Fangs and Claws [Closed]

[peritwinkle]

The wolf's body radiated heat as if it were burning, or perhaps it was merely her heart that was ablaze. He leaned in more towards her, pressing her to the wall and closing the distance between them. Caging her once again, he was seemingly unaffected by her tease; it was her who was red and bothered, whilst he kept the grin on his lips that she loved so much. It was torture to watch him toy with her that way, never satisfying, perpetually keeping her on the edge.

Was in not, in truth, how she loved to torment him as well? They were both to blame then, for their cruelty and lust over eachother.

Their game sparked once again, as fiery as the last time they played it, and Caireann answered him with the same groomed act, "Oh, but there is nothing I could do," she sighed, "in front of the Wolk King that has had me caged and trapped in his arms..." She had won the last time, and planned to do so once again, to show him that Queens were made not only to endure, but to win, as well. "I can either give in and protect my people... Or fight you, with the hope I will find victory."

She let the hand that had been stroking his cheek brush over his lips, slow and gentle, her eyes finding his again to get lost in that stormy sea. "Or...," clutching the book tighter now, "You could bend the knee and give in, yourself, before I crush you." Her voice remained quiet, mellow, only for his ears to hear. She lowered herself then, removed her cloak and, bending her knees, she slid the book between its folds to shield it from the rain.

When she straightened herself back up, still beneath him, she was already shuddering in the cold wind. She placed her palms on his chest fingertips resting in the crook of his neck, "It is your choice, King in the North... I have defeated you before, I will defeat you again." He had a soft spot for her, she knew, even if he seemed to hide it so well. It was his heart that gave it away, the loud pounding, the red hue in his cheeks and the fervor of his lips which she sensed even as they were slightly parted.

~***~

Given his noble background, it was only natural for the boy to become a knight so easily; when it came to circumstances heritage, it was not difficult for one to go through the process without the actual merits. Yularen did not strike Loras as a man of violence, or someone who enjoyed hurting others. He was too mellow, too kind, but perhaps it was that innocence that intrigued and interested him so much. The feeling that, for once, he could be dominant over him. Hill had not given him that feeling.

He did not know Lenore Reyne well enough to give his opinion when he mentioned cats. He only knew that they were not a force to reckon with, as the song said, whether they were red or golden. From Lady Olenna's comments, her presence seemed to be enjoyable, but then again, the Queen of Thorns did not have the same tastes as most. Her usual jokes – when she did make any – could be taken as an affront to anyone foreign, who was not a Tyrell. Nevertheless her bitter sarcasm.

"On the contrary," Loras shrugged then, "I do find you quite exciting," he gave him a playful smirk and moved up to stand properly on his feet. The comment about the lions still lingered in his head, and was as true as ever. The Tyrells were not all the same, just as no flower, even of the same kind, had the same hue or number of petals. He knew he was good enough in his own way, and in spite of the fact that he was not loved by his grandmother as much as his siblings, his freedom compensated the lack of affection. He was his own leader.

"When you finish eating," be smiled down at him, "if you do not mind, I could escort you to your chamber... I do enjoy evening walks," especially in the company of a handsome spoon. He had always enjoyed evenings, in truth, and loved to spend more time before bed rather than going to sleep early. He knew that Willas did the same, even if he locked himself in his quarters earlier than anyone else, composing poems, replying to correspondence, reading...

All Loras liked to do was watch the view of endless summer from his window and think of what the Gods had in stash for him the next day.

Such a disappointment.

 

[Lucyfer]

Nothing she could do, was how Caireann began, before she denied all of that, and then even denied the possibility of her loss. Her fingers brushed over his lips, and he let her move to protect the book. It’d be a shame if it was damaged, especially considering its price. He waited for her to straighten up again, and let her offer ‘mercy’ to him, by giving him the chance to surrender first.
Her fingers ran up his chest to the crook of his neck, and he enjoyed the touch against the rain. He was not suffering as much as she, though he did regret wearing his more formal clothing out. He should have thought ahead. But, it was too late now – at least Robb had accomplished his tasks.

“Yes,” Robb agreed with her words of defeating him once before. His hand went out to her side now, tracing the supple curve of it, up from her hip, “But you will not do so again – and you looked quite lovely on your knees,” or close to it, just moments before, as she put the book aside so that it wouldn’t be between them any longer.

He took advantage of that, and the roaming hand. He curved it around her back and pulled her to him, pressing her against him to keep her warm and also to fluster her all the more. There was no book now, so it was far easier to know that it was her heart that was pounding in her chest so quickly. His was rising in tempo to meet it, but he still held to his resolve. He bent his head a bit to say, “But I think I like you better like this,” letting his warm breath kiss her lips for him.

~***~

The flustered blush claimed Yularen’s cheeks again as Loras said he was interesting, and he looked away to what remained of his food, “Thanks,” he managed to get out before he filled his mouth with food to keep himself from saying anything more than that. He’d ruin it all somehow if he said anything else.

He was basically done with his food when Loras asked if he could walk him back. He finished the rest of it in two bites, and then rose quickly, not wanting to hold Loras up. He was already standing. He must be impatient to move on.

‘Wait, do I even want to go back to my quarters?’ Well, no. He wasn’t sure what to do, though, now that he’d slept all day. He really should do some exercise or something and get himself tired so he could try to adjust back to the daylight hours.

Still, he rose, “I wasn’t going to go back to my chamber just yet – I mean, I can walk with you a bit, I need to get myself adjusted back to normal people hours again since I don’t have night guard duties anymore,” he told Loras. He said he liked evening walks, “But if that’s not all right, we can just part wherever,” he said.

A walk might do his head some good, too.

 

[peritwinkle]

Caireann's breath shivered as Robb wrapped his arm around her, body pressed to his willingly, although she did briefly oppose the sudden movement if only to keep their play going. She sensed the innuendo in his words and her cheeks only turned a darker hue of red, if possible, as she curled in his warm embrace. The cold breeze still blew, bringing waves of rain through the crevices in the roof, but the heat of his body kept her from freezing.

In the absence of her cloak, Caireann squeezed herself in his arms and leaned in to meet his forehead once again and feel his breath against her lips, gently grazing the soft flesh. "I think I will give in," she echoed the words he had once said to her, but the smile that had played on her lips was now gone. Lust and desire took over her, burnt through her with such strength that she thought it almost hurt. "I ought to protect my people... And so, I will hand myself in to the Wolf King."

His, only his, and he was the only thing that existed to her right then, as the rest of the world bather in rain and thunder.

Without hesitance, the Queen pressed her lips to his, satisfaction seeping and spreading through her body like wildfire. Her hand eventually moved up from the crook of his neck to cup his cheek and pull him closer. She could hear the thunders now above them, but too muffled for her to fear them; not in his arms, not ever while she was still with her, holding her, protecting her.

Caireann let her hand slip beneath his shirt to palm the ardent flesh, tugging and pulling him more towards her, to savour as much of him as possible, as if it were the last time she had him. It was where she knew she belonged. There, with their lips caught in a dance of fervour and passion, the zeal consuming them both. It was only that this time, there was nobody to oppose them or to break them apart. They were a couple like any other, or perhaps one whom the poets had used as muse for their ballads and verses.

~***~

Loras was pleased to see Yularen so eager to walk with him, although he did not know if it was his persona that excited him or his presence overall. He did hope for the latter; the boy did not strike him as one as difficult to convince as Ser Hill, but definitely quite soft-headed for someone his age. He wondered briefly if he had spent time in the presence of another woman - or man, for that matter - , doing something more than just talking.

"We could take a walk, of course," he smiled and almost offered him his arm, but hesitated right before lifting it. "I do enjoy evenings more than mornings, I have to say. The air is so clear here, more brisk than down in the Reach." There, each day was a day of scorching summer, and the nights were not nearly as chilly as they were in Lannisport. He did not wish to think how they felt up in the North, where not even flowers liked to grow.

The knight stepped away from the table and made sure that Yularen was following before exiting the Great Hall into the silent corridor. Voices were still heard, but faded now, and he enjoyed the sound of crickets and waves. Perhaps during his stay, he would learn to enjoy the sea as much as Willas did, yet he could not wrap his head around the fact that some adored the scent it had. To him, the aroma was almost as bad as strong brandy.

"I usually walk alone," Loras let out a small sigh, then turned his head to look at Yularen. "But I do not mind such a... charming attendance...," he let the compliment slip without putting too much thought into it, truly. He seemed to be one who flustered easily, and it only boosted his pride to see him flush whenever he got more personal, even if it was the first time they spoke.

 

[Lucyfer]

This time, Caireann was the one to give in, and the satisfaction of her decision only warmed Robb further. She had to protect her people, as he had to do, and were it not for the heat of lust in him he would have laughed at their audacious play and joked of it. Perhaps, another day, when they were a bit cooler. Right now, not even the rain could have cooled him off.

Not with the way Caireann’s lips pressed to his, demanding and firm – hardly like a prisoner Queen should. Not that Robb was protesting. He moved with her demand, coming closer and stepping her back against the wall, his own body remaining pressed to hers. Close, and warm, from all sides for Caireann. Hopefully she wasn’t too claustrophobic.

The thunder rumbled, but it was nothing compared to the sound of her breath or the chill hands that sought the flesh beneath his shirt. Although, the cold and wet hands did momentarily surprise him. Enough to hear that in spite of the loud thunder, the rain seemed to have abated a bit.

Perhaps they hit the eye of the storm.

Or perhaps it was ending.

Somehow, Robb doubted the latter, but he knew if they kept up this game it was going to get very difficult for him to remember they were in a public space.

He pulled on her bottom lip as he pulled away from her, but his eyes offered a quick glance up, “I think we can make it now,” and he certainly wanted to get back into the castle now, and throw Caireann on the bed. “Let’s hurry – your cell awaits, my Queen. I promise your surrender will be rewarded with much mercy,” he continued the play a bit.

~***~

‘If it is anything like Dorne….’ Yularen thought, but did not comment. He hadn’t been to the Reach. He might have been through it when he was younger, but never stayed long if so. He had been to Dorne, though. Tybalt and Lenore were always interested in visiting Dorne.

Poisons and herbs. Interesting foods, and interesting people, a place Lenore once said she’d prefer to live if the West were not her home. Their opinion on women, of course, was part of that. Yularen hadn’t minded it, but it was still too warm for his tastes. The West was perfectly temperate for him.

He walked alongside Loras, and again that man complimented him so easily. Yularen should probably start returning them, right? But how exactly did he compliment the knight of flowers on his lustrous locks without it sounding…weird? Or on his generosity for the walk and the pleasant company? “I’m glad – I haven’t really gotten to just walk around much, here, yet. Not since I was younger, of course,” added. “It’s…good to be able to do so, with friendly company.”

Most were friendly here, but not all were in nice or friendly moods, wrapped up in the future more than the present. “I would have thought Margaery walked with you. You two seemed close – ah, that is, earlier,” when they’d crossed paths the first time, “when I’ve seen you. I don’t have any siblings.” Didn’t know what that was like.

 

[peritwinkle]

The blend of warmth and pressure set her senses on fire, to the point where Caireann could barely keep herself on her feet anymore. She wanted him right then, right there; little did she care someone could come and see – he belonged to her and would have him when she pleased, even as his lips demanded more and more of her, seemingly echoing her thoughts. They were both longing for eachother with burning passion: she could feel it in the way his hands explored her, claimed her, caged her so he could enjoy her without the risk of her escaping from his embrace.

Yet Robb parted with a playful tug before mentioning walking again. It seemed to have decreased in intensity, now the sound of his heartbeat covering the noise of the droplets over the roof above them. "I do not need your mercy, Wolf King," she bit her lip and let out a sigh of defeat. "I can take more than you think..." another innuendo, to let him know she had not forgotten his own.

And so, she bent back down to pick up the cloak and the book, then took his arm and, with the hood back on and his gift pressed protectively to her chest, she followed the path through then now empty streets towards the castle. Even if it was the middle of the day, the sky was dark and threatening; she could see the lightnings complimented by thunders closer now, and fear seeped into her heart once again. "Please," she panted to him through the rain, "hurry," but she could not do much more than just walk.

Caireann did not know how she had managed to reach the gates and find the correct path through the halls, but as soon as they stepped into the shelter of the castle, it was as though she could see and feel again. Relief overwhelmed her, although her heart still pounded in anxiety. She did not let her hood fall down, still unable to think and too dazed to make other decisions. "Room," the girl whispered to him, barely breathing from the effort and lust the rain had only managed to kindle. "My room..."

~***~

For the first time in a while, Loras was able to enjoy solitude. He did love the presence of his kin, but sometimes Margaery's energy and enthusiasm was overwhelming. Yularen spoke, of course, not enough to irritate him, but to keep the conversation going. "Trust me, you do not wish to have any siblings," Loras chuckled with a bitter sigh. "Wonderful company, I won't lie... but they are definitely exhausting. My sister, Margaery, she is the most difficult to deal with. Garlan is a lot like me, in truth, yet I have a better sense of competition than him. And Willas... I think I like him most, in truth."

He was older, wiser and far more quiet than any of his siblings. Even if the man irritated him from time to time, it was not as difficult to put up with him of Garlan, although he knew he did not share the same opinion on him. Loras knew he was complicated, witty and cunning, much like his sister, but definitely less of a trouble. Of course, not when it came to vicious pleasures – if Margaery had any, then she knew how to hide them well enough from him. Frankly, she did not seem to care for anyone: she had only married Renly for his title, only pined for Joffrey for his wealth and for Robb for his power.

A pretty rose with dulcet petals and poisonous thorns... He could only underestimate her ability to love someone more than her pride and own family, but perhaps that was not a bad thing, in the end.

As they reached a darker corner, Loras ran a hand over Yularen's locks to move them away from his face. It seemed to light up the hall, even as there was barely enough light to see where he stepped. "There must be something more about you, am I wrong?" the knight gave him a playful smirk. "So sincere... But this sincerity must hide something. I do love secrets, though." He had kept his own for so long, and even if people spoke, the rumours had not turned into accusations just yet. He intended to take advantage of that as much as he could, while he could.

 

[Lucyfer]

Robb let Caireann have her bold words without daring to prove them wrong – he had no interest in ever proving them wrong, for rough was not how he played. Not truly, not as Theon talked about, anyway. Still, he reached back for her once she had gathered herself, and allowed a hastened walk as she said to hurry. He might have sprinted, but with her earlier exhaustion, he didn’t want to risk it.

The storm was not about to end, that much was obvious by the way the thunder and lightning continued. It was just preparing for the second round. Robb did not intend to remain caught in it, and fortunately, they made it to the castle without issue. Caireann sputtered words in a daze, and Robb nodded.

It would be her room, of course.

He knew the way to it, and led her through the hall to it, nodding to the guard. An awkward smile graced his lips, knowing he must look a mess from being rained on so heavily, yet he felt no shame for it. He pushed open the door and would motion to let Caireann go in first. Once she was in, he would move into the room as well and close the door behind himself.

Only to walk right up behind Caireann and wrap both of his arms around her waist, growl into her ear, “Find a safe place for the book now,” he told her, before he would let her go to do just that.

~***~

Yularen chuckled at Loras’s words as well. He’d usually heard the latter – Gerald and Lymond got on well, Tybalt and his own father, and so many others. They only joked of wanting to be only children, and he suspected it was a joke from Loras, as well. So many people around him had siblings, but it was the norm. Mortality rates were high – nothing was ever guaranteed. Successions had to be continued.

Yularen occupied an odd spot due to that. “Margaery does seem full of energy,” Yularen agreed, “I haven’t gotten to really meet either Willas or Garlan,” he had seen Willas, but not really met him. He didn’t know if Garlan was there, hadn’t heard any talk of him. Certainly someone had to be at the Reach. Perhaps that was Mace?

When the Knight of Flowers reached out to brush hair out of his face, Yularen wasn’t sure what to think. That didn’t seem…a proper gesture from a stranger, and so his steps froze. “Ah?” Secrets. Sincere. Yularen took a step back and shook his head. “N-no, I try not to have any, they just become ways to hurt you.”

Well, he had the one, the one that told him that Loras was pretty not because he was feminine, but because he was pretty. But Yularen tried to tell himself otherwise. Because he did find people like Margaery and Caireann to be very pretty, as well. It had to be just because of the feminine features, nothing else. “It’s the rest of my family with the secrets,” he chuckled, as a way to brush it off.

 

[peritwinkle]

Robb's hastened pacing was exhausting, but Caireann followed him to her quarters without commenting or protesting. She only wanted to reach it as soon as possible, to find respite in his arms once again as the sky boomed with thunder and rain. When they did find the door, the guard, who knew them well enough, allowed them inside and Robb gestured for her to be the first to step in. She did so, and when she heard the door close behind her, a pair of arms clutched her tightly from the middle.

His orders came through a growl, demanding and threatening. The cub nodded, flushed in anticipation, and hurried to place the book on the bedside, before deciding the top of the shelf by the mirror was a safer decision. At least there, they would not reach in their heated moments.

Wolves were dangerous when provoked. She had learnt her lesson.

Once she turned back to him, Caireann wrapped her arms around him almost desperately, pulling his dampened body to hers and crushing his lips in a heavy kiss. She wanted to claim him, to have all of him for herself; it was as though nothing else existed in that world for her apart from him. The thunders were surreal, the rain was muffled - it was only the sensation of his lips pressed to hers which felt vivid and true.

Her hands found his shirt at once and gathered at his chest to undo the laces, barely containing herself from ripping it apart. "Please," she begged for him to hurry in a whisper, and when the laces were undone, she took his own hands and placed them at her back to tear apart her own. Little did she care for the dress right then - she wanted for nothing to be in the way of their touch, and even if it were the most precious of gowns, she would have wished for the same.

~***~

A pang of sorrow struck Loras suddenly when he thoght of home. He had been gone for too long - a month, maybe more. He had not kept account of it, but it felt like far more than that. He missed the gardens, even if they had become boring to pace through every single morning and evening; he missed the training grounds by the fountain, where he practised swordfighting with Garlan whenever they had time to spend together; he missed his own room, perfumed with a different flower every day of the week.

"There had to be someone back home at Highgarden," he explained with a long sigh, "just as there is always a Stark in Winterfell." He wondered briefly how Lady Catelyn had allowed his young sons to live there alone. Most of the army that defended them had gone with Robb, which meant they lacked the bulk of protection. The fear and pain must be more than the woman let in on. "But you would have liked him, and I am sure he would have enjoyed you as well."

He saw the flush that tinted Yularen's cheeks at the mention of secrets, and Loras could only laugh. "It is good then," he chuckled. "It means I don't have to be afraid of you if I turn my back. I can only imagine you are quite dangerous with a weapon in your hand," just a tease, but he doubted the boy would take it as it was. He did not want to lower his expectations, though, even if he knew he would be better than him in a spar.

The hall ended with an opening that overlooked the sea. Loras strode forward towards the small balcony and opened the door to let the humid breeze seep through the stale corridor. The scent of algae had been replaced with rain and dust, which he did not mind as much. "Which reminds me," he continued his line of thought, "that you will be fighting in the siege for Casterly in a few days." A somber imagery, but inevitable. "We will be comrades in battle."

 

[Lucyfer]

Caireann jumped to follow the command, and the King of the North smiled to see her haste to find a place to keep her treasure safe, and return to him. She found a safe spot by the mirror, before she rushed back over to him and drew him down in her lustful kiss. Her hands worked fast, almost before he could comprehend. Her hands moved to undo his clothes, and as she broke to say please, he did assist in the process, stripping the shirt once it was loose enough.

She demanded his hands, and Robb let her move them to her whim, drawing them back behind her to the laces. Though he was burning with lust as well, he did not tear this time. No, instead, this time he forced his hands to move slowly, almost as if it were the first time he had undone laces without being able to see them.

He knew it would torment her, just a bit, and he wanted that. He wanted her all but driven mad by the time he had finished. His fingertips would graze skin when he could, too direct to be clumsy handling. He would keep himself near, forehead to forehead, and would resist any deep kiss while he was at his work – only slight brushes of contact.

When at last the laces were pulled through, he stepped back to seize her hands before she could move to take what she wanted right then. He would grasp both of them in his hands, and use the acquired lace from her dress to tie around them – his plan all along with the slow undoing. It kept the lace in his hand to be used for just this purpose, not lost within the dress itself as it was pulled apart.

“There now, my queen,” he murmured lowly, admiration wrapped up in the sound. “This is a more fitting garb for you,” and his hand would reach out then to softly brush her cheek, before there would be an almost violent move of it down to grasp the dress that was slipping only too slowly, and pull it down.

~***~

‘A Lannister in Casterly, a Tully in Riverrun.’ Yularen thought. The Lords always kept one back home – it was why his own father was not here, but in the Fern Valley. Yet, the Vikary host was here in full, apparently giving up their lands for lost in this endeavor. Too near Casterly Rock to remain.

The Fern Valley wouldn’t stand up to an assault, weakened as it was.

Yularen doubted Winterfell could. He didn’t know how much of the Reach’s forces were left behind in Highgarden, but he imagined they would also suffer if someone thought to march on them. Just as Kevan would – for who else would be left if not Kevan? Gerion was gone, Tygett was dead, he doubted Tywin would trust Lancel or any of Kevan’s sons with the duty, and certainly not Genna.

It had to be Kevan.

“Maybe one day I can meet him. When all is said and done, we should be allies after this,” Yularen noted. They had joined together in war. They were going to be comrades on the field, as Loras said – they could be friends.

The scenery they walked out on was beautiful, overlooking the sea at night. He did chuckle at Loras’s statement, “I try to be honorable, Ser.” He defended, “I’m not the Kingslayer, I’m not going to kill an unarmed foe from behind,” though he probably had done so in battle. For some, they remembered every face of the slain in combat.

For Yularen, it was just a blur of flesh. But all there had weapons, and all there were trying to harm his friends – if they showed their back, that was their error. “I hope that we win at Casterly.” He said then, “The Lannisters aren’t honorable…,” he still feared a trap of some sort. Kevan had to know the march was inevitable. Had to know the Tyrell host had arrived.

But then – he wasn’t as smart as Tywin, or so they said. He might not manage to pull it off, without his brother. “I think we can do it, so long as Tywin doesn’t join the fight,” and Lenore did not think Tywin would join the fight. He, at least, knew why – Sebaston. Tybalt had told him.

 

[peritwinkle]

Loras was glad to hear the enthusiasm in Yularen about the future; his innocence was at play then, and it warmed his heart to see that at least someone was optimistic in all of this. "One day," he smiled, "you could come to Highgarden... Perhaps Lady Caireann could come too, for my brother. Ser Hill," although he doubted the knight would want to have anything to do with the Roses. He did not strike him as one who enjoyed his presence much.

The talk of Casterly put a knot in his stomach that threatened to linger for the rest of the night. He did not want to fight Tywin Lannister; he was a proud man, the Knight of Flowers, but not absurd. The numbers between the Alliance's army and the Lannisters' were very comparable, even if they had tipped the balance in the North's favour with their choice to support them. Tywin had tact, being older, and there was a chance for him to outdo them on familiar grounds.

He turned on his heels then and placed a palm on Yularen's shoulder. "We will see eachother tomorrow, I hope. Vikary grounds. That, if you're not too afraid to fight." He did not mention the battle again; at least they could revel in the sweet thought of a spar and a feast the following day, with a bit of luck forgetting their worries.

And he left.



The sky had darkened substantially from the moment Loras stepped out of the castle and found his way towards the Vikary's camp. He had kept his walk slow enough; there was no reason to hurry, knowing that Yularen would be present later on. He intended to get himself prepared beforehand, and that meant speaking to one of Lymond's men just as Ser Hill had the other day to acquire two blunt swords and a chest plate for the boy. He had his own.

He suspected that the boar himself would not be there, as the feast was soon to start later that evening. There was still enough light to see, and the camp was lit well enough for a spar. The slight fog allowed the fire to reflect and brighten up the whole area, but it would still be a challenge to fight at night.

When he reached the grounds, he sprinted to one of the commanders - or so he looked, even if most Vikarys were wide and threatening. "Ser," he gave him a smirk, "is it fine with you if I train here with a comrade... Ser Yularen Hetherspoon. I suppose he will be here soon." He had wanted to be first, of course, to theatrically wait for his arrival and, hopefully, practise a bit before the actual battle.

~***~

The evening fell over the city of Lannisport too slowly, almost, and it found Caireann dozing on the couch in front of the hearth. She had slept until later that morning, with Robb by her side, yet the past evening had been intense enough to keep her exhausted the following day. It was Mina that woke her up in time, although her movements were still hastened as she rummaged through the Lady's trunk to find the red dress she had asked for earlier. "It is late, m'Lady," she reminded her, loud enough for her to hear, and she did wake up at the sound of her voice, slowly but surely.

She sat up on the edge and, as soon as Mina found the red gown, she put it on and tied the laces as tightly as she could. It was still quite revealing for her taste, but taking in consideration how the Tyrell girls dressed and the fact that her other attires were too poor to wear to a feast, she was pleased enough with the overall appearance of it. She was sure Robb would enjoy it, as well, and perhaps looking pretty would grant her a few privileges, especially amongst men.

The handmaiden braided her bangs away from her face but left her curls frame her chest, as she knew the King in the North preferred them. It did not take long, and as soon as she was done, she slid her hand in the pocket of her dress and pulled out a small wooden container. "I got this from one of Lady Margaery's own maidens," she smiled. "She gave it to me, but I don't use products of this sort, frankly. I thought a rose lipstick would suit you well." She opened it for her then and let her try it on, before tucking it in Caireann's own pocket.

"I've never worn lipstick before," the girl confessed with a sigh, and Mina let out a small chuckle.

"You do not need anything to make you pretty, m'Lady."

Caireann rose from the couch to head towards Lady Reyne's room, with the thought to speak to her uncle. She hesitated briefly and turned to ask Mina if she would come at the feast, to which she said she would only be around. As a servant still, she would not have the time to enjoy it, which did sadden the Queen; she would have to speak to Robb and find a way to change Mina's statute in the future. For her sake if not the woman's. She deserved at least as much as becoming her personal handmaiden, if not more.

~***~

Reyne.

Each time Jaime tried to close his eyes, the name rung in his ears and the crimson sight of her drowned his sight. He forced himself to avert his thoughts from the dreadful memory of that day, but they kept coming back to it, as if his own mind were trying to torment him into madness. Was he sane anymore, at all, if he had fallen for the long lost enemy of his legacy? Was he sane anymore for suffering so much after a refusal?

At first, he thought that the slap had hurt, but now it was something else. The Kingslayer spent his night curled up in his bed, once again unable to sleep properly. He could not remember the last time he had, with a turmoil of events crashing directly or indirectly ontop of him. When he did fall asleep, his slumber did not last for more than an hour; then, he woke up again, head aching and throat dry to pine for a glass of water. He waited, thought, brooding over that day before once again falling asleep, only to be awakened again some time later.

In the morning, he had already forgotten about it and occupied his mind with another worry - that of Caireann. He knew this time Lenore might not wish to be there to support him; she loved the girl and despised him, or at least that was what she let in on. The rest of the day passed as quick as a running river, agitated and cold, and when there was a knock on the door in the evening he realised the feast was nearing at an alarming rate.

He knew it was her, so he waited for Hill to open the door for her and let her in. She would step inside, shout at him, cry and run into Lenore's arms, or try to understand his perspective and promise she still loved him. It was not about him, he knew - he ought to listen - , and he would wait on the edge of his bed, trying to calm his pounding heart.

 

[Lucyfer]

Yularen again said nothing of Robb, or how it seemed unlikely that Caireann would be marrying Willas. Robb was tied to her; he did not think Margaery’s charm would break that, but Yularen was a bit of a romantic at heart, too, no matter how Lenore and Tybalt tried to teach him to be pragmatic. Were they not romantics at heart, thinking that their good could triumph over the evils of the Westerlands?

Perhaps not romantic in the standard, knights and ballads way, but romantic and old fashioned all the same in hoping for something as impossible as taking Casterly Rock. It was that very topic which disturbed Loras, and caused the knight to make his exit, “Yes – I will be there,” Yularen promised, glancing briefly at the hand, before watching the knight leave. His gaze lingered, a smile on his lips, before he turned back to the other beautiful view.


Adjusting his schedule was still not going as well as the young Hetherspoon knight would have liked. He went to sleep too late, and woke late, as well. Well after breakfast. He groaned and fussed, but when he realized the time, he was quick to throw himself together. He had to go see Loras! Then, he had to come prepare for the Feast!

So much to do, so little time!

He was rushing to the field by the time he finally got out of his room and eaten something, still stuffing a muffin in his mouth as he ran, and finishing the crumbs off from his fingers as he slowed to a walk once he got on the grounds.

~***~

Some time before Yularen’s arrival, the Commander had looked to Loras when he approached, and gave him a respectful nod. He might have gotten his ass kicked by Ser Hill, but there was no shame in that – most did. He still knew the reputation of Ser Tyrell as a fighter, and knew he would do well when they moved on Casterly Rock.

He was pleased to hear he might even teach Yularen a thing or two. Knight though the boy was, and killer, he was still green. “You may have use of the field, Ser,” the commander answered him, “Drills have finished for the day,” he only had them in the morning, to give others time to recuperate before the festivities. “Go easy on the lad – he’s a knight, but not quite like Lord Vikary or Ser Hill.”

He knew the Westorsi style, but it did not suit him as well. He was not meant for the brutish style, but needed to learn a more agile one. Water dancing would not suit, but some of the styles of Dorne may, or perhaps Loras could assist. Loras clearly didn’t stand up to brute force well – he could teach Yularen a thing or two about other methods of engagement.

“The field and its training equipment are at your disposal.”

~***~

The King of the North had to leave earlier than he would have liked, but the duties of preparation called him to it. He found himself doing several walks around the castle and Lannisport, just to make sure everything was in order. Lord Farman had clearly though the alliance would go through – not only did food arrive, but minstrels and entertainers from across the Narrow Sea had started to show up yesterday, and continued.

Robb made sure to make their acquaintance, so he knew who would be present. He needed to assess them to figure out if they were spies, even if he didn’t have much time to do so.

“It is likely Kevan knows already our intents. He knows not when, that remains our advantage, and Lord Tywin has still not been noticed by our scouts, so we retain the advantage.” Roose’s words remained in his mind. Kevan could know of all this, and Roose still considered they held the advantage. Hearing it from Roose was…soothing, in some way. The man was logical and cold to the point of it truly being a flaw to be logical – but in times like these, he was glad to hear it.

He had made sure to tell his mother of Tara as well, before he finally retreated to his quarters to start dressing up once more, taking out his finer white doublet with the silver linings, and prepare himself for the day with white and silver furs, as well.

Nothing dark. He intended to stand out, as snow in summer. A reminder, always – Winter Was Coming. As inevitable as the justice of the gods, old and new. Tywin would avoid it no longer, and Robb was full of confidence as he looked over the figure he cut in the mirror of his own room.

Grey Wind did whine, though, and he laughed a bit and turned to the wolf, who seemed to be trying to cover his eyes with one paw, “What, you prefer the dark and moody hues?” A grumbling whine, and Robb went over to the wolf, “You can’t come to the feast,” he denied, “You make too many people uncomfortable. You’ll have to stay here.” He imagined what Grey Wind was really pouting over, uncertain if it was true.

He got into his head so much, but in the moment, he wasn’t sure he truly understood the wolf.

~***~

Tension was the word of the day, and even Ser Hill felt it, though he could not claim he understood it. Tyros knew nothing of it when he left, though he had felt it all through the night, and when Ser Hill took over, he didn’t know. He assumed it had to do with the feast, and impressions, but Lenore was never one to get that self conscious.

Yet, it wasn’t all stemming from Jaime, who seemed to fight with sleep as Lenore had the previous day. Something had happened, but the knight did not know what it was, and it bothered him to be so ignorant. He never asked directly, and as afternoon came, distractions abounded. Ser Hill made sure to find Jaime appropriate attire for the feast – clean, formal, and that would fit him well enough in a pinch.

Lord Stafford had enough things to raid.

Lenore was only just starting to pull her own self together, not wanting to dress too soon lest she end up ruining it. The gown she grabbed was reminiscent of the wildfire that nearly claimed her – green, but slashed through with silvers like the tips of the fire itself, and with an ombre fade to it that made the skirt seem alive whenever it was twirled. Hill had only seen her wear it once before, but he knew it well.

He smirked as he saw her gather it, exiting from the study after changing into his own formal attire, sword still at his hip. He mocked the Lannister colors in his own, subtle way – adorned in scarlet and a silvery-gold, he stood proud. Rather than have lions adorn his fixings, he had the head’s of lionesses upon his cuffs. A small detail, but one he was rather proud of.

Even before Lenore, he’d had this, had lionesses – after all, it was his mother that was more important than his father.

He was about to offer to help Lenore when there was a knock at the door. He was momentarily confused by it, “That must be Caireann,” Lenore hadn’t forgotten.

Hill nodded, and went to open the door, finding it was, indeed, her. Ser Hill smiled kindly as he saw her, and gestured her in, “Are you here for Lady Reyne or Ser Jaime?” He asked then, not certain if he needed to drag Jaime to the study or not.

~***~

The fleets had an overwhelming numbers advantage over King’s Landing. Even with the wildfire trick – which Sebaston was now very prepared for, the Fair Isles and Dragonstone forces overwhelmed those of King’s Landing. The doors were battered in. The soldiers, gold and red cloaks alike, fell to their blades, and Sebaston could not help the feeling of overwhelming disbelief. This was impossible. A phantasm.

Here he was, a man who swore fealty to Robert Baratheon, fighting alongside Stannis Baratheon to take down Joffrey Baratheon. How was he here? 'Because you saw a ghost.' That was the start of this vivid dream. Now here he was, living that dream, turning against the people who put his aunt to death for no reason. Here he was, seeing innocents die, for choosing the wrong side.

War was always hell. Sebaston would be glad to see the end of it. He'd also be glad to never see wildfire again. Just the sight of it had made his flesh burn from the memory. As did Melisandre...but he dared not think of that red-headed woman again, who had spoken of his scars as if they were blessings.

His rapier was bloodied, as were his clothes now. Leaving the boats, he’d gotten into the thick of it. Mail was beneath his tunic, some of clearly seen through the rips and tears. He wasn’t sure if much of it was his, or if it was mostly his enemies. He wasn’t feeling much pain right then, and was thankful for the rain that continued to numb him.

It had helped with the fire, that wildfire green that still painted the horizon as the sun came up. Everything still seemed cast in green, in spite of the orange sun.

Sebaston Farman was now moving with the next battering ram to the door of the Iron Throne; the ram that had busted through the gates earlier, and kept breaking through them. Shields were up high to defend them from archers, though by now that was not much of a concern. The soldiers were on the walls. The archers were falling fast, and that was good enough for Sebaston to keep directing the men towards the door, not to bother much with skirmishes, not to set down the ram and fight.

Forward.

‘We’re going to succeed.’

It was…truly surreal.

The double doors before the Iron Throne came into sight, and Sebaston thought of times previous when he had been here, to speak to Robert Baratheon about taxes. Always taxes – it was always the issue. He had been one part of Tywin’s voice then, there to show the Westerlands unified in the need to have things changed for their benefit. Robert always ended up bending.

A man dropped down near, and he turned with his rapier, prepared to skewer him, when a heavy hand dropped on his shoulder and he looked up to see Stannis – coated in blood and sweat, grim expression on his face. He said nothing, just patted Sebaston’s shoulder and went around him, shouting, “READY!” and then, “STRIKE!”

Once. It only took one strike, to everyone’s surprise. Those holding the battering ram stumbled in, to open on the sight not of Joffrey on the throne, but his Queen Mother, Cersei Lannister, and her other son, Tommen Baratheon, in her lap.

‘Now it begins.’ Sebaston had that realization as he heard the heavy footfall of Stannis Baratheon moving to get before the ram. ‘Now comes the hard part.’ To remind Stannis that he agreed to let certain Lannisters live, for the sake of a continued alliance with Lady Lenore Reyne. He could change his mind on a whim – and in the heat of bloodlust, he knew he might not even remember.

The Fair Isles man moved to also get ahead, and make sure to put a hand on Stannis’s arm if he thought to raise his blade. Cersei wouldn’t remember, wouldn’t care, but it was not her that he did this for. He’d be fine seeing them all run through – but Lenore refused. For her, he would spare them.

 

[peritwinkle]

The smirk on Loras's lips turned into a grin at the man's response and he gave him a nod. "Thank you, Ser," the man smiled before turning on his heels to find the equipment. He was glad to hear that at least someone there recognized his talent and knew he would be better than the Hetherspoon. Just like he had supposed, the lad was still an adept when it came to sparring. Fighting battles was something else, of course, and it required another kind of effort, which was just as appreciated, but not the dedication and discipline of dueling.

He was pointed towards a display not too far away from where he was, and he picked up his own blunt sword before returning to where he had fought with Hill the other day. He would allow Yularen to choose his own weapon of choice, although it was likely a sword as well. The boy did not strike him as one who preferred maces of greatswords; those were too difficult to handle.

When a bush of chocolate hair appeared in the close distance, Loras straightened his back and leaned on his sword hilt. "There you are," the knight smiled once the spoon was close enough to hear. "I was starting to think you were too afraid to show up," a tease; there was still pride in him, little but enough to be called a Westerner. "Take your pick and let us see what you are made of, Ser Hetherspoon."

It was already getting late, and they had less than one hour before the feast started, but Loras had never been one to arrive first. It was not customary to serve the meals in the very beginning, so he did not worry much about being late. He knew he wouldn't sweat either; he would throw on his formal attire and powder his nose to hide some of the bruising Hill had gifted him. Margaery would laugh in his face, perhaps, but he wanted to look his best for the festivity.

~***~

Jaime did not know which disturbed him more that evening - the way Lenore looked in her wildfire green gown with silver details, or the sound of Caireann's steps too close for him to feel comfortable anymore. He forced his gaze to avert from the green Ghost and to the entrance as Hill moved to open the door for the girl. There was a guard standing straight behind her, watching them attentively, which he thought he recognised. Tom, Thomas... His mind was too clouded to recall any names right then.

As red as flames, with her speckled shoulders uncovered and dipping in candlelight, Caireann stepped inside looking like a woman rather than a child. She had changed, somehow - he saw and wondered if he had not truly looked at her attentively in too long. It was clear she had dressed for someone and it did not take long to figure out for whom. Certainly, not himself.

The girl was greeted with cordiality and she quickly wrapped her arms around Hill to pull him into a hearty embrace. "Good evening, Ser" she smiled before quickly breaking away, as suddenly as she had pulled him to her. "Lady Reyne," she saluted with energy. At his question, she hesitated for a moment, wavered long enough for Jaime's stomach to twist and turn. Then, when she did speak, he could barely contain his anxiety. "I am here for both of them."

The lion bit his pride and shut his eyes to think. Caireann moved around the knight and towards his bed first, and before he gathered himself enough to stand up, she kneeled before him and placed her hands on his lap. "I have spoken to Lady Reyne," she murmured and peeked back at the woman behind her, "but I never had to, in truth... I should have known you love me, as much as I love you. And I am sorry I have disappointed you, uncle Jaime."

"You did not disappoint me," a lie, only to soothe the innocent girl in front of him and to humour the whims of the Reyne. If she had managed to apologise to Robb Stark, he knew he was expected to act the same, but he simply could not. Instead, he pulled her into his arms and gripped her tightly, almost able to feel the satisfaction radiating from her body. "You will never disappoint me." Not her. Not ever.

~***~

Cersei's heart pounded in the rhythm of Tommen's, in the rhythm of the bombardment outside the walls of the Throne Room, in the rhythm of the souls who were giving their lives to save King's Landing. To save the lions, and themselves. She knew that, among those souls, if it hadn't been for her hastened decision, would have lain Joffrey himself. Stannis Baratheon would never have spared the contender to his much valued Throne; the man would murder Myrcella if he were anywhere near her.

But she would not let him take them, not alive. Not her or her son, who was still far too young to understand why his family never came to see him again, why he was taken away by bloodied strangers and why his sight clouded at the thrust of a dagger into his heart. Those were the thoughts that had urged the Queen mother to make a choice.

One she knew she would never otherwise regret.

She held the child in one hand and the small vial in the other. It was almost too dark to distinguish features, but she knew she would be able to tell his cheeks and his moistened lips apart. Once for him, once for her, and they would both fall into a black slumber, to sudden to even cause pain. Stannis would never catch them alive, Farman would never take them and let his men ravish her body. What was there to live for, when her family was away and her only son's life would be taken as well?

But the vial never reached the lips of the two; the doors shuddered under the weight of a massive ram and crushed within a strike, the jar hurling the only escape from Cersei's hand. The smoke rose into the air and clouded her sight, too thick to allow any familiar faces to peek through, but as soon as she heard the horns, she knew the lions had fallen. 'May the Gods have mercy, this once.' It was then that she found the strength and courage to pray to those who have never listened. For her own sake, for that of her family, or what was left of it.

In her shock, she only waited, desperately clutching Tommen to her chest. She had never been so afraid, and wondered what she had done to deserve such a fate, to bring such doom upon the lions. 'Rosalind,' Tyrion's voice echoed in her ears, loud and clear; she wondered, briefly, if he had survived, and for a reason she did not know hoped he still breathed, somewhere, wounded and gushing. It was more of an anchor, she wanted to know that she was not alone.

'The Lannisters have fallen... Your Lord father is away, your brother is in the hands of the enemy, your son is awaiting his death and you... You follow.'

 

[Lucyfer]

Yularen let his face contort into a look of mock irritation, all but stickies his tongue out at Loras. "I have stood against Hill - I am not going to be afraid," he protested, and walked on to the rack of swords and other armaments available. He did take one, a simple short sword. He preferred to wield sword and shield together, but hesitated on grabbing a shield, uncertain if that went against the unspoken rules of their engagement. He bit his bottom lip, decided not to ask, and just grabbed a chest plate that would fit him well enough. He wasn't ruining his own armor in a spar.

With his items selected and armor strapped on, he moved away from the rack. He felt imbalanced without a shield but ignored the feeling. Yularen moved back to the field proper and assessed Loras's own equipment. Sword, as well, bit longer reach but Yularen was used to that.

He gave a nod to Loras. "When you're ready, Ser," he gave a confident nod to his opponent. He was as prepared as he was going to get, and he found himself wishing he hadn't caught the last of Loras's battle with Hill so that he would have more of an idea of what to look for, but he hadn't. He couldn't read others like Hill, either. He wasn't sure what to prepare for.

He wasn't scared, though. His pride wasn't wounded so easily - and sparring was how he learned. His energy remained eager.

~***~

Adryan was only momentarily surprised by the embrace, but recovered in time to return the affection. He smiled into it and let her part easily from him to greet the others and express that she was there to see both. It was to Jaime she went first, and Lenore wanted to allow them a stolen moment to themselves. She moved and touched Hill's arm lightly to turn him with her.

She was quiet in going into the study to change, and Hill waited outside. He kept his gaze turned from the pair but he heard their words. He saw their actions out of the corner of his eye. The bastard smiled to himself at their embrace but said not a word and hoped it was appreciated by Caireann as well. Hoped there was a future for them, as a family.

He glanced to the study door as it opened a crack, quiet, then moved on soft feet around it and to Lenore. She had no lady with her, a frivolity left in the Fern Valley - Hill knew what was needed before it was asked, already used to it on this trip. He slid the silver laces through the green hoops and strung it up tight, thankful again for his mismatched set of skills.

"Your hair?" He murmured.

"Just leave it," she had left it on braids to wave it, and it would flow beautifully if left as it was, red fire.

Hill nodded and finished the lacings, making sure the product was as aesthetically pleasing as possible and not just functionally tight. He learned all about presentation in the brothel...more than he'd like to know, in truth.

Lenore would move to find her hand mirror and cosmetics - no need to interrupt the family until Caireann wanted her.

~***~

As Lord Farman and King Stannis cleared the stinging smoke at the same time, it was easy to see the fear in the cornered lioness as she held her cub to her chest. With those wild eyes widened in fear, she looked almost human. Not that Stannis cared for such sentimental things. His own gaze was hard, dark blue eyes as stormy as the sea around Dragonstone. It was not Joffrey she held, and he took her appearance and location as some act meant to inspire mercy.

"Where is the pretender, Joffrey?" Stannis ground out as he climbed the stairs to his throne. Sebaston was only a couple of steps behind - he heard those light steps hurrying after, no doubt concerned he would forget his promise to Lenore Reyne. "If you value the life of your-!"

"Your Grace, you swore an oath to me." Sebaston interrupted harshly and was met by the steely glare of the king. He had a feeling Stannis was only trying to threaten, but Lenore's mercy wouldn't be swept under the table in his attempt to make a mother pick a child. Needlessly cruel. "You are not going to find him here and a mother won't abandon her child. Start a search for him and Lady Sansa." Another part of the agreement.

From Stannis, to try and court Robb back into the Seven. "Is that how you speak to your king, Lord Farman?"

"It's how I speak to friends." Still considered Stannis that, no matter how changed he seemed. "You're wasting time and they are safe with me, your grace," he promised. He could tell Stannis had little desire to leave them, but finding Joffrey was more important than the Queen Mother. His teeth ground together before he turned on the raised platform.

"Search every nook and cranny of King's Landing. Bring the pretender Joffrey to me alive. Find Lady Sansa of Winterfell and bring her here as well." He would stay here for the moment, make his claim known. His hardened gaze turned back down to Cersei. "Remove yourself from my seat, Lady Baratheon, or I will have my men do it." Veiled threat. Still a Baratheon by marriage no matter the sham if was. It was still proper to call her that.

In spite of it all, Sebaston offered his hand to her, doubting it would be taken. It was still the proper thing to do for a woman holding a frightened child. It was the mercy that should have been bestowed on Sybil and Lenore.

 

[peritwinkle]

"May the odds favour you, then, Ser Hetherspoon," Loras smiled as he watched the knight gather himself. He did not wish to appear anxious, but to him it was obvious - he seemed to be flustering as he chose his weapon, a sword shorter than his but lighter, allowing him to strike faster than he would. A chest plate was chosen, as well, slightly more worn than his. The Tyrells were wealthy enough to afford buying new chestplates as soon as they were damaged, and so his was as good as new.

The Knight of Flowers had to maintain a certain appearance, after all.

The spar began, and Loras was surprised with Yularen's movements; he was quick on his feet, quite shrewd and lively, though he agitated too much to be able resist for long. In battles, he would be surrounded my enemies and not required to move as much, meaning he had focused on builiding his strike rather than avoiding blows and moving swiftly. Much like Hill himself, he was strong, but not nearly as much of a brute.

But Loras was quicker. He twisted around him in a wave of silver and steel, though allowing him some dalliance before equipping his more serious moves. He did not intend to make the same mistake he had made with Hill - to underestimate him and try to assume his next action. Wavering, Yularen kept stepping out of his reach, eyes searching for an escape from the turmoil of blows Loras was threatening him with, and he let a chuckle escape his lips.

"I won't bite, Ser Hetherspoon," he teased, "though I do not advise you get too close." He then jolted forward and, without a warning, went to strike for his shin.

~***~

There was hesitation in Jaime's embrace as he took her in, but Caireann remained still there, enjoying the warmth she had missed for so long. No apology left his lips, though she had not truly expected one; she knew how vain her uncle was at times. Even her father valued his pride often more than most things, though he did not let it get into the way of family matters when it came to her. He had always cared for her - frigid, but careful.

When they broke apart, Jaime cupped her cheek with one hand and canted his head. He parted his lips to speak, but she was the one to voice her worries first. "I wanted you to understand he makes me happy, uncle Jaime," the girl confessed sincerely. "I do not wish to be a traitor... I know what the others think of me, what you think of me. But I cannot... Sometimes I cannot endure anymore, and once I found my respite I could not abandon it for the sake of pride."

Jaime pursed his lips and inclined his head. "Lenore told me. Hill did, as well. I should have kept you safe, we both know you are not loved there and you are old enough to understand..." that some things she was not prepared to hear. Not about Rosalind, not about who he truly was. "I will... I will try to understand you, then. I will try."

Caireann let out a sigh and leaned in to peck his cheek. "Thank you, uncle Jaime." He might not keep his promise, but it helped to know that at least Ser Hill and Lady Reyne had her back. She rose then, gave him a warm smile, before turning around on her heels to face the Lady. She hadn't seen them retire in the study before, but did hear it open and close, which meant they had chosen to give them privacy.

"Lady Reyne," she called happily. "I have brought something for you... If you'd like to get ready together." She supposed she knew the reason behind her happiness - no need to bring up her argument with Jaime then.

~***~

The stag and the Farman were battling over her fate, and Cersei's heart sunk more and more as she listened to them. No, she would never tell where her son was; perhaps someone had found a way to sneak him out of the city when the battle was declared lost. If he was still there, with the women and Sansa Stark, there was truly no hope for him. The two men were not stupid; they would send scouts to look for him in the most obvious place - shelter.

Joff was a boy in war, after all. His presence had been merely a way to encourage his soldiers to fight and hope for victory. She doubted he had been allowed to do anything more than just watch the archers and assist the dead and dying. That caution had kept him alive so far, and he should feel no shame for retreating once the battle had turned too perilous.

As demanded, Cersei stood up from her seat and let Tommen walk on his own feet. He was crying now, from the noise and agitation, and she knew no lie would calm him down right then. He was old enough to understand they were not safe anymore, even as his mother never left his side. "You will never find Joffrey," she shouted at them, voice firm but hiding hesitation. It was more of a personal reassurance than a threat to them.

She knew they would find him, sooner or later. It was only a matter of time.

The hand was not taken as offered. The Queen Mother paced down the small steps with Tommen's hand in her own. "What are you planning to do with us? Behead us? Chain us?" ' Kill me, but at least spare my child. Oh, Gods, if you have mercy... Spare Tommen at least.' He would not. The truth was blinding, aching, but she would not let in on her pain. For Tommen's sake if not her own.

 

[Lucyfer]

Yularen was light on his feet but not as light as Loras. His agility was impressive, and it made finding an opening difficult for the young knight, though he was good at avoiding injury. Loras did seem to play a bit but Yularen wasn't offended by it. In fact, he found a couple moments to laugh between his irritation.

He was impressed with the footwork.

His jaw still clenched in agitation when Loras taunted. He tried to be prepared for the strike, but Loras had certainly played enough with his haste and footwork - he faltered and felt the steel against flesh and bone. He fell back with a yelp of pain. His off hand instinctively rose, as if he had a shield to use to protect himself from a blow.

He didn't. His arm was no protection, and he lowered as soon as the foolishness sunk in and he realized again this was a spar, not combat. He should have rolled or moved - he wasted too long on the ground and knew it. "Well struck, Ser Loras!"

~***~

The pleasantries with Jaime ended too soon it seemed, but Lenore was quietly glad it went well. They were all they had at the end - Caireann might be lucky enough to have Robb, but Jaime was not going anywhere. The bond made wouldn't leave him. Lenore hoped it would never be so threatened again by Caireann's fragility, either. They would have each other, no matter what.

'He learns. But it changes nothing.' Lenore cautioned herself. It would likely become a mantra.

She smiled to Caireann as she adjusted her hair just a bit to include her gift, the mirror leaning against the box of poisons to slant it enough to see, while her hands were occupied with brush and pin. Ser Hill took his place against a wall to wait, patient as ever.

Lenore bit down on the words that she was already almost prepared. A bit of cosmetics after this and she would be good. Her nails already glistened like small blades, silver, painted earlier in the tension of the day. She shouldn't be cold but she still disliked encouraging too much affection from the girl. She didn't want to hear another slip.

Her heart was sore enough. "What is it? I can assist you with preparing - though you do already look lovely," Lenore said, for certainly she did, shoulders bare and dress a beautiful hue of red.

~***~

Sebaston watched the defiant lioness as she was freed of her iron throne without injury and he paced after her, hands moving behind his back. 'She is like Lenore.' And not, at once, but he was too familiar with what Lenore did once caught to consider sheathing his blade or let her out of his sight. Hopefully Cersei would end up as good a prisoner as Jaime.

"He will be found, Lady Baratheon, and you should hope it is I that finds him." He would be merciful. He would burn Joffrey. The best death - he didn't deserve it, but the God of Light wanted King's blood. Joffrey had been crowned in a ceremony. He would reward Stannis for the sacrifice of the pretender.

He would answer her next query as well, but Sebaston spoke first and he let him, sinking into the iron throne, as hard as he was. "Lady Reyne has demanded your life be kept, Lady Cersei," the lord of Fair Castle answered. "You will be confined with Tommen within these walls. Now."

The word moved men wearing his colors from the entrance, the ram. "You may come along to that, or I will need to bind your hands if you wish to remain until Joffrey, Lady Stark, and Lord Tyrion are found." He did not know if Lancel was still about, but if so, hopefully him as well.

Tommen would not be bound. There was no need for such cruelty. 'This is probably why Ned died.' He thought then, with no humor. A mother and a crying child had a strong impact on the heart. He was trying to be gentle and firm at once.

 

[peritwinkle]

The opponent fell with his blow, and the Knight of Flowers took a step back as soon as his rear touched the ground. He did not wish to scare him, for he certainly did look that way as he rose his hand to defend himself from another possible hit. "Do you never take risks?" he chuckled lightly and shook his head, before offering him his hand and would pull him up if he took it. "I would have thought you were more dangerous in the open field... Maybe I should ask some of Lord Vikary's men to join?"

Loras knew that would make things worse, especially since it was already late in the evening, when it was even more difficult to detect movements in the dark. Still, he suppose the boy did as well as him in a real battle, since both of them had managed to survive long enough to spar right then. He put too much trust in his instincts instead of skills, which was both a good and a bad thing. Rather situational. If he wanted to manage anything, he needed to know what he was doing.

Instead, he went with the flow and forgot his arms actually listened to him. That was the issue of a novice, not a proper fighter. He needed to either drop that mentality or at least try to combine it with something more useful, like actually making use of his weapon more often.

He let the tip of his sword sink into the ground. "Again?" he smiled. You may catch your breath, of course... And no. No shield. You will never improve with a shield." It only slowed him down and encouraged his defensiveness, which Loras was only struggling to break through. He would have to learn to be swift if he had any aspirations to win a tournament in the near future.

~***~

The kindness in Lenore's eyes in Caireann's presence was tormenting. Jaime knew it was not truly how she was; that she was making an effort to subdue that frigidity which ate her from the inside, which she showed him the other day and never seemed to have regretted. It was strange to see her like that, cordial and benevolent, as though she were talking to family not a Lannister. Perhaps, to her, Caireann was no longer a Lannister; she was not to many, in truth.

The girl almost skipped to her side but did not sit down on the bed. She slid her hand in the folds of her dress and picked out a rounded wooden box, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. "Mina brought this for me this evening," she returned the smile with the same warmth and enthusiasm, before handing it to her. "I have tried it on, but I think it would look much prettier on you. Red suits you."

She had only used it as a stain for her lips, and not taken advantage of the full pigment. It was not in her nature to saturate her face with makeup, even if from time to time she did wish she had some powder to cover the redness in her cheeks or a tint for her eyelashes, blonde almost, although dark enough to be seen.

"I was also wondering... If I could speak to you about something." She looked at Jaime then, and he immediately knew it meant he would have to be dragged into the study with Hill once again. The girl blushed briefly; there was something she was once again hiding from him. In her posture he could sense a certain tension, for she had not taken a seat next to Lenore, and instead towered over her to address her.

'It could wait.' But if the matters were urgent, it meant he did have to leave. If the woman agreed, he would lift himself up and allow Hill to take him into the afferent room.

~***~

Mercy.

Cersei wanted to cry and laugh at the same time at the man's attitude towards her. Sebaston Farman played with kindness and threats, a blend which rarely resulted in something of use. Of course they would find Joffrey, dead or alive. The boy was not loved; nobody would have thought to escort him out of the city and somewhere safe. Some would even throw them into the fire if they could, if they knew that monster would burn.

But to her, he was still her child. Just as Tommen was, though it was soothing to know he would not be harmed and merely confined. She did not think they would want to tie the boy up, although by Stannis's mentality, it would have been done just as easily as anyone else. She bent down then, to be at the child's level, and placed a hand over his dampened cheek. "Everything will be alright, as soon as grandfather comes." 'He will never come in time. The Reyne has made sure of that.'

Tommen did not answer, too frighten to speak. He instead shut his eyes and waited for the inevitable to happen. Cersei pulled herself up and faced Sebaston with her hands in front of herself, waiting to be tied. 'What a coward I am.' She was giving in to the Reyne too easily, but it was better than brutality. There was nobody left to protect her, so she had to do what was best.

Protect herself.

"Your Ghost of Castamere will fall," her voice resonated in the walls of the Throne Room, vibrant and firm, "and then you will be left worshipping ashes." It was the only reason the West had turned to the Alliance, and the rest would follow that path as well: they saw her as a symbol of rebirth, power and hope. They thought that whoever was an enemy to the Lannisters was an enemy to them, until they proved stronger and more prepared than the golden lions.

 

[Lucyfer]

Yularen wanted to be better in tourneys but self preservation always reigned supreme. "I am better with the shield." He used it to guard and make openings. It made life easier when he could throw it in front of a blow and then use it to move the opponent's weapon out of the way. Yularen did take the hand up though, and stepped back to catch his breath. He dusted himself off.

He quickly shook his head at the statement of having others join. Especially without a shield - he wouldn't last long at all. "Thanks," he said, for being allowed his breath. He hadn't planned to ask for a shield, though he wasn't sure how much he could improve without it, except into another style. It was probably good to know many. Hill's style was a hybrid, after all.

Still, he had to ask, "What improvements could I try to make?" Without input he was likely going to make the same mistakes again. He didn't know what he should try and in the heat of it, he didn't want to steer outside of his tried and true methods. Even if better fighters like Loras could find ways around it, he was still too used to it. "I will learn without the shield just.,.offer some ideas." Sure, then he knew what to look for, too, but a teacher always did at the outset.

Improvements happened over time. Yularen wanted to live that long. Winning a spar wasn't as important.

~***~

Lenore arched a brow, "Says the woman in a red dress," though she did take the box offered and considered the color. In truth she meant to downplay those features to highlight hair and dress - eyes. She considered it with the previous thoughts of cosmetics. "I thank you - I do tend to run out of red faster," a truth. When she wore such things, it was usually red. Red nails. Red lips.

This dress made exceptions. "I will wear this next time." It would fit Casterly better. She was saving red for there. "Should you want it back before, just ask." She set it down and took out the hue of her original plans for her lips, a paler pink with an iridescent shimmer to match the shimmer of her nails, and the silver and white that would add a shimmer around her eyes.

She did ask for privacy and Lenore gave a nod, glanced to Hill. He moved off the wall, and motioned for Jaime to get up and follow him to their usual hideaway in the study. More time to listen to Jaime bitch about Caireann. Joy. He would hold the door for Jaime and would follow him in after.

Lenore would wait, apply the tiny to her lips, and if both did go to hide away, she would fix her eyes on Caireann once more. "What is it?" She asked, curious by Caireann's optimistic demeanor.

~***~

Sebaston knew lost arguments before he engaged in most. It was why he wouldn't ask Cersei for her firstborn nor deny Tywin's abilities before Tommen. If Tywin did not go to Casterly his odds of retaking King's Landing were good. These were men more accustomed to the sea than solid ground fighting - Tywin's troops were more familiar with that.

And Sebaston wasn't sure yet if he would stay and fight. Wasn't sure if Lenore would want to reinforce King's Landing. He had to write soon.

A soldier came forward with shackles. They were prepared to capture. Sebaston shook his head, though. Too wide - Cersei could slip out if she struggled. Rope was then offered and he stepped forward to do it himself, calm, as if he were just working on a ship's mast. Troops scattered and spread to search but some remained to help hold the throne from rogue or suicidal guards.

"I don't worship ashes this week," he wished for Lymond then, to get the joke of his seemingly ever changing faiths. "Perhaps I will be if Lenore falls but I am partial to the lady of Lys today."

"The Lord of Light should be your God, Farman."

"And my parents wished it to be the Seven," Sebaston said. Yes, he did miss the humor of the West. But he denied nothing Cersei said, for there was no benefit to it. It was possible Lenore would fall. Possible Tywin would return soon. Much could happen...but he was optimistic.

 

[peritwinkle]

It was good to see that Yularen wanted to learn from his mistakes, and Loras could not help the envy that was slowly bulding up inside of him. He was a man of the Reach, but his pride was, sometimes, as strong as that of a Westerner. Willas was just as humble as the boy as a general rule, trait which he both admired and loathed, for his inability to share it. Each time he tried, he did not sound like himself, nor did he feel that way. He could, perhaps, add it to his list of flaws.

"Well first," he started with a small sigh, "you could at least try to hit me every once in a while." He was too defensive, desperate to survive rather than kill. "You keep jumping back each time I try to attack you. You are swift on your feet, but this won't help you in a duel. The point of it is to win, not to avoid the hits until your opponent dies of old age." He was still young and vigilant enough to do so in a real fight, but as he aged, those habits would become more and more difficult to get rid of.

He raised his sword then, slow enough to not take him by surprise, and lowered it just above his head. "Parry, then roll from beneath it," he instructed. "Your sword is shorter, which allows you to get closer to me. Mine being longer, I'm slower. You will never battle someone with a knife in a duel." Not from what he'd seen, at least. It could be customary in the cities of Essos, but certainly not there, where a sword was the weapon of choice for most knights and duelists.

He then moved the blade down to his shin, where he had hit the last time before knocking him down. "If you can aim for the shin or behind the knees, it is far better than struggling to find a clear way to the chest." He seemed to be trying exactly that, and he wondered whom he had been taught to fight by. "Aim for the joints. The opponent falls, and you can finish him off easily."

~***~

As soon as Ser Hill motioned towards the study, Jaime seized his crutches and inclined his head at the two ladies before making his way out of the room. If they wished for privacy, it would be given, though he hoped it did not last for too long. A part of him still longed for the affection of his daughtet; he knew he would not see much of her at the feast. She would be eating and dancing with those who could properly use their legs, without spending too much time at the cripple table. Perhaps, for the sake of Willas Tyrell, although he did not know of the relationship between the two.

He only knew that as long as Robb Stark was there, she would only have eyes for him.

Once alone with the Lady, Caireann turned towards her and lowered her head to hide the flush in her cheeks. She was glad that she enjoyed the hue and hoped she would wear it in the future, but would not mind if she chose not tp. After all, it belonged to her then, and knew Mina would not be bothered to hear Caireann had given it to Lady Reyne. She could always ask for a new one from the Tyrell handmaidens and receive it without too much fuss.

But there were matters she wished to discuss to her, for she trusted the woman more than anyone else right then, with such things, at least Gathering her words, she found the courage to finally speak, "I wanted to know... If I am with child... Would it be harmful to be intimate?" Her curiosity was too ardent to avoid the question right then. Lenore had promised to help her whenever she faced such issues, and now that she gave it a thought, she wondered if what she did was wrong. "Frankly, quite often," she added, but would not mention how often.

She then found the strength to sit down and frowned at the slight disturbance. "I have not yet told Robb, and I do not intend to until I am sure of it." It would not be prudent to seep such worries into his heart, considering the battle that was soon to come. He would have enough to stress over; she did not wish to be one of the reasons.

~***~

Rope was acquired, and Sebaston Farman was the one to step forward and tie it around her wrists. It was rough against her skin, but she did not intend to move much. Whatever was ahead of her, she hoped it would happen fast; her whole life she had lived with an illusory courage and now, in death, she was as coward as a sheep. There was no lion inside her anymore, just shame, for not being able to protect her children; dread, for what lay in the near future.

No, she might not die, but she knew that the death of her family meant the death of her. If they harmed Tommen, she would die of a broken heart; the brutes would have her watch as they dig a dagger into his heart for the sake of Stannis's claim to the throne. Him and his priest had muddled the mind of too many, who were now willing to hurt a boy if it meant humouring the whims and commands of their leader whom they followed not for his model and strength, but for his cruelty and threats.

Another pair of steps reverberated in the distance, followed by others closely, and a man appeared through the broken doors, a knife in his hand and what looked like a small bag in the other. "Your Grace," he shouted, voice deep enough to be heard through the noise. "We have one more ship, though I could not make out the shape. The others have clear route to sail forward now." He hesitated, before speaking again, this time lower, as though the words were only for those in the room. "We have found Lord Tyrion Lannister. He is bleeding, but breathing."

"Tyrion?" Cersei's heart jolted in her chest, but the man did not address her.

"I have asked some of Ser Morrigen's men to take him somewhere safe, but I doubt they heard me. They still took him," sheepishly and with slight disgust in their movements, but at least the lion had not been left to rot in the water. He would be chained, without a doubt, once he was treated – if he survived. By Lady Reyne's orders, at least the man would live; Davos did not wish to kill him. He was, in the end, one of the only sane and rational Lannisters, next to his father.

 

[Lucyfer]

Yularen did listen attentively, eyes wide, as Loras offered his advice. He was a far better teacher than Hill already, who would have grumbled something about his foes offering him no such luxury as instruction. Hill did not teach Yularen much, obviously. His gaze followed the movements and he bit the inside of his cheek in thought, before he laughed. "I could try waiting till they die of exhaustion - most are older than me," but he understood all the same.

Parry and roll. He could see the use of it if there was room to roll. He could try that, and try to strike at limbs. He did prefer chest. Easier to land a killing blow at the chest than at the arms, but an opponent with a wounded arm was easier to kill. Yularen was just taught not to waste his strikes. Not to reveal much.

Loras clearly fought differently. "Okay, I will give it a shot," he said, again consenting to another spar. "I guess I should open then so I actually try to land a blow...and stay engaged." Not run off. Parry, and move. Roll. Aim for things besides the chest. "Okay." More to himself then.

"When you're ready!" And if Loras was ready he would attempt to reengage and aim at the off arm of Loras.

~***~

Caireann's query was not at all what Lenore was expecting and the mask nearly broke. Fortunately it only cracked in a smile and a hastily silenced laugh as Caireann seemed so flustered by her own query. Embarrassed. Lenore did not blame her and it was why she gathered her poise again quickly. "Forgive me - it is not a foolish question I was only unprepared. I am glad you and Lord Stark have a healthy sex life," sly smile, before she answered.

"In the early months it is fine, and even later on it is, but later on you do run the risk of inducing labor with such activity - no damage to the child," she told her. Tried not to laugh again as she lightly touched Caireann's shoulder, "Enjoy him to your heart's content." Then let it fall to add that pale shimmer around her eyes.

It was odd having such a conversation but not unwelcome. A novel distraction, but mostly she didn't want Caireann to be afraid of the topic. Lenore didn't exactly have a womanly figure to prepare her for much of it and books from a women's perspective were difficult.

Their legacy was always handed down in the oral traditions, mother to daughter. Sybil died too early. So did lady Hetherspoon. "Is there more or should the men return?"

~***~

Hill determined that the study was the sixth circle of the 7 hells. At least Jaime did not speak first of Caireann but allowed some rare moments of silence to stand between them. Hill enjoyed it as he leaned against the door, trying to hear. He couldn't - only a laugh stopped short from Lenore that reminded him how odd things had been all day.

"What happened with you and Lenore?" Perhaps he should have waited till Jaime was drunk but he couldn't, "This whole day has been tense," it could be the feast he knew. It could be many things but it would drive him mad if he didn't ask.

One day, they joked through things. The silence wasn't tense. Jaime fretted over Lenore's health. The next, they both slept to speed up time, it seemed. Hill wanted to know why.

~***~

Cersei was silent now. So was Stannis. Sebaston was left with the sounds of war and an upset child. He wanted to put a hand on Cersei's shoulder but knew better. Wanted to console Tommen, but could not. He didn't know how to speak with Stannis then...so he waited, until the familiar face of the sheepish Onion Knight appeared. Lord Farman straightened, smiled, listened.

'Lenore will be pleased if he lives.'

Sebaston was quick to offer, "Is a maester needed? I can find one quickly if so." He said.

"What care do you have?" Stannis grunted.

Sebaston sighed, "My lady, your grace," he seemed to underestimate her care. Besides, rumor had it that Tyrion could be an unlikely ally...his relationship with Tywin was rocky. Court him well enough, let him learn what Lenore wanted, and he might aid...and Sebaston knew how useful he could be.

Stannis didn't care, "Any news on the Pretender or Lady Stark, Ser Davos?" He asked instead, caring only for those things since Cersei was in his grasp.

 

[peritwinkle]

The spoon was prepared to start again, so Loras took a step back to give him some room to prepare himself. He was satisfied that he had at least understood what he had to do, or at least seemed to have understood. It was not too difficult said, but done, it was... Well, easier than aiming for the chest. The main instinct of a fighter was to defend his vital organs – it was what one would be taught as his first lesson, to strike with the pointy end of their blade and protect their torso and head.

"Try to analyse what I do and to the exact opposite," he offered as a last tip before gripping his sword properly.

When the combat started, he tried to move more slowly, if only to give Yularen some room to breathe. It was strange how fighting changed him – from a flirtatious knight to a focused warrior. Loras knew himself best but, in truth, it was strange even for him to realise how a sword in his hand changed him. So, with swift movements, he tried to parry as well. He wouldn't allow Yularen to win just for the sake of teaching him what he was supposed to do.

He would have to learn on his own, by actually managing to strike him. But his first blows were too sudden, and they did take Loras by surprise. The spoon aimed for his elbow and the steel hit his bone, sending a shiver of pain through his whole arm. He jumped back, shook his arm and positioned his sword in front of him defensively this time, to catch his shortened breath before engaging again. His tolerance for pain was not as good as others', but he forced himself to strike Yularen again.

When he would parry, Loras would roll beneath his sword and obviously aim for the back of his knee. He kept his movements slow and long enough to allow for a reaction, though he did make sure that his sword did not slide from the parry down to cut his head off from behind.

~***~

Caireann's cheeks only turned redder at Lenore's amusement; she knew her question might have been inappropriate, for the woman was a medic, after all, and had offered her help when it came to health issues and complications. Her sex life was frankly not something that would interest her in any way, and yet she excused herself and answered quickly, without flustering. The girl was glad that she did not scold or judge her, at least, and her words made her feel more comfortable about encouraging the conversation.

She did not think she would be in the mood to pursue such activities in the later months of her pregnancy, if it were to happen. With such early symptoms, she suspected it would only get worse and worse, so she chose to enjoy it while it lasted. She had not felt as sick that morning, for she had only drunk green tea and eaten a slice of toasted bread – everything as unflavoured as possible. The feast would introduce her to many new smells and fragrances, so she would have to steel herself for it.

"There is something else," she started with a small nod, eyes now lifting up to watch Lenore as she applied her makeup. She was thankful for the lack of direct attention: it allowed her to speak more freely. "I... I know I should not tell you this but I am afraid to ask anyone else." Mina was not very serious when it came to such matters, but mainly because her mind slipped into too many direction when that subject was addressed. Lady Reyne was far more serious, even in spite of the sly smile. "Robb has... used his tongue, and... What would happen if I used mine?"

Immediately, Caireann cupped her cheeks in her palms and lowered her head once again. She should not have asked it, but the curiosity was burning through her like fire. She wanted to know, so she could make him just as happy as he made her, at least then before he left to take Casterly Rock. That day was getting closer and closer, but it was a picture she did not wish to paint in her mind. Not yet, at least, for she wished to enjoy it – him – as much as she could.

~***~

Jaime hated silence, but it hated it even more when it was broken by a subject that concerned Lenore. His happiness from earlier quickly faded as soon as Hill spoke, and he almost wanted to yell at him for his curiosity, but the man did at least deserve an answer. He would not be as direct as he had been with Tybalt, of course; if the spoon had allowed Lenore to continue holding Jaime under her custody after she admitted she had been intimate with him, Hill would not hesitate or demand explanations before cutting his throat open.

"Not a moment to relax, right?" the knight sighed and closed his eyes, leaning against the wall by the door. "She is as pessimistic as ever... War. Death. She still has her pride and I don't know how I have managed to almost completely overcome mine." They had changed him, or perhaps war had, but he no longer recognised himself as the man he had been months before. He was no longer the vicious Kingslayer, strong and cunning, but a humble and passive-aggressive cat.

He could hear Lenore's voice, muffled by the wall, but could only distinguish a hint of amusement. "You are my enemies." Technically. "But I don't want to see you dead. And nor do I want to see my father dead, since he is my family. Lenore gets off on reminding me that one day or another I will have to see either of you die." Not a lie, but not the entirely pristine truth. The woman had made him believe there was no future for them in terms of romance, so naturally, there would be no future for them as friends.

~***~

The Onion Knight looked dishevelled and fatigued, but his voice did not let in on his exhaustion. He spoke before them as he spoke to his King, with the same respect and devotion. "He was bleeding from his nose, Lord Farman," the man explained. "He has lost a good portion of flesh, from what I saw, but it was too dark to make out any details. The worst that can happen is for the wound to suppurate – that is, if he has not been harmed somewhere else, as well." He had fainted, after all, which meant he was too tired and wounded to fight anymore.

Who had sent the imp in the first ranks, any way?

He sensed the touch of derision in Stannis's voice, but did not comment on it. The man resented the Lannisters by default, be it Joffrey or his uncle. With Jaime Lannister away and the old lion marching West to defend Casterly, it only left the children and the two brothers to be taken care of: Joffrey would be executed publicly, from what he assumed and heard, whilst Cersei, tied as she was, would be spared along with her little boy.

There was no real reason to kill him, considering he was no direct heir to the Throne right then. His older sister had been shipped to Dorne to marry Trystane Martell, so unless Stannis wished to stain his hands with the blood of a child and have Dorne as his enemy as well, he ought to have patience and take one step at a time. His steps were, however, quite daring, and the momentary victory seemed to have made him arrogant. He trusted he could have anything, only for having taken an undefended city.

"A maester would be needed," Davos agreed then. "Your Grace, I do not consider harming him to be a good idea. Lord Tyrion is an intelligent man, and considering his daughter is in the hands of the Alliance, he can become an advantage to us." He would not speak more then, not in front of Cersei, but nor did he have the strength to do so. "But of Joffrey, our men have been searching for him through the ranks, but it seems he has retired. I say give it a while, and – "

"Your Grace!" a man came running from outside building, covered in steel from head to toes and barely breathing under the weight of his chestplate. "We have found the pretender."

"I may resign early, then," Davos breathed out, but could not hide his satisfaction. The Gods had been kind to them that day.

 

[Lucyfer]

A strike connected.

Yularen was actually pleasantly surprised, and it must have showed, though he quickly covered the glee at it. He never liked the hurting people part, and that blow must have hurt a bit. Loras drew back, and Yularen didn’t move to engage again, but waited for Loras to be prepared. He had given him the time, after all, didn’t just move to destroy after he got Yularen to falter.

So, Yularen would give him the time to regroup. This wasn’t real combat, after all. No need for such things.

The blow came next from Loras, and Yularen did parry. He did not move to roll as well, but with the glint of metal as Loras did, he went back to the routine of quick-stepping away, and it saved him from the glancing blow of his blade to the back of his knee. He took another step to gain distance, and would wait for Loras to regain his feet, before he’d move to meet him again, and this time, try not to aim for a limb.

He had to mix it up, right? He couldn’t be predictable, that’s what Loras criticized when he said he needed to aim for limbs – if he always aimed for the same place, it was easy to know how to guard. Still, he couldn’t fall back into the old habits…too much.

Though, inevitably, when pushed too fast, Yularen would revert back to what he knew.

~***~

Lenore might have been glad her own parents never had to deal with her sexuality and these kinds of questions. Although, a part of her still knew Roger would have been quite accepting, and Ellyn – it would probably have been Ellyn she went to, with any of this, and though the thought briefly saddened her, it didn’t show. The focus was on application of make-up, and Caireann.

It didn’t allow for emotions to cloud her mind for long.

She took a breath before answering, shifting to the other eye, not looking directly at Caireann, “What activities you and Robb engage will, in the end, be a matter of personal taste. However, most men do enjoy having such stimulation.” Jaime had. Pushed the thought far, far away. “You certainly could test the waters there with Lord Stark, as well.”

She was absolutely not going to offer her instructions or tips. That was a matter of taste, and well, it would be better if she learned from Robb what he liked. “I doubt he’d decline such a bold suggestion from you.” He’d probably welcome it eagerly. “But if he does not, it is no fault of your own – everyone has their tastes.” Not that she’d met a man who didn’t like it, but they probably existed.

~***~

‘War changes a person.’ As did being a hostage, Hill wanted to add, but did not. One had to adapt to survive. It was not a trait that he believed Lenore truly had. Had she been in chains or kept in that cell, she would not be as hospitable a captive herself. Death before dishonor, or some nonsense like that.

The lion’s pride was irreconcilable in her.

“She’s realistic, Jaime,” Hill stated bluntly. It wasn’t pessimism, or she would not be leading them. She would have never stepped out of the shadow of Nora Hetherspoon. “If she ignored the odds and thought as Roger did, we’d never get so far. She’s not going to say we’re going to win just because Gods or luck are on our side – if she thinks death is possible, she’s going to be looking to avoid it, too.”

Not like those foolish heroes who thought it impossible. As, Hill admitted, he sometimes thought Robb was for all these dalliances. He saw Robb’s men out and about and working with their men, preparing them, and training, more than he saw Robb. Robb was, of course, lovestruck and lost – but it was no excuse for Hill.

Yet another reason to avoid such things, really. “But…I admit, she can be…moody.” Depressing, in her realism. “Perhaps your father will end up just dying of a heart attack.” Anticlimatic – but then, it wouldn’t be their fault. He was old. Stressed.

Lenore would be pissed.

~***~

Lord Farman had maesters with him, it would not take long to find one, or a medic he trusted well enough. He wished then for Lenore, but knew she had to stay. Had to prepare to lead against Casterly, and so with her, Aeron stayed, as well – perhaps the best of them, if only due to his years of experience. “Thank you, Ser Davos,” Lord Farman said, and he whistled, as Davos finished speaking to Stannis.

The whistle was answered by the movement of his own brother-in-law, Gareth, came forward. He would be gentle enough to Cersei, Jeyne did not have many complaints of her, when she had been one of Cersei’s ladies. Only, of course, that Cersei used to pick on her – but Cersei picked on everyone. As the man drew close, another came barreling in to declare that Joffrey had been found.

Lord Farman winced as Stannis rose to his feet, “Well! Bring him here, immediately!” Stannis demanded of the knight.

Sebaston put a hand on Gareth’s shoulder, “Watch Cersei, take care of Cersei, and make sure nothing untoward happens.”

The lord nodded, and Sebaston darted ahead then, paused at the center of the room to offer a hasty bow, “By your leave, Your Grace, I would like to tend to the matter of Lord Tyrion.”

Stannis flicked his wrist in a dismissive way, “You’re dismissed, Lord Farman.” He understood the man had his orders from this Lady Reyne – a ghost he still found difficult to believe in, but Lord Farman spoke convincingly, and he would be the one to know. They were near in age, his aunt was her mother, and she had visited in her youth, it seemed. Knew enough to confirm her identity to Lord Farman.

Stannis would be interested to meet her, as well – a woman who could rally so many to her cause with a name was worthy of meeting, especially if he was going to trust her with a likely rebellious West.

“Thank you, your grace,” and with that, he sprinted off. There was no time to waste when it came to health – and he ran back out the door, shouting for the maester by name, and shouting for information on the direction of Ser Morrigen’s men.

~***~

“Please have mercy on me.”

The words were coming, hurried, from the lips of the young auburn-haired Stark girl. “I never would have lied about Arya and the Mycha if I knew – I never wanted any of this, not at all. Please, Mother, please have mercy on me, and please have mercy on Shae,” she remembered the woman who had been so kind.

Tried to hide that she bled.

Tried to protect her by sending her out of the Red Keep. “And please have mercy on all those women in the Red Keep. My father always said Stannis was an honorable man, please let his soldiers be honorable, please let the Queen Regent be wrong. She’s a liar, I know but – I don’t mean that, I’m sorry, I should not speak ill of her. Please just let her be wrong, I’m sorry, I—”

Her voice stopped then as she heard heavy steps on the stairs that wound up to her birdcage, as she had come to think of it. Frightened blue eyes opened, and she gathered herself up from the floor quickly, hands bunching together in front her chest, wrapping in the fabric of her dress there as she backed towards the window. ‘If only I could fly away.’ She should have listened to the Hound.

She should have listened to Littlefinger.

But she was a stupid girl.

Except, the feet stopped at her door. They did not try to burst through it, but an armored hand knocked. She knew it was armored – the sound of metal against wood was familiar to her. “Hello? If anyone is in there, open the door immediately, or we will burst through it.” She heard the shifting of metal boots. Metal swords. “King’s Landing has been seized by His Grace, Stannis Baratheon. He is willing to accept surrender.”

“Please, I never meant any harm! Please don’t hurt me, I beg you.”

There was a pause.

Then, “Lady Stark?”

Sansa hesitated, her voice caught in her throat, not sure if it was better to deny. Her lip trembled, and she felt her eyes watering in fear. “Y-yes,” she finally managed.

She could hear relief and murmuring behind the door, before the voice spoke again, “I am Ser Andrew Estermont. His Grace wants to send you home to your brother, Lord Robb Stark. Please, would you open the door?”

She wanted to ask, how she could trust that. How she could trust any of them. “I—I will, but first I want you to find Shae.”

“Who?”

“Shae!” She said more defiantly, “She’s my handmaiden and I want her,” she felt safe with Shae. “She was in the Red Keep. Please.”

More murmuring, and then she heard someone depart the company of men that lingered outside her door. “I’ve sent a man to get her, Lady Stark.”

Sansa smiled, hoped they would find Shae alive and unmolested. She felt her knees weaken again, and she smiled, watery, “Thank you,” she spoke too softly to be heard by those outside.

The Mother heard her.

 

[peritwinkle]

Yularen was a quick learner. It did not take him long to pick up on the tricks he had been shown, and this time he focused more on aiming rather than stepping away from the opponent's sword. He was still swift on his feet, which did make hitting him more difficult, but Loras did not wish to push him too much right then. If he was not given the chance to respond to his gestures, he would never learn. It was clear that the spoon was not made for one-on-one combat.

When he composed himself once again, he was met with the same eagerness, although this time he did not go as easy on him. He saw the way his eyes pointed and managed to jump back in time to avoid the hit to his leg. "Predictable," he said again with the hint of a sigh in his voice, but allowed him to continue. Slowly, he was beginning to revert to what he had been taught before, once again moving as far from his range as possible, almost using his arm as a shield.

It was getting more and more difficult to duel as the light dimmed out. Torches surrounded them, but they were too small to lighten up the whole area, so the ground remained unseen. Loras knew he could use that to his own advantage, given he actually managed to reach him with at least the tip of his sword. He wavered for a second, waited, before twirling around into a spin long enough to spark Yularen's curiosity and went to strike right for his shoulder.

But the blade never found him; instead, he jumped forward from his spin and tried to hook his ankle the same way Hill had done to him. He briefly thought to give him a warning, but he needed to learn to be alert at all times. Not only in duels did opponents resort to using their limbs along with their weapon. He needed to be as unpredictable as possible.

~***~

Caireann was overwhelmed by the kindness and benevolence in Lenore's words; it was soothing to know that she cared for her well-being and happiness at some extent. She would never have been able to address such things with her father or Jaime, which meant it only left her and Mina to open up to. She saw Lady Mormont too rarely now to be able to reach such a deep level in their conversation, although considering she had been the first to look after her, her trust in the woman was still potent.

For one reason or another, her heart was filled with joy. "It will feel strange to ask Robb about it," the girl confessed, though she certainly did not intend to ask Lenore for tips and tricks. It was improper and, in truth, she had no assurance that the woman had tried that herself. Judging by the way she spoke she was certainly experienced in such matters, no doubt. "Thank you for answering me, Lady Reyne. I do appreciate your honesty."

She pulled her legs beneath herself and watched her apply the pigment on her lids. It was mesmerizing to watch it catch the candlelight so beautifully, and it fit the pin in her hair perfectly. A sense of pride seeped into her then at the sight of it; red and silver were her colours, but green enhanced the deep shade of her eyes and the incarnadine in her hair. In spite of her age, she looked youthful and pretty; it was a mistery to her how she was still unmarried.

"You look wonderful, Lady Lenore," she gave her a kind smile and ran her hands through her hair to settle it over the bare shoulders. "I am sure many will be smitten and will wish to dance with you. I have asked Ser Hill to dance with me, as well, and he appeared enthusiastic about it." It flattered her that a knight like him paid any attention to her and it was heartwarming to have so many lions care for her here, when back at home among her own kin she was not nearly as appreciated.

The thought reminded her that him and Jaime were still locked up in the study, so she quickly stood up and skipped to the door before knocking lightly and opened the door. "You may come in," she smiled, then returned to take her seat on the edge of the bed.

~***~

Jaime wanted to laugh at Hill's prediction about his father. It would be a tragedy for Lenore, perhaps more than for him. Still, a part of him hoped that he would pull through that war, but he knew his victory meant the death of her and Hill. There would be no mercy, and Lenore would not wish to live the rest of her life chained or exiled if Jaime did managed to convince the Lord Tywin to keep her alive. She would resent him even more for asking for such a whim.

He could no longer enjoy anything without the fear of what was to come. Lenore had made sure of that in the past, and would continue to do so at least for the rest of their confinement together. Even if he remained on her mind after it ended, the bond between them would not last. He had, at least, enjoyed it as a momentary satisfaction and nothing more.

His father would not be proud of him.

The door opened with a knock, and Caireann popped up from behind it with a sweet simper warming up her face. Jaime moved to the side to look at her and found himself relieved that he would not be required to speak about Lenore anymore that evening, although he suspected that once drunk, he would start slurring words to Hill and whomever he found sitting next to him at or near the cripple table. He was the first to step back into the room and limped to sit on his own bed, trying to focus on Caireann and not the Reyne.

"I suppose you are changing now," Jaime said, only half-joking. Caireann arched her brow and resumed her seat next to Lenore. "Or is your seamstress the frugal type?"

~***~

Davos did not demand to leave with Sebaston; instead, he was curious to see King Joffrey for himself. The man who was told to bring him in gave a quick nod and ran off, perchance to give the orders, and the Onion Knight stepped forward towards his true King. He wanted to ask whether the execution would take place then or formally the following morning, but decided against it. Cersei seemed to be already mourning, and as much as he hated the boy, he did not wish to cause more sorrow to the mother.

She was a woman like any other in front of him right then, even if Stannis thought otherwise. To him, a lion was a lion; if Caireann Lannister had landed in his custody, being the child of the imp, he would not be merciful towards her. Perhaps he would not execute her like the others, but he would certainly not offer the mercy Robb Stark had.

Instead, he inquired, "What are you planning to do with Lord Tyrion?" Now that Sebaston was no longer there, he could speak his intentions. Davos knew that a part of him did not wish to comply to the orders of Lenore Reyne, for she was not there, and nor was she their leader. A King had no leader but himself, even if he allowed the Red Woman to guide and advise him more than his wife. "If you intend to maintain this alliance, my King,..."

He did not get the chance to voice his thoughts, for a cohort of men marched into the hall, silver and bloodied. In the middle of the group paced a golden boy, trembling and shouting, the grimace on his face disfiguring his whole complexion. "GET YOUR HAND OFF ME!" His demands continued, but without any result. Even with armour on, he was not more intimidating than a scared cat. "MOTHER! TELL THEM! TELL THEM!"

~***~

Smoke and water deluged Tyrion's senses, dazed him to the point where he could no longer hear his own thoughts. As the frenzy of battle seeped out of him, he discovered more and more spots that hurt, and something beneath him was damp; if he were gushing blood, then why was he still alive? Or, perhaps, it was the water dripping out of him, from the crevices and pockets of the armour that had been far too big to fit him well.

He was either moving, or the ground was shifting beneath his feet. He could smell death and blood around him; screams surrounded him, but he knew the battle was ending. There was no fire in the distance, no sound of explosion or steel against steel. Had they won? Had Stannis Baratheon managed to take over King's Landing? Tyrion wondered briefly how long he would be alive for; the man would demand his head as soon as he found him.

And yet, there were soldiers that carried him then. He heard a name - Farman - , and he knew someone had demanded he lived. Was Shae somewhere in the Red Keep as well? If King's Landing had fallen, then Sansa was either dead as well, or found and taken by Sebaston Farman himself, a friend of the Alliance, more potent than an imp. He would protect her better than he ever had.

But why was he worrying over a child who was not his? 'Because Caireann's fate depends on it.' Caireann was not his, either, and yet he still called her daughter and spoke to her as though she were his own offspring. A part of him had wanted to believe that she was alive and well as she had written in the letters Tyrion had never managed to return; the other doubted it, and yet he had fulfilled one part of his promise - to keep her safe.

"Lord Farman," someone near him called, but he could not turn his head to look. "We need a medic for Lord Tyrion," his voice was rugged and coarse. "I looked for more wounds, but I can't see..."

 

[Lucyfer]

The word predictable caused Yularen to try and sharpen his focus once again. It only helped a little, for his own habits were still strong from years of practice. When he caught himself slipping, he focused again, but it was frustrating to the spoon - even if he was grateful. He was learning, but breaking habits was always difficult - they defined a person.

Ser Hetherspoon was still caught by surprise when Loras tried to trip him up in a way akin to Hill. He was tricked by the feint and then felt his ankle hooked. He fell again with an "ooph", and then a groan as he rolled fully onto his back. Not how he expected it - Loras hadn't made use of his limbs as a weapon until then, but it was certainly something Yularen should have been wary of from the start.

Good thing he wasn't in his nice clothes though he definitely needed to tend to his hair. The chocolate was certainly tarnished with dirt. He felt it as he pushed some of it back and off his forehead. "I have a lot to learn." He mumbled to himself.

~***~

Lenore would admit some vanities in times like these. Ellyn Reyne had always been beautiful, even as she got older. She only seemed to fill out more, and though Lenore did not have her fortune, she enjoyed the regal stance she held over others. She shared the interests her family always had – music and beauty. It did not matter that her family’s colors were red and silver in times like these, when green suited her well. All that mattered was making that impression.

Caireann though, would be wrong in her assumption. Even if people became smitten, she doubted any but her own would approach. She was just as intimidating as she was beautiful in those moments, and men hated rejection. She would have Hill, though, Vikary – and any she approached. ‘Not Jaime.’

“Ser Hill makes for a good partner,” Lenore chuckled, “I am sure you both will enjoy it,” she enjoyed the bastard for dances.

It was then Caireann went to fetch the other two, knocking and opening the door. Lenore heard Hill say, “Thank you,” as he exited from the study.

Jaime was soon out and on his bed as Lenore finished with the fire-catching additions. She rose then and rolled her eyes at Jaime’s comment on frugality. Caireann was young, beautiful, and in love – he should be relieved she was not dressing for many men, but only one. She could do a far more daring job. “We do have High Garden here now, Jaime,” Lenore said, “perhaps they have already cornered the market,” so all the dresses would be so…frugal.

Lenore glanced back to Caireann then, prepared as she would be, “Were you needing any assistance with anything, Caireann?” She had mentioned preparing together, so she must have needed something before they left.

~***~

Even Davos doubted him, now. The disgust showed in the way his lips started to curve and he wondered at what point he had made his faithful knight doubt his word. "I gave my word, Ser Davos," he reminded. That should be enough. He promised all but Joffrey so long as the others did not endanger their lives as his hostages.

If they tried to fight, escape, or otherwise bring about their end, then he made no promises. If they cooperated he would leave them be, and make sure they were cared for until the war was over or the Reyne changed her mind.

Joffrey was brought in screaming, and the disgust became all the more sincere as he stared down at him. Stannis should have known this brat was never Robert's child, and what love he still bore his brother made him revile this blond pretender all the more. Cersei. He wanted her burned more than Joffrey. More than anyone.

His teeth ground against each other as he set his jaw, then spoke, "Have his pyre prepared immediately." He wouldn't make the mistake of letting him go. The Targaryen children escaped him but not Joffrey. "Outside before the sept of Baelor - and someone bind him."

That was when he fixed his eyes on his once-nephew, "Your mother can't help you now, boy," it was all he was, "so have some dignity as you face your end."

~***~

Sebaston's calls were answered. Maester Storne came to him, and others offered direction to Tyrion, which the pair followed. Tyrion was soon found upon a cape, carried between men. Sebaston jogged to catch up, and the maester held up his oil lamp to get a good look.

The Lannister's face was a mess. That did appear to be the only wound. Armor could hide as well as protect though. Sebaston glanced at their surroundings. Half to the castle, half to the city. He made his decision quick. "We'll clear a room in an inn. Come." He moved ahead and quicker to make sure the path would be clear of any guards.

The battle was won but hopeless stragglers remained - and fools would believe that Tyrion could repay the debt of removing him from enemy hands.

Fortunately, the lord only came upon a couple in the mess before he reached an inn. The barred doors were opened when he jingled a bit of coin, and he tossed a few dragons once he entered before clearing a table - it would do. Firmer than a bed and higher up. The lights of the lamps would aid the maester.

~***~

Ser Frederick was quick to move down the steps, moving with a sword in his hand. He suspected this Shae would be in the Red Keep, where Sansa should have been, but what was he to look for? He should have asked for a description, he realized belatedly.

'Just call for her in the Keep.' Someone would answer or know the Lady of Sansa. Then he would take her back to Sansa and they would take both to Stannis. Then, they could go back to Robb and the boy might be more open to returning to his proper place as a vassal under Stannis.

Simple.

In theory.

The knight let out a flustered groan as he reached the base of the staircase and walked on. "Should have asked how Shae looks," he grumbled to himself as he remained alert. His head itched under loose strands of black hair but he didn't lift his hand to remove the offending locks. He knew this wasn't completely over. Not yet. He had to be vigilant for remaining Lannister loyalists.

 

[peritwinkle]

The spoon fell, and as soon as his chocolate hair touched the dirt, a sense of guilt struck Loras at the thought that the feast was soon to start. The boy had not managed to make him bite the dust, and he had not sweat either, thanks to the light breeze that blew through the tents that evening. It would take more than some minor adjustments to get himself ready for the feast in his state.

The Knight of Flowers took a step ahead and patted Yularen on the shoulder with his sword. "Not everyone is fair," he shrugged, "That's a lesson I only learnt recently," during his fight with Hill. He did not offer to pull him up this time and, instead, moved the tip of the sword right beneath his chin to tip it up. "There is enough time to learn, if I didn't bore you," although he could say he had at least learn a few tricks that would help him in his future battles.

He then resumed his position from before and waited for him to stand up by himself, hoping he had not caused him too much harm. "You should get yourself ready for the feast," he gave him a smirk then, "I am still looking forward to seeing you there." The spoon would most certainly look glamorous dressed up and prepped. Loras had not yet chosen an attire for himself, but he planned to wear teal and gold that evening. Margaery had told him that the colour suited him well.

~***~

Caireann was slightly taken aback by her uncle's comment on her dress, but she chose not to take it as an affront. He was only being protective, in the end, and he knew her well enough to know she would not go back to pick another dress. Even if she wanted to, there was nothing else to pick; Mina had not yet sewn the pink one, and it would be rather unsettling to make an appearance dressed up in the same attire as for her first feast, which had not gone too smoothly.

She knew, at least, that Robb would not appreciate it.

And all the other girls would be wearing more revealing clothes; even if it was not what she was used to wearing, she enjoyed tighter fits from time to time. Cersei wore them all the time, and sometimes even Sansa, although the cuts were never as deep. Jaime would simply have to get used to it.

Lenore asked her if there was anything she needed, and Caireann heard the subtle dismissal in her voice. She would have wanted to stay for longer, but both of them were stressed and enthusiastic about the feast; she needed time to get ready in peace, so she would not disturb. "No, Lady Reyne," the girl answered lowly. "I had only wanted to see you all... Before the feast started." During such revelries, the chances of them interacting were quite scanty.

She made her way to the door and inclined her head to all of them, "Good evening," she bid again before she would see herself out. Thom had not left his place of duty, for Robb had made sure to make him her personal guard, which meant he was required to follow her at all times. If there was nothing else to be said, she would go back to her room and wait for Robb to come and take her to the Great Hall.

~***~

Joffrey stopped shouting and fussing as soon as his eyes landed on Stannis. He shifted slightly in the grips around his ankles, as his lips parted in fear. No, Cersei could not help him; even a boy like Tommen had realised that, and he was much younger than his King brother. Only then, he was a cub more than a King, and nothing in front of Son of Fire, just like his Queen mother and any other lion that dared to step into that hall.

It was a strange sight for Davos to see their plans had indeed come to an end. Victory. It was a word they had not heard in a long time, and he felt a sense of achievement heighten his pride. Worry still bit into him at the thought that he had not yet seen his sons, but if the Gods had been kind enough that day to help them, they would not have taken away his children so easily. It was what he hoped, at least, and he did not wish to consider the possibility just then. Not until the pretender was dealt with.

Yet in spite of it all, he could not be truly happy knowing the woman would have to watch her burn alive. He had to ask, "Will Lady Cersei witness it?" He saw the way her eyes had widened with Stannis's words and he did not dare to look at her right then. It was her that started moving then, agitated and terrified for the life of her offspring.

"YOU ARE NOT TOUCHING MY SON!" She tried to rise her arms, but one of the guards quickly pulled her back. "DO NOT TOUCH ME! JOFFREY-"

A hit reddened her cheek and cut her words. Blood dripping from her lip, Cersei lowered her head and seemed to be trying to speak again, though pained, no more words left her lips. Her efforts were futile. She was bound and defenseless; with Stannis's orders, two soldiers broke from the group and started shouting the commands to those who were free to listen, without the heart to stop and glance at the mother with a shattered heart.

~***~

The sky was dark, but it seemed to lighten as he was carried somewhere warm, and Tyrion wondered if it was already morning. No, it couldn't have happened so soon; he was still being carried on what felt like a stretcher, with blood gushing out of his wounds and choking him, yet he did not have the strength to cough it out. He instead tried to keep his eyes open for long enough to comprehend what was happening around him and, hopefully, distinguish some features.

As he was placed down on a hard surface, a maester bent over him. From the corner of his eyes he could see the dark features of a man to his left, standing and giving orders to the other towering over him. Farman, wasn't he? Tyrion parted his lips to speak before the maester could force some concoction down his throat. "My daughter..." He would know where she was. Part of the Alliance, it meant that Robb Stark had chosen to indirectly support Stannis Baratheon. "Caireann... Is she..."

The maester waited and allowed the man some respite. He could barely move his jaw to talk properly; he hoped the words had not been spoken in his mind only. He wanted to ask of Sansa, too - always worrying about everyone else but himself. He was wounded. Beaten and probably dying. If the Gods were to take them, then at least he wanted to know he had not lived his life in vain. It was his way to repent for the past two months, which had only gone by with the help of too much alcohol and too little food. Shae. Letters. Hope and nightmares.

He needed to know that Caireann, out of all, was still breathing. Then, he could die in peace.

~***~

It had taken too long until the firing stopped, whilst Shae fussed about and struggled to keep herself sane. Sansa had been completely quiet and sullen the whole time, dedicating prayers to the Mother and asking for mercy. For her brother, perhaps, and a Baratheon victory. In spite of the poor girl's statements, she did not love the Lannisters in the least, and apart from Tyrion, the handmaiden could not say she did not empathize with her.

The Ladies of the castle were still not allowed to step out. The Mother had heard the girl's prayers, it seemed, for the lions had fallen, and most likely her lion along with them. Shae kept her mind busy by pacing through the chambers; being a servant, she had the freedom to risk her life if she wanted to. But right then, she needed to have a bag prepared in case someone did return for her or Sansa. She had packed up a few dresses of her own which she thought might fit the girl as well, some napkins and a small bottle of cold water.

With the bag thrown on her shoulder, she sprinted out of the room and went to run up the stairs, when a dark figure appeared in front of her and her heart sunk. A knight, not Lannister nor a lion of any sort - she already knew their attire. Shae steeled herself for an attack and took a step back, but did not run away. "Let me pass, I serve Lady Sansa Stark, the King's soon to be wife."

As though that would stop a debaucher from abusing her in the solitude of the night.

 

[Lucyfer]

“Learned that already from Sebaston,” Yularen muttered as he pulled himself back up to his feet, but he still let a smile take over his face, easily. Fair Is The Way. The Farmans were some of the best liars out there – they weren’t fair. They were in it for what was advantageous to them. It was no wonder Sebaston, Hill, and Lenore all got on so well. Even Tybalt. They made an interesting grouping of power, that was certain.

No wonder Sebaston would succeed Lenore.

“You didn’t bore me at all – you teach well,” Yularen said, “I know I have a lot to learn, and I know I need to stop reverting to what is normal, but it will take some time. If you’re patient with me, I am a willing student!” Yularen promised him, and hoped he would not eventually get on Loras’s nerves too much.

He then gave a quick nod, “Thank you – I look forward to seeing you at the feast, too!” And with that, Yularen sprinted off. He still had all the energy in the world it seemed.

~***~

The King of the North stayed in the Great Hall to oversee things, until the festivities started to begin, and some people began to arrive. Then, he made his exit, hearing the pretty strings as he left to go and retrieve Caireann. He would bring her to the feast himself, and walk with her.

He found Thom outside of her chambers and gave the man a nod. As ever, the guard moved aside for Robb, and the king approached the door, knocked, and then opened the door to enter and find Caireann.

He paused at the sight of her. He did not have to search at all, the bright hue stood out in the dark room, revealing her to his eyes. The red seemed to highlight much about her, in the firelight, contrasting with her fair skin as it did, and holding her tightly. The lips that had rounded in surprise, softened, and he smiled.

“You look…gorgeous, Caireann,” he couldn’t quite find the word he wanted, but she was beautiful right then – only it wasn’t a strong enough word. He approached her, and offered his arm to her, “Let’s join the others. The feast has only just begun,” he said, certain she was ready to join them.

Though, when she would take his hand, he would lean forward to kiss her for a moment – he was still wary of showing such affection in such an obvious place as the Great Hall, but he wanted to kiss her – even if it might stain his lips. He did not care right then. He wanted to kiss her before it, in case time and revelry did not allow him to do so afterwards.

~***~

It seemed Caireann changed her mind about wanting assistance, and Lenore let her leave then with a nod, a, “Good evening,” and then she was gone, leaving Lenore to the tedium of waiting. At least she had books, though, and she sat on the edge of her bed once Caireann left to read, waiting until the hour was more appropriate to part from her room.

Hill was the one to rise first, stretching up, “Well, I think now is as good a time as any. If we’re early, they can deal with it,” he stated, and Lenore easily set aside her book as the knight moved ahead to open the door, frowned, looked back to Lenore, “This was your last day, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Where will you be staying tonight?”

Lenore hadn’t even thought of it. There wouldn’t be a room prepared for her, would there? They got lost in thinking about the feast. “Perhaps I’ll just take Torrent and go somewhere.”

“Lenore.”

“I’ll think of it later, probably here,” probably lying, but she wouldn’t say that. It would seem odd to protest it, “It will make your life easier,” guard situation. She could tell Hill all she wanted that she didn’t need a guard, but so close to Casterly, he wouldn’t allow it. Yet, Jaime always needed a guard. She’d figure it out – tomorrow.

Tomorrow would change much. Freedom called to her like air – freedom to clear her head, get Jaime out of it, and think only of Casterly.

She exited the room first, and Hill kept the door open for Jaime. He’d follow after the pair of them.

~***~

Clifton grit his teeth at the actions taken, glared at the knight who raised his hand to Cersei and put a hand on the hilt of his sword as he moved and grabbed Cersei’s arm to hold her firmly in place. “Lay a finger on her again and you won’t have a finger.” He did not care that Cersei was an enemy. She was also a mother, and any mother could be expected to act rashly – but she was weak. Physically. It was easy enough to restrain her, as it would be easy to restrain the child Tommen.

Stannis glanced at them, thinking, as Davos asked if Cersei would bear witness. “A mother should be there,” perhaps it would be no kindness, and in truth, he didn’t care if it was or wasn’t. He was still furious with her for his brother’s sake. For her treachery. Yet, it only seemed proper and dutiful that Cersei should be there to witness his final moments.

He moved down the steps from the throne, then, glad that Joffrey had stopped his senseless blubbering. To think, he had thought to love Joffrey as a nephew, once. Tommen, as a nephew. Wanted his daughter to know them, once. Never again. He did not know why Lenore Reyne did not want them to burn as her family did. To drown. To die.

No, he did not know, did not understand, but one day he would.

He gestured, “Let’s head to the Sept.”

~***~

Sebaston Farman was giving directions all around, back in his element. The battlefield was not it – this was closer. He wanted the door barred again. He wanted paper and pen – he had to write to Lenore, needed to write to Lenore, before he got caught up in the fury that would be the morning. Somehow, he suspected his time would be consumed, intuition telling him so.

Now, here, while the maester worked on Tyrion, he could find solace enough to write and tell her they had taken the Throne. Stannis held it. Tywin wasn’t here – but she would be pleased of that. She wouldn’t admit it to them, but she would be pleased there was still a chance for her to face him in the field.

Others, he directed to find certain men of his own, trusted allies, and he wanted someone to tell Clifton to remain with Cersei until he could figure out a guard rotation for her. ‘Almost funny. Your brother watched Jaime, and you….’ But he couldn’t let the thought continue. Maro’s death was still fresh. He had time to mourn, but it was still new and fresh.

Yet, through the din of movement, he heard Tyrion and he let his gaze fall to him. He glanced to the maester, and then stepped forward towards him, so he would be heard. He brought himself down to eye level to find those mismatched eyes of the dwarf, “Caireann is safe and unharmed, under Robb Stark’s protection. Your brother lives under Lady Reyne’s protection.” He knew not what Tyrion knew of Jaime’s state, but Jaime was safe all the same.

His injury taken from war, not delivered by cruel imprisoners. Just fate. “We’ll talk more when you’ve healed, Lord Tyrion. There is much to speak about.”

‘Live. Live.’ He had never willed it more than in that moment, and he could not explain it, but hope blossomed for him when he saw Tyrion. It was foolish to think – but Caireann seemed converted. He did not mind Tyrion at all, thought he was all Tywin could have been, if Tywin had a heart.

Tywin didn’t.

~***~

Ser Frederick paused as a woman nearly ran into him, and he fixed his eyes upon the figure of the woman as she stepped back. ‘No way.’ This was…too easy. This was her, wasn’t it? She spoke with an accent, but called herself Sansa’s Lady. ‘Well, she wouldn’t have a proper lady, would she?’ She only called the lady Shae – no surname offered.

“Are you Shae?” He asked, and would wait for confirmation. Once received, he would step back and gesture, “Lady Sansa is requesting you, this way,” he indicated, and would let her pass ahead of him. She clearly knew where to go.

He would follow behind, and hope this was exactly who was needed to bring Sansa out of her quarters without causing her any harm. No one wanted the Stark girl to suffer any further. They had heard some of what she had to endure – as if seeing her father die wasn’t enough.

At the top of the steps, Ser Andrew looked down as he heard the steps, and caught sight of the two returning to him. “Lady Sansa, we have your Lady Shae now,” he told her.

Not that Sansa yet opened the door. Instead, her trembling but firm voice came, asking, “Shae?” The name itself a question, wanting to know if she was there, and wanting to know if it was, indeed, safe to open her door to these strangers who promised her safety and freedom and home.

 

[peritwinkle]

It was strange how a pretty shade could make so much difference. As Caireann looked at herself in the mirror, she wondered if it was vanity that was building up in her heart for feeling pretty that day. Joffrey always told her how disgusting her freckles were, but now, emphasized by the warm light of the fire, they looked just like stars on a cream sky. That thought urged her to try to find flaws; she should not discourage herself so - Robb loved her for who she was, did he not? It meant that, to him, she was perfect, and she should never be ashamed to admit that perfection in herself.

Steps and fuss outside her room let her know that someone was approaching; her assumption was confirmed when, after a light knock, Robb stepped inside. He looked all but smitten with her appearance, and Caireann's cheeks flushed with joy. 'He loves me,' but she should no longer question it. She could not see herself right then, but the expression on his face mirrored his own - impressed, and too deeply in love with the other.

His compliment warmed up her heart as she stepped towards him. "And you look stunning, my King," her voice mellow and quiet. She did take his arm when offered, but instead of guiding her out, he leaned in and took her lips, passionate and loving rather than lustful as before. She did not oppose it, but answered with the same thirst for him; she knew they would not get the chance to be so close at the feast, in front of the whole Great Hall, so she would not push her luck then.

When she broke for air, already breathing heavily, lavender against winter, she pressed herself to him more and gently tugged at his arm. "They must be waiting for you," she smiled playfully. "You wouldn't want to upset your guests, would you, now?" And she would then let him lead her outside and through the hallways as he willed.

~***~

Lenore had pined for freedom for way too long; confinement to her must have been a torture, and yet Jaime rarely complained when he had to wear shackles or rope. Though it was still a mystery to him how she hadn't tried to escape the room when left alone and instead decided bedding him was a far more satisfying idea. It had not bothered him, though.

It had been nice while it lasted.

But now, she was already taking it too far by wishing to leave. Lannisport was still enemy territory; she risked being recognized and raped or killed, although the former could happen with or without the abuser's knowledge of her last name. "You do remember what happened to Caireann last time she stepped out of our reach alone," he reminded her with a sigh. He still did not wish to speak to her, but found it necessary. "And Lymond was there."

Of course, Caireann was merely a child, and Lenore was a woman who knew how to defend herself, but with a bow not a melee weapon. She did have a dagger, though, yet that would not prove useful whatsoever when surrounded. With the feast keeping most guards at duty, the rest of the city would be dark and unwatched.

"Do as you wish," Jaime decided then. There was no point in wasting his words on someone who was too stubborn to listen. She was a leader, so she thought herself a warrior by default, when he could just as easily end her life in his state as a cripple and she would not be able to protect herself then. He let her walk ahead, before finally standing up and using his crutches to limp out of the room. Hill followed, and made a note to himself to stay quiet along the way, lest he said something undue in their solitude.

~***~

It did not take a genius mind to be able to tell that Cersei was in shock. She was shuddering from head to toes, eyes desperately searching the room around her as though she were looking for a way out. She did not even flinch when she was taken by the hand; the hit had silenced her completely, and the only thing he could hear right then was the heavy breathing of Joffrey and the quiet sobs of his younger brother, little Tommen.

There was no time to waste in Stannis's mind. In truth, Davos did not think it would be proper to let a mother watch her child be burnt at the stake like some kind of profane creature, even if the boy was nothing less than a monster. An abomination, as the Gods had willed for him to be, to punish the mother for her incestuous and unnatural affair with her own brother.

It was demanded that they lead them out, and Joffrey once again started screaming and shouting that he wanted to be freed. Davos couldn't tell whether the tears in his eyes came from the smoke or the dread; he was thought to be more emotionless than the Mad King himself. He did not step towards them first, and instead he whispered an order to one of the guards, to take the boy somewhere safe and confine him until the end of things.

Not even Stannis would be cruel enough to make a child watch the gruesome scene. It would affect the poor thing for the rest of his life; he had a girl himself, after all, and he would not have allowed her to witness such a thing.

The crying lion was lead outside and through the paved alley towards the Sept, chained tightly enough to force him to walk along. If he sat down, he would be dragged, and he would still get there before the break of dawn. The pyre was already beginning to be build with scraps of wood from shattered houses and cabins, timber blending with pine and hay. Soon, the scent of smoke was to be replaced with that of boiling flesh, and Cersei Lannister would live her life dreaming of her child that had burnt before her eyes, at the order of King Stannis Baratheon.

~***~

Tyrion could not move his head to see Sebaston, but once he heard his voice he knew that he had not left. As the maester prepared the sweetsleep to be able to work on him while unconscious., his inquiry was answered, and he felt his heart pound with joy at the news, then it sunk and threatened to burst. "Protection," he mumbled to himself. He doubted Lenore Reyne was kind to Jaime; if the same protection that she offered was given by Robb Stark to his daughter, then he had more to worry about than met the eye.

He did not wish to wait until he healed, but hear the rest right then. He knew that he lacked the strength and rationality of a healthy man, yet why did it matter in such situations? If Caireann's letters had been genuine, then his anxiety were not founded. She could have spoken the truth, even if he doubted the North would treat a lion with such hospitality. Still, Robb Stark was not known for his cruelty, and the thought soothed him momentarily; he would find out more once he woke up form the induced trance.

With that thought in mind, Tyrion parted his lips to say more, but a vial was pressed to them and a dulcet liquid ran down his throat, a blend of milk and greenery. As his vision began to blur, he eventually found the strength to look to his left and see Sebaston Farman, remember him, as the man who had saved his life and could potentially save his daughter's, as well.

~***~

The guard had been looking for her, and Shae was slightly taken aback. Had something happened to Sansa? If so, she would be strangled by none other than Tyrion himself, if he was still alive. She nodded quickly at his inquiry of her name and followed him up the stairs towards the girl's quarters, bag still on her shoulders in case of an emergency. She knew she should have made it days before the battle, but she was glad that it had not been needed until that day.

There was a pause at the door after the knight requested entrance. Sansa was the one to answer, voice frail and mellow, hopeful even. Shae did not waver before entering the room herself, without a warning, and pulled the girl into her arms to silently let her know that she was safe with her, even if she would not be able to protect her physically. Emotional support was always welcome.

"What is it?" she inquired. "Who is he?" The man was certainly not a lion, and Shae doubted he was a Westerner all the same. A fugitive thought went through her mind, that he might have come to rescue her in the chaos of the battle. Could the victors have demanded her freedom? Tywin Lannister was not there, and any other lion would not be able to deny the wishes of Stannis Baratheon, if he had taken the city as it was said.