shit.’ She showed no sign of issue as her eyes opened, “I understand, Lord Stark.” She moved from where she stood, towards the table where the teapot was. “If there is no more to discuss?” Wooden box was opened.

“No. I will see you in the morning,” Robb consented, and moved to leave them, then.

As soon as his steps were gone, Lenore began to examine the vials with increasing haste.
 
Willas painted the image of a lean likeness and virile features that did not resemble those of his brothers. His hair, cut shorter than the norm, fell straight around his face in a sabel cascade. He was, without a doubt, a handsome man, and Caireann's eyes analysed him for longer than it would have been proper. He frowned at her silence, waited with his hand in the air, and she only took it after a moment.

"I am honoured to meet you, Lord Tyrell," the girl smiled, and his expression appeared to relax at the sight of her slight mirth.

"You are just as beautiful as I was told," Willas pressed his lips to the back of her hand, and Caireann's cheeks flushed at his compliment. It was mere formality, but she did wish to believe it.

"Is that meant to be an insult, my Lord?" she chuckled. "My family would beg to differ." She believed he had heard the rumors from her own kin if he was not lying, though she couldn't imagine Cersei writing to Olenna about her beauty. Her father was not sensible enough for such gest either. Perhaps it was merely in their nature to find a way to make a woman blush.

He sighed and shook his head at her doubt, before offering his arm to her. "Not even close," he turned to Thom then, visibly requesting for privacy, but the man did not move. Under Robb's orders, he was bound to protect her at all times, be it Willas the one who took her for a walk that evening. He was still foreign to him, not yet to be trusted. When his eyes returned to meet hers, his lips curved up into a smile. "I am sorry I was taken by surprise. Lord Stark did not inform me of your arrival."

"He has been resting."

"And you would know."

Immediately, Caireann regretted her words. She took in a deep breath, but before she could explain herself, Willas resumed his speech. "Irrelevant... But I am just glad that I got the chance to meet you, even if this is not the setting I would have imagined... I was worried when I heard about your status, but it is good to see you have not been harmed. Northeners are not particularly known for their gentility."

"They have protected and cared for me, my Lord," she defended. "They are not the warmest, but they are honourable men."

He pursed his lips. "The council is tomorrow...," it was yet to be seen, "but I do not doubt Robb Stark."

~***~

Jaime's lips perked up at Lenore's remark; indeed, the Queen of Throns had the advantage of years in front of her, but in his eyes they were both just as dangerous. It was no longer in his character to doubt women after what he had seen there - they were the true leaders of that Alliance. Catelyn Stark herself lead from behind her son; Maege Mormont deserved her title of She-Bear.

When the subject of the council was brought up again, he could almost see the pleasure in her eyes when the man agreed to her attendance. Having spoken to the Tyrells or not, her presence there would be needed. Robb needed her. In spite of her obvious contentment, there was something hiding behind her eyes - expectancy, concern. Anxiety. It did not leave her face when the King in the North disappeared, either.

When silence fell once again, Lenore turned around and began shifting and turning her vials. Had he not known her better, Jaime would have presumed she was trying to find a poison for him, yet it only struck him then that the bane had been in her own drink. The tea. She always slipped a few drops of poison in her teapot before she drank, apparently to increase her immunity.

"What have you done?"

Jaime's voice was trembling now as he watched her flesh turn ashen, even if her eyes did not disclosed her fret. He bent down over the bedside to smell the tea and the scent burnt his nostrils, heavy and sickening. A drop of Sweetsleep and one fell into ponderous haze, an ounce and he was shrouded by a deep slumber, a pinch and he never woke up again. He did not wish to think what happened in the case of poison.
 
Lord Stark needed to tell the others about the meeting in the morning. He had not done so before seeing Caireann, so Lenore was the first to know. Many, he suspected, would be in the Great Hall by now, but one would not. That one was, of course, Roose Bolton. He found him with a guest, a man he mistook for a woman at first glance.

The man stepped aside, smiled to Robb, and then seemed to slip into the shadows of the room. He didn’t leave, but he certainly made himself scarce. “Lord Bolton.” He glanced to the guard, “If I am interrupting—”

“No,” Roose shook his head, “He is just one of my scouts,” Roose indicated, “He came to report that there have been no changes to Casterly Rock yet, and no ravens from Tywin. If we seal this alliance with the Roses, we should be able to strike before Tywin returns.”

Robb let his eyebrows raise, and he smiled, “Good,” that was indeed good news, “I’ve come to tell you that we are having a council in the morning with the Tyrells, rather than the evening.”

Roose took note of it, nodded, “I will be present,” he barely slept more than a couple of hours anyway, “Is there anything else?”

“No,” Robb shook his head, “I will leave you be, then.” Another glance to the guard. Something about the other bothered Robb, though he couldn’t place why. Maybe it was that smile on his lips, that seemed too happy. Certainly, too happy in Roose’s presence. Did Roose tolerate that smile? Seemed hard to imagine.

Robb shook it off and left him, to go track down the other council members. Only after he left did he realize he should have mentioned Lenore.

‘Oh well.’

~***~

‘What have you done?’

Lenore had heard that question so many times in situations like this. “Nightshade,” she told Jaime when he sniffed the tea, “Do not drink it, that is far more than you can handle.” And, apparently, more than she could. “One drop to relax. Three drops to sleep. Ten for a sleep you’ll never wake up from.”

“Aeron’s told you not to play with that!” Hill snapped, dumping the cup when Jaime turned away from it, back into the pot, which he then promptly moved to dump out the balcony, “Do I need to get Aeron?” He shouted back into the room.

“No, no, I only did…approximately seven drops.”

Hill almost dropped the pot. “HOW ARE YOU AWAKE?!”

“Gradual immunity which Aeron said wasn’t possible. Proved him wrong.” If seven drops was more like three, that was pretty good. If it was. Lenore was never quite certain. There weren’t stories of what happened between three and ten drops. “The body learns – here it is,” her hands finally found the vial she sought.

Of course, the problem was, she didn’t know exactly how much she needed. ‘What was it, two drops the last time, when I nearly killed myself….’ Funny how she needed less antidote. But every antidote was a poison in itself. Too much, and she’d just make herself sick in another way.

She took a spoon and measured it out, two drops, and took it down, before sitting in the chair by her table. “If I fall asleep in the next half hour, get Aeron.”

Hill put the pot back on the table. “Why do you do this?”

“Which answer do you want today, Hill? The one about loving things that would kill me, the suicidal one, the arrogant one…?”

“The truth.”

“All of the above then.” Her body heated, she could feel it. Antidote wasn’t immediate. It would take some time for it to kick in and work. At least she knew how it felt when it worked.
 
Pacing through the cold corridor, Willas held one arm up to support Caireann, while the other hand tapped nervously against the cane. He bent his back to subtly make up for the substantial difference in height, masking it with the use of his cane. The silence was covered by the sound of their steps on the stone floor and her breathing, soft and steady, as though she were anticipating each one of his movements.

There was something about her which she kept hidden, and the more he struggled to force words out of her, the more she refrained from talking. His anxiety reflected into her, even though he forced himself to appear confident. For so long he had dreamt of the moment he would meet her, and now, that she was in front of him, he doubted the betrothal would be consummated. She had spoken with too much passion of the Northeners, implicitly of Robb Stark, athough he did not wish to take a relationship of such nature into consideration.

"Are you looking forward to returning home?" The question came out more ridiculous than it sounded in his head.

The girl pursed her lips and averted her gaze to the ground. "After this war is over, if it ever is... If Lord Stark wishes to send me back, I will."

"Not what I asked."

"Then no."

Her eyes shot up at him in all of their sincerity, hazel and chocolate mixing with bitterness. It was known even in the Reach that the girl and her father alike were not beloved among the lions, but family was family, and one was forced to love them blindly. Yet, she seemed to beg to differ. If the middle of war was a better home for her than whatever her kin had to offer, he did not require to know more.

Willas let out a sigh of defeat when he glanced back at her. As frail as his grandmother saw her, he could see past the fragility in her. He wanted to, at least, but he could not read her at all. "You are still a mistery to me," he said honestly, stopped, and turned to face her. "I would like to get to know you, if you please... Tomorrow. I do not know if the council will go well, but I do wish to invite you for breakfast with my sister and I. She is... eager to meet you as well, I am sure." And she would not close her eyes at them dining in her balcony, either way.

~***~

Jaime did not need any more fuel to start fuming. Lenore had done this to herself out of pure stupidity, and yet she claimed to be skilled in the art of poisons and elixirs. There was doubt in her voice, fear; she knew there was a chance she would not wake up, with or without her immunity. Seven drops were way past the limit for a woman who barely ate anything during the day. She could not live on tea and poison.

He bit in a comment of how her words reflected her diet. Instead, he crawled over to her bed - which was, thankfully, only a few steps away from his own - , and sat down closer to the chair by the table. "Don't listen to her," he told Hill. "Get your maester. Look at her." She was only turning more and more ashen, as the poison seeped deeper into her bloodstream.

The urge to yell at her was poking him from the inside, but he knew it would only agitate her more. An ill Lenore was scary enough, he did not wish to see her angry again, as well. The last time it had happened, when she had contacted the fever from the camp on the road from The Twins, Jaime's worry had not been nearly as intense. Perhaps she would not die, but it could damage her internally.

And if she fell asleep...

"I swear I will throw away your poisons one day," Jaime sighed and cupped his head in his palms. 'Idiot,' he thought, though he did not know whether the insult was aimed at her or himself. Idiot, for ingesting poison and expecting to become immune; idiot, for falling in love with a Ghost... He wanted to believe she would die one day, by the hand of his father, but he couldn't push himself into considering it. Ghosts did not die. Rosalind never had, either.
 
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With Bolton seen, Robb Stark went on to the Great Hall. He found there more of the Alliance - the Vikarys and Lord Tybalt. They seemed to be having a lively discussion that Robb only caught a bit of as he approached. Lymond was speaking animatedly, his gestures wide. "...hooked his ankle and wham!" Lymond clapped his hands together. "The daisy was planted!" He looked to Robb then.

Robb looked baffled, even as the others looked entertained. "Council?" Lymond guessed.

Robb nodded. He looked to Tybalt as he answered, displeased with Lymond still. "Tomorrow morning," Lymond groaned, "With the Tyrells. We will decide on this Alliance with them."

Lymond wanted to argue that gave them no time to talk with Lenore and plan ahead. Hoped that Adryan would be well briefed. Before the complaint could slip his lips, though, Robb added, "Lady Reyne will be present." Lymond perked up at that.

Tybalt smiled, "Thank you," he inclined his head slightly to Robb. "We will be there and in support of you." They would have been before, but not as strongly. It would be easier to offer their full support with Lenore present. "Is there anything more, Lord Stark?" Again, the young wolf shook his head. "Then I hope you have a peaceful night."

"And you, Lord Hetherspoon." He wanted to ask of Caireann's visit but refrained and left the group.

~***~

Lenore managed a glare when Jaime spoke of her poisons. Hill seemed to be torn between leaving and staying, watching. He had seen Lenore overdose before. It was the price she paid for her gains - the limits had to be found and pushed to advance her immunities. He had seen her react much worse but each poison was different. Of all, nightshade always seemed to be the one she struggled with - finding the new limit was...difficult.

It was her sword, she had said. Her practice. Hill couldn't expect to get better by fighting children. Lenore wouldn't improve much if she never challenged the immunity.

"You won't." Lenore growled the denial. The collection was dear and expensive. It took years to build.

Hill moved then. "I will be back - don't let her sleep." As if Jaime could stop it.

"Don't tell Tybalt!" The door shut on those words and Lenore hoped the two wouldn't be near each other. She pushed herself to stand, regretted it, and stumbled back into the chair. Deep breath. She decided to force herself to pack the box up once more.

"This isn't abnormal." Not that Jaime knew that. She had done well with measuring her poison up until then. The fever continued to build, a warmth that sought to soothe her into unconsciousness. "I will be fine." Never mind the way bottles tried to slip out of her hands. Loose and loosening grips.
 
When Willas stopped walking, Caireann thought she had offended him in some way with her frigidity. She was, however, surprised at his invitation, and flattered at the same time. He was a noble Lord, one who could benefit Robb in many ways, yet she was sure he would not be happy to hear about it. Still, it was something she couldn't refuse, and as she stared at him, she found her lips parting to accept.

"Thank you, my Lord," the girl smiled, "I will be there, as soon as you send for me." Her relative confinement did not allow for her to roam freely about. "If Lord Robb allows for it..."

"He may come," Willas gave her a reassuring nod, though a frown darkened his complexion. "It will be early, before the council takes place. It is when I... We prefer to dine."

Caireann was used to getting up early, so it did not bother her to do so, but she doubted Robb would be particularly enthusiastic about it. She would have to ask Mina to prepare a nicer attire for her if there was any. In comparison to the Tyrells, her clothing looked like it belonged to a servant, not to a Lady, but it seemed more comfortable than the tight corsets and rough embroidery.

Gently, she removed her hand from around his arm and stepped back. "I am looking forward to having breakfast with you," she reassured him, louder this time, and Thom started walking towards her. It was no lie that which she spoke, for he was as much a mistery to her as she was to him. "I do wish you a wonderful evening."

And, without other parting words, she turned around to return to her room under her guard's protection once again, leaving a lingering Rose behind her that followed her steps with an earnest gaze.

~***~

Hill disappeared through the door at his demands, and Jaime lifted himself up from the comfort of the bed as soon as he saw her moving again. The woman was still struggling to prove herself strong enough, in spite of her apparent weakness. It was what irritated him the most, but as much as he tried, he knew he would never make her lower her wall completely.

Jaime's hands seized Lenore's wrists firmly, forcing her to drop her hastened activity. "Stop," he growled at her, but kept his voice low enough, in fear that the loud noise would bother her more. "Listen to me, I have no doubts you will be fine, but right now you are not," and frankly, all he wanted to make sure was that she never tried to poison herself that way. "Just sit down and look at me."

'And keep your damn eyes open.'

His gaze burnt into her, cutting through the shield that shrouded her pain. She appeared unmoving, cold and sullen, like a man who had bled too much, for too long. Red hair, unquenchable tremor and frozen eyes... It was how Rosalind had died, although he had not been there to see. He wouldn't have wanted to, either, but only because he was more of a coward than he liked to admit. Now, despite her efforts to reassure him she would be alright, he couldn't help but fear the worst. It was not often that Lenore Reyne called for a maester.

"You're burning and freezing at the same time," Jaime bit down on his lip. If she were Caireann, he would have forbidden her from touching the vials, but he couldn't stop a lion from hunting its prey. It was what she did best, it seemed - kill and wait to be killed.
 
Robb made sure that everyone was informed before he got himself a bit of dinner, and took a few things for Caireann as well – in case she did not eat. And he grabbed the dessert they had, as well, in case she had. She seemed to enjoy sweets, and though there were no mint muffins out just yet, there was a warm berry cobbler that had been made as a treat of sorts.

He found himself nibbling a bit at that even before his actual meal as he waited in Caireann’s room. ‘She must have gone to see Willas.’ He realized, and his heart twisted. Paranoia. Caireann did not think she would leave him. ‘And you do not think you would leave her.’

Again, Lenore’s words. The claws dug deep. He did not think he was using Caireann. He did not want to believe he was capable of that, but they still sunk doubt in. They were young. He knew already that many thought they were too young – but how many got engaged at younger ages and came to love the other?

Catelyn and Ned.

And he was getting to know her, more and more, each day. He shook his head to dismiss the thoughts as he heard the quiet steps outside the door, and he rose from his place on the bed to be standing when she would enter, that guilty look again crossing his face as he realized once more, he’d eaten without her.

She said it was okay…but there was still guilt associated with doing so.

~***~

Ser Hill knew the way to maester Aeron’s room. The problem was, it was quite close to Lord Tybalt’s room. Right next door, actually…and so also close to Yularen’s. He banged a fist on Yularen’s room as he passed it, skipped over Tybalt’s, and knocked on Aeron’s.

“Hill?”

It was Tybalt. Returning to his quarters. His back stiffened as Aeron opened the door this own room, looking a bit confused. Hill heard Lenore’s shout. He knew exactly how paranoid Tybalt would get, even if Hill wasn’t half as worried as Jaime – another thing he was keeping stored in his memory to analyze. “Ser?” Aeron spoke.

‘Well damn it.’

Hill took a breath and turned so he could see both well enough. He looked apologetic as he spoke more to Tybalt than Aeron, “Lenore needs to see maester Aeron,” he looked then to Aeron, “She doesn’t want to see you, of course.”

“What has she done?” Tybalt’s voice brittle.

“You know what she’s done,” Hill let out a sigh of long-suffering. “Nightshade.” The one poison she wasn’t supposed to play with, and always, always, did.

Aeron turned back to his room to get his supplies.

Tybalt turned right away from his room and left the hall. No need to ask where he was going.

~***~

Lenore wanted to snap at Jaime the second her wrists were grabbed, and she did try to pull away, but it was a pointless endeavor. The tug hardly had any strength. She curled her fingers into fists and glared at him. ‘You don’t get it!’ It wasn’t to act strong.

It was a task to help her stay awake. Nothing was likely advisable, but nothing would lull her to sleep. Even then, just glaring at him, was lulling. The glare lost its fire too quickly, the wrists relaxed. “I know the symptoms…,” trailing words to no point. There was nothing to add, but her mind was sinking into that tired haze it never seemed to get from normal exhaustion.

Another pointless tug of her wrists, before she sat, and tried to keep her eyes from defocusing on him. Turned her head from him, tried to find something interesting to examine. Unclenched her fingers. There was nothing in this room she hadn’t turned over a hundred times already in her fits of irritation at the small room.

Her gaze inevitably came back to him. “Slow breathing. Dry mouth.” He wanted symptoms. He could feel the temperature. “Loss of sensation,” she barely felt her fingers as she curled them. “There are plenty of symptoms to nightshade, depending…,” again the trail of thoughts, trail of eyes as her head started to bow.

Only to jolt up again. She blinked her eyes rapidly. Deep breath. Did little. Her heart rate slowed. Everything yearned for sleep. Her body was slowing for it. Looked back to him, “I won’t haunt you.” As if she had any influence on his mind. “Don’t let me haunt you.” He didn’t deserve it.
 
The hallways were cold, but Caireann's body was burning with anxiety and anticipation. She did not wish to imagine Robb's expression when she would tell him of Willas's invite. They had sworn their love for eachother, yet it already seemed to be wavering from his side, shaken by Lenore's words. He should not have listened to her, and yet there he was – she could feel it in him when they kissed, when they were broken away and when they looked at eachother. Only love was written in her eyes when her gaze met him, as though she were seeing him for the first time each time, but she could not read his.

Fire. It was burning more and more vividly inside of her with unquenchable flames of fear. As she reached the door, she smelled his scent and knew he had already arrived. There was a trail of something sweet, as well – dinner, it seemed, and her spirit was cheered up slightly. Thom eventually let go of her arm, though hesitantly, and she entered the room without a knock. He would have heard her hastened steps against the floor from afar.

Wolves always did, and he had a way of sensing her when she was near.

When Caireann's eyes landed on the King in the North, her body froze again and her heart skipped another beat. By the looks of it, he had eaten without her again, but she did not mind it. Guilt was dancing in his eyes, endearing, and she found herself having missed him already. "Robb," she called out, as if to make sure she was really there, and when the door closed behind her she skipped over to where he stood to pull him into a hearty embrace.

Caireann closed her eyes at the sweet perfume and took in all of Robb, whether he wanted to be embraced of not, although she doubted the latter. When she did break away after what seemed like a year, she looked into his eyes with the same fascination as before – he looked nothing less like a pup then, blue and grey like the colours of winter of which he was King. "I am sorry if I have made you wait," the girl apologised, but would not remove herself from his arms unless he pushed her away. "Would you like to have dinner?" first, for she would not break the news on an empty stomach.

~***~

Seized in his hands, Lenore was growing weaker and weaker with each passing moment. Jaime could feel her pulse against his palm, rushing then lowering its pace, only to pick it up again and push frail waves of blood through her veins to maintain the fever. It was not how he wanted to see her, and more what he truly feared seeing; he pictured his nightmares of her, and they all looked like this when she was not being eaten up by Wildfire. Those dreams had felt vivid in their time, and now they were only catching ablaze in his mind, setting his heart on fire.

He let go of her wrists in favour of her cheeks, cupping them tightly with his thumbs pressed against her temples. Once again, he caught the faint pulse through the feverish skin and the sweat that formed over it like a pellicle. He had heard maesters speak of it as the body's way to eliminate the poison, but he could not convince himself that it would be enough to keep her breathing for much longer. As she started to speak, his mind clouded immediately, and he sensed the fear in his voice which only awakened his anxieties.

The symptoms. He felt each and every one of them in her, individually, and the more they waited, the more intense they became. At her demand, Jaime gritted his teeth and pressed his forehead to hers. "Don't be an idiot," he growled at her, but it was of no use. He did not know whether she could hear him anymore in that moment, of be able to distinguish words from mumbling and breathing. "Don't be an idiot as you always are," he almost shouted, and when he broke away to look into his eyes, he found himself trembling lightly as well.

There were steps in the distance, approaching quicker and quicker, but Jaime did not put effort into trying to recognise them. He ran his fingers over the flesh that looked paler and paler with each passing second, and he wondered why it took Hill so long to get Aeron. Lenore was already beginning to lose her senses, and as she struggled to keep herself awake, Jaime forced himself to keep calm. "You're not leaving me, you understand that?" the lion roared loud enough so she could hear. "Open your damn eyes."

When the door opened, he would slide his hands from her face and squish her shoulders to keep her straight. His leg was throbbing in pain while he knelt there, to be of the same level with her as she sat, but he did not care for it. 'Move,' he silently demanded the shadow outside, 'in the name of the Gods,' and finally, they did.
 
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The way Caireann froze at the sight of him did make him smile, if only for the look on her face. The guilt didn’t quite vanish from his features, but it relaxed. More like a puppy caught eating a chicken meant for guests, rather than anything else more malevolent. He adjusted the plate he was holding so he could wrap an arm around her when she came to embrace him, nuzzling her neck when he bent his head lower.

When she pulled away, that guilty pup look remained, but he held her gaze and shook his head, “No, I am just impatient when I smell food and am hungry…I forget to wait,” he smiled, added, “It was a problem when I was much younger and my mother wanted to say a prayer before we ate,” he had been scolded for it, then.

He learned to wait at family gatherings.

Not much else. Like when he should be waiting for Caireann to join him. What should be a family gathering of sorts.

He kept his arm around her, “I think I’ve already begun dessert…so dinner would be good,” he smiled, and would let his arm drop, to allow them both to get to the real food. “Were you with Lord Tyrell?” He had to ask, even as he set his plate of dessert down and went to load his plate. He should treat it like something…casual.

Or at least try. Not make it a big deal or a big concern, even if it was to him. He knew this was inevitable. He had to trust that Caireann would not fall in love with Willas.

~***~

Lenore’s wrists dropped into her lap when they were released, and instead, his hands came to her face. She tried again to focus her eyes upon him, but it was difficult. They kept fluttering to half-lidded. Closed. Opened again. She tried to keep an uneven pattern to her breathing to keep it manual, keep herself thinking about it, but it always trailed.

His forehead was cool, and she lowered her eyes as soon as he was so close. Idiot. Hardly. Just…too much this time. Even then her mind still protested his accusation. “You’re afraid,” she wasn’t sure if she said it or simply thought it, as her eyes closed for a second.

Or she thought it was a second, anyway.

Then Jaime roared and she snapped back to the present moment, rather than that ever-pleasant sleep that threatened to devour her entirely, the way that drowning had. Her eyes opened, but slowly, and again tried to fix on the blurred man as his hands slid from her face to her shoulders, keeping her up. There were steps of another.

“Move.”

Lenore would know that icy voice anywhere. She found the blur of Tybalt and tried to smile, but as soon as she’d tilted her head up, she wanted to lower it again. 'Sorry.' Wanted to say, but the words didn't escape from her. She had...messed it up this time, hadn't she?

Aeron was on his heels, with Hill. “How many?” Aeron asked Hill as Tybalt pressed a hand over the top of Lenore’s shoulder.

“Seven,” Hill answered him, and the maester grabbed the tea cup. He didn’t bother speaking to Lenore, but took out milk, a black powder, and grasped the vial of antidote she hadn’t managed to put away yet.

“Food?”

“Only breakfast this morning, and tea.”

“Of course,” Aeron didn’t sound surprised. Empty stomach was likely what did it more than the amount. He knew too well she took down five without a reaction. She hadn’t calculated lack of food into her equations. Probably stressed with Robb visiting and thinking seven would produce the same effects as one drop – for a normal person. He was quick with his hands, well trained in poison now by necessity thanks to Lenore. He liked to imagine he'd be the best in the Citadel by now.

The charcoal powder was mixed with more, but it was more to absorb as much of the poison as it could. She couldn’t just drink powder, though, so he mixed it into the milk, with one more drop of antidote. “Lenore!” He snapped, a hard voice she could recognize. When her head turned, he grasped her chin, placed the cup against her lips, and then tilted her head back to help. She was still conscious enough to part her lips and swallow on her own.
 
Caireann chuckled at Robb's comment about his inability to contain himself in front of food. The thought of him, young and chubby-cheeked, was too endearing, although quite difficult to imagine considering his current appearance. He was still young, but he looked older than most men at his age, with his russet stubble and his darkened blue eyes. It was the effect of war, she knew, yet there was still youth left in him, especially when they were alone and he could be his own self around her.

When the embrace broke, he placed the plate with dessert down and picked up the tray with the main course. Caireann took her seat on the bed next to him, but the peace did not last for much longer. She sensed the concern in his voice as he asked about Willas, in spite of his efforts to hide it, and frankly she felt the same about it. "I was," she sighed. "We took a walk through the main hallway... He is a fine man, Lord Willas. He was very kind to me."

Of course a man with his interests would be polite to her, and he was a Tyrell, after all. The Roses were known for their generosity and kindness regardless of whom they spoke to, though Willas was much colder than the rest of his kin, but perhaps it was only her presence that influenced him to act that way. She parted her lips to mention what he had said to her, but the words remained stuck on her lips and lingered there for a while, until she did find the courage to speak, but did not look into his eyes.

"He... invited me to have breakfast with him and Lady Margaery." She swirled her fork through the vegetable puree and pursed her lips. "You may come, if you wish..." 'And please do come with me.' A breakfast would have been enjoyable if it weren't for the thorns, and a friendly face by her side would make her feel better. It would also assure her that Willas Tyrell did not step over the line with gestures of subjects of discussions. Robb would never allow him to, and he ought to respect the King.

Taking a small bite, Caireann finally peeked at him from the corner of her eyes. "You would look wonderful wearing that grey shirt of yours," she added with a small smile. "The one you wore when you did not want me to tear it off of you..." her cheeks flushed then, before she went back to digging into the puree.

~***~

'Of course I'm afraid.'

Jaime kept his lips sealed as Tybalt entered, followed closely by Aeron and Hill, but it was the spoon that looked the most distressed of all. He stepped away from Lenore to sit on the edge of the bed once again, allowing his leg to rest, although the throbbing pain never left it. Still, his eyes remained locked on the pale Ghost before him, shuddering and sweating in fever. Those around her moved and spoke, but Jaime could only hear the sound of her heavy breathing, counting each lift of her chest and chewing his lips in fear.

He could not see any of their faces, but he could almost hear their blood beginning to boil at Lenore's stupidity. A black powder was moistened with milk and poured down her throat, forcefully almost, and she took it all without protesting. "Is it immediate?" Jaime asked, although he already knew the answer. He hoped that the antidote she had prepared herself would work in combination with the one made by her maester, but he could not be sure. On an empty stomach, seven drops could be just as effective as ten.

And did it count, after all? It was poison, venom, and while it was meant to fuel her, it now turned her into a numb doll. He pictured the image of Caireann in his arms, so many times fallen ill and fainting from the fever, but Lenore looked much worse in her state. 'Just one night, and it she makes it, she will live,' the maester had once said, and he had forced himself to believe it, while Cersei almost implored him to leave the child in the hands of the Gods.

He never had, but still ended up losing her. For every battle he won, he lost another.

Now, Lenore looked nothing less like a child, vulnerable and in pain, fighting between life and death for such an idiotic mistake. 'You are strong enough.' Was she? 'I won't let you haunt me,' but what power did he have over her. No, he did not wish to consider the possibility of her not pulling through. He trusted the maester, trusted the only bit of rationality left in the woman's head... He knew she would make it. She had to.
 
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Robb was glad that Caireann confirmed she had been with Willas, and did not seem to try and hide much, for his feelings. Those would remain conflicted, he knew. Hearing that Willas was kind to her was both a positive and a negative, and he hated trying to wrap his head around the contradiction. Everyone should be kind to Caireann – even Willas. It should not matter that his intentions were to wed her.

And then he had invited her to breakfast, but Caireann seemed to be extending an invitation to him. “I have always enjoyed our breakfasts,” that seemed how it all began with them – him bringing her food in her tent in the morning. “I will be there, then…in a gray shirt,” he chuckled at the thought.

He had others.

“I am sure you would look lovely in any of your dresses,” he added, and knew she would. She was always a delight to his eyes. “Perhaps one of yours in pink or green would look particularly nice for breakfast, though,” for him. Not for Willas. He wondered then, “Do you have enough clothing here in Lannisport?” If she didn’t, they could always go get her more. He had not purchased her much, she was mostly borrowing what was available from others who could lend her attire.

~***~

The first time Lenore had done this to herself, on the 5 drops now considered nearly ineffective most days, Tybalt had learned of the relationship between her and Aeron. As he stood there now, looking between Lenore and Jaime, he had a feeling there was far more going on here. Jaime was far too concerned for a Lannister prisoner of a Reyne, and he knew his daughter was not nearly as soft as Robb. Knew how Jaime had traveled, and how he would be kept – were it not for his injuries.

Yet, he was allowed too much freedom even with them. Not that he used it – no, he had saved Lenore’s life. He wasn’t going to throttle her while no one was in the room.

And that worried Tybalt more than if he would. “No, it isn’t immediate,” Aeron was the one to answer. It took a while to absorb poison and fight it. Her own system would help. The antidote she drank before. With this addition, she should be fine, but it would likely take the night. “She’s safe to sleep now if she dozes off, and she should be fine after twelve hours.”

Tybalt bit his bottom lip. Barely in time for the council. She would likely still look pale and unwell there, but he didn’t doubt she’d at leave have her mind by then. “There’s nothing more to do, unfortunately,” the limits of medicine only went so far. The rest was time, like Jaime’s leg, though this wouldn’t last nearly that long. “She’ll recover,” that, he said to Tybalt, who had been quiet since ordering Jaime away from his daughter. “She always does.”

Tybalt didn’t seem pleased with that, if only because he was reminded this wouldn’t be the last time she did something this foolhardy. There was no stopping her. He had always known that. So he just had the support available to treat her insanity.
 
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