Lyanna was in Winterfell when the news came of Tywin Lannister's death.

She and the children usually visited her childhood home every year or so, but this time Jaime had come with them as well, along with Tyrion, who claimed to want to see the Wall. The visit had been going well up until that raven came.

Her children and Ned's all got along nicely, as a rule. Lorcan and Tya were thirteen, a year younger than Robb and Jon. The three boys were close - though Lorcan and Jon were both much quieter than Robb - which Lyanna was glad for, as her eldest son with Jaime often came across as rather reserved, even cold, to those he did not know so well. Damon, despite only being eleven, often tagged along with that group too, though he was friends with all the other younger boys too; being as confident and kind as he was, he always did make friends easily.

Tya seemed to prefer the company of the boys as well. She was not particularly given to the ladylike pursuits Sansa favoured, aside from dancing. Though as wild little Arya had grown older, her and Tya were becoming much better friends. Both had started slipping away from the septa's lessons together, Tya even teaching her the basics of how to fight, and though it made Lady Catelyn furious, Lyanna could only find it funny. Arya reminded her a lot of herself when she was younger, though Ned's daughter was far more intelligent and practical, with none of the young Lyanna's more foolish, romantic side.

No, Sansa had gotten that, although the girl's naivety might have also had something to do with her mother and septa filling her head with pretty songs and fairytales. Lyanna did not want Sansa to grow up too fast, of course, but was thinking of having a word with Ned; there was talk of betrothing her to Robert's eldest son Steffon, and the girl would not last long as a queen in King's Landing without a more realistic outlook.

But Sansa was a sweet child, and good to Lyanna's own daughter Alarra. She and her friends brought the quiet, ten-year-old girl out of her shell a little, including her in the embroidery and gossiping. It was clear that Sansa felt a little superior to her cousin, rather sorry for her in that Alarra hadn't inherited the Lannister good looks; she looked more like Ned, Arya and Jon than Jaime. Yet it was equally clear that Alarra often thought the things her cousin spouted were ridiculous and childish, so it evened out in the end.

Jocasta was only four, but she was everyone's darling; Sansa and her friends in particular fawned over her golden hair and beautiful face, and Jo seemed to like the attention, given that Tya rarely had much time for anyone she didn't find fun or interesting, and Alarra was usually so solitary; only Damon paid his youngest sister much mind, but he was usually busy fighting in the yard or riding. It was also rather amusing watching Jo playing with Rickon Stark, both of a similar age. The rather wild little boy seemed to find her daughter fascinating, and Jo seemed to find him hilarious.

Even Ned and Jaime had not been at each other's throats; the dislike between them had faded into cold civility over the years. There had been a tense moment or two, like when Jaime had asked Ned to spar with a mocking smile; her brother was a good swordsman, better than most, but of course nowhere near Jaime's level. Lyanna had diffused the situation by dryly asking her husband if he wanted to compare cocks as well, to which he had laughed and backed down.

But then the raven had arrived, with it carrying news of the death of the Hand of the King.

Jaime had taken the news with a blank face, barely even blinking. That may have been because Ned was watching at the time, as Lyanna knew him too well to believe he was truly that unaffected. Tywin Lannister had never had much affection for any of his children, but she knew that Jaime had respected his father at least, loved him even if he rarely liked him.

It was rather a shock for them all, in truth. Lord Tywin had seemed an eternal looming presence over the Seven Kingdoms, and their family, yet now he was gone. Even Tyrion had been shaken, and he made it no secret how he hated his father, who had despised him since the day he was born.

Privately, Lyanna couldn't help but be somewhat glad, given that she had suffered enough of her goodfather's disapproval for the way she raised her children, how she fought with a sword, even how she was not a virgin when she married Jaime. But now Lord Tywin would not be there to marry her daughters off to some far-flung lord for the sake of a few hundred swords, nor would he be there to finish turning her eldest son into a younger version of himself.

"That makes you lord, now," Lyanna turned to her husband as they returned to their chambers. Jaime had spoken little since hearing of his father's death, but she was certainly not going to ask how he felt about it. He would tell her if he wanted to, and if not, asking would merely irritate him.

"Lord Jaime Lannister," He gave a hollow smirk. "Ser sounds better,"

"Perhaps," She gave a shrug. "But really, what's changed, apart from that title? We'll still live in Casterly Rock, still have responsibility for it and the Westerlands. The only difference is we won't have the shadow of Lord Tywin constantly hanging over us,"

"If you really think that's true, you never knew my father," Jaime said, darkly amused. "His shadow will still hang over Casterly Rock by the time Lorcan's grandchildren are old men," Lyanna could not deny that.

They left for the capital three days later. They had been planning on staying for another fortnight, but had been in Winterfell over a month already. In truth, it was perfect timing; Benjen had been visiting from the Wall, and Jon was to return with him the same day the Lannisters left, to take the black himself.

It was a long time coming. Lyanna had always known that her son would be sent to the Wall like a common criminal, ever since she brought the last living child of Rhaegar Targaryen to King's Landing as a babe. Those were the conditions, as Jon Arryn eloquently put it. Conditions for him to live, the man had not said. He had not had to; everyone in the Red Keep remembered the bloody corpses of Elia's children all too well, and Robert's small smile and declaration that they were not children but 'Dragonspawn' had been burned fresh in Ned's mind.

Jon likely should have gone to the Wall years ago. Ever since he turned eight, Lyanna knew that the king had been writing to Ned - one of the few royal letters Robert actually bothered to write himself - urging him to hurry up and send the boy north, forsaking his claim to the throne for certain, even if to the rest of the kingdom he was only a bastard anyway and had no claim. Ned had been stalling, but it was past time now. Jon was nearly a man, and the king would not abide him being free for much longer.

Lyanna tried not to cry as she bade her eldest son goodbye. She hated that this was necessary, hated that her boy would have to spend the rest of his life in the far north, with no hope of a wife or family of his own, surrounded by rapers, murderers and wildlings. He will take no wife, father no children, forsake any right to lands and titles. She supposed it was for the best. Better he spent his life at the Wall than died a pawn in the machinations of schemers and backstabbers, those who would see him king for their own gains.

That didn't make saying goodbye any easier, however.

"Write to me," Her eyes were glassy, but tears didn't fall - she had cried them all in Jaime's arms the previous night - as she leaned across to her son's horse and hugged him tight. "And your brothers and sisters. You're allowed to do that, at least, even though Benjen hardly does," He gave a weak chuckle.

"I'll be fine, Mother," He insisted. "I want to go. I'd want to go even if I didn't have to. It's a worthy cause, and where else can a bastard rise so high?" You could be king, if you fought for it. But Jon knew that already. It broke her heart to see him go, but she was proud that he knew better than to make the same foolish mistakes in youth that she had herself.

You're not a bastard, either. No one except her and Jaime knew that. Though how valid her marriage with Rhaegar had been, given that he was already married at the time with two children, was debatable. She'd rather he was a Snow than a Targaryen, besides. It was easy to forget who his father had been, given he looked so much like Ned, and she didn't need his name to remind her.

As Lyanna and her husband rode south, whilst her son and brother rode north, she glanced over her shoulder one last time. Only Benjen looked back at them, raising a hand in farewell. She should take that as a good sign, but it only made her sad.

*

Upon their return to King's Landing, they found, as predicted, that Jon Arryn had taken back his former position of Hand of the King after Lord Tywin's death. Lyanna had half been expecting Robert to ask Ned to take the post, but the rift between the two boyhood friends had never quite healed after the 'dragonspawn' incident, and Robert's attitude towards Lyanna when he found out she would not be marrying him had hardly helped at all. She actually suspected that Jaime had mentioned something to her brother about the king's behaviour, for in recent years, any mention of Robert was met rather coldly by Ned whenever she had brought him up.

They had taken the children with them to the city, expecting to collect Lord Tywin's bones and escort them back to Casterly Rock shortly after. However, upon their arrival, they found that the funeral had not even taken place yet, at the queen's insistence. Cersei had wanted to wait until Jaime arrived, to both his and Lyanna's dismay and disgust, and that of most of the court.

Andal tradition usually went that the body was on display during the funeral, but even Cersei could not insist on that, despite her ridiculous stubbornness so far. The month old corpse of Tywin Lannister was contained in a luxurious golden coffin, but the stench permeated the Sept of Baelor anyway.

Ladies buried their noses in perfumed scraps of lace, men tried to pretend to be unaffected, and little Prince Tommen ran away crying as his parents led him up to the dais. No one could blame him, except his furious mother; more glares were directed at Prince Joffrey, who had taken advantage of Cersei's absence to crack several cruel jokes at his brother's expense, for which Robert cuffed him round the head.

Even the crown Prince Steffon, ordinarily as stoic as his Uncle Stannis, looked faintly green. Lyanna's own children did not make sitting through the ceremony any easier. Damon spent the whole time cursing the smell under her breath, whilst Tya seemed to find the whole state of affairs amusing, for whatever sick reason. Lorcan was glowering throughout, no doubt angry that his grandfather's funeral had been reduced to this undignified farce, and Jo - ordinarily the picture of perfect manners - was fidgeting, tugging at an irritated Alarra's sleeve and looked ready to throw up her breakfast.

The torture was not even over after the service, however, as they all had to sit through a dinner with Cersei, Robert and the children.  

"Damion," Lyanna saw Jaime grimace at his cousin's son as they approached the royal apartments. Ser Damion Lannister had become his replacement on the Kingsguard shortly after they married, and guarded the door now, in his white armour and cloak. "Tell me, is my sweet sister in a pleasant mood this evening?"

"Her Grace is grieving, my lord," The man nodded, and Lyanna paused slightly at the look he was giving Jaime. Almost... reproachful? Odd. Jaime clearly noticed it too, for his smile sharpened.

"Of course," They all stepped inside. Tyrion was there too, and looked about as happy as she and Jaime did at the turn of events, pointedly pouring all three of them a large cup of wine each.

Dinner was as bad as Lyanna had expected, if not worse. Whilst her own children were close to their Stark cousins, their Baratheon ones were another matter, despite the fact that Winterfell was nearly twice the distance away from Casterly Rock than King's Landing. Steffon was always rather sulky and stoic, hardly a bundle of laughs, though he was strong with a sword and of all of the royal children, he was the one Lorcan seemed to like the best. Myrcella was sweet, bold and rather witty, so she was probably the favourite of the Lannister children, but Tommen was rather timid and cowardly, and often held back from doing anything by his mother besides.

It was Joffrey who caused the most trouble, of course. The boy was rude, arrogant and entitled, and irritated not only Lyanna's children, but his own siblings too.

"Why do you never speak?" He demanded of Alarra towards the end of the meal. Her daughter looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

"I don't have anything to say," She might have been quiet, but Lyanna's daughter was still a lion, having outgrown her shyness years ago.

"That's stupid," The prince sneered. "Are you a lackwit, as well as horse-faced?" Lyanna opened her mouth angrily, and she saw Jaime's eyes narrow, but Tya got there first.

"You little shit," She said to Joffrey, without missing a beat. "I'd rather have the face of a horse than the wits of one. Besides, you wouldn't be able to recognise a beautiful girl if she walked naked into your rooms," Robert roared with laughter at that, as did Tyrion, and near everyone else laughed as well. Even Steffon cracked a smile. Cersei, however, was predictably furious.

"How dare you speak to a prince in that way?" The queen glared sharply at Tya, cutting off her sputtering son, who had flushed an angry red colour.

"I'm always being told to act more of a lady," Her daughter shrugged carelessly. "Perhaps you should tell dear Joffrey to act more like a prince," Damon and Myrcella laughed loudly, whilst the other children smirked. Lyanna openly snorted. Cersei gave a glittering, fake smile.

"Jaime, it's a disgrace that you let your daughter get away with speaking like a tavern wench," She said, tone poisonously sweet. "It might be for the best that you send her away, to learn the manners your little wife clearly isn't teaching her. The motherhouse in Lannisport, perhaps, or even in the sept in Oldtown,"

"Perhaps you could come as well, your Grace," Tya grinned wickedly. "Brush up on a few things. Though you'd have to leave that gown behind - I can't imagine that the septas take kindly to women baring their wares," She gave a pointed look to the low-cut neckline of Cersei's dress. Robert choked on his wine, as did Jaime, Lyanna noticed with some amusement. She could come to her daughter's defence, but from the looks of things, the girl didn't need her to. And there was no chance of Lyanna telling her to stop; she was enjoying watching it too much for that, even if the girl would listen to her.

"You insolent little wretch - " Cersei started furiously, only to stop, even more enraged, as Tya just laughed openly in her face. Dauntless, my daughter is. Lyanna wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Tya seemed to go beyond Jaime's reckless confidence and Lyanna's own wild boldness, into some unholy combination of the two.

The dinner ended as dinners with the extended Lannister family usually ended, with half the table fuming and the other half desperate to leave. Robert was half drunk, still chortling about Tya's verbal sparring with Cersei, as he stumbled off to fuck some whore or other. Cersei was still angry and glaring daggers at everyone but her own children, hissing a venomous comment in Jaime's ear as she swept out of the room. And Lyanna, as funny as she had found it, was simply weary of it all.

"Your sister is a menace," She sighed to Jaime as she undressed in their chambers that night. "Honestly, if it were up to her to run things, your whole house would be a smoking ruin within the year," She saw him smirk in the mirror, from where he lay stretched out on the bed, watching her lazily.

"She thinks she's cleverer than she is," He shrugged. "Cersei always resented that I was the heir, as she's the eldest and likes to believe she's Tywin the Second,"

"More like Aerys the Third," Lyanna snorted.

"She hasn't burned anyone alive in wildfire yet,"

"She's also prone to spewing out complete insanity, thinks everyone is plotting against her and fucked a close relative for much of her life, so I'm not sure the comparison is entirely inaccurate," Jaime's smile sharpened, and she grinned innocently.

"Perhaps not,"

*

Upon returning to her chambers the day before they were meant to leave for Casterly Rock, Lyanna heard two muffled voices coming from inside. She paused, listening at the door for a moment, long enough to recognise them both, before flinging open the door and marching inside, eyes narrowed.

The sight that met her eyes was not a welcome one. Jaime was there, of course, holding his sister at an arm's reach. Cersei, clearly trying to seduce him, sprang back with a small shriek as Lyanna flung open the door, only to quickly recover and shoot her a poisonous glare.

"As I told you," Jaime was saying to the woman, remarkably coldly; when he wanted, he could actually sound a lot like his father, which was rather unnerving. Lyanna took it as a good sign that he didn't look particularly concerned by her arrival. "My wife will be coming back soon, and you know how she can't stand you. Leave, sister,"

"Are you that much of a craven that you let your horse-faced, uncivilised northern wife," Cersei spat, somehow managing to get across the words 'northern whore' without even speaking them. "Order you around? Did she take your manhood as well as your name?"

"We've got five children, what do you think?" Lyanna snapped at her, deliberately misunderstanding. She saw Jaime's lips twitch. Cersei gave her a dirty look, before turning back to her brother.

"I cannot believe you would turn your back on your family like this," The queen snarled. "Are you a wolf in lion's skin? Though perhaps a sheep would be more accurate," She gave a scornful laugh. Lyanna raised an eyebrow.

"Let's pretend, for a moment, that you're not in my chambers for a pathetic attempt at seducing my husband to get him to do your bidding," She said flatly, not mincing her words, quickly continuing as Cersei opened her mouth in outrage. "In what way could you possibly accuse Jaime of turning his back on his family, having managed the Westerlands for fourteen years, had five children to bear the Lannister name and sat through that ridiculous farce of a funeral you organised for his father without even mentioning the foul stench?"

"It is no concern of yours," Cersei waved her hand. "You are not a Lannister. And as for those filthy lies you just spouted - "

"Not a Lannister?" Lyanna laughed. "I am married to the Lord of Casterly Rock, which makes me Lady Lannister. You are the Baratheon queen. And as for lies, don't make me laugh. If I entered my brother Ned's chambers wearing a dress like that and looked at him like you were looking at Jaime, he'd be greatly concerned and call for the Maester. So I'll ask again, why are you here?"

"Cersei thinks our father was murdered," Jaime spoke over his sister before she could reply, every syllable showing how mad he thought the theory. "That Jon Arryn must have done it, or you, or Tyrion, never mind the fact that none of these people were anywhere near the city at the time,"

"Murdered?" Lyanna raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"My father was a healthy man. Healthy men do not suddenly drop dead two weeks later," Cersei snapped. "And he had many enemies. Many people stand to gain from his death. Jon Arryn, the Imp and you,"

"What in hells do I gain from murdering your father?" Lyanna stared in disbelief.

"To steal the throne for your Targaryen bastard!"

"Are you out of your mind? If I wanted Jon to be king, I'd have started by killing Robert! Which wouldn't eat up my guilty conscience, I can assure you,"

"Well there's something you agree on," Jaime muttered darkly. "Lyanna, leave it. Cersei, just leave. You're talking madness, Father was hardly a young man, and he was not murdered, least of all by Jon Arryn. Did you see the look on his face today, in court? He's old and tired. He wants to be in the Vale, spend his final few years with his wife and children. The last thing he wants to do is run Robert's kingdom for him. And if you honestly think that Lyanna did it, then you're a bigger fool than I thought,"

Cersei did not take that well.

"What happened to you, Jaime?" The queen of the Seven Kingdoms practically spat at him, turning in a swirl of skirts and looking back over her shoulder. "You're so different now that I cannot believe I ever loved you," Lyanna gave a small snort as Cersei slammed the door.

"She can't believe she loved you? A mother would struggle to love that woman," Her tone was thick with dislike, not caring if her words annoyed Jaime or not. He looked caught between amused and angry, though whether the anger was direction at her, Lyanna could not say. "Has she always been like this?"

"Probably," Her husband laughed humourlessly. "If she was, I never saw it. Ask Tyrion, he'll give you a more accurate telling,"

"No," She pulled a face. "I've had as much of Cersei as I can stomach these past weeks. No need to subject myself to picturing her as a child,"

They returned to Casterly Rock the next morning, escorting Lord Tywin's bones, and it wasn't nearly soon enough.

*

Lyanna shouldn't have been shocked when the letter came, but she was nonetheless.

Robert Baratheon was dead, after being gored by a boar on a hunt. Well, the manner of death was fairly shocking, but the king - fat, drunk and miserable as he was - was never going to live to be an old man. What was truly a surprise was that his queen was imprisoned, awaiting trial for adultery and treason.

As it turned out, it was no coincidence that three of the four royal children looked nothing like their supposed father. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were not sired by Robert at all, but by a member of the Kingsguard, Ser Damion Lannister. Cersei had been cuckholding her husband for years with the knight, her second cousin, leaving Steffon their only trueborn child.

The king had been told this information by Jon Arryn and his brother Stannis on his deathbed, having survived the ride back to the Red Keep. Robert had held onto life long enough to work himself into a fury and sign the warrant for Cersei's arrest, proclaiming his three younger children bastards. By all reports, he had died furious. A drunken hunting accident was perhaps not the best way for a warrior king to die, but Lyanna supposed that dying feeling insurmountable rage - and arranging the downfall of his hated wife- was the way Robert would have wanted to go.

She wasn't particularly saddened by the king's death, but she didn't celebrate in it either. She wondered what would have happened if indeed she had married Robert. Perhaps she would have slept with another man too, once her husband inevitably grew bored with her. Lyanna did not judge Cersei for finding comfort in a man that wasn't her husband; instead, she judged her for being a terrible person, and being so stupid as to try to pass three of her bastards off as the king's children.

Lyanna did not need to have Damion's resemblance to Jaime pointed out to her. She had met the knight on more than one occasion, and he had the typical Lannister look, like her husband but slightly shorter, and less handsome. Neither of them mentioned it right away, but it was an elephant in the room.

"If you had stayed in the Kingsguard," She asked him quietly as they sat by the fire, having made camp the night after setting out from Casterly Rock to the capital once more, heading east at a swift pace to be there in time for the trial. "Do you think you'd have done what he did?" Jaime looked at her, green eyes dark.

"I'd never even looked at any woman other than her by the time we were married," He said. "It took me months to even look at you, and even longer to not compare you to her in every way. I joined the Kingsguard for Cersei. Fucking her and fighting were the only things that made me feel alive. On our wedding day, I would have swapped with Robert in a heartbeat. Only you, and time apart, made me reconsider. To see her for what she really is. Without that..." He shrugged. "Likely Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen would have been mine. Steffon might not even have been born, and gods only know where that would leave us now,"

Lyanna could not deny that the words stung, but at least he was honest. Her husband was not the same man she had married, and she was not the same woman. Oh, he was still reckless and arrogant, more skilled with a sword than he was with lordly duties, but he had grown up somewhat. He sat through petitions and discussions on finances, he taught his sons and daughter to fight, he never looked at a woman other than his wife. The Jaime Lannister that stood before her today was racing to King's Landing for his sister's trial, not in some reckless attempt to save her (likely throwing away his own life and not even caring if he did), but to see judgement passed at last.

"War," She leant her head against his shoulder, and felt his arm wrap around her. "That would leave us at war," She felt his hum of agreement, and then smiled faintly. "I wonder who I'd have married, if not you or Robert," Jaime gave a short laugh.

"Some northman," He said. "You wouldn't have been so lucky as to find a husband who lets you fight with a sword, that I can tell you,"

"Let me?" Lyanna looked up at him in amused outrage. "If you hadn't let me, Lannister, then I'd have done it behind your back,"

"In which case, you'd still have all the skill of a green squire," Jaime smirked, stretching out his legs lazily. "More men should let their wives fight, I believe. There's nothing quite like beating your lady wife into the ground in public with no one batting an eye, not even her. Again, and again, and again - "

"Prick," She snorted, elbowing him in the ribs. "I beat you once, remember,"

"You didn't beat me," He laughed. "Even if you've managed to make me lose my sword before - through no fault of your own, mind - I could win without a blade, easily. I'm still twice the size of you,"

"Perhaps," She shrugged, then grinned up at him. "I quite like that, though," Jaime caught her tone, and a wicked glint came to his eye.

"Come on," He got to his feet abruptly, offering her his hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet, arm immediately sliding around her waist as he leant down to murmur in her ear. "There are advantages to travelling with no children," Lyanna laughed, as he led her away from the fire, many of their guards still awake. She saw the amused looks they gave them, but didn't care. Why should she be ashamed, to sleep with her husband? This wasn't the stolen kisses with Rhaegar in the deserted halls of Harrenhal. Nor was it sneaking off to Cersei's rooms in the middle of the night.

The tent was dark, and before the door had even been pulled shut, Jaime's lips were on hers, one hand on the small of her back, the other tangled in her hair. Something about being out here in the dark, the chilly wind blowing a draught into the tent, the smell of woodsmoke from the fire on her clothes and his, made a thrill run through her. Lyanna leant into him, returning the kiss hungrily, both hands gripping the back of Jaime's head, pulling him closer. He was only to happy to oblige.

*

The case against Cersei was far stronger than Lyanna had imagined. She had wondered what exactly they had on the queen, especially given the fact that Jon Arryn had only been back in the city for half a year. But not only did Arryn, the Hand of the King, and the new Lord Regent Stannis Baratheon, back up the claims, but so did Barristan Selmy, Renly Baratheon and the new king himself, Steffon, Cersei's own least-favourite son. The reasons for the way she neglected her eldest in favour of the other three had suddenly become more clear.

Other members of the Kingsguard were brought in, testifying Damion's absence at odd times, the fact they all suspected he had a secret paramour, the odd way he acted around the royal children. Servants and maids were questioned as well, and many admitted to seeing suspicious comings and goings from the queen's apartments.

The most compelling evidence was that of Robert's bastard children. Some poor sod had done a very good job of locating near a dozen children that were clearly sired by the king, bringing them and their mothers to court for the trial. All of them - from the boyish woman living in the Vale, to the blacksmith's apprentice in King's Landing, to the young whore from the Riverlands, to Edric Storm from Storm's End - were black of hair and blue of eye, unmistakably Robert's.

The Hand of the King even brought forward a book describing the characteristics of children from each house, and whenever a Baratheon had married a Lannister throughout history, the children had been dark haired. Lyanna noted that this also prevented Steffon's own legitimacy from being questioned. Jon Arryn might be old, but he knew what he was doing.

King Steffon, to his credit, conducted himself well throughout his mother's trial. He did not speak a word aside from opening and dismissing court, yet sat there with a stony expression the whole time, listening and paying attention and not showing a hint of weakness, despite Cersei's dramatics. Lyanna felt for the boy; it could hardly be easy to sit through your mother's reputation being torn apart in front of a large audience, even a mother like Cersei. Stannis, as his Regent, led the proceedings.

Cersei switched quickly through various tactics throughout. At first she acted the imperious queen, demanding to be released immediately, given that such disgusting accusations were beneath even her contempt. Then she switched to the righteously angry, indignant widow, who only wanted to grieve for her husband in peace and not embarrass her son the king through senseless accusations. This quickly changed to playing the tearful mother worried for the fate of her children, and several more acts after that.

It was only when Damion Lannister himself - looking very much worse for wear after weeks in the cells - was brought forward, confessing in a blank, dull voice the exact nature of what he and the queen had done together, that Cersei finally acted the pious, penitent victim. Backed into a corner, she confessed to having lain with another man out of loneliness, womanly weakness, having lived in constant fear of her brute of a husband who beat her and lay with her against her will. Nonetheless, she sworn that all the children were Robert's. As if anyone believed a word she said by that point.

But a confession was a confession.

"If you had merely been guilty of adultery," Stannis' face was grim and stony as he read out the sentence to the condemned woman. "Then you would have been sent to the Silent Sisters for the rest of you life for your crimes against the crown. But not only did you lie constantly to the court, you also tried to pass off another man's children as those of the king. That is high treason, for which the sentence is death,"

A ripple of shock rang through the assembled audience. Lyanna was not sure why, it was hardly a surprise. Surely they didn't think Stannis would settle for anything less than brutal justice? Why else had they all come out to see the show, to see the downfall of the golden Lannister queen, if not for blood?

She stared at Cersei, who had dropped all her acts now. The woman's green eyes - so much like Jaime's but so very different - were shining with an unmasked hatred and vicious anger. Her beautiful face had become ugly in a matter of seconds.

"You may kill me," She spat. "But let it sit in your hearts for the rest of your sorry lives that all of you betrayed me. I am your mother," She glared at Steffon, whose face faltered for a moment then became as guarded as Stannis' once more. "Your sister," She looked at Jaime, and for a heart-stopping second Lyanna was sure she was going to add 'lover' to that, and cause an insurmountable wave of trouble. "Your queen," Of course that came in highest importance. "Yet you sentence me to die like a common criminal,"

"I do," Stannis ground out, with no sympathy. "Take her away,"

Lyanna was not saddened in the least by the prospect of her goodsister's execution. She was, however, angered that Ser Damion's punishment was so much lighter; he was merely being sent to the Wall, for essentially the same crime, though at least he told the truth with far less pushing. She did not argue too much, however, given that she did not want to be the one responsible for Cersei's punishment being lessened.

The execution was scheduled for sunset the next day. Cersei's beheading was to be done in private; the new king's only request was that a spectacle not be made of his mother's death by killing her for the whole city to see. Lyanna wasn't sure what Steffon thought, given that in the end he had no real say in the matter, the final decision to kill his mother being down to Stannis as his Regent.

Private meant that only the headsman, Cersei's family, Stannis and Jon Arryn were permitted to attend. Of the family, it was only Jaime, Tyrion, Steffon and Myrcella who were there. Lyanna would have been allowed in if she wanted, but thought it best she did not. She might have not been saddened in any way by Cersei's death, but did not want anyone, least of all Jaime, thinking she was there to delight in it.

Instead she kept little Prince Tommen company - no, just Tommen, he's not a prince anymore - in her own chambers, given that his own royal apartments had already been taken from him. The boy, though forlorn and clearly sad, did not cry, which she had not expected given what a soft child he was. He had said goodbye to his mother earlier that day in her cell, and there had been a few tears then, but no more. Lyanna supposed that Cersei had not shown her children much affection save Joffrey. The only times she had seen the queen interact with her youngest son, it had been out of impatience or anger.

"Can I take my kittens to Casterly Rock, Aunt Lyanna?" Tommen asked her in a small voice. The three children were to travel west with Jaime and Lyanna when they returned. It would have been cruel to keep them in King's Landing, where they had once been royal and were now less than nothing, even if Stannis would permit it.

"Of course you can," She smiled. "You can take whatever you like,"

"Even though I'm a bastard now?" He didn't actually seem especially upset by the fact he was no longer a prince, more that he would have to leave his home.

"Even then," Lyanna said, then a thought came to her. "What name do you want us to call you, now? You get to choose,"

"Really?" He actually looked somewhat excited at that, bless him. How Cersei had managed to have such a sweet child, she did not know.

"I named my first son Jon Snow, as I am from the North, though he could have been Jon Sand, as he was born in Dorne, or Jon Waters, as his father was from the Crownlands," She explained. "You can be Tommen Waters, as you've grown up in King's Landing, or Tommen Hill for the Westerlands where your parents are from, or just Tommen," The boy thought on that for a few seconds.

"Tommen Hill," He decided. "Like cousin Lorna and cousin Joy," Lyanna smiled at that, that he remembered the names of his bastard cousins, though if she remembered rightly, he had been rather taken with Tyrion's little daughter on his last visit to Casterly Rock.

"We will look after you, Tommen," She found herself saying. "Even if your father was not King Robert, you still have Lannister blood. You can be a knight, or a maester, or a Septon if you wish. You can train in the yard with the other boys, and eat dinner with the rest of us," She only brought that up as she remembered a tense exchange she had had with Lady Catelyn, having found out her brother's wife had insisted Jon sat on the benches instead of with the rest of the family during a visit from Lord Manderly a couple of years ago.

"I want to be a knight," He said. "Like Uncle Jaime," Lyanna smiled.

"I'm sure you'll make a great knight,"

"What about Joffrey?" The boy frowned then. Lyanna couldn't help but grimace. Joffrey had not taken the news of his mother's treachery so well. Where Tommen just quietly accepted that things were changing, and Myrcella took the news with cold-faced stoicism, Cersei's second son had refused to believe the accusations at all. He still insisted furiously that he was a prince, that this was all some scheme of Steffon's to get him out of the way. The journey back to Casterly Rock was going to be very unpleasant with him in tow.

Dark had fallen by the time Jaime returned to her chambers. Tommen had been tired, so Lyanna had returned him to the temporary room he was sleeping in, so was alone by the time her husband's figure appeared at her door. He's just seen his sister die.

"Come here," She said softly after seeing the look on his face, but Jaime was already crossing the room in long strides, pulling her tight against him and wordlessly pressing her lips to his. He was hungry, forceful, pained, and she did not protest. It was likely hardly the best way of dealing with grief, but if that's what he wanted in this moment, she wasn't going to protest.

Lyanna reached around, trying to untie the laces on her dress, and partly succeeding. Clearly feeling she was taking to long, Jaime spun her around and finished undoing them himself. Her heavy overgown slipped off her shoulders and fell to the floor, following by her undergown and stays, leaving her in her shift. She turned around then, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him again, throwing both arms around his neck.

She felt him backing her towards the bed. The backs of her legs hit the edge, but Jaime kept going, pushing her onto her back and swiftly moving on top of her, hands rough and strong as they moved under her shift, grabbing her breasts until she moaned then moving a hand down between her legs. Even then he was rough, though she could hardly complain.

With every movement he made, she could tell how he was hurting. Lyanna knew that although he had not loved Cersei in a long time, she was still his sister. It was for that reason that he hadn't spoken against her in her trial. Less than an hour ago, Jaime had watched the head be cut off of the woman he had spent half his life loving, and had not done a thing to stop it. She didn't blame him for feeling as he did.

After, he rolled off her, both of them lying on their backs, side by side.

"I love you,"

"Excuse me?" Lyanna blinked, wondering if she'd heard him right, turning to see him staring up at the ceiling.

"We've been married fifteen years and I've never said it to you," He replied.

"Nor I to you," Her tone must have carried her surprise across, as Jaime snorted slightly, but she continued. "That doesn't mean I don't - " She broke off.

"Don't what?" He looked at her.

"It's been fifteen years since we married," She said. "The first year you were in love with your sister. After that we were... friends?"

"I can't say I slept with any of my other friends, but fine,"

"I should hope not, or should I be asking Addam Marbrand some questions?" A smile curled her lips. "My point is, what brought this on now?" Perhaps it was an obvious question, but she wanted to hear what he had to say, that he wasn't just saying it out of grief for Cersei. Knowing the both of them, it would have been very easy to just not say anything at all, wordlessly acknowledging what didn't need to be spoken aloud. There was a silence.

"Cersei died with her eyes full of hate," He said eventually. "She glared and cursed at me, telling Steffon and Myrcella how much they owe her and should feel guilty, just to spite the ones she knew it would hurt the most. Even at the end, she was looking out for herself, not caring what it did to her children," He paused. "All I could think of, as Ilyn Payne cut off her head, was how glad I am that I married you,"

Lyanna was unsure what to say to that. Conversation normally came easily between them, jokes, laughter, arguing. Never anything like this. She was not good with words, as a rule. Neither was he. She supposed this was hardly a flowery declaration of undying love; more a confession that he liked her more than his own sister, which wasn't exactly a scene from one of Sansa's stories. If it had been a flowery speech, from him it would have just sounded sarcastic, and she might have laughed in his face. This was... better? More meaningful, perhaps.

But what was love, truly? She loved her brothers, and for a while she had thought that that kind of love was all she and Jaime would ever have, the mutual attraction a separate thing entirely. She had never really felt a love like those in songs, only a childish infatuation with Rhaegar fuelled by frustration at her betrothal and a desire for thrill and adventure, which had faded fast when things turned sour.

But Jaime... It had been slow, but she missed him when he was gone, or when she was away. She enjoyed his company more than she enjoyed that of most anyone else. She had his children, who she loved more than anything. She delighted in seeing different aspects of him in them, alongside those from her. When she was upset, it was to him she went to. Was that love? Lyanna supposed it was.

The words were out of her mouth before she realised what she was saying, but they didn't sound unnatural at all.

"I love you too,"

*

Five years later - late 303

The wedding of Alyssa Arryn and Harold Hardyng was held in the first few weeks of winter, in King's Landing, which was the only reason the Lannisters had attended at all. Lyanna had had no love for Jon Arryn, and hadn't seen his daughter since she was a child in Lady Lysa's arms. Though she wasn't much older than a girl now, only fourteen years old - two years her brother, Lord Robert's, elder - wedding her distant cousin of one-and-twenty.

Despite the bride's young age, Alyssa surely had a happier wedding than her mother, being married to a handsome young man. She looked beautiful, dressed in a gown of shades of blue and silver, that rippled as she walked, tall and slender, down the aisle. Her father had died three years ago, and her grandparents were long gone, so her mother's uncle, Brynden Tully, gave her away.

Lyanna could see through the fairytale wedding, however. Lord Robert Arryn was a boy of twelve, weak, sickly, spoilt and frail, who clung to his mother even in front of the lords of the Vale. He had not been chosen to walk his sister down the aisle for fear he would go into one of his shaking fits. People muttered behind the young lord's back, the Vale lords in particular, that he was a weakling and a fool, that Alyssa would be far more suitable. Though apparently the two siblings cared deeply for one another.

"Look at Lysa's face," Lyanna muttered to Jaime, seeing the scowling woman. Her husband snorted quietly. There seemed to be little love lost between Lady Lysa and her only daughter. It was well known that Lysa had opposed this marriage, perhaps because it made Alyssa much more of a strong claimant to the Vale, given how the lords disdained her brother. By all accounts, the young lady was quick-witted, good with numbers and shrewd for her age; the match had been her idea, in fact, and she had gone straight to the king with it, given her father was dead; the king had approved, as had the lords of the Vale, and Lady Lysa was powerless to stop it.

King Steffon was present at the ceremony of course, his queen at his side and their little daughter Jocelyn on her lap. He was happier with Margaery than his parents had ever been together. The pair had been married little over a year after his mother's execution, shortly after he turned sixteen and became king in his own right. The wedding had been marred slightly by Petyr Baelish being unmasked as a traitor - who it was discovered, amongst other various deeds, had poisoned Tywin Lannister to destabilise the realm - and the man's execution the following day, but all agreed it had been a memorable affair.

Despite the rather bloody wedding, Steffon seemed to trust his wife more than anyone, which was perhaps unwise given how ambitious and charming the Tyrells were, but Margaery seemed to be the only one able to draw him out of his rather stoic self; Lyanna had seen the king smile more after one interaction with his queen than she had his entire life before then.

Not only that, but Margaery seemed to realise that Steffon saw right through her initial charms and manipulations, and that her new husband appreciated blunt honesty a lot more. When there was no audience to watch them, the queen dropped some of her highly polished courtesies, laughed a lot more genuinely and displayed her own sharp sense of humour. She was the queen that Cersei could have been, had she let go of her bitterness, sitting in on small council meetings, making intelligent and insightful additions to conversations and beloved by the smallfolk for her charity work.

After the wedding ceremony, the newly married couple left the Great Sept. Lady Arryn was keeping her name, whilst Harry Hardyng took hers. If that wasn't a blatant show that they were to be the next lord and lady of the Vale, Lyanna didn't know what was.

"I wish Sansa could see this," She heard Bran say. Lyanna's nephew, now thirteen, had been squiring for Jaime for the past year, and was well on his way to earning his knight's spurs. "She'd think it all wonderful,"

"Sansa would have loved it," Jocasta sighed. "Lady Alyssa looks so beautiful," Jo was nearly ten now, and already becoming a great beauty, warm and sweet and perfectly polite. Lyanna wasn't sure how she and Jaime had managed to create such a well-behaved child.

"She couldn't have possibly travelled all this way," Lyanna reminded them with a smile. "It's too far when you're with child. She shouldn't be riding at all, really," Her eldest niece had married Domeric Bolton the previous year, after she turned sixteen. He was hardly the gallant fairytale prince the girl had dreamed of, but he was quietly clever, gentle and thought the world of her. The last time Lyanna had seen Sansa had been several weeks after her wedding, and she had looked very happy.

"You sound so responsible," Jaime said, smirking. "Have you forgotten trying to get on a horse mere days after you gave birth?"

"That was only once," She flashed a grin at him. "I quickly learned my lesson," It had hurt like hell, but she had stubbornly persisted so as not to prove everyone right, then never tried riding that soon after birthing again.

"Ser Jaime, Damon said that you were there every time Aunt Lyanna had a child," Bran said, wide-eyed. "That can't be true, can it? Robb said he could hardly bear even waiting outside the door when Lyarra was born," Robb's wife was Wylla Manderly, who had quickly become one of Lyanna's favourite people when she dyed her hair sea-green for her own wedding.

"I don't recommend it," Jaime shrugged, and Lyanna rolled her eyes. "What? It's bloody, messy and you nearly broke my hand the first time. It's hardly a pleasant experience,"

The feast that night was a grand occasion, far more than expected for the wedding of a landless knight to a lady who wasn't heir to anything. Lyanna took the opportunity to speak with Myrcella; this was the girl's first time back in King's Landing since her mother's death. She had ignored the whispers and gossiping admirably, still holding herself like a princess even though she hadn't been one for five years, even though she only had the name Hill now and had to sit at the back of the sept with Joffrey, who had also come along.

Joffrey had been surprisingly... good, on this visit. He had never been convinced that he was a bastard, spending the last five years at Casterly Rock bitter and bemoaning the fact, and Lyanna had been on her guard the entire ceremony, waiting for him to do something stupid like publicly denounce the king as a liar. He had not, however, which didn't make her feel much less uneasy.

His siblings, on the other hand, had settled into their new life very well. Unlike when Lord Tywin ruled, Jaime had no issue with letting his sister's bastards dine and live with the rest of the family, rather than being relegated to the positions of servants. Tyrion had brought Tysha and Lorna up to live in the castle the moment he returned after his father's death, and Joy Hill no longer had to serve as a lady's maid.

Tommen, in truth, seemed glad to no longer be a prince. He had befriended Bran, who was the same age as he was, and the two learned to fight in the yard together, along with Damon; Tommen had little appetite for battle or adventure, however, and though he was still sweet and kind, he had grown up significantly in the last five years. He would likely become a knight by the time he was grown.

Myrcella was not so glad to lose her royal title, but coped far better than her elder brother, getting involved in the running of the castle and its accounts, proving herself good with numbers and assisting the elderly steward whenever needed, doing what no Lannister had done in centuries and working to cut down unnecessary expenses. Not that they needed to, but just for the challenge. Lyanna would make sure her niece got a good marriage to a landed knight or minor lord - when she wanted to marry, at least - as even being a Lannister bastard counted for something.

"How are you finding things?" She asked Myrcella, grimacing at the group of gossiping ladies to their left smirking behind their hands at the girl who had fallen from a high position.

"I'm bearing it," The girl gave a sharp smile; she looked just like her mother, which meant she looked just like Jaime and Tya when she did that. "They seem to delight in the downfall of a princess. Just as they delighted in the downfall of the queen," Her green eyes darkened slightly.

"You're a princess in nature if not in name," Lyanna shrugged. "I'd have lost my temper and slapped them hours ago, but I haven't seen your smile break all day,"

"Oh there are some things to be happy about," Myrcella's eyes glinted in satisfaction. "I spoke with Steffon, told him what I've been doing at Casterly Rock. He said that if I keep it up, he might make me Master of Coin later on,"

"You'd be good at that," She grinned. The girl smiled, more genuinely than she had all day, reminiscent of the sweet little golden princess she had once been.

"Thank you, Auntie,"

Lyanna loved to dance, and partnered with Jaime, Damon, the king, Tommen and many more that night. As the evening went on, she found herself missing her eldest daughter more and more; she would have danced with Tya more than any of them, had she been here, but she was far away. Her daughter had been married off to Edric Dayne at the end of the previous year.

The Lord of Starfall was a year younger than Tya was, and it was rather unusual for a Lannister to marry a Dornish bannerman, but the Daynes were a very old family, as old as the Starks, and more powerful than many gave them credit for. More importantly, Lyanna knew that Tya would do well in Dorne, given their more relaxed attitude towards what made a proper lady, and Edric seemed like a good, sensible young man. Able to put up with her less desirable traits, at least.

And of course, at a tourney held in Highgarden, Jaime had mistakenly walked in on Tya and Edric in bed together. Lyanna had arrived to see her husband's sword at the poor boy's throat, as Jaime argued with his furious, unrepentant daughter. She had managed to diffuse the situation somewhat, by yelling at them both, and later on the agreement was reached. Tya had simply shrugged when they suggested a marriage, careless as ever, and Edric Dayne had hardly seemed to object to a beautiful Lannister bride.

"I'd say that if you mistreat her, I'll kill you," Lyanna had overheard Jaime at their wedding feast, smiling sharply at the boy. "But she'd have probably got there first," Edric hadn't run from his new bride at that, which was a good sign, she supposed. Last she heard of her daughter, she was happy.

She wasn't the only one feeling Tya's absence. Lorcan was sat at the table talking with the king, but looked rather odd without the familiar dark-haired figure of his twin sister at his side or hovering nearby. Lyanna approached her son.

"Dance with me," She was shorter than Tya, and not nearly as graceful on her feet, but dancing with your mother was surely better than not dancing at all. Lorcan smiled faintly.

"If I have to," He stood, offering her his arm. He was a good dancer, her eldest son, and enjoyed it no matter what he pretended. Lyanna quickly noticed that Lorcan kept glancing over her shoulder at something or other, and gave him a questioning look. "Joffrey's up to something," He replied.

"I did think he was being too good," Lyanna admitted, following his stare to where the boy was skulking in the corner, very uncharacteristically ignoring the group of people making jokes about him nearby. "But what could he - " She broke off as she saw two royal guards marching towards him. "What the - " Her eyes widened as Joffrey tried to run and they grabbed him, forcing him to his knees.

"How dare you?" The former prince was spitting and yelling in protest, as a wave of quiet spread through the hall, the music and the chatter dying away until only muttering and whispers remained. "Unhand me at once!" Steffon had got to his feet, staring at Barristan Selmy, who was stood behind the guards backing them up.

"Ser Barristan, what is the meaning of this?" The king's eyes were narrowed. "He might not be a prince, but he is my brother nonetheless," Not that he ever treated you like it.

"Apologies, your Grace," The old knight said. "But there have been several worrying accusations tonight concerning Joffrey Hill. I believe that he poses a direct threat to your safety, and that of the queen,"

"Tell me," Steffon's expression hardened. He didn't tend to mince his words.

"A serving girl came forward, concerned that she had seen someone put an unknown substance in the pitcher of wine meant for your table, your Grace," Selmy said gravely. "She did not serve it, and took it to the Grand Maester, who tested it himself and found it contained a rare and deadly poison called the Strangler,"

"And did she see who tampered with it?"

"She claims it was your half-brother, your Grace,"

"That's lies!" Joffrey protested, furious. "Are you going to trust the word of some serving wench over your own family? I bet there's no poison in that wine at all, and it's all a set up, just another of the false King Steffon's plots against his family!" His lip curled. "Are you going to drag me off to murder under the keep, like you did with Mother?" The whole hall held its breath. The only time anyone had seen King Steffon Baratheon's temper rise to the surface was whenever anyone mentioned his mother, in any way at all. Cersei's death, done in his name, was clearly something he dwelled upon a lot.

The king was silent for a long time, his expression darkening.

"If the wine isn't poisoned," He said eventually, dangerously. "Then drink it. I trust Ser Barristan still has the pitcher,"

"Yes, your Grace,"

"I don't need to play along with this," Joffrey sneered, though his eyes darted around. "I know I'm not guilty, I don't need to prove it,"

"Drink it," Steffon said, without sympathy. "Or I throw you in the cells and pack you off to the Wall by morning,"

"I won't," Joffrey snarled, though the anxiousness in his expression was obvious now. Steffon raised an eyebrow, a last warning. "I hope you drink it, and die clutching at your throat," There was a shocked intake of breath from the watching crowd.

"Very well," The king turned to Ser Barristan with a face like stone. "Take my brother to a secure room, and make arrangements for him to be sent North at dawn tomorrow,"

*

Mid 308

That winter had been a fairly long one, well over four years. It had started with the wedding of Alyssa Arryn and Harold Hardyng, and now, as grass started to grow through the snow and the winds did not bite so hard, was ending with a wedding that everyone who knew the bride was considering nothing short of a miracle.

Arya Stark was rather old at nineteen to be unmarried, but her family had long since despaired that she would ever marry at all, and hardly noticed. Lyanna knew that Ned had not wanted to force his wild younger daughter into an unwanted match, not doubt remembering what had happened when his own father had tried that, but time had been pressing on, and Arya could not stay unwed for much longer.

It had been an incredibly welcome surprise, during a visit from Lord Karstark and his sons, when Arya had declared out of nowhere that she would marry Harrion Karstark, heir to the Karhold. Everyone had pressed her for the reasons behind her sudden change of heart on the matter of marriage, but the girl was tight-lipped, causing her mother to fear that they had slept together. But then Lyanna arrived with her family for the wedding.

"He caught me training by myself, in the Godswood," Arya told her with a wicked smile. "Jon gave me a sword, before he left for the Wall, and I've been using it in secret ever since. I thought Harrion would rat me out to Mother, but he asked me to spar instead. He didn't even ask for a kiss or anything," Lyanna had burst out laughing at that.

"Good on you," She hugged her niece, so much like she had been, but so different at the same time. By the time Lyanna was nineteen, she had been married three years and had four children. Gods, that made her feel old. She was one-and-forty now. It had been twenty-five years since she last set eyes on Rhaegar Targaryen.

Now, on Arya's wedding day, she watched as Ned led his daughter up to the heart tree, where her soon-to-be husband stood waiting. Harrion Karstark was a big man of twenty seven, well over six feet tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick dark beard. He was considered by most to be rather gruff and fierce, but there was an amused glint in his brown eyes as Arya made a mocking curtsey before him, playing the proper lady that for once she looked; Sansa, Jo and Lady Catelyn had spent the morning braiding her hair in a pretty northern style, weaving in delicate white flowers, and her dress was beautiful. Lyanna knew the girl didn't particularly like it, but she didn't mind enough to disappoint her family by turning up to her wedding in breeches and a tunic.

As for the maiden's cloak draped over her shoulders, it was grey and white, embroidered with the direwolf, the same one Lyanna had worn for her own wedding. But instead of being swept aside for a red and gold cloak with a roaring Lannister lion, it was replaced by a black one bearing a white sunburst, as Lady Catelyn wept quietly in happiness.

The six direwolves lurked in the trees, making many of the guests nervous, all watched silently. There certainly was a strange bond between the wolves and their masters. Lyanna had heard the whispers of warg and skinchanger, as had everyone else, and though none of the six spoke of it, not even her own son, they did not deny the rumours. Either way, it gave the Stark children a wild reputation, slightly feared, but in this world that was a good thing.

Everyone with Stark blood was there at that wedding. Robb, with his wife Wylla and their daughter Lyarra, now five years old. Sansa and Domeric Bolton were there too, with their four-year-old daughter Arrana, and baby Sara settled in Sansa's lap. Ser Brandon Stark, who had recently been knighted at seventeen by Jaime, and had plans to explore the wilderness beyond the Wall. Rickon, a wild boy of thirteen who reminded Lyanna of her own brother Brandon and wanted to go with Bran on his travels.

All of Lyanna's Lannister children were present. Lorcan - having married Alysanne Lefford the previous year - had left his rather fierce but very capable wife in charge of the Westerlands and brought their daughter Lorea, aged two, north for the wedding. Tya was there with her three year old twins, Arthur and Samwell Dayne. Damon, who had married Jeyne Westerling shortly after his brother's wedding, had brought his wife along, Alarra and Jo in tow. Alarra was nineteen and unmarried as well, but neither Lyanna nor Jaime was bothered about that. There were already plans in place for Alarra.

But perhaps the sweetest surprise of all was Jon Snow turning up three days before the ceremony.

Lyanna had scarcely seen her first son enough times to count on one hand since he had left for the Wall, ten years ago. Jon was four-and-twenty, a man grown, and Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, having been elected by his black brothers at the end of the previous year, following the death of Jeor Mormont. She hadn't expected him to be able to come this time, given it had only been half a year since his election, but not only had he made it to see Arya wed, he had also brought his first ranger with him. Benjen was now sat beside Lyanna at the feast that night, considerably more grey in his hair than the last time she had seen him, and his face was much more lined, but his eyes still sparkled like when they had been children sparring with sticks in the Godswood.

"We're getting old, Ben," Lyanna remarked wryly as she absently bounced Lorcan's daughter on her lap, kissing her forehead before handing her to the nursemaid, who took her up to bed. Lorea was a beautiful child, with the green eyes and dark hair of her father, but a distinct reddish tinge from her mother's red-blonde curls.

"I didn't feel old until I saw that you and Ned have three grandchildren apiece," Her brother replied. "At the Wall, time often seems to stand still. Then I come south again, and everything's different," He glanced down to where Jaime was laughing with Harrion Karstark at something. "Your bloody husband doesn't look like he's aged a day over thirty, though,"

"Some people get all the luck," Lyanna grinned. He was right. It wasn't fair that despite being two years younger than Jaime, he had far less lines on his face, and she had yet to find a grey hair on that golden head. Of course, she wasn't complaining.

"How are things at court?" Benjen asked. "I heard the king had another daughter,"

"Yes, Cassandra," She said. "I haven't met her, though. Last time I was in King's Landing was just after Prince Robert was born," That had been over three years ago, and Stannis, Hand of the King, had apparently been irritated that his nephew had named his first son after Robert - who Steffon had disliked for much of his life - rather than the man who had been his Regent and served him loyally as Hand throughout his reign. That had been when Jaime and Lyanna reached the wordless, mutual decision that they were done with the bullshit of King's Landing and the royal court.

"I don't blame you," He snorted. "I'm surprised you did so well in the south, honestly. When I heard you'd be marrying a Lannister... well, a Baratheon was bad enough, but one of those golden-haired cu - "

"Auntie," Sansa suddenly appeared at her side, beaming and flushed from dancing, and Benjen broke off abruptly. "Uncle Benjen, I'd like you to meet my daughter Arrana before she goes up to bed. Arrana, say hello," The four year old waved shyly with a three-fingered hand, then hid her face in her mother's skirts.

"A Bolton with a claim to Winterfell," Benjen raised an eyebrow at Lyanna. "Our father would be turning in his grave," He was joking, however, turning to the little girl. "You're definitely prettier than any Bolton I've ever seen. That'll be the Stark in you,"

Lyanna snorted at that. Arrana had the black hair, thin lips and pale eyes of the Boltons, but her face was almost all her mother's, which came from Lady Catelyn.

"What happened to her hand?" Her brother asked after Sansa had taken her daughter away.

"Gods, don't bring that up with Ned," Lyanna said lowly. "Or Sansa, for that matter. Come outside Ben, and I'll tell you," She and Benjen left the hall. Once they were out in the courtyard, the night air cold on her face, she began to tell the story.

Less than two weeks after Arrana's birth, the insanely cruel bastard son of Roose Bolton had broken into the Dreadfort and stolen the baby from her cradle. Ramsay Snow was found, of course, but by that point had removed two of Arrana's fingers and three of her toes. That had been the one occasion where Domeric Bolton had lived up to his house's reputation; by all reports, his bastard brother had died screaming, and laughing madly both.

"And Roose Bolton died in his sleep a month later?" Benjen raised an eyebrow. "That seems like quite the coincidence,"

"Yes, well, perhaps not," Lyanna said darkly. "It's not like anyone cares enough to find out, though," Sansa had seemed different after that. Still a perfectly polite and pleasant young woman, but behind the courtesies she was... harder, in some way. Colder. Honestly, Lyanna wouldn't blame her if she was in on some dark plot; if anyone had stolen and mutilated her child, she'd likely have done the same.

There was a silence, then Benjen snorted.

"That's not the only supposed conspiracy afoot," He said. "We had a man from the Vale take the black a couple of years ago. A knight who served at the Gates of the Moon. He seemed to think that Alyssa Arryn murdered her brother to get his lordship for her husband,"

"I doubt it," Lyanna shrugged. "The girl seemed to love her brother. I don't think there's any more to that than what it appears, that Lord Robert died of his shaking sickness in a hard winter. No one cares to look too deeply into that though, either, as Harold and Alyssa are a much stronger force than Robert was," Harold Arryn was the darling of the Vale. Many had had their doubts at how capable he would be at ruling besides holding tourneys and siring bastards, yet every decision he made was surprisingly intelligent. Having met his wife, Lady Alyssa, Lyanna was inclined to believe that she was the one working it all behind the scenes, whilst her husband was the charming face of things.

"I wonder how many murders have gone unnoticed because no one cared enough to look too closely," Her brother sighed, then his eyes fixed on something over her shoulder. Lyanna turned to see Ned making his way through the snow towards them.

"Arya's gone," Her eyes widened at his words, but then she saw he was smiling, amused, and relaxed slightly. "She snuck out of the feast early with her husband, to avoid the bedding ceremony," He turned to Lyanna. "I believe your daughter helped her,"

"I don't need to ask which one," Tya and Arya were wild enough separately, but even worse together. Motherhood and over five years of marriage had not managed to tame her eldest daughter one bit; she said what she wanted, laughed in the face of things most would run from and trained with a sword every day. Tya had travelled to Casterly Rock from Starfall before they made their way north, and had actually managed to beat her father several times when they sparred; that was no mean feat, as although Jaime Lannister was over forty, he was still one of the best swordsmen in Westeros, making up for a decrease in youthful vigour with extensive experience.

"I bet you never thought you'd see the day when that little girl willingly walked beside you to the godswood to wed," Benjen was chuckling. Ned shook his head.

"She's grown up," He said simply.

"That may well be," Lyanna grinned. "But I hardly think Arya will suddenly turn into a gentle lady who likes to sew and play the high harp and bounce babies on her knee," She couldn't help but add. "I wouldn't be surprised if she asks her husband to spar with her sooner or later," It wasn't giving away Arya's secret if it was mere speculation.

"Well it worked for you," Benjen said. "You're still not quite a lady yet, Lya,"

"Close enough that my fourteen year old self would think me very dull indeed," Lyanna laughed. "Married for twenty five years to a high lord, with six children, three of them married, and three grandchildren of my own. And I didn't even have to be dragged kicking and screaming into it,"

"You're leaving out rather a lot," Ned said. "I've seen you with a sword in hand. That's hardly dull, you dreamed of being able to fight like that when you were a girl,"

"Have you seen her spar with Jaime?" Benjen grinned. "It's a fierce fight one minute, then suddenly it turns borderline indecent and I feel like I should look away,"

"Don't watch then," She shrugged as Ned raised an eyebrow. "Oh don't look at me like that, Ned. Like I said, I've got five children with the man. Where do you think they came from?" Her little brother laughed loudly as the elder gave a grudging smile.

"Perhaps I deserved that," He sighed. "My point was, your eldest son is Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Your second will be Lord of Casterly Rock. Your daughter grew up with a sword in hand alongside her twin brother, and is good enough to beat the finest warriors in Westeros. And what was it you were saying of Castamere?" Benjen looked up in interest at that, and Lyanna gave a deliberately Lannister-like smirk.

"All in good time, Ned,"

*

Late 309

"Are you sure he's yours?" That was the first thing her husband said to his son, after seeing the newborn baby for the first time. The boy's hair was not the dark brown of his father's, nor the red of his mother's, but rather an odd colour somewhere between red and gold.

"Jaime!" Lyanna elbowed him sharply in the side. Lorcan did not look impressed, but his wife - sitting up in bed with their firstborn son in her arms - laughed.

"Look at his eyes, goodfather," Alysanne said, unbothered. "Are they not Lannister green?" Lyanna peered down at the child.

"Gods," She started to laugh, as she took in the familiar pale green eyes with a gold ring.

"What?" Jaime and Lorcan both looked as well, and then her husband joined her laughter.

"What is it?" Alysanne raised an eyebrow, clearly confused.

"He's definitely a Lannister," Jaime amended his earlier statement. "My apologies, my lady. Your son has the eyes of my late father," The woman grinned.

"Should I be gladdened that you don't think me a whore, my lord, or concerned that my son might be Tywin Lannister reborn?"

"Both," Jaime shrugged, still grinning. "Wait until Tyrion sees this, he'll piss himself laughing,"

"You can't call him Tywin," Lyanna shook her head. "That would be too eerie,"

"There's no chance of that," Lorcan grimaced. He had admired his grandfather, respected him, learned much of how to be a lord at his knee, but could see the man's faults as clear as anyone. "We decided on Gerold,"

Gerold Lannister was born at a time of peace and prosperity, for his house in particular. Only the day before his birth, they had received word from King's Landing that Myrcella Hill had been made Master of Coin and given the honorary title of Lady by her half-brother King Steffon, showing that even Lannister bastards could rise high. As the first woman to sit on the small council, at only twenty years old, Myrcella had twice as much to prove. Lyanna had no doubt that she would. The young woman was very shrewd and capable, having been assisting with the accounts at Casterly Rock for years now.

There had also been much celebration at the recent marriage of Alarra Lannister to the third son of Lord Brax, Robert. Ordinarily it would have been an outrage for the daughter of a great house to marry a third son, if it hadn't been announced at the same time that the pair would be given the ruins of Castamere to rebuild.

That had actually been her husband's idea. Tyrion had been speaking of the veins of gold and silver that ran through the Castamere mines, that they should work on draining the castle and starting to excavate again, and Jaime had suggested giving it to his second daughter and her husband. The plans had been made a year or two ago, with Alarra involved greatly in learning the ins and outs; Lyanna had never seen her quiet daughter so animated about anything.

Alarra had been married earlier that year. Now Lyanna heard from her daughter every week or so, giving updates on how the work was going.

That was four of her children who were wed now. Tya had written recently saying she was pregnant for a second time, Lorcan had just had his first son, and though Damon and his wife Jeyne had yet to have a child, there would surely be one on the way soon.

Alarra's wedding hadn't been the only one that year, either. Tommen Hill was a bastard, not a Lannister, but that hardly seemed to adversely affect him. Unlike his trueborn cousins, he had been the only one able to marry for love, to his cousin, Lorna Hill, several months before Gerold's birth. The ceremony was small, with only family invited and nothing too lavish at the feast, but had been lovely nonetheless. Lyanna had never been one to cry at weddings, not even those of her own children, but even she found herself with a lump in her throat at Tyrion's face as he led his daughter down the aisle in the sept. Tommen was seventeen, handsome and kind, and on his way to earning his knight's spurs, and Lorna had grown into a beautiful young girl of fifteen, with her mother's brown eyes and pretty face, though she had golden hair and something of Tyrion about her, in her smile and laughing eyes perhaps, even if the resemblance was not initially obvious.

Jocasta was to wed the following year. She had been betrothed to Sebaston Farman for several years now, and was the only one of Lyanna's children who had looked forward to marriage for marriage's sake, rather than duty (Damon), escaping an inconvenient situation (Tya), gaining a castle (Alarra) or for the family (Lorcan). Jo did not want adventure or power or renown. She wanted nothing more than to have lots of children to love, and spend her days in peace and happiness; in that respect she was very different from her parents and siblings, but that was fine.

Lyanna sometimes felt like the years were slipping away from her too quickly. It seemed like there was no time at all between holding Jo as a newborn babe in her arms and planning her wedding. But that was life, she supposed. She was lucky to have as much as she did, given she could quite easily have bled out after the birth of Jon, alone and afraid in that cursed tower, dead before she turned seventeen.

Neither she nor Jaime rarely spoke with their children of what had happened during the rebellion, never spoke of why the realm called their father Kingslayer and their mother the Dragon's Whore. Lyanna supposed they had found out from others, for none of them had ever asked about the matter. Though the one time she had seen Lorcan truly lose his temper was when he was a squire and one of the other boys had used that distasteful nickname for his mother when he was in earshot; the Lannister heir had had to be pulled off the boy.

Sometimes the thought came to her that perhaps they should tell their children the truth. That Jaime had killed the king to save the city and his father's army, that Lyanna had not been kidnapped but been foolish and reckless, that Jaime had stood for months watching the king's brutalities and done nothing about it. But she imagined the eyes of her children clouding over in judgement at what she had done, and found she did not want to say anything at all. Things were fine as they were, and some truths were best left in the past. 

*

Late 319

It was the height of summer, which was perhaps the only reason why every single member of Lyanna's family was gathered at Winterfell, even the two infants, given the weather was mellow enough to travel through the North with relative ease.

Surrounded by her grandchildren, and Ned's, she felt old, but found that she didn't mind. She had grown up with a fairly small family herself - just Lyanna, her father and her three brothers - and it never ceased to astound her at how large it now was. Lorcan and Alysanne had their son Gerold, a boy of ten, along with three daughters, Lorea, Lelia and Cerelle, aged thirteen, eight and four. Her eldest son was deeply involved in the running of the Westerlands, which Jaime was only too happy to let him take over. Father and son presented a united front to the world, and Jaime as Lord Lannister still had the final say, but Lorcan relished in the lord's work in a way that his father never had, and was good at it too.

Tya was now Lady Dayne after the death of her husband Edric's father. Lyanna saw her eldest daughter at least once or twice a year, and her life in Dorne suited her well; she could fight when she wanted, and no one expected her to be a perfect lady. Tya wasn't the best mother, mostly leaving the care of her children to nursemaids until they were big enough to take riding and spar with, but clearly loved them dearly in her own way, and delighted playing with them when they were younger (until she got bored, that is). Her twins, Arthur and Samwell, were thirteen now, and she had a daughter of nine years, named Dyanna.

Sadly Damon was less fortunate. He had been happy serving as a knight at Casterly Rock, and cared for his wife Jeyne despite the fact that for years they had been trying to conceive in vain. It seemed like Jeyne was barren, and though Damon was unbothered, his wife had dearly wanted a child. It had seemed like a miracle when she fell pregnant, giving birth to a daughter, Rohanne, eight years ago, but birth had taken a large toll on poor Jeyne, and she had died a week later of childbed fever. Damon had not seemed interested in taking another wife, nor in having any more children. He doted on his daughter, but had not been quite the same since, and spent an increasing amount of time away travelling with his cousins.

Alarra, on the other hand, was thriving. Lady Lannister of Castamere in her own right - the castle was once more a prospering mine, bringing wealth to the surrounding area as directed by its lady - she had recently had her first son, a boy called Jason, who was only a year old. She also had a daughter, Morya, who was seven. Whilst Alarra generally treated her husband Robert Brax as an irritation, seeming rather glad that he sought the company of whores rather than his wife, she loved her children, and was already teaching Morya a little of how to run the castle and its incomes.

As for Jocasta, she had the most children despite being the last to wed, two sons and three daughters before the age of twenty five. The life of the Lady of Fair Isle seemed to suit her well. Her son Marq was aged eight, Sebaston was only a year old; as for the girls, Elissa was aged six, Alysanne four and Andrea three.

Lyanna was far ahead of Ned with regard to grandchildren; she had sixteen, whilst her brother had nine. Not that it was a competition. Robb had three sons of his own with his wife Wylla - Rodrik aged eleven, Torrhen aged eight and Cregan aged six - and of course his daughter Lyarra. It astounded Lyanna that the girl was sixteen already, a woman grown. It seemed like yesterday that her own daughters were sixteen, and not much longer since she was that age herself. Now she was three-and-fifty, her hair liberally streaked with grey and lines all over her face.

Sansa made a good mother to her two daughters, Arrana and Sara, who were fifteen and twelve, along with her son Rogar, who was ten. She was a good Lady Bolton, too, and her and her husband had clearly grown to care deeply for each other. Arya too had become a mother for the first time nine years ago, giving birth to a son named Willam, heir to the Karhold, then another son, Beron, who was seven. All the sons of Robb, Sansa and Arya were born at a similar time, one every year from Rodrik to Cregan, and the six boys were all very close friends, leading to them being known by the nickname the Wolf Pack.

The younger Stark boys had never married. Bran had earned his knighthood at the age of seventeen, and had not stayed in one place since. He had travelled all of Westeros, from Dorne to north of the Wall, with his direwolf Summer at his side. He spent a large amount of time beyond the Wall, and even longer in Oldtown; apparently he was working closely with a rather odd maester called Marwyn the Mage, but on what, no one was quite sure.

Bran was often accompanied by his wild younger brother Rickon, and his sister Arya. Arya had travelled with her brothers and their three wolves all over the North, even going beyond the Wall several times. She had come back from one such journey with a pregnant direwolf; Nymeria had found more of her own kind, and had another litter of four pups, which Arya had gifted to her brother Robb to give to each of his children.

With Rickon, Arya had also been to Skagos, and many of the Free Cities, where get youngest brother had served in a sellsword company for just over a year; Braavos was her particular favourite. Lyanna loved talking to all three of them about their travels, and her son Damon too, who had gone with them several times, with increasing frequency after Jeyne's death. It was fascinating hearing tales of all the places she herself would likely never see.

Lord Karstark did not seem to mind that his wife refused to be tied down to a life of a lady; even after having her children, Arya still travelled a lot, leaving her sons in the care of nursemaids after the first few years, though was home slightly more than before. Lyanna doubted Harrion and Arya loved each other, but were good friends nonetheless, and always seemed to be laughing and joking together when she saw them. They reminded her of herself and Jaime in the first few years of their marriage.

Bran would never marry, she knew that for a fact. She wouldn't have said Rickon would either, but here they were at his wedding, as they had been at Arya's years before. Aged five-and-twenty, Rickon was to wed a younger daughter of House Ryswell, a fifteen year old named Bryony. The dark-haired girl was not a great beauty, but had a wicked smile and a glint in her eyes, and the wild, untameable Rickon Stark had seemed to find a kindred spirit.

Jon would never marry either. Lyanna's son was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and his men were restless enough as it was, never mind if he took a wife. She had to admire her son's courage; during his time leading the Watch, he had sought to improve relations between the Wall, the North and the Wildlings, after living amongst them for several months during a mission gone wrong. This involved encouraging trade between the three groups of people, and allowing small groups of Wildlings through the Wall to farm the lands of the Gift.

Predictably, both the Night's Watch and the Northern lords had reacted strongly against this, and there had been a mutiny at one point; one of Jon's most trusted men, Ser Alliser Thorne (an old Targaryen supporter sent to the Wall by Robert) had even died saving her son's life. Things seemed to have settled down years later, when there had been no significant increase in raids on Northern lands, though the situation was still rather tense.

Jon was not the only one the Lannisters had connections to at the Wall, however. Lyanna had been in regular correspondence with her eldest son since he took the black, and after Joffrey was sent there for trying to kill the king, she often asked after the boy, for the sake of Tommen and Myrcella. At first, Joffrey had been nothing but trouble, acting rude and arrogant and alienating most everyone. But slowly, very slowly, he had started to realise that if he pulled his weight a little, things would not be so miserable. Now, nearly sixteen years since Cersei's eldest son had joined the Watch, he had actually become a rather well respected ranger, fairly good with a sword and brave (reckless), though not well suited to diplomacy.

Joffrey had come to the wedding at Winterfell, in fact, to see Tommen, who had travelled north alone, without his wife Lorna and their children, leaving Tyrion ruling in Casterly Rock. The look on Tommen's face - on everyone's faces - when a tall, hard-faced man with short hair and a short, grizzled beard rode in behind Jon, greeting them courteously and being content to stay out of the limelight, had been rather amusing. Joffrey did not apologise for what he had done, how he used to be, merely ignored it, but there was such a startling difference in this man compared to the spoilt prince he had once been, that no one said anything of it.

"Cersei would weep to see him like this," Jaime said to her as they lay in bed that night.

"Being sent to the Wall was the best thing that ever happened to him," Lyanna snorted. He laughed.

"I can't disagree. It made a man of him, rather than an arrogant princeling," She hummed in agreement, and there was a comfortable silence.

"I never thought I'd see Rickon married," She said absently. "In my head, he's still a wild little boy with red hair,"

"He still is," Jaime grinned. "His bride might be ten years younger, but he still acts fifteen. It's a perfect match,"

"As if you can talk of men acting years younger than their age," Lyanna nudged him teasingly. "In your head, I bet you're still twenty,"

"I might as well be," He drawled. "Don't try and make me feel old, Stark. I'm still knocking twenty-year-olds into the dirt in the yard,"

"You don't look fifty-four," She granted. It wasn't fair. He was only just starting to get grey hairs, whereas her dark locks were liberally streaked with them. "Though maybe it'll all just hit you suddenly. You'll be fine until you're sixty, then turn into an old man in a month,"

"Old man," Jaime scoffed, grabbing her waist, and before she could blink she was rolled on top of him. "If I'm so decrepit, my lady, then you can do all the work," Lyanna laughed.

"With pleasure,"

*

Late 337

Lyanna Stark was dying.

She wasn't afraid. She had not been afraid of death in a long time. That lack of fear came with age, and Lyanna was old. Seventy years old, with six children, seventeen grandchildren, most of whom even had children of their own by now.

Her eldest son was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, the last man alive with the blood of the dragon since his Aunt Daenerys had died decades ago from a manticore sting somewhere in the east. Jon Snow had risen high, and as a result of his leadership, a hard-won, grudging respect had started to grow between the North, the Watch and the Wildlings. There were still raiders, of course, but significantly less, and the North was now aided in winter by the many farms set up by resettled Wildlings in the Gift and the New Gift.

Her eldest trueborn son had been Lord of Casterly Rock for seven years. Lorcan ruled with an iron fist; though he was not quite so brutal as his grandfather had been, the legacy of Tywin Lannister ran deep enough for no one to dare cross him, especially given their often unnerving similarities. Lord Tywin would be... not proud, but grimly satisfied.

Whereas Lyanna and even Arya to some extent had become a little more restrained in age, Tya had not. Even though she was now past fifty, she showed no sign of changing her ways. If anything, she was even more outspoken and defiant the older she got. Her children often despaired at her, but Lyanna could only laugh at her wild daughter, forever untamed, acting like a sixteen-year-old even as lines grew on her beautiful face.

Alarra was a widow now, but seemed happier that way. Castamere and the surrounding lands still prospered under her rule, though if the woman had her way, they would be inherited by her eldest daughter Morya rather than her only son Jason, who had grown up to be lazy, careless and had no interest in running the castle and mines.

Jocasta was as content on Fair Isle as she always had been, with her beloved husband and five children.

Her nieces and nephews too were safe and well. Robb had been Lord of Winterfell for nine years. Sansa was happy growing old with her husband. Arya still travelled most years, accompanied by her sons now. Bran had never settled down, spending months in Winterfell, Oldtown, Casterly Rock and beyond the Wall as the whim struck him. Rickon hadn't either, despite being married; he simply brought his wife with him, until Bryony had their first child. She now lived in Winterfell, with their three daughters, and Rickon was there some months and away others.

Steffon Baratheon had been king for thirty eight peaceful years. He was a good ruler, rather humourless but not as bad as his Uncle Stannis had been; he smiled sometimes, at least. Strong and just, he was loved by most of the smallfolk despite his stern demeanour for the peace and prosperity he had kept over the years, but was mostly loved for his wife, Queen Margaery, the darling of the realm.

At his side was his half-sister Myrcella, who had been Master of Coin for decades now, and was responsible for resolving the crown's extensive debts and bringing in several very useful sources of income. It was said that Steffon had wished to make her Hand of the King years ago, but she had refused, saying it did not pay to climb too high; a woman on the small council had caused enough grumbling, let alone a female Hand, and an unmarried one at that. No, she was content where she was, powerful without anyone knowing quite how much.

Tommen was happy as a household knight, married to Lorna, and even Joffrey had made a life for himself at the Wall.

Yes, Lyanna could die content.

Jaime was gone. So were Ned and Benjen. It had been her younger brother to go first, years ago, killed in a skirmish between several mutinous Night's Watch members and defiant Wildling raiders. Then it had been Ned, who passed in his sleep at the age of six-and-sixty. Lyanna had wept for them both.

And then seven years ago, it had been Jaime.

He had been sixty-five at the time. Growing old had not suited her husband. He aged physically much better than most people, but despite that, Jaime had loathed the fact that his sword did not swing as strongly as it once had, that his eyes were slightly fading. He was still one of the best swordsmen in the land, of course; Barristan Selmy had lived into his seventies, still fighting. But Jaime was the best, and hated settling for anything less.

He handled it in his usual careless fashion of course, making dry remarks and sarcastic jokes. Lyanna had been unbothered by his ageing, considering she was hardly getting younger herself, but then the call to war had come. Another Greyjoy rebellion. And of course, her husband was hardly going to sit at home like some old man, whilst his sons and grandsons went off to fight.

Lyanna had never particularly feared for her husband when he went off to fight, knowing that he would be one of the most dangerous men on the battlefield. But Dagon Greyjoy was said to be the most fierce fighter the Iron Islands had ever seen. Even that did not do him justice. Aged five-and-twenty, with the best sword arm since, well, Jaime Lannister, he had planned his rebellion much better than his grandfather Lord Balon had, and made a formidable foe. One no man should be ashamed of falling to.

When Lyanna had received word of the Lannister fleet approaching from the west, she had raced to the walls of the Rock, heart lifting at the prospect of Jaime coming home. Stood in the courtyard with her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, the Lady of Casterly Rock had awaited her husband riding through the gates on his blood-bay courser, golden-grey hair still glinting as he grinned at her, dismounting from his horse like a man half his age and sweeping her into a kiss, not caring that her face was lined and her dark hair was mostly grey.

Instead, a covered wagon was rolled through the gates, surrounded by a sombre procession of grim-faced men. All the men in her family rode alongside it, Lorcan and Damon, Robb, Bran and Rickon, Robb's three sons, Rogar Bolton, Willam and Beron Karstark, Tommen, Lorcan's son Gerold, Jo's two Farman boys. Lyanna's eyes searched for Jaime, and couldn't find him.

"Where - ?" Her voice caught in her throat. She wasn't stupid, she knew what had happened already. Lorcan dismounted and moved towards her, Damon close behind. Lyanna stared at her sons imploringly, noticing that Damon's left eye was bound in tight bandages. "Damon, what - ?"

"I found myself facing Dagon Greyjoy during the last battle," Her son's voice was hoarse, weary and sad. "I was going to kill him too, had one of his bloody men not thrown a knife that took out my eye. I fell, and Greyjoy would have ended me then, had Father not leapt in from somewhere to parry the blow," He broke off himself, voice thick.

"He put up a good fight," Lorcan continued for him, his voice level, but Lyanna saw the pain in his eyes. "A very good fight. He nearly got the bastard, too. Managed to hack off half his nose, repaying the debt of Damon's eye," He gave a weak smile. "But Greyjoy got him in the end. He fell. The battle was nearly done by then, we managed to get him out of there alive, but his wounds... there was nothing we could - " He paused, his voice catching. "There was nothing to be done. Father died that night,"

Lyanna opened her mouth but no words came out. Behind her, she vaguely heard her granddaughters starting to cry.

"Lord Lannister," A knight approached Lorcan. That title, addressed to her son rather than her husband, made her chest horribly tight. "What do wish to be done with..." He trailed off, gesturing to the wagon. Lorcan said something, but Lyanna wasn't listening, moving like a ghost to the wagon, batting away the guards and lifting the cloth.

Jaime lay there, eyes closed. His skin was waxy, white and cold, bruised in places, and he did not look like he was asleep, as so many people claimed the dead did. She traced the outline of his face, his lips that would never grin at her again, the only sound she could hear being her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. She grabbed his hand, his sword hand, which was limp and lifeless. The world spun, pain shot through her and Lyanna realised she had fallen to her knees in the middle of the yard, still holding her husband's cold dead hand.

"Mother," Damon was at her side in an instant, Lorcan close beside him. They were grabbing her arms, lifting her to her feet, but she didn't want to leave him.

"No," Hot tears ran down her cheeks as she resisted her sons. "No, let me stay," Some part of her realised that the courtyard wasn't the place for all this, that she could stand vigil in the sept later, but Lyanna cared nothing for that.

They took her away anyway. Looking in the mirror that night, in her bedchamber that seemed cold and empty, Lyanna Lannister truly felt old.

She remained at Casterly Rock for half a year after Jaime's death. Enough time for her to realise that she wasn't truly needed there. Lorcan was a more than capable lord on his own, and Alysanne was his equal, a lady worthy of her son.

So Lyanna left. She spent the next seven years travelling, seeing as much of her family as she could in the time she had left. She went from Starfall to see Tya, to Oldtown to see Bran, to Casterly Rock, to Fair Isle, to Castamere, Winterfell, the Dreadfort, the Karhold, the Wall, and back again, several times.

Her sons and daughters, nieces and nephews, often accompanied her, but sometimes she was alone with three or four guards. She might have been old, but she still rode like she was half horse herself, and though her joints ached and creaked where they had not done so before, she did not mind sleeping rough when necessary, and never raised a word of complaint. She was born a Stark, and never felt the cold overmuch.

It was ironic, in a bittersweet way. This life was exactly what Lyanna had dreamed of in her youth, travelling wherever she wanted. She was more free in her sixties than she had been her entire life. No father or brothers or husband to listen to, not that she had listened to any of them when she didn't want to. Her children were grown, and so were her grandchildren.

But for the last two months she had stayed in Winterfell, after returning from the Wall. Lyanna had a feeling that she should stay, one of those feelings she couldn't quite ignore. More importantly, Bran had a feeling, and Bran's feelings tended to be scarily accurate. Her nephew was spending more and more time beyond the Wall as the years went by. Lyanna had heard his talk of green dreams and warging, not only with his wolf like the others, seeing through the eyes of weirwoods, and a man named Bloodraven, who couldn't possibly be the Lord Brynden Rivers from over a hundred years ago who had worn that name. Yet something told her that one day Bran would not come back from wherever it was he went. But hopefully not for a while, not until he was an old man. Old like she was.

Winterfell was not the place of Lyanna's childhood, as everyone from her childhood was dead. But it was home nonetheless, in a way different to Casterly Rock. Catelyn was there, and Robb and his family, Bran and Rickon when it suited them, Bryony and her daughters. Lyanna had company, even if she wanted Ned and Benjen, Brandon, Jaime.

She was not afraid to die. Lyanna welcomed death like an old friend. She could feel its approach, growing stronger and stronger. One night, she felt the urge to get out of bed despite her aching joints, despite the autumn snow falling outside, moving silently through the castle on bare feet to the godswood. She sat down before the heart tree, as Ned had done, and thought of her life as snowflakes settled in her hair. Thought of her family, her brothers, children, grandchildren, and Jaime. Thought of the North, Winterfell, her home even after all this time.

A guard found Lyanna the next morning, half buried in snow, grey eyes closed forever and a faint smile on her face.

*

I'm not sure if this ending was sad and depressing, or unrealistically happy considering it's set in Westeros. I'll settle on bittersweet.

This chapter was more a way to wrap up loose ends, but it got away from me, hence the nearly 20,000 words. I'm not sure how exciting hearing about all the grandchildren of Jaime and Lyanna was, but I had their lives planned out in so much detail that I couldn't not include it, particularly as wasn't only an ending for Jaime and Lyanna, but the happy ending that the Stark children could have had if everything didn't go to shit.

Thanks to everyone who reads, comments and votes on this story, it really has been a pleasure. I know there has been a ridiculously long wait for this chapter, and I wasn't even sure if I was going to publish it, but I hope you enjoyed it either way.

STARKS

Eddard Stark m. Catelyn Tully. Children: Robb, Sansa, Arya, Brandon, Rickon

Robb Stark m. Wylla Manderly. Children: Lyarra, Rodrik, Torrhen, Cregan

Sansa Stark m. Domeric Bolton. Children: Arrana, Sara, Rogar

Arya Stark m. Harrion Karstark. Children: Willam, Beron

Brandon Stark. Unmarried/childless

Rickon Stark m. Bryony Ryswell. Children: three daughters

Jon Snow. Unmarried/childless

LANNISTERS

Jaime Lannister m. Lyanna Stark. Children: Lorcan, Tya, Damon, Alarma, Jocasta

Lorcan Lannister m. Alysanne Lefford. Children: Lorea, Gerold, Lelia, Cerelle

Tya Lannister m. Edric Dayne. Children: Arthur, Samwell, Dyanna

Damon Lannister m. Jeyne Westerling. Children: Rohanne

Alarra Lannister m. Robert Brax. Children: Morya, Jason, Myranda

Jocasta Lannister m. Sebaston Farman. Children: Marq, Elissa, Alysanne, Andrea, Sebaston

Joffrey Hill. Unmarried/childless.

Myrcella Hill. Unmarried/childless.

Tommen Hill m. Lorna Hill. Children: two sons, one daughter

BARATHEONS

Robert Baratheon m. Cersei Lannister. Children: Steffon

Steffon Baratheon m. Margaery Tyrell. Children: Jocelyn, Robert, Olenna, Cassandra, Olyvar, Elinor