Caireann's heart ached at the thought that Cybelle had been harmed. The news of her being taken hostage had impacted her immensely, so she could not begin to fathom how much harm they had caused to Sebaston. The man loved his children too much, and Tywin knew it well enough. Likely expected more from him than tears and pain. It was how she knew he was, at least; so many years having grown by his side had helped her shape a solid opinion on him.
"I know him enough to say that is what he desires," Caireann agreed with Robb. "He believes that he would not leave his daughter in his hands for the sake of preserving the integrity of this Alliance." It would not be weakness on his part if he did what was expected of him, but they could not allow them to. "He cannot do what Tywin desires," although he was seeming to head that way.
"He has time to understand it," Tyrion said, "he is not a stupid man." He was loyal to Lenore and loved her, perhaps as much as he loved Cybelle and Meir. He could not condemn an entire side for the sake of one person, as heartless as that might sound to an outsider.
Caireann breathed out and propped her head up against the back of her hand. After a day of work, she was tired, but also disappointed with her inability to help. She blamed herself for Rickon's fate, for Alysanne, for Ramsay's. Cybelle's, she could not have changed, but it still irked her that there was nothing she could do for the moment being. Nothing they could do. They needed Dorne if they wanted to take King's Landing by storm and for the moment being, Dorne was wholly out of the equation, as they likely found themselves in a similar situation as Sebaston.
"I think... I think my father could speak to him in the morning." She did not imagine the man would want to be surrounded by the rest in such moments. "They have grown close to eachother... Haven't you, father?" She was hopeful that it would work. A friendly approach was better than urging him to act.
Tyrion raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He was unsure if Sebaston would want to speak to him, but he could try if nobody else volunteered. Those that he was close to were at Casterly, so perhaps he was his best bet right then. All he could do was wait and indirectly agree.
~***~
A part of Jaime, deep inside his heart, made him want to slowly distance himself for Caireann. He feared that, given the option and opportunity at the right time, he would join his father's side to protect him and Cersei. Tommen. As much as he loved her, she was indeed not his daughter, but a part of his family that he still loved. The rest - it was different. If Lenore won, he would blame himself for not being able to protect his father from an inevitable death.
So, he did not pursue that conversation, but instead chose to think of something less depressing, as Lenore's future. As their future. He let out a chuckle at the mention of water dancing. "No, but I am quite sure I know my way with the sword." Better than before, but certainly not as good as he had been before almost losing his leg. He still limped when he was tired, to his opponent's advantage.
He rose then, a playful smirk on his lips, and took his place in front of her. "Care to see for yourself?" Only a playful spar, nothing intense. Like dancing, but just a tad bit more dangerous: him, with an aching leg; her, with two left hands and a dress that would stop her from making any quick movements.
Sebaston had trained with her. Perhaps even Ciaran. Adryan, likely not, as he did not like to lose. Jaime, on the other side, was not as competitive as the Lord of Casterly. If she agreed, then he would steel himself for nothing more than just a play, as children did when they were first shown wooden swords: in dresses, long slacks and hair pins, they pretended to fight as if they were knights and warriors, King Robert or Princess Nymeria.
Just like that, in his imagination, Lenore was nothing else but a girl when she played... Regardless of their game.
"I know him enough to say that is what he desires," Caireann agreed with Robb. "He believes that he would not leave his daughter in his hands for the sake of preserving the integrity of this Alliance." It would not be weakness on his part if he did what was expected of him, but they could not allow them to. "He cannot do what Tywin desires," although he was seeming to head that way.
"He has time to understand it," Tyrion said, "he is not a stupid man." He was loyal to Lenore and loved her, perhaps as much as he loved Cybelle and Meir. He could not condemn an entire side for the sake of one person, as heartless as that might sound to an outsider.
Caireann breathed out and propped her head up against the back of her hand. After a day of work, she was tired, but also disappointed with her inability to help. She blamed herself for Rickon's fate, for Alysanne, for Ramsay's. Cybelle's, she could not have changed, but it still irked her that there was nothing she could do for the moment being. Nothing they could do. They needed Dorne if they wanted to take King's Landing by storm and for the moment being, Dorne was wholly out of the equation, as they likely found themselves in a similar situation as Sebaston.
"I think... I think my father could speak to him in the morning." She did not imagine the man would want to be surrounded by the rest in such moments. "They have grown close to eachother... Haven't you, father?" She was hopeful that it would work. A friendly approach was better than urging him to act.
Tyrion raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He was unsure if Sebaston would want to speak to him, but he could try if nobody else volunteered. Those that he was close to were at Casterly, so perhaps he was his best bet right then. All he could do was wait and indirectly agree.
~***~
A part of Jaime, deep inside his heart, made him want to slowly distance himself for Caireann. He feared that, given the option and opportunity at the right time, he would join his father's side to protect him and Cersei. Tommen. As much as he loved her, she was indeed not his daughter, but a part of his family that he still loved. The rest - it was different. If Lenore won, he would blame himself for not being able to protect his father from an inevitable death.
So, he did not pursue that conversation, but instead chose to think of something less depressing, as Lenore's future. As their future. He let out a chuckle at the mention of water dancing. "No, but I am quite sure I know my way with the sword." Better than before, but certainly not as good as he had been before almost losing his leg. He still limped when he was tired, to his opponent's advantage.
He rose then, a playful smirk on his lips, and took his place in front of her. "Care to see for yourself?" Only a playful spar, nothing intense. Like dancing, but just a tad bit more dangerous: him, with an aching leg; her, with two left hands and a dress that would stop her from making any quick movements.
Sebaston had trained with her. Perhaps even Ciaran. Adryan, likely not, as he did not like to lose. Jaime, on the other side, was not as competitive as the Lord of Casterly. If she agreed, then he would steel himself for nothing more than just a play, as children did when they were first shown wooden swords: in dresses, long slacks and hair pins, they pretended to fight as if they were knights and warriors, King Robert or Princess Nymeria.
Just like that, in his imagination, Lenore was nothing else but a girl when she played... Regardless of their game.