A/N: Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I hope you all have a happy holiday if you celebrate! I'm back at it again with the monthly update and I'd love to thank you all so much for your patience with me. As my semester comes to its end, I plan to upload more frequently as winter break rolls around.

"i am not one to paint with red.

but spill my blood and I will come back to claim yours."

— k.t.

JAIME

Jaime carefully touched his lips to Cersei's forehead, having felt her scold form even in the depts of sleep. A moment as such reminded him of one so very long ago. A different time, a proposal to the Stark girl's aunt and once more tangled in the intricacies of his sweet Cersei. However, this time, she could not bribe him with the white cloak and a promise of never leaving her side again.

He brushed a strand of gold hair aside, tangling a few fingers in her mane before pressing a final kiss to her skin. Jaime sat at the edge of the featherbed, once unthoughtfully shared with Robert, and stood bare in the warm summer breeze. There was no risk so early in the morning, but he shouldn't have been so careless. His armor gleaned with pride, the white cloak flashed similarly but as he gazed at himself in the reflection of the looking glass, a lion in crimson and gold stared solemnly back.

Father always dreamt of securing the North.

To imagine himself at the side of the Stark girl, arm in arm, courted and mated like animals…perhaps one thing they could bond over.

He punished himself for becoming far too dedicated to the role his father intended he perform. To crown her the queen of love and beauty before an audience…a chance he had reminded the far and many of a tourney seventeen years ago. Though, he did wonder selfishly how many would perish should this arrangement be pursued.

He departed the royal chamber, sauntering through the halls to scour for Robert's whereabouts, though he might be surprised to find him in a place that is none other than beneath a whore or six. Jaime heeded to the throne room, his duties at first light to stand before the doors and guard.

Glorified. A knight, sworn by oath, to protect a madman and a drunk. His father's voice reverberated but until his dying breath, Tywin Lannister had his say. And as the days grew shorter, the winds blew colder, his time wearing the cloak that once brought him so much pride would come to its bitter end.

Did his word mean nothing whence Tywin and Robert spoke amongst themselves to marry him off as though it was what he wanted?

It was a wise move. Jaime thought, my attendance would have caused a stir and surely I would not be subjected to a life of such…trite.

Jaime entered the throne room, occupied by none other than his betrothed and her sister, aside her septa being retold the history from their years of lessons. Maester after maester, scribing the memory of the kings who were gone. Their deeds good and bad. How their country was built, and the lives lost in order to bring prosperity.

It bored him half to death.

"Grandfather and Uncle Brandon were murdered here, weren't they?"

The room had fallen silent at the young girl's query; however, the attention had fallen from the old hag to…well him.

"My lord," greeted the young Stark, she graced him with a curtsey and the smile of a Lady. Her fancies of knights in all their honor, all their valor…to think he was something like her, once. The septa merely bowed her head, then turned back to the young one to inform her of her loss. A tragic one indeed, and the whispers of Rickard and Brandon Stark's name.

Jaime hadn't paid any mind to the septa's excuses as to why she could not learn of her history, and who it was that brought them so much suffering. Instead, he found himself curiously watching Laisa Stark. The faintest of whispers, what he could make out over the sound of septa and her sister speaking.

A prayer, to the Mother he assumed, to wager the wars and bring kindness upon the world.

Jaime could remember something similar, another song that was not as kind nor as forgiving, and its choice of instruments was not either. A symphony of laughter, of screams, and five-hundred men and himself hadn't found it within themselves to make a sweet sound of their own lest they are subjected to the same fate as the men who hung and burned in the very spot the Stark sisters stood.

To this day, Jaime had the scent of cooked flesh seared into his memory; Brandon Stark hanging from the rafters, watching his father die. The throne was no longer empty, and smoke billowed from floor to ceiling.

"Septa take Sansa to the kitchens to break her fast and see if Arya hasn't been sent to her dancing lessons without a meal."

"Yes, my lady," said the septa, "Come, child."

Once they departed on her order, the hall became silent. Laisa stood where her grandfather burned alive, staring into the Iron Throne as though it had called her by name. Many a sacrifice for burned and molded steel. Jaime thought bitterly.

"I understand it was my father who found you here."

The way she spoke of his being there sounded more like an accusation. A way to punish him for not doing more as though the other five hundred men who watched them burn and hang had done anything to preserve them, too. Jaime's jaw angrily clenched.

She turned to him, unexpressive and hardly holding his gaze. "Was your decision truly to avenge my family or is that how you justify your actions on behalf of your wrongdoing."

Laisa Stark was truly her father's daughter. In both word and wit, the ice folk of the North had come to test his patience.

"You speak of kindness, my lady." Jaime bit harshly, "Had you known the Mad King—"

"I will never know him as you once had, Ser, nor do I blame you for your rash decision…I dislike men using Rickard and Brandon Stark's death to justify their means." She replied bluntly, taking some steps toward him to stand at his side and stare upon the dais. "The Mad King was a monster…and though many see it as a vile act performed by one sworn to protect him…perhaps thinking rationally is not accepted in the capital but that monster deserved what he was awarded."

Laisa then turned to him, her lips pressed into a hard line and an angering crease between her brows. "My tongue may be ripped from my mouth for saying such things, Ser, but kings need understand they are not invincible. And a chair made of swords or a crown, or perhaps many a guard at their beck and call will not protect them."

At that, he grinned with the slightest hint of satisfaction. "Dare I assume you are about as enthralled about this arrangement as I."

Her silence was damn near deafening. Though, Laisa's features softened ever so slightly, and she faced him completely with a slight, twitching smile at the corners of her mouth. "If I may be honest, Ser, I find your…person more appealing to wed than Robert's eldest son."

Yes, that little vermin… Jaime thought, A squirt of my seed in Cersei's cunt…how odd would that have been?

"How do you feel of it, Ser. I wasn't aware Kingsguard could be released from their vows. Traditionally speaking, the only way the seven know freedom in their lifetime is…"

"Death." He finished. To be wed is quite similar.

Laisa's smile faltered some. "My father says some men are like swords, made for fighting and nothing more. Hang them up…" Her gaze turned upon the throne in its tainted glory. "…and they go to rust."

"Are you asking if I will rust, my lady." He questioned, arching a golden brow.

"The greatest swordsman in all of Westeros, pulled from his duty to settle and marry, to produce heirs as his father sees fit. If I know anything but at all, Ser, lordship will not agree with you."

Jaime reached for her folded hands, running a calloused thumb over a thin silver ring and gently squeezed her fingers.

The moon could never overshadow the sun, he thought. As though he needed another reminder, Jaime would no longer be within arm's reach of Cersei, he would never be within arm's reach of battle. Had he been younger—youth would have driven him to fight harder to remain by her side. Jaime had never thought for himself nor did he do anything that wasn't of his own volition, any decision he made in his lifetime was influenced by his sister. She was quite the persuasive woman, and he was more than willing to follow.

Where was his resistance, his fight, and remorse?

Jaime pulled himself from her, putting distance between them as he turned to face the doors of the throne room in hopes he was allowed leave. "Perhaps, it is something we can learn to bond over."

Was it absurd of him to believe he could feel her smiling?

"Perhaps it can be," she said.

The Great Hall grew silent. Jaime stood cordially before the throne, posing his guardship and indulging in his numbered days as a Kingsguard. His selfish desires, his needs, came before his father's wishes and what part of that did Tywin Lannister fail to understand? It was rather simple, Jaime ought to agree, he wanted no wife nor children. His seed gave Cersei some happiness, humanity, too. Jaime oft wondered what kind of father he would be like…to express his love for his three children, and the thought weighed his armor heavier on his chest.

"My father received word about my little brother's awakening, ser."

Jaime remained still but his body demanded he collapse at such news. Though, he should feign some ignorance…it was his good-brother that he shoved from the tower. "And…and how is he?"

Laisa's shoulders slumped. "He will never walk again. Maester Luwin says his mind is sound, but…he now lies in his bedchamber, vulnerable."

The shadow of guilt cast upon him, but his curiosity out of pure concern overrode his tension. "Does he remember his accident."

She shook her head. "He…the memory of the fall evades him, ser. I've…in his short ten years I have never known him to fall. I understand accidents happen, why our mother stressed he does not climb but he was—is—a wild thing. Mother blames herself for not ensuring her strictness and I blame myself for not being more careful with him."

The Stark girl solemn smiled, wandering about the hall as she spoke, "Before his fall, he was determined to wear the white cloak, to be a Kingsguard." Laisa lightly laughed, "He begged Robb to teach him to wield a sword, younger than he was if I remember right. They would practice from first light to dusk and on and on it went until one day Bran forgot to raise his shield and Robb rang his head like a bell."

Jaime's hand had begun to shake, resting uneasily on the lion head pommel at his hip.

"He looked up to men like you, ser, I only wished Bran could've been spared…" she murmured, palming her watering eyes before composing herself. Her smile was forced, Jaime noticed. "Forgive me, I've taken enough of your time once again. I'll leave you to your duties, Ser."

Once Laisa departed the Great Hall, he was left to drown in the silence and once more having to stare at that empty seat. A resounding trill of a deadly command could be heard overhead in the hall.

Man Without Honor, one voice hissed.

Nobility before honor. It was Jaime's first lesson as a boy, as there was no honor in killing a king. One he was sworn by oath to protect, however cruel the action committed mattered very little. Driven to the edges of insanity, exhibiting cruelty far more merciless than the predecessors before him, and the haunting screams of his queen echoing within the halls of the Red Keep long after a victim to wildfire had burnt to bone and ash. A crowned beast. Jaime thought. One he relieved the kingdoms of, a wrath no man could have survived had Aerys been given the chance. As the histories state, the Targaryen's never buried their dead: they burned them within a shot of dragon's fire.

King Aerys had set to make the Red Keep his pyre.

Kingslayer! the voices of the keep whispered once his back was turned. A run of his sword, a lapse in judgment where oaths and honor did not exist, and a million souls saved.

The vision of his finest act played out before his eyes as he climbed the dais, carefully and quietly retracing his steps. Jaime unsheathed his blade to harshly glare into his reflection. The steel shone brightly, mockingly so and what stared back was…only him. No glean of wildfire, no smoke or bodies burned to ashes at his feet.

Another dared to snarl, Oathbreaker.

"And now," he muttered, standing over the stain in the marble underfoot, "I am to break another vow."

CERSEI

It mattered not how many times she read over father's raven scroll, it mattered not what protests she put up before her king. Jaime was to be married and shipped off to Casterly Rock within two moons to the Stark bitch. A compromise made to lessen the debt Robert had compiled during his reign, and what better a way to acquire the North than to marry his heir to the girl her husband desires most.

Father gets his heirs, for a price. Cersei thought snidely. The sword was double-edged and sharp, for she felt the sting of betrayal whence it was up to her to figure what had been devised without her knowledge.

Cersei scrapped the parchment, angrily hurling a glass cup against the nearest wall in her solar. She glared in the direction of a frightened handmaid, sending her scampering from her solar and into the halls to skulk over her queen's mistreatment. The two who remained stood stiller than statues, fearing if they spoke or perhaps they looked for too long, they would run from her wrath.

The commands of their lord father remained on her tongue, her lips curling into a snarl and shouted, "Get out!"

He defied father once before, Cersei thought angrily, He will do it again.

She gathered herself, one more shielding her rage behind the mask of the pliant queen, waving her hand to request her handmaids follow. Cersei stalked through the red stones in search of Robert, ignoring every curtsey and greeting coming from the likes of the hens and their cocks, simpleminded and thusly presenting their sense of admiration for her.

"Your grace!"

Cersei hadn't halted, she continued her search with the distance rattling of armor sprinting in her direction. What this knight had to say could have not been of much importance, should he have announced it without false courtesies and earned her attention as though he was worth pausing her journey to pull her husband from a bed full of whores.

The rattling grew louder, and her thinking was drowned out by the wretched sound.

"Forgive me, your grace," panted the Lannister guardsmen, "There has been word of—"

Cersei's jade-green eyes had narrowed upon this young man, seeking his words since he had forgotten to speak with fluency. She needn't remind, ask, or beg for the news. It should have been presented to her and carried on their separate ways.

"A raven, from—" The parchment was snatched from his grasp, peeling at the unbroken seal of a House she needn't bother to name.

The contents of the message brewed a hate and anger so deep in her belly, she had convinced herself her final breath was to be a shot of fire. To burn the capitol to the ground and seize the old wolf for what she deemed to be treason. Cersei may have cared very little for her young brother but to lay hand on her blood, on a Lannister, despite being the lowest of their breed. Their father would have thought and acted similarly.

That little monster has been kidnapped by Lord Stark's wife. Cersei snarled, "Bring Lord Stark to the small council chamber at once."

She stalked the halls once more, a lioness on the prowl for a little wolf to devour in vengeance should the Stark bitch lay a hand on her blood, no matter how satisfying it may be to finally be rid of Tyrion. Their father would not allow such an atrocity to be committed on behalf of him. There would be war, all for the little imp had Catelyn not returned him in one piece.

Just how many Starks did they have to maim for them to understand they were not as smart as they thought they were?

Her eyes glimmered with a hint of satisfaction knowing what Catelyn's stupidity would bring upon. This would drive a wedge in Robert and father's proposal to marry Jaime off. Perhaps, this would be the only instance she would thank Tyrion for his sacrifice and put a stop to the union. A wolf cloaked in the silks of lions, Laisa Stark would not survive.

Cersei's mouth curled into a smirk.

"A beast!"

"Your grace, be careful!"

The useless handmaids threw themselves before her, shielding her from what posed itself to be a blackened shadow, heeled at the taut hold of her master. Cersei's green eyes flared like pools of wildfire at the sight of the Stark cunt, and her monster at her feet. It growled with intent but was yanked back at the slight.

"Forgive me, your grace, I hadn't thought—"

Cersei forced herself to smile. "Nonsense, child. I see that you have taken your…animal's precaution to means."

Laisa bowed her head, "Of course, your grace, I would…hate to see our wolves participate in an unprovoked attack. Try as we might…wild animals cannot be tamed, and it must be silly to think an animal can understand what we do for them out of love."

A Stark was truly thicker than the wall of ice guarded by the Night's Watch. Cersei thought. She remained composed despite being compelled to enact on the Stark girl's stupidity. She was nothing more than a child, living a lavish and depreciated dream. She knew there was more to the girl than what she led on and let it be known, she will run Casterly Rock into the dirt if Jaime hadn't done it first.

That is if she made it to the dais of the Sept to proclaim their vows.

"Animals are like children; my son Tommen tells me, teach them the right way, the kind way and they will repay your teachings with loyalty." She replied, "He has taken a liking to kittens and stories of shadowcats living in the mountains of the Vale. He also tells me your wolves scare his pets away and fears his little ones will be their supper at one time or another."

Laisa's eyes widened, her place standing before her grace in unease. "Your grace, please assure the prince that his kittens are safe. They intend no harm—"

"Perhaps they intend no harm, my lady, but they are wolves all the same." Cersei countered, a high arch in her brow, "As you said: wolves can never truly be tamed."

The queen rounded her handmaids, trembling in fear and failing to mask their false sense of bravery. If it were allowed without consequence, she would feed every faulty girl to the wolves—it would better serve to give them to the lions, but the cats of the west existed no longer. A chill had run down her spine at that realization but put it to rest—timely omens meant very little and the thought of one should not have frightened her so.

Cersei shifted her perspective and approached the Stark girl, warmly and welcome-like. She reached for her hand free of a leather lead, squeezing her affectionately. Perhaps, a tad too tightly. "Come, we have much to discuss before the wedding."

She couldn't hide her pitiful embarrassment as the rush of red had come to her cheeks. Laisa Stark, the blushing bride-to-be, oh how Cersei could see her youthful and similarly as poignant self in her. She forcefully linked their arms, pulling her through the halls with intent.

"During our stay in the North, I told your mother what beauties you and your sister are. Things of such attractive natures should not be hidden in grey waste." Cersei mused without must interest in investing in the girl's pride. "And now here you are…to be married to my brother. A knight. I'm sure your little sister must be gleaming with admiration…living a maid's tale."

There was nothing like living the stories. Cersei had a tale of her own, one she would not be inclined to share as thought it would tarnish the memory, though there was little fondness she bothered to remember. Perhaps, it would do the Stark girl some good…and caution her that marriage was little like the songs.

However, there was very little Cersei believed would frighten the girl. She knew nothing of heeling, as all dogs and wolves alike should learn.

"Has your mother discussed with you what happens on the day of the wedding, my lady?"

Laisa stiffly shrugged. "At length. She…discussed with me the ceremony, I'm familiar with the ways of the Old Gods. I'm unfamiliar with the weddings of the New."

"And the bedding ceremony?" Cersei queried maliciously.

It never dawned on her why so many maids blushed and shied from the conversation of the bedding. It was ceremonious proof that houses were adjoined. A sheath for a sword, Jaime would say. Mayhaps it had plenty to do with Robert, a thought deadened by a drunk boar of a man groping and seeking her cunt, whispering the name of a corpse. Need she remind herself it was Jaime who had taken her maidenhead, a memory that would never pass her lips

Laisa shied the same, those dull gray eyes of hers fell to the floor. "Yes, your grace."

Cersei's tilted the girl's chin upward, her mouth pressed into a hard line, "I take it your lady mother taught you the ways of lords. My brother, you see, is a knight in all sense of the title. Brutality and violence are all he knows…he takes what he pleases, without question and without request."

The girl's mouth parted as though she were to retort, to say something clever. Cersei crowed on, "To deny him, I fear I know not of my brother's wrath—"

"Do you think your lies will submit me into fear, your grace."

A cold gust blew through the hall of the keep, scattering few leaves underfoot, whisking away the queen's patience all the same. Cersei dropped her hand from Laisa's face, still latching onto her arm as she continued their stroll. There was a moment, one of mild clarity that dawned on pushing the girl from the balustrade that overlooked the Narrow Sea, to be rid of the ghost of the Red Keep for all the good it would do her. Though, the moments her eyes fell upon the beast bonded to her and the spineless hens who strut about in her service, a mauling was to be in order.

The beast and her master would be dead, long and forgotten. Cersei thought, As would I.

It would have been foolish of her to fear wolves. And even more so to think the shadow with the molten amber eyes knew of her scheme.

Cersei sunk her claws into her arm, earning nothing more than a wince. "You would be right to know fear, girl, and you would be smart to remember that."

"And what should I fear of my newly betrothed," said Laisa, miffed. "Lord Jaime has been nothing but kind to me, or what he deems kindness. Is it his sharp wit, his knighthood, dishonored or otherwise, or perhaps it is his capability to accept what he has been bid. Forced, or otherwise."

Laisa forced herself to halt, despite Cersei's attempt to budge her forward with no success. Should she have borne her teeth, too, to convince that she was not as docile as the Baratheon made her out to be?

"I have little belief that Lord Jaime and I will be content as one. We have a duty to the people of the West and those of the North. Alliance and allegiance are all marriages are for and I have lesser doubts that there would be anything more than that." Her words sounded familiar, striking. "Perhaps, if I take anything frrom your kind teachings and wisdom, is that once I am given children, Lord Jaime and what he has never intended to offer will mean nothing."

Cersei gazed over the horizon; the girl's strife-laced words meant less to her than her proclamation of no true courtship. She lulled over the beauty of the sea, impeccable and mysterious, the distance between the savages and the noble people of proper nurturing.

She allowed Laisa Stark to continue her ramble to an extent before the queen succumbed to the bore of a spiel, the words of an honorable woman, birthed of the loins of an honorable man. Cersei's slender fingers cupped her cheek, pressing a nail at a time into the jaw and sought the sweet reaction. It mattered not her infliction was in comparison to the bites of flies, but it was invigorating to witness a spark ignite in those glum eyes of hers.

"Understand me well, my lady, my brother may not ruin you…" Cersei's promising threat was filled to the brim with poison. "That is if our father hasn't ruined you first. Once Jaime's sons have been pulled from your womb, your purpose falters. When the time comes it is then that you should know true fear. Your monster will not protect you, your father nor your brothers will come to your aid. And Robert—"

"I understand, your grace, you needn't overburden yourself. I've understood my purpose, what this marriage means and could mean." Laisa pulled the queen's hand from her face, tracing mindlessly over the crescents burrowed in her cheek. "Not a soul involved in this arrangement is thrilled but we must do our duty without question and life will continue. And from what I have been informed with, your grace, I am living on borrowed time the moment I proclaim to my betrothed that I am his before gods and men."

Laisa became quiet for a time, her chin lowering. "But…might I ask a question, your grace."

Silence loomed over the queen. It was her intention to draw the query before she removed herself from her arm and went about seeking Robert to inform him of her mother's treachery. Cersei found her odd. Not a moment short of threatening her very life, she begs a womanly question that she could only sate.

"Will…" she murmured, "Will Lord Jaime hurt me as the king has wounded you."

Her brother was all but an abuser or a drunk. Jaime's choice of wine wasn't arbor gold or Dornish reds—it was the adrenaline of battle. A bloodied blade, clean armor. Cersei could attest that he had been loyal from the moment of their birth, however, she could not agree to the same. It was a contingency the girl needn't trouble herself with, asking as though she had loved him with her heart and soul, to fear the worst if her infatuations were not returned.

Cersei answered, salaciously and honestly. "No. What I predict is you two will not see each other until the time comes to breed little lords and ladies. He will be confronted with learning to be a lord once more to have any other reason to busy himself with you."

The answer may have sated the young girl.

"I thank you for taking the time to speak with me, your grace, pardon me but I must excuse myself."

With that, Laisa curtsied and Cersei might have thought herself mad whence the wolf at their feet bared teeth at her. To be threatened by a beast, she could hear her father's mockery.

No, not one. She reminded, lifting her head high as she watched the wolves depart in silence.

TYRION

The Eyrie was known to be impregnable, his high towers and sky cells, it's magnificent Moon Door that he was bound to leap from lest the outcome of his trial become successful. And as he lay, on his back awaiting what words had come from the touched Lady Arryn, he tucked himself into a corner to avoid looking over the cliffs of the Mountains of the Moon.

It would be a passive way for a Lannister to die. A little lion thrown from such a distance, body too mangled to recover and bother to bury in the crypts of Casterly Rock. Tyrion smiled at the thought of his father finally being relieved of him, then starting a war for murdering a Lannister.

A clang rattled the iron door between him and freedom. The turnkey, Mord, he deranged man was titled, taunted him through the bars and attacked him once his shouting of debts and Lannister gold became too much for him to handle. However, this time, he didn't see the ugly face of the turnkey.

"Lady Stark!" he shouted joyfully over the rush of cold winds, "What a delightful surprise!"

Catelyn was very little trout these days, she had outgrown her scales and instead bore teeth and claws. Her expression was stoned, unchanging. He could see where Robb Stark got his fearlessness from, an attribute he did not attain from his lord father.

She threw a scroll through the bars, sneering at him. "What do you know of this lie, imp."

Tyrion gathered to his feet, hobbling over to pick up the parchment. It was embellished with the silver seal of the Hand.

Lady Arryn of the Vale,

Within two moons Lady Laisa of House Stark and Lord Jaime of House Lannister are to be wed. You are formally invited to attend.

Lord Eddard of the House Stark, Hand of the King

Tyrion's eyebrows raised in utter disbelief. Jaime, betrothed? He must have pushed father over the edge this time. He thought with a sardonic smile. "It seems we may be family soon, you and I."

"Once winter comes to the Seven Hells, perchance I will accept that." Catelyn bit.

"I must say, Lady Stark, you would be smart to allow my leave. I can attest that there has been no attempt on your son's life by me nor anyone in connection to me," said Tyrion, thumbing the seal, "How awful would you be, accusing me of harming my good-brother?"

Mord slammed his baton against the door, causing him to rear backward and cower in fear he may be in for a beating once more.

"One child victim to your breed, another to be wed to the prince, and now…you take my eldest daughter."

Tyrion was numbed by blame for actions that were not of his own making. How dense were the Starks? Did word mean nothing to them? Weren't the Stark baseborn out of honor, self-righteousness?

Catelyn's Tully blue glare hardened, "These are not my lord husband's words."

A slow mind seemed to have plagued her, too.

"Of course they are, my lady, just as your youngest is to be given to my nephew, there had been works of adjoining the wolf and the lion."

"The Kingslayer will not dishonor my daughter—"

Tyrion snorted loudly, "You must be unfamiliar with Robert and his wants. If it is what the king wishes, your lord husband granted, I scarcely see how you will unravel this engagement. But let's not discuss weddings, my release is what I intend to focus my strengths too."

"Confess and you shall be released."

"Is there a certainty that I will not be pushed through the Moon Door the moment I confess or am I guaranteed my right to a trial?"

Her thin lips pressed into a hard, angry line. "That is your right."

The winds kicked up, howling through the stones of his cell, and the wild rush of Alyssa's Tears was within a stone's throw. Perhaps paying more attention to the sounds of the Vale whilst his life was in the balance was a twisted sense of dealing with his condition. Tyrion oft sought a distraction from his reality, one that came in the form of his brother, his wits and knowledge. He would outsmart his way out of this, it only took time.

However long he had is what proved to be difficult.

"I have nothing to confess to, my lady," Tyrion said with finality, taking the scroll to sit in the furthest corner and swaddle himself as he watched Catelyn depart.

Mord became visible through the bars, giggling and smirking like a common fool. He awaited his death or his release, whichever fate was faster.

As Tyrion drifted in and out of slumber, the winds ripping through his confinement once more and howling a reminder that he was not as safe as he believed himself to be, Tyrion thought of Jaime. His protector, his elder brother who loved him and would come to defend him lest war is waged by his capture. A thought Tyrion pondered on as if a soul knew he was missing. There was nothing suspect, travel from the Wall to King's Landing took far longer than one could anticipate and his family—his brother—believed it was nothing more than time spent on the Kingsroad to the capital.

He fell into a pit of sleep.

Tyrion thought it lasted long and well until he was struck with a rush of wind and what made out to be a haze of his demise, a six-hundred-foot drop. He immediately rolled himself to safety, his heart quickening in his chest. What was his crime again? An innocent man accused of trying to kill a boy, not once but twice, from distances even he would deem impossible. A boy who knew nothing, who said nothing. Oh, and how could he forget the charge of murdering the late Lord Jon Arryn.

His crime of being an imp, a dwarf, a demon monkey has condemned him guilty for life and he had yet to find the knowledge to change that.

Mord was still guarding his cell, speaking nonsense to himself and occasionally banging his baton to remind him he was still there.

There came a time in his moments of solitude where he evaluated his chances of escaping with himself intact. Headsmen were outlawed in the Eyrie, perhaps he should be a hint grateful he may leave the falcon's nest with his head still on his shoulders. He overlooked the landscape of the castle, shuddering at the possibility of becoming carrion for the birds and the mountain tribes.

To confess would mean accountability. He thought, A negotiation I could come out of lest I demand trial by combat, Jaime...

Tyrion sadly laughed to himself. "You fool...he must be busy planning his escape from his new wife.." A time where Jaime could not come to his rescue, a time where he was indisposed with other matters, perhaps in the coming few days he would die. It was a fate he needn't think to prepare himself for yet a pity to believe he would be left to rot at the hands of Lysa Arryn.

However many men she tossed through the Moon Door before him and however many she would throw soon after he.

No, Tyrion reassured, Jaime would not abandon me. He wouldn't. Not for a pretty cunt or a lordship, or children for that matter.

The flap at the foot of the door swung open, a roll of bread and a mug of water were pushed inward then quickly snapped shut. Did the guards of the Vale think he was small enough to squeeze through? They flattered him, truly.

He lulled over Lysa's words: You will leave through one door or the other. A sharp gust of wind struck his cell with precise timing. The brown bread was torn into, flicking pieces over the steep cliff. Food for the birds for they shall not feast on me today. Tyrion sipped his water, then splashed it across the stone grounds, using the metal cup to bang over and over against the iron doors, shouting, "MORD!" with intent to get him to enter.

Another flurry of bangs against the door. "Turnkey! Mord!"

The clanking of the slow man had come, and Tyrion showed his gratitude once the door was flung open. Mord barrelled in, swinging his baton and driving Tyrion into the sharpest corner, screaming in his face, "Dwarf man still making noise!"

"Gold!" he shouted, hoping the premise would cease his beating. "I can promise you gold-"

"No gold!" Mord snapped back and hit.

Tyrion was astonished by the man's lack of sense. "Well, of course, I don't have it here!"

"No gold!"

The door was wide open...Tyrion glanced at their footing. One...calculated shove... he thought, turning his heel outward, towards the inside of the cell. Mord continued to beat and swing, shouting nonsense without realizing Tyrion had shrunk a good foot away. And with that, Tyrion simply just his hand outward. IT was meant to throw the half-wit off balance, to startle him, to put the fear of the Gods in him.

Mord gave way, with a final shove and Tyrion scrambling to the furthest corner from the edge. He could hear Mord's screaming, soon drowned by the rush of Alyssa's Tears. On this account, it was one death he had been responsible for. It was a mistake that only added to Tyrion's charges...and he hoped Jaime would ride for the Eyrie soon.

If not... he thought, the clouds settled just beneath the castle, hovering over the landscape and what awaited him below was not how he wanted to be remembered after he died.

The Lannister who was shoved into the clouds.

I have a feeling Tyrion is going to be my third favorite POV to write from. Also, I may have accidentally made him a killer but...oops.

Also probably gonna change the summary for the third and final time since I'm so damn picky and I lowkey don't like it. :) love that.

So, as I become freer, I have an announcement! To thank you all for your patience, I have three additional chapters lined up to be posted over the next few weeks. I'm trying to wrap up Season 1/Book 1 quickly because I'm dragging it out to avoid writing the peril of Ned Stark but what comes in between will be worth the read so I hope I haven't bored you all yet!

And to close this chapter, I end it with another big thank you because I have hit 129 follows! I never thought in a million years 129 PEOPLE would enjoy my story enough, so thank you x10!

See you next time!