Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Gentle Mother, font of mercy,

save our sons from war, we pray.

Stay the swords and stay the arrows,

let them know a better day.”

…

i.  As Long as My Blood Still Flows

Catelyn & Robb

...

Glimpsing those blue eyes for the first time, Catelyn knows she will never love anyone or anything more.

She holds him close to her heart, sweat still sticky on her brow.  Her own tears taste salty on her lips, but the pain of her labor pales in comparison to the pain she feels in loving her baby, how her every muscle aches to hold him close forever and keep him from harm.

“My sweet son,” she says, craning her neck to press a kiss amidst the sticky wisps of hair that already adorn the crown of his fragile head.  The feeling of her son at her breast, drawing sustenance from her, is a strange one.  But there is comfort in knowing that no one can take him from her, as she is his sole giver of life. 

It pains her to think that her precious boy will grow in a world that is not kind, where men fight in foolish wars and where he will someday feel pain himself.  The thought of her sweet little baby in pain leaves a dull ache in her chest.

“I promise, my baby,” she says softly, almost a lullaby, “I will never let anyone hurt you, as long as my blood still flows.” 

It is an impossible promise but, in this moment, she feels it can be true.

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ii. Telling Them Apart

Joanna & Jaime/Cersei

...

In the soft light of morning, Joanna often finds herself perched above the cradle of her twins.

They look so alike, fine gold curls atop their heads, that when they are swaddled side by side, she can scarcely tell the difference.

“Jaime,” she says, pointing to the child on the right who dozes with lips slightly parted.  “And Cersei,” she continues, pointing at the other.  It is a sort of game for her, to tell her twins apart, to note their subtle differences.  Jaime’s toes are slightly longer, Cersei has a pale freckle behind her ear.  Cersei’s cries are long and shrill, demanding, while Jaime’s come in waves.

The twins wake almost simultaneously, their eyes blinking in the new light.  Cersei’s mouth opens in a yawn, a little lion’s roar, and Jaime follows soon after. 

Joanna can’t help but smile at her lion cubs, so small and fierce.  She knew they were fierce from the day they were born, so premature that the maesters were sure they would not live more than a few hours.  But now, five moons later, the twins live and thrive.  She never doubted that they would, despite the maesters’ insistence, because Jaime and Cersei are born of she and Tywin, Lannisters in every drop of blood. 

And Lannisters do not die so easily.

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iii.  Moon's Blood

Catelyn & Sansa

...

Catelyn wakes to a bouncing on her bed and a frantic voice in her ear.

“Mother, mother, you’re bleeding!  Wake up, please, you’re bleeding!”

She blinks, eyes focusing on the small copper-haired girl who stands above her with watery eyes.

“Sansa, my dear, please be calm.  What is all of this about?”

Sansa points a small finger at the bed below her.  “Mother, the sheets.  There is blood everywhere.”  The tears start fall from Sansa's eyes, trailing down her cheeks.  “I don’t want you to die, mother.  Please don’t die.”

Catelyn looks to the offending sheets and lets out a breath.  “Oh Sansa,” she laughs, pulling her daughter closer, “It is only my moon’s blood.”  She hadn’t bled since little Bran was born, so the blood sitting sticky on her thighs was not anticipated in the least.

“Moon’s blood?” Sansa asks, still gripping her mother’s nightgown tight in her fist.

“Every woman has one, sweet child.  You will too someday, when you are grown.” 

Sansa pulls away from her mother then, her eyes wide.  “But I don’t want one,” she begs as if Catelyn has any power to stop the turning of the moon.  She reaches out a hand to gently stroke her daughter’s soft hair.

“You’ll need one if you would like to bear little children for your handsome husband someday,” she says, pulling Sansa back into the crook of her arm.

Sansa sniffles.  “But I hate blood, mother.  I hate it.”

“As do I, sweet child, but there are things we all must endure.  When your moon’s blood comes for the first time it means you are a woman grown.  It should be joyous, in truth.  Something to be celebrated.”

Sansa thinks for a moment, then nods slowly.  “When my moon’s blood comes, I will be strong, just as you are, mother.”

Catelyn looks down at her daughter, so soft and kind, but never fragile.  She does not know if she would consider herself strong, but she hopes little Sansa can be.  

She remembers her own mother's words when her betrothed had been murdered and it was announced and she'd wed his brother.  She'd cried for days, locked away in her room refusing all food offered to her.  "You must be strong, my sweet Catelyn," her mother had said, "for your family."  In a world of men, a weak woman has little chance of survival and even the gentlest of women must be brave for the sake of the ones she loves.  She does not tell Sansa this yet, though, letting her daughter still dream of a life like the songs.  

Catelyn combs through her daughter's curls with her fingers and presses soft kisses upon her forehead until the tears have dried from her cheeks.

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iv.  You Told Me to Protect Him

Joanna & Jaime/Tyrion

...

Joanna’s proudest moment as a mother begins with Jaime storming into her room with one hand dripping with blood and the other dragging his little brother behind him.

Her immediate horrifying thought is for Tyrion, that something awful had happened to the little one she’d tried so hard to protect.

But Tyrion is laughing and his mismatched eyes show no signs of distress. 

“What happened?” she asks her eldest son, whose eyes are murderous.

“They were mocking him, mother, the little cunts.”  Joanna knows she should be appalled by her golden son’s unsavory choice of words, but she finds a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.  “He asked if he could play with us and they called him an ugly beast.  They said you should’ve… I can’t even say it.  Those miserable sons-of-whores made him cry.”

“And whose blood is that on your hand?” she asks, knowing fully well the answer.

“You told me that I’d need to protect him.  So I did.”  He shrugs, unclenching his blood-smeared hand.  “I don’t think they’ll ever bother him again.  Not while I’m around."

She’d heard worse said of her son than 'ugly beast'.  Tyrion was born small and deformed, but nonetheless a Lannister and nonetheless her son.  They’d said the most when he was first seen around Casterly Rock, but she’d quickly silenced them. 

“Any who dare speak ill of my son — my Lannister son —  shall find themselves drinking poison to burn the words from their tongues,” she’d said to a serving boy she’d caught laughing at baby Tyrion’s expense.  And the word had quickly spread that Lady Joanna threatened poison to those who mocked her son.  Of course, as rumors always do, this one evolved in an interesting way.  Lady Joanna will carve out the tongues of those who make jokes of the baby.  Lady Joanna will set the lions upon those who even look at Tyrion with amusement and let them feast upon their flesh.  All lies, but if the lies could keep her fragile son from hearing their mockery, she was content. 

But where she could easily silence the jesting of foolish men, she never could keep the boys from mocking.  They don't fear poison or lions like wise men do; they only fear their fathers.

Joanna wants to pull Tyrion toward her as she always does, to hold her only child still small enough to fit in her arms and tell him that she will protect him.  But the boy still holds his brother’s hand, laughing and gazing at Jaime as if he is the Warrior come to life.