Cersei:
What is wrong with him?
She furiously paced in her chambers. She could not understand. She was doing everything right, and yet with all her labor, she had nothing to show for it.
Cersei could count the smiles he gave her with one hand and still have fingers left.
What is wrong with him?
She couldn't help but repeat her question. She could not understand how this was going so poorly.
It is not me, she was quick to defend, I've been the perfect host. I've been kind to his brother.
She carefully picked what dresses to wear to try to entice him and to show him how lucky he was going to be.
I show him what a beauty I am and he barely looks.
Then it came to her. The only thing that could make sense in her troubles with him.
The Prince was a sword swallower.
What else could it be? He barely looked at her. She showed him all the wonders of the female form and yet he gave her nothing. No lustful looks or teasing touches.
What other reason could there be for him to not be interested in me?
It all made sense. What else could explain his indifference to me?
The more she thought about it, the more it just fit.
It was never me. It couldn't have been me.
She nearly laughed in delirious relief at figuring it out. Her reassurances were welcomed with a relieved smile as she checked her reflection in the looking glass. A beautiful woman looked back at her. The most beautiful woman looked back at her.
Her dress was nothing fancy, red silk, gold laces, and of course the proud Lannister lion. She was not meeting her betrothed, so she put little thought in her attire. I am meeting my mother and the Princess, and was a bit relieved that she could take a reprieve from some of those dresses she had been wearing.
And it was all for naught, she reflected on the truth she figured out of her betrothed. I could've been naked and he would not have blinked or cared.
She put that aside and focused on what she now had to do. Thinking over what her next move should be with the Prince, she felt an unexpected thrill go through her. This is my chance to show how clever I can be.
Was this how Father felt when he put down the Reynes and Tarbecks? She couldn't help but wonder, he showed he was clever and ruthless, and I am his daughter.
He adapted to his rebellious bannermen so surely I can adapt to this, Cersei reasoned. She knew she would not be the first woman to take a husband who preferred men.
And they did not have my beauty and charm and yet they were able to give their husband heirs. This was a challenge she'd gladly accept, another chance for her to show just how great she can be.
Now that I know what I am dealing with. I can try a different tactic that will get his attention. I can let him know that I know, she liked that idea. I can prove to be a friend and confidant, sympathetic to his plight.
The sudden knock at her door broke through her planning, but she did not frown or growl in frustration. How could she? She had just crafted a perfect plan within one morning. Her father could do no better.
"Yes?" She called to the intruder.
"Cersei," It was the voice of the Dornish Princess.
"Come in," Cersei moved to greet her.
This was the woman who claimed to be the Prince's friend, but she didn't even know his truth, she nearly smirked at the Princess' mistake, but decided against it. She'll be family, and she tried.
Princess Elia Martell was still dressed in her family's colors, but Lannister red could be clearly seen, blending in with the colors of House Martell.
"Princess, this is a surprise," Cersei embraced her when she was close enough. "I thought we were to meet in my mother's solar."
"We were, but I thought it'd be better if we walk together," she suggested, her dark eyes twinkling when she added, "A chance to discuss your betrothed."
"I would love that," Cersei smiled in return, not wanting to miss a chance to gloat that she knew something the Princess didn't. It made her wonder if Jaime knew the truth about the Prince.
I doubt it, she dismissed after considering it quietly for a second, He's not the sharpest sword. Upon imagining her brother's reaction when he found out about his best friend, she nearly laughed.
"Shall we?" Cersei asked, and Elia accepted with a nod and a smile and the two went off. Walking through the family wing of Casterly Rock on their way to her mother's solar.
"I've heard you and the Prince have spent a good amount of time together," Elia's voice was anything but innocent. "I take it, things are going well between you?"
A waste of time, she wanted to say, now that she knew the truth of the prince.
"We have," she settled for that answer. "The Prince is not what I expected." She was amazed by her own wit and cleverness at times. A pity that so few can recognize it, lamenting the fools she was surrounded with.
"Oh?" Elia's voice betrayed her interest while her dark eyes hid her thoughts.
"Yes, he is," Cersei would relish this. She realized she could not wait. She had to tell someone how she had solved it and how quickly too. How she figured out the prince's secret when none of those around him could including her brother and his betrothed. "And now that I know the truth of him, I can prepare myself for what is to come."
"The truth?" Elia's eyebrows knitted in confusion, "What sort of truth do you speak of."
Cersei wanted to roll her eyes. She decided against it, despite the temptation. "Of the prince's inclinations," Cersei answered in a tone that conveyed it was as obvious as the sky being blue.
Her future good-sister stared blankly at Cersei's vague words. "Inclination?" She repeated, frowning, "I do not follow."
Must I spell it out? Cersei bit back her annoyance and instead offered the princess a smile before she looked around the corridor to insure they were alone. When she figured they were, she made the reveal, "The Prince's preference towards men."
The words had barely left Cersei's mouth before the Princess' confusion crumbled into a fit of giggles. Loud and mirthful, she covered her mouth to try to stem them, as her cheeks grew rosy. "Prince Daeron?" She said in between her peals of laughter, "You think he is a pillow biter?"
"Yes," Cersei was frustrated at Elia's response. "This is no jest."
That only made the princess laugh louder. To the point, she stopped herself in mid step to recover from this mirthful fit. "Forgive me," she apologized in between the bouts. Her dark eyes were now shimmering when they met Cersei's. "You are mistaken, Cersei." She composed herself, but the amusement remained in her eyes and etched across her features. "The Prince has no interest in men."
Cersei frowned. "Of course he does."
"He does not," Elia shook her head, her dark hair swishing back in forth at the motion. "My brother laments it to this day." She spoke casually of her brother's tastes. "He was most disappointed when the prince declined him and said as much."
"Mayhaps, he was not interested in your brother," Cersei found herself arguing.
He has to be! What else could it be? There was nothing else.
Elia shrugged. She did not take it as an insult for her brother. "I do not think so, Cersei." She declined gently. "The Prince has had," she stopped herself.
She speaks with such confidence, Cersei wanted to frown. The idea that the princess was familiar with the prince came to her suddenly. She felt something stir inside her belly at the mere thought.
It is wrath for my brother, she refused to see it as anything else.
She wouldn't, Cersei did not need to consider it for a heartbeat more before realizing it was folly. Elia adored Jaime, she thought with pricked pride, in the same way the Prince should me.
I do not know much about the prince, she admitted, but she knew and saw enough to know he'd never hurt her brother.
"Had what?" She had a sinking suspicion of what was being implied. She ignored the shifting in her chest. It is not that!
"That does not matter," Elia dismissed her concern with a brief smile, "But what is important is that you will no longer be disappointed in the belief that your husband would not prefer your company." As if to reassure Cersei, she grabbed her hands and squeezed them.
It did not comfort her. It angered her.
She wanted to sink her claws and roar in rage. As she was forced to confront this possibility that she had failed somehow.
If the Prince has had someone, Cersei soured at just the thought that she could not compare to this whore who somehow found her way in the Prince's bed.
The Prince chose someone, In a voice that sounded like Father, And it is not you.
The disappointment in the tone nearly made her shudder.
I have not failed, Father. I will not fail this family. She wanted to scream back.
"Cersei?" Elia's accented voice broke through, "Are you well?" A look of concern fell over her tanned face, "Shall I fetch the Maester?"
"No, no," Cersei answered hastily, "That will not be needed." She tried to sound reassuring, as well as look it. I will not look weak. I will not look confused. I am a lioness. I will not falter.
"The Prince has been difficult with you," Elia did not try to temper her words, "Because he does not forget how you once were. How you once acted." Elia paused, a challenging hue in her eyes as if to try to refuse what had been said.
Cersei wanted to refuse. She wanted to cling stubbornly to her argument. She did not want to see.
"I thought that would not matter," Cersei confessed in a tone that she should've despised.
This is not the roar of a lion, but the meowing of a kitten. She suddenly felt tired. The strength sapped from her. All of her confidence being drained as if she was covered by dozens of leeches. A slow, painful pull of everything she was proud of being.
You've failed.
Your pride has doomed us.
Each blow fell upon her with the force of a warhammer.
No, no, no, she could not disappoint them.
You've shamed this family.
With that she felt herself shatter like glass.
She hit something-hard. Cersei blinked back to the present to find herself with her back to the wall, sliding down onto the floor.
I cannot be wrong. She wanted to shout. It isn't my fault, Father.
Then suddenly a memory of her youth was pulling at her:
She was a young girl swimming in the waters of the Sunset Sea. The waves were churning, and she was kicking, resisting. She had refused to get out, because she did not want to look weak like the others. She had thought being a Lannister would save her, that she could prove her strength and show she was better than all the others.
The water was unrelenting. It did not care who she was. It did not matter how much she kicked or how much she fought. She gagged at the bitter taste of saltwater in her mouth while her breaths became haggard. Her arms grew tired, and her legs slowed as if weighed down by lead.
It is not the waters I'm drowning in, She found herself feeling the same way she did all those years ago, It is my failures. My foolish pride among others.
Just as she had been cautioned that day by her mother, had she not been cautioned by Elia about this matter. She ignored them then and she ignored them now.
Her reflections of her failings were interrupted by an unexpected embrace. She blinked to see that Elia had crouched down in front of her and put her arms around her. Cersei did not fight it. She did not hate it. She returned it.
The embraces before between us had always been more for show. I'd hug her, but I never really meant them.
Now, she held tight to the woman who in a few days would be her good sister. And for one of the few times she could remember, Cersei was thankful that she'd be getting her for a sister.
When it ended, Cersei pulled away, head dipped, afraid of what weakness shimmered in her eyes. Even still, I act like a cornered cat and not a lashing lion.
"If this was Dorne, you would rule and not your brother," The Princess' words were unexpected.
Cersei hesitantly raised her head to see a small smile from Elia. Her dark eyes shone. It was not in disgust. It was not mocking. No, it was in understanding.
"Instead, you are in Jaime's shadow. You are forced to do things you do not want while having to watch him do everything you want and think you can do," Elia's tone was somber, "You are not the Lady of the Rock, but a piece for Casterly Rock to use. Your betrothed is no different. A prince he is, but he is just as much a piece as you are. He too must struggle in his brother's shadow just as you do."
It seemed so simple and obvious when said like that, Cersei thought on it. And still I refused to see it.
"What do I say?" But she already found herself knowing the answer.
Elia's words hung heavy on Cersei's mind.
I have ripped the veil away, She had been forced to confront truths she did not want to.
Now, she stood quietly, unnoticed in a small alcove. From here, she could look down onto the training yard to see her betrothed sparring with the kingsguard knights. Cersei had come here often as a girl, slipping out of her lessons with her septa to hide here. In the shadows, she longingly watched her brother train and fight. While she cursed the womanly shackles she had been forced to wear.
The sound of swords clattering pulled her from her childhood memories and back down onto the training yard where the Prince was sparring against Barristan Selmy. They were using real steel, and even at this height, she saw the ruby of Dark Sister winking in the light. In the prince's hand, it looked more an extension of his arm, as he matched the knight's strikes and thrusts with parries.
And then with a shout, Ser Gaunt joined the fray, attacking the prince with Ser Barristan following behind. The two knights were well coordinated in their strikes but the prince fought them off valiantly.
He's incredible, she watched in quiet awe. She knew the knights were holding back some of their skill and talent to accommodate the young prince, but she still thought it an impressive display.
The last time she saw him spar it had been for Dark Sister. He had fought his brother, and she had been so enraptured by Rhaegar that she never really appreciated what she saw. Jaime had tried to tell her. She had dismissed it. Believing Rhaegar would defeat him with ease.
I refused to give him his due.
A grunt, pulled her eyes back to the yard just in time to see the prince push one of the knights into the dirt. Looking closer to see it had been Ser Gaunt, but the action prompted only an apology from the prince, who was still engaged against Ser Barristan.
Ser Gwayne laughed it off, before pushing himself up and throwing himself back into the fight, just in time to block the prince's strike that was aimed at Ser Barristan.
It forced to the Prince to spin away from a cutting arc of Ser Barristan's sword.
"Be aware of your surroundings," Ser Barristan lectured as they fought.
"Do you need help?"
Cersei turned in the direction of the yard to see her brother sauntering in. He looked to have hastily put one some makeshift practice gear that the guards wore. He held his sword loosely in one hand.
"It took you long enough," Daeron threw back, ducking his head from a slash from Ser Gaunt.
"I got lost."
"In your own castle?" Daeron's dismay carried over the song of steel.
Her brother's response was to laugh before he entered the fight to find himself against Ser Gaunt.
Lost in Elia's chambers, Cersei imagined, but found herself more amused than annoyed. Her opinion on the princess having shifted considerably these last few hours due to her continued support and counsel.
"Ser Arthur?" Ser Barristan asked casually, as if he wasn't currently sparring with the Prince with real steel.
The Sword in the Morning had been watching from the stands with Prince Viserys. "Yes, Ser Barristan?"
"Would you care to join us?" Barristan called out. An amused lilt in his voice. "To teach these men the lessons of the uncertainty and unfairness of combat."
"Gladly," Ser Arthur chuckled.
"I hope my brother wins," Viserys supplied happily as two Targaryen knights stepped forward to take Ser Arthur's place at the young prince's side.
"Thank you, brother!" Daeron replied in a half grunt, and half laugh.
Cersei felt her fingers twitch impatiently. She was quiet and useless watching as Ser Arthur stepped into the sparring area where his fellow knights were currently fighting Jaime and Prince Daeron. After a silent few heartbeats of consideration, the Sword in the Morning turned to her betrothed, who now found himself fighting two of the more famous and formidable knights in his father's kingsguard.
Prince Daeron cursed loudly.
"I heard that," Viserys said in a tattling tone.
The laughter of the sparring yard melted away as a memory sprung up between her and the Prince.
With practice you could be the next Queen Visenya.
Do you think my father would allow that? You think my future husband would want a warrior as a wife?
She could not deny the desire she nursed for years of watching her brother fight while she had to sing or stitch. She dared not hope, afraid of the familiar, but bitter taste of disappointment if she was wrong about the man she was set to marry.
Does he mean it now? She wondered, now that he was her future husband. Some of the finest warriors in my family were women. Seems foolish to forget them or worse ignore them.
"Prince Daeron?" A booming voice pulled her out of her musings.
She looked down to see more of Prince Daeron's friends had arrived. There was Prince Oberyn Martell, Eddard Stark, and the towering Lord of Storm's End, Robert Baratheon. She also spotted amidst the men, the beautiful violet eyed Ashara Dayne and on the other side of Eddard Stark was his sister, Lyanna Stark, a small dark haired girl, who was a year or two younger than him.
"I was about to complain you've been keeping us waiting," Robert was more amused than annoyed at the delay.
"Jaime," Eddard Stark said in tired resignation, "You were supposed to get the Prince."
"I got distracted."
"Forget the ride, Ned," Robert said, "I want to fight."
"What fight?" Ser Barristan asked before sharing a look with Ser Arthur and in a blink, they moved in tandem, too fast and too skilled for the prince who found himself disarmed and defeated. Ser Gwayne followed seconds later with his own move that brought her brother onto the ground with the knight's sword tapping his chestplate.
"That wasn't knightly," Jaime groaned from where he landed.
"Battle rarely is, Jaime," Ser Gwayne responded grimly.
The conversations and noise that followed from the training yard was pushed aside in her mind at having heard what their plans for the afternoon were.
They're going riding? This is my chance.
At that thought, she slipped out of the alcove and made her way to her chambers, hoping to get there before the Prince showed up to invite her.
She grinned the entire way back at the thought that her betrothal was finally looking up.
Daeron:
"My Prince."
"Princess Elia."
He frowned, confused at why Jaime's betrothed was in his chambers.
Daeron was sweaty, dirty, and not in the mood for company.
The ride had been exhausting under the sun leaving him hot, and tired, and the sparring before that had made him sore. The only thing he wanted in this moment was a few minutes of peace. And a hot bath. Neither of which he could accomplish with Elia here.
The Dornish princess rose from where she had been waiting. "How was your ride?"
"It was good," He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. "A pity you did not join us." He moved past her, hoping she'd take the not so subtle hint.
She did not. "Thank you for at least considering me," She called back to him. "The same cannot be said of your betrothed."
Daeron stopped at that. He felt his shoulders tense, but he refused to feel any form of guilt at his decision. Ever since he arrived at the Rock, the Lannisters had thrown their daughter at him. Every time, and he was tired of it. Of the smiles, the honeyed words, the lies that she hid behind her pretty face. He wanted to spend time with those he trusted and liked, and his betrothed was not one of them.
I'm already betrothed to her, he wanted to say.
He did not think it some terrible deed that he wanted to spend an afternoon without her. I'll be spending my whole life with her.
"I doubt she noticed my absence," he dismissed, "I suppose she's still reeling from Rhaegar."
A snort came from the Dornish Princess. "This afternoon she was reeling, but it had nothing to do with your brother and everything to do with your carelessness." Elia's tone gave him pause. It was sharp and very unlike her.
"Not inviting your betrothed?" She shook her head, an incredulous look followed. "Do you not see how that would reflect on her? You've shamed her in front of her family and all of her household and their guests."
"Shamed?" He nearly scoffed.
Elia did not back down. "She was in tears when she came to see me." Her dark eyes were hard as onyx. "She told me she overheard your plans from the training yard and she retreated to her chambers, awaiting your arrival and invitation."
He winced. "I did not know that."
"No, because you do not care," Elia gave him no sympathy. "How long do you think she waited until she realized that you were not coming? When did she figure out what all the castle already knew? That you rode off with your friends including noblewomen, and your betrothed was not only not with you, but wasn't even given the courtesy of an invitation."
"She'll recover," Daeron knew his tone sounded petulant, but he did not care.
"As you have," Elia threw back, "About this entire arrangement."
"I think you should leave, Princess."
She made no attempt to. "I think you need to listen." She met his gaze without flinching. "Unless you wish to get one of your knights to force the future Lady of Casterly Rock to leave."
"Very well," He recognized a defeat when he saw it. "Does your betrothed know you're here?"
A faint smile came to her lips. "Of course he does."
There it was. He felt a slight pang inside his chest. He was happy for them, but he was also envious. Theirs was a betrothal he coveted. How they felt for another. How they talked and trusted one another.
And what was I given? A bride who'd pick my brother over me every time. He pushed those thoughts aside and settled on mirth instead of bitterness. "Then he cannot be mad at what I am about to do."
He retreated to the privacy screen in his chambers so at the very least he could change out of his clothes. If he was to be chided he'd rather not be smelly and dirty too. He was out of sight from her.
A soft chuckle could be heard. "I will not tell him that his friend got undressed in front of me before our wedding day."
Daeron laughed from where he stood. It was a welcome release. He could feel some of the tension slip away. "My thanks, Princess."
"I do not know who would be more jealous, my betrothed or my brother," Elia's light tone was a welcome change to the chiding one he had been greeted with. "And on the matter of my brother, if he were here, he'd tell you among other things that you needed to remove your head from your arse, my prince ."
He knew while the screen would give him privacy that it would be a flimsy shield from the verbal bludgeoning by the Dornish Princess. "Is that so?"
"It is."
He did not respond right away. He slipped out of his dirty riding clothes and put on a fresh black tunic. The thin material helping to alleviate the heat he had just been feeling from his old attire. He sighed, feeling better already.
"So I should be happy that I'm marrying a woman who cared little for me and who pined after my brother?"
"Women are pieces to be moved by men," Elia observed bluntly, "And it seems unfair of you to be upset with her that she was placed before your brother. That was her father's choice."
"A choice she was in favor of."
"What woman does not want to be Queen?"
"You."
That got a quiet chuckle from her. "You are right. However, I am blessed in my betrothal. Many women are not when it comes to the men they marry. If you do not believe me than look to your own mother."
An icy drip went down his back.
In his selfish petulance, he had forgotten all about his Mother and her problems with Father. Their conversation before he left replayed in his mind, and he wanted to wince and curse at reliving it to see how he was acting and how he was speaking.
I did not want to see them. A nd worse, I protested such petty things to a woman who faces worse problems every night.
The more he reflected on it, the sicker he felt.
"Prince Daeron?"
The memory swirled away at the sound of Elia's voice.
"Do not worry, Princess, I have not slipped away from your scolding" He tried to jest, but it fell flat.
She's married to a mad man, and I whine over a beautiful woman and a castle, he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. I refused to see anyone's problems but my own.
So many others have disappointed Mother, I cannot be one of them.
He stepped away from the privacy screen in new and fresh attire, but thinking back on his selfish thoughts and peevish attitude, he still felt dirty.
She showed me patience and gave me comfort and I threw it back at her just so that I could gripe.
The guilt worming in his heart by how he acted.
"You are right, Princess." He admitted, and he knew what he had to do.
"My prince," Cersei greeted him politely, opting for his title instead of his name.
"Cersei," He returned the greeting with a smile.
Her smile was formal, not friendly. "Was there something you needed?"
"Yes, there was," He pushed past her chilly reception towards him.
"I am sorry about this afternoon, my lady," He saw her body stiffen at the mention of her snub. "It was wrong of me, and you deserve to be better treated especially by your future husband." He dipped his head to her. "I hope to have your forgiveness when you are ready to give it."
Cersei regarded him behind jade eyes, hooded in suspicion. Her small, pretty mouth pursed together as she looked him over, quietly measuring his words and his tone, but then she nodded. "You are forgiven, Daeron."
"Thank you, my lady," He was relieved and tried not to show his surprise at her sudden forgiveness. He remembered Jaime often complaining about how prickly and stubborn she could be and how she clung to slights with both hands and refused to let go.
Has that not been you with her? He frowned at that honest barb.
"My prince," Her mouth turned upwards into an almost shy smile. The anger that had been lurking behind her green eyes vanished. "And," She paused, as if she wanted to say something else. She then bowed her head to hide the warring emotions she was secretly feeling, "I am sorry as well."
"My lady?" He was not expecting that. This was all catching him off guard.
"I-I have," she tried to find the right words, her ensuing struggles lessened some of his natural suspicion and had him inclined to believe she was sincere.
Elia had told me of her willingness to change, should I not give her that benefit if we are to move forward? In seeing her before him, he found her more endearing than any of their conversations since arriving to the Rock.
This gave him a glimpse of the woman behind the beauty, and decorum, the act she had been putting up. He had seen it in parts in how she wonderfully handled Viserys and her time with Dark Sister.
In those glances, he saw a woman he would not mind getting to know more. And perhaps one day calling my wife.
"I have been unfair to you," She finished, settling on the words. "Jaime has always spoke highly of you, and I did not heed his words." She flashed him an apologetic smile.
"Thank you, my lady," Daeron was grateful for the effort at her surprising but welcomed apology. "I have a gift for you."
"Oh?" There was a curious lilt in her voice.
"Yes," He was still smiling, before he turned and gestured for Ser Gwayne to come forward. He could see his betrothed was trying to see what it was. In a not so subtle move he turned to block her view.
She frowned at him, but her sparkling green eyes belayed it.
"My Prince?"
Ser Gwayne's words caught the Prince in his silent and unexpected admiration of his betrothed's beauty. He cleared his throat, but caught the sly look from the knight. He did not want to see how she had reacted. So instead he took the item and then turned around to present it to her.
He knew he chose wisely by the instant reaction it got out of her.
Cersei let out a soft gasp. Her eyes wide in surprise.
In his hands he held out a sparring sword.
"What is this?" She looked at it as if it wasn't real. She then ran her fingers along it as if to assure her it was not imagined. The sword was really there.
"It is yours."
"Mine?" Her golden eyebrows furrowed together, but he saw the excitement shimmering behind those green eyes as understanding came to her expression.
"Yes," He confirmed. "I cannot promise you that you will be the next Visenya," He hesitantly put his hands over hers which had been resting on the hilt. To his relief, she did not pull her hand away, "but I can promise that as long as you wish to learn and train, you will have my blessing, my full support, and myself if needed."
"You mean it?" Her voice as soft as a whisper.
"Yes, my lady," He smiled, "And when your skill improves, I shall have a sword forged for you, but all great knights must first train with this."
"Thank you," she said breathlessly, slowly taking the sword out of his hands. Her mouth parted as her eyes took it in with a disbelieving sheen. "For the sword, for the gesture, for the support," she said in a rush, a faint pink blush followed on her cheeks.
"You are welcome, my lady." His smile grew. "You are to be my wife. So if any man is foolish enough to try to stop you when I am not here you let them know that a dragon's displeasure is a terrible thing to behold."
"I will," Her green eyes flashed like wildfire.
"Good," He was silently pleased at how well the gift went over. He reveled in seeing the fierce lioness before him and no more of that ditzy maiden that had been too prevalent since he arrived.
"When can I start?" She did not try to hide her eagerness.
Daeron chuckled. He then stepped aside and offered her his arm. "My lady, I thought you'd never ask."
Curious to see what Daeron does next? You can get a head start on Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons by checking out the early chapters on my Website at https://dravenshadefall-shop.fourthwall.com
Jaime:
The sept at Casterly Rock was golden and glorious.
It was one of the newer additions of the Rock. And by new, he meant that it had only been added thousands of years ago when the Andals married into his family's line. The names escaped him, but he did recall that Lannisters that followed, added and enriched the Sept to win favor with the Seven as well as to show the magnificence of the Lannisters to all who visit their seat.
Expensive glass bathed the room in a rainbow of light, Jaime stood at the center of it. Looking out at the rows upon rows of empty seats that would be filled tomorrow with all the nobility of the Westerlands, Dorne, and from other important houses throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
The Seven stood perched in their spots, looming down and bespeckled with jewels and glittering in gold. To the pious and the poor, this would enamor them. For Jaime it meant very little.
His eyes went to where the Warrior stood vigil. His sword was shining in his hand, a beacon to protect those in need. His countenance determined and jaw set, armored and prepared to defend the faithful.
When Jaime was a boy, he decided the only time he'd eagerly step foot inside a Sept was to be when he was doing his vigil the night before his knighthood.
Now, here I am, he smiled, and he wasn't about to be knighted. He was about to be married. I yearn more for the title of husband, amused at the differences upon his reflections of his younger self.
Tomorrow I will say different vows.
In front of so many, he added as an afterthought, picturing the crowded Sept. His family would be the closest, and he took some comfort in that. In his mind's eye, Mother was smiling, Tyrion happily watched not entirely understanding it all, Father… He paused, would Father smile? Would he be proud?
He thought he would, but a smile from Tywin Lannister was a hard thing to earn unless you were his wife.
And Cersei, he stopped on his sister, long ago he buried the special relationship they thought they had for each other. He had thought Cersei his world and loved her because of it, and would do anything, all she had to do was asked, and she did. Sometimes they were simple things like letting her dress up as him so she could attend his lessons or try to spar in the training yard. Other times it was something else, and for one fleeting second, he remembered the embraces they shared, and the feel of them together. He pushed the memories away. Thankfully, Mother had found them. She had stopped them. And watched them and then pushed him in the direction of Elia Martell and Jaime never looked back.
He didn't think Cersei ever forgave him for that. In her twisted view, she saw him as abandoning her for a Dornish princess, but he wasn't. She was still his sister, and he loved her, but she could be difficult when she was not given her way and did not forget slights real or imagined.
And, I am not the most patient, he admitted, believing it unfair to put their fractured relationship solely on her.
Tomorrow she'll be sitting beside her prince, her betrothed. She would look beautiful, he had no doubt, but she hoped she was happy. It didn't have to be for him, but for her and for the future that awaited her.
He remembered Elia telling him she had plans in motion for the two, but she did not say much, claiming she'd spoil it by telling. Jaime had been frustrated, but trusted his future wife and let it pass, hoping his family realized how thankful they should be in having her be the next Lady of the Rock.
After his uncles and aunts, there would be the Dornish, Princes Doran and Oberyn. The latter allowed a brief reprieve before his exile to attend his sister's wedding. However, Jaime knew his friend well enough to know, permission or not, Oberyn would not miss anything of Elia's.
My other friends will be near, he thought of Robert and Ned. They're more brothers than friends, Prince Daeron too. He corrected, thankful for their presence in his life. He had no doubt that Ashara would be standing beside Ned regardless of how it would be perceived. Aware that there was no promise of a betrothal between them and the pair may be unfairly parted.
If anyone tried to put themselves between me and Elia, I'd carve a bloody path to reach her.
Past his friends, he looked out at the rows filled with distinguished guests: Strangers, toadies, loyal, or ambitious, the Dornish nobility, and his father's bannermen.
One day my bannermen. The truth felt like a daunting obstacle rooted in front of him, and one he had to try to overcome. How could I follow my father? He saved our house. He rules the Seven Kingdoms.
The answer was swift- Elia.
And it made him smile because he knew it was true. My father has Mother, and I will have Elia. The greatest boon I could ask for if I am to rule the Rock one day.
"Eager are we?"
The sound of her warm accented voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Her timing was impeccable.
He looked to see her walking towards him. A knowing smile on her lips, her dress was wickedly cut, and gave him great glimpses of her olive colored skin. Upon her neck was resting a golden chain made of the speared sun of House Martell.
"Very eager," Jaime was having trouble keeping his eyes to her face.
Elia laughed, and her hand touched his chin, a gentle tap followed.
He looked down at her and smiled. "You are tempting me, Princess."
Her dark eyes flashed. "Am I?"
"Yes," Jaime answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He then leaned down and closed the distance between them in a kiss that his betrothed was very receptive too. Her taste was sweet and exotic, a headiness filled him and the soft moan that escaped her lips was enough to stir something within his chest.
She hesitantly broke it. A humming sound followed while her eyes betrayed her own lustful wants. "You'd kiss a betrothed woman in front of the Seven?" She teased, one of her hands had somehow found their way through his hair.
"They didn't stop me," Jaime grinned.
She laughed, "No, they did not." Her fingers combed through his hair before she dropped her hand but Jaime was quick to grab it, putting it between his. She did not resist and her smile grew. She then led him to the empty row where tomorrow their families would sit and watch as they married.
"I'm tempted to go grab the Septon and marry us now."
Elia smiled, "Impatient, are we?"
"Very."
"Does the septon not answer to your Father?"
"I'll do it at sword point if I had to," he shrugged. In that moment, he did not care about the consequences that came with a secret and hastily arranged marriage or threatening a septon.
"Sword point?" Her eyes seemed to hold the golden hue of the flickering candle lights when she met his stare. "And what would all the visiting noblemen say who came all this way for a wedding?"
"They'll congratulate us," Jaime replied, "And then try to drink our cellars dry."
Elia made a noise, but did not betray her thoughts on his answer. "You seem to have this all planned."
"I've been thinking about this for awhile," he answered honestly.
That earned him one of her small, but warm smiles. "Oh?"
"Yes," The truth was he had wanted to marry the Princess even before the betrothal was announced. He said as much to her and was rewarded with a kiss. He barely had time to appreciate the feel of her lips on his before she broke it.
"I am the blessed one," She then rested her head on his shoulders. "Now tell me all about these plans you have for us."
So he did.
What is this?
Sometime later, they had left the Sept with Jaime promising to escort his betrothed back to her chambers.
He stopped in their walk at the sound of voices. He moved to the nearby balcony allowing him to look down onto the training yard a level below them. Prince Daeron was sparring. He noticed the white cloaked spectators of Sers Barristan and Gwayne on the outside to give the prince and his sparring partner some room.
Elia had come up alongside him.
"He's not using real steel," Jaime found that odd. The Prince never fought with blunted swords after Ser Barristan deemed him ready to train with steel. He found his eyes drifting towards the prince's sparring partner. They were wearing a helm, so he could not see their face. The sparring partner was dressed in dirty trousers and a red tunic. The clothes looked strangely familiar to him.
That made him frown. Those were mine.
"Well done," Daeron praised, "But you need to keep your guard up."
"It is difficult."
"Cersei." Jaime said in a half strangled voice at the realization that the Prince was sparring with his sister.
Elia giggled beside him which made him turn to her. He did not need to read her look to know she was aware of this development. He remembered back to her cautioning him when he pried for details about what was said to encourage the Prince and Cersei.
"You have her fighting," Jaime whispered, wondering if he needed to go down there to put a stop to this.
"Not me," she said with all the innocence she could feign.
He frowned. "This is your doing."
"Mine?" She was still smiling, "I said no such thing about fighting and swords."
"You look very pleased," he accused.
"I am," she did not try to hide that. "Shouldn't you be too?"
"Pleased?" He looked at her in dismay. "Of my sister fighting?"
"What is wrong with that?" Elia asked in a tone that conveyed she was in the right and Jaime was in the wrong.
"Women should-" He stopped in his answer remembering he was talking to a Dornish Princess who saw the roles of women a lot differently than the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Realizing his mistake, he held up his hands to placate her.
Satisfied at his change, she did not pursue his folly.
"I can show you." The Prince's voice carried over into their conversation.
Jaime turned away from Elia who looked very pleased with herself and back down onto the scene below. Prince Daeron moved to stand behind Cersei, and then put his hands on hers in an effort to show her how to hold the proper form. The Prince then said something too low for Jaime to hear, but he did hear the responding giggle it got from his sister.
Just when Jaime found his voice and was about to shout at them, Daeron stepped back and encouraged her to try again. She did and to Jaime's continued surprise, it looked decent.
What is happening? Nothing made sense. Cersei was learning to fight? The Prince was helping her.
"They are happy," Elia pointed out, a slight lilt in her voice that perfectly carried over her feelings on what was happening - She was right and he was wrong.
"They are," he repeated in a dull sounding tone. Watching the practice between them continue. "But Cersei learning to use a sword?" He shook his head, it didn't seem real. He didn't think his sister had the patience to truly learn the skill. It was a challenging road that looked easier when you were looking at it instead of walking on it.
"How do you think my father will react?" Jaime had an idea and it was not pleasant.
"He should be pleased that his daughter and the prince are getting along."
"Pleased?" Jaime repeated incredulously, "Do you not know my father? He cares about our reputation and his daughter is wearing trousers." My trousers, he wanted to add, wondering when his sister stole those. "And she is sparring in the yard like a common guard."
Jaime was not sure he could see a way where if his father walked by to witness this where it didn't end with him sending Cersei to her chambers immediately and a stern conversation with the Prince.
Elia did not seemed bothered. "His daughter is already betrothed to him. And if her future husband not just approves of it," She then paused and tilted her head towards the yard, "But is participating in it then what does it matter how your father will take it."
"This is…" Jaime's voice trailed off. He was not really sure he had a word that could capture the conflicted confusion that he was feeling in this moment.
"I understand your need to protect your sister and your house," Elia guided his face towards her, by cupping his cheeks, "As well as your father's role, but perhaps, we should not be so quick to stamp this out."
"You may be right." Down below, he could hear the sound of sparring swords clashing against one another, dull and blunted. It was a different tune than the songs of steel.
"May?" Her hands dropped from his cheeks. She was giving him a certain look.
Jaime did not budge. "May." He was certain father would not look kindly at this. And yet, as he looked down at his sister trying to follow Daeron's instructions. He found himself hoping that his Father would approve or at the very least begrudgingly allow it to continue.
He remembered how much Cersei had longed to go to his training with the Master-at-arms. And it would appear her desire to pursue it had never dwindled as she got older.
"I can speak to father if needed," Jaime found himself saying. Seeing his friend and sister, who both looked to be enjoying themselves solidified his shaky resolve in his decision.
How many more bloody songs and prayers are there?
Jaime found his patience waning.
Here he was standing with the septon, no Elia in sight. He didn't find it quite fair that he had to listen to the droning of the septon while the bride stayed behind, shielded from this boredom.
He tried his best to keep his smile as the septon extolled the virtues of the Seven. He felt the eyes of all the assembled crowd upon him. Jaime had heard that this was the largest gathering of a wedding that the Rock had ever hosted.
I can not be seen as an impatient toddler. He tried to remind himself. I must look the Heir to the Rock.
A soft yawn broke through his thoughts, and he couldn't help but smile. He didn't need to glance over to know it belonged to his younger brother. He envied Tyrion, who would be forgiven with his action dismissed as that of a child.
If only I could be that lucky.
He thought back about his previous idea of holding the septon at sword point, and couldn't deny how much more appealing he found it now. Jaime could cut away all this needless filling and get to what mattered. The vows, but at this moment, he settle for seeing his bride.
As if the Seven heard his griping, the septon made the announcement to bring her forward.
The sound of hundreds of heads turning, and bodies shifting as they all moved as one in their seats to turn to the entrance.
There Jaime was given his first glimpse of his bride, the Princess Elia Martell.
She was radiant in white silk. Amidst the pale cloth there was streams of orange and gold, rivers of sunlight woven into the fabric that made Elia brighter than any star. Her dress was cut with a plunging neckline. Her bronze skin only looked more tantalizing against the pale silk. Her sleeves were slit with more gold and orange woven up the seams of it. Upon her head rested a coronet fitted for a princess. Intricately designed that shone as brightly as the red Martell sun etched into the middle of it. Cut rubies were spread out around it to mimic the rays of sunlight. Her dark hair was braided and curled falling around her, a halo of night, that framed her delicate, and pretty face.
Jaime was certain he looked a gaping fool, breathing in his bride's beauty. However, he could not find himself to care as she neared him. Her smile was as stunning as her golden banded necklace. Beside her, and serving as her escort in replace of her deceased father, was the Prince of Dorne, her older brother, Doran. He looked proud at his young sister when he presented her to Jaime. His dark eyes misty.
He could not stop smiling as he took her hand from Prince Doran. No words were exchanged, but the message was clear between them when their eyes met. Doran gave him a small smile and a tip of his head.
Her hand on his arm they took the few steps to reach the Septon. He felt the beating of his heart against his ribs, bundled and excited. He was finally near to what he's dreamed for so long with the woman beside him.
The septon looked between them with a friendly smile. He then turned to Jaime. "You may cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."
Jaime did not need to be told twice. His fingers were deft in their unclasping of the maiden cloak of House Martell. He handed it to Prince Doran, who took it and stepped backwards allowing the bride to move forward into her new family.
The Lannister maiden cloak was given to him by his father, who stood tall and proud. Jaime did not miss the small, but noticeable smile on his father's face when he accepted the cloak or the look in his eyes.
This was the cloak Father used on Mother.
It looked worn since this was the cloak that many Lannisters before them wore. The fabric was smooth and rich, a deeply colored red. The golden lion stood regal, roaring its defiance. Jewels and other fine materials were sewn in, but Jaime did not care to study it. He turned and moved to cloak his bride.
When he was finished, he couldn't help but marvel at the sight of her finally in his family's colors.
No, now they're our colors.
"My lords, my ladies," The Septon's voice pulled his eyes from his bride. "We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."
Jaime was not sure he heard a more perfect line in his life. He took Elia's hand, their eyes meeting as they stood side by side in front of the septon. Who proceeded to tie the ribbon around their joined hands.
"Let it be known that Elia Martell and Jaime Lannister are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who seek to tear them asunder." The tying of the knot was done. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." The septon then unraveled the ribbon that had joined their hands.
"Look upon each other and say the words," The septon instructed them.
In one voice, he and Elia recited their vows: "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger-"
"I am hers and she is mine," Jaime declared. "From this day, until the end of my days."
"I am his and he is mine." Elia promised. "From this day, until the end of my days."
"With this kiss, I pledge my love," Jaime announced and turned to his wife and kissed her amidst the applause of friends, family, bannermen, and nobility, but in that heartbeat of bliss as their lips touched, the only thing in the world was him and her-husband and wife.
Joanna:
This is our legacy.
She looked out from her seat in the Golden Hall. Spread out before her the revelry and the pageantry that came with bringing two of the Great Houses of Westeros together. Every table was filled, music was playing, food and drink was being served, as all the guests took in the might of the new marriage between Lannister and Martell, a union of the Westerlands and Dorne.
One she did not waste any time respecting, making sure courses were served to their guests with food, wine from both the Westerlands and Dorne. She would not treat their new allies as strangers, but wanted to welcome them into the Rock and show the lion embraces their friends. She expected some to sneer at the Dornish courses, old hatreds run deep, some prejudices were not cleansed so swiftly, but that did not concern her.
They'll get used to it, and they'll eat it. She knew they would. The sheep always do.
On the walls or hanging from the rafters were the banners of the houses who were attending the wedding. The most prominent one was neither the Dornish sun or the Lannister lion. It was the the three headed dragon of House Targaryen. The two Targaryen princes in attendance were sitting at a table to her left along with her children, Cersei and Tyrion.
At that table, her youngest son, Tyrion was sitting between Prince Daeron and Cersei. His mismatched eyes taking in the grandeur of the feast before him with unmasked awe. His face moving this way and that, trying to capture everything that was happening around him. A wide smile split his face. Without Cersei's coaxing, Joanna was certain her boy wouldn't even be eating. He seemed more intent on seeing it all in front of him instead of the food on his plate.
Other banners stood out that showed the growing influence of her family, and the friendships her heir was wise to make. There was the crowned stag of House Baratheon, the Lord of Storm's End. The grey direwolf of House Stark, the Wardens of the North. They rarely ventured south of their borders, unwilling to play at southern politics.
Not unwilling, she corrected, unable . They were just too stubborn to admit it. However, the Lord of Winterfell, Rickard Stark was surprising her. It seemed he was capable of playing the game and his moves were intriguing her. He betrothed his heir to Lord Hoster's prized eldest daughter. While his second son was seeking to court a Dornish maiden.
What are you up to, Rickard? She had met the man a few times, gruff and stern, but shrewd. She could see he had plans of his own she just could not see where they led.
For a reclusive family, she thought, they were suddenly very willing to spread themselves in the south.
It was not just Lord Stark who was making plans, Lord Hoster was currently fostering the Heir to the Vale. It would not surprise her if the Lord of Riverrun was trying to secure a match between his second daughter, Lysa Tully and the Heir, Denys Arryn. If that were to happen, suddenly they'd find a very strong and tightly woven coalition between the North, Riverlands, and Vale. She did not like the possibility of an alliance so close to her borders without any Lannister influence.
She knew Lord Arryn looked at Robert and Eddard as sons to him, but he was old and if he passed, there was nothing of those bonds to hold them together. It was the Riverlands, she knew that her family had to address. Lord Tully's heir was a growing young man, younger than her Jaime. Perhaps she could get Edmure Tully to serve as a page or squire to Jaime, or the Prince Daeron or one of their friends.
A chance to form a bond to insure the Lion wasn't forgotten.
It was a matter that she would keep her eyes on.
While she was curious about the Stark's strange new southern interests, she was not worried. Rickard's second son, Eddard was one of Jaime's closest friends, joining Prince Daeron, and Lord Robert Baratheon. She could not help but compare them to Tywin, Aerys, and Steffon when they were younger. They were inseparable, loyal, and ambitious. All having plans to succeed their fathers and wanting to put their own marks onto the Seven Kingdoms. Sadly, the friendships have frayed, Steffon's tragic and untimely death, and Aerys turning into a cruel shadow of the once charming and promising heir.
May my son and his friends never feel that same tragedy of a dying friendship, she prayed, knowing how much they valued and respected one another. May theirs only grow stronger in the coming years.
Looking on at other banners, to her, it was not the ones that were on display to show who had come to the wedding, but those not seen that were the most satisfying to her. Amidst their bannermen, two were noticeably absent. The red lion of House Reyne and the seven pointed star of House Tarbeck.
Joanna would never forget the audacity of Lady Ellyn Tarbeck. She remembered when she found out that when Lady Tarbeck had captured her brother, Stafford. The rage she felt at the gall this bannermen had at not just taking a Lannister, but making threats and demands. It was outrageous, and she had been furious.
Thankfully, where Tytos saw a mistake, and was quick to forgive for a fake smile and a few honeyed words, Tywin saw the need for retribution. It was her Tywin who would teach them a very valuable lesson in what happens when one incurs the wrath of the real lion.
Why should I pity houses that threatened mine? Why should I weep for bannermen who would see the Lannister Lion leashed? She smiled at the annihilation of her family's rivals.
They wanted us low and weak. To cast us out and rule in our stead. They got what they deserved. Her conviction would never waver on that.
And here my family is, She looked around at the position her husband worked so tirelessly to restore in their family's reputation and prestige. He pulled our name out of the mud so it could shine once more.
My son is married to a Dornish Princess and my daughter will marry a Targaryen Prince.
She sipped her wine unable to contain the smirk at how their revenge had only gotten sweeter. We continue to rise while they sink further into the depths of the dirt to be forgotten. Their bones and names will only be dug up now to serve as a warning of her husband's resolve and the Lannister's wrath.
"You've outdone yourself, Dear."
She turned to see her husband was looking at her. "Thank you," she touched his cheek, "But what else would you expect from your wife?"
The golden flecks in his eyes shone in amusement. "Nothing less," he put his hand atop hers and guided it back down to the table, but he made no effort of letting go. "I still think Jaime should have been knighted before he was married."
She had heard this all before, but humored her husband. Joanna knew Tywin well enough to know this was hardly a quibble for the Lord of Casterly Rock and Hand of the King. "Your son would never have accepted it," she pointed out. "He's like his father in that regard." She said lightly, "Will not accept it without earning it."
He responded by gently squeezing her hand, but the corners of his lips crooked upwards.
"How many times do you think they'll play the song?" she asked wryly.
"Quite a few," Tywin answered, a rare display of mirth touching his tone.
"Shall we make a bet?"
"On?" His voice could not hide his interest.
"On how often its played."
He thought it over quietly for a few seconds, "Very well," He sounded equally amused and intrigued.
"Good," Joanna was pleased. "I'll allow you to pick the number."
"How generous of you," He replied. "I will say no more than ten times."
"Ten?" She repeated, believing it a low number. They had hired more than twice that many singers, and minstrels and every one that had ever come to the Rock insisted on playing the song. Claiming they could play it best, or in a way they had never heard before. They believed a few strings of a harp and a well sung song would earn them some acclaim or gold from the Lions of the Rock. Such pitiful hopes.
"Ten, it is."
"And the terms of the winning?"
"Confident, aren't you?" She teased.
He turned to her with a look that she couldn't help but laugh at. Cherishing her husband's rare, but wonderful sense of humor. "For a moment, I thought I was sitting next to Gerion."
Tywin met her jape with a stare that was all show and no bite. "You can be very vexing."
She grinned, "Would you have me any other way?"
"No," he leaned over and kissed her cheek. His mouth then moved to her ear, "Thank you."
Joanna did not need him to clarify. She nodded, touched by them.
I gave him no new lands. No new wealth, but he wanted me all the same. The great Tywin Lannister, and it was me who he picked. An honor she'd never forget, and was so thankful for the man she married.
"I love you, Tywin," she said softly, underneath the jubilance of their wedding guests. She saw the look that passed over his face at her words, and how he smiled.
"And I you, Joanna."
The moment between them did not linger as the duties of Lord and Lady of the Rock and hosts to this lavish ceremony pulled them in different directions to servants and guests. Tywin's brother, Kevan came to approach him, and the two talked in hushed voices, and she was certain it was about her husband's plans for Summerhall, the future seat of Prince Daeron and their daughter, Cersei. Plans she and Tywin had already discussed, so she did not pay attention to what was said between the brothers.
Instead, she looked past him where their son and new good daughter sat at their own private table at the center between the Lannister and Martell families. She watched with quiet adulation at how the newly married couple only seemed to have eyes for each other. Whispering and laughing, sharing food off each others plates, and each others hands, and drinking from each other their goblets.
Her heart swelled at seeing her son being so happy. It did not lessen the small, but selfish ache in her chest at having her oldest, no longer being the young boy, who'd follow her around. He'd beg for her to tell her stories or to watch him train in the yard. Her son who was always so quick to hug her, and always wanted to make her smile and happy. My boy, she reflected on the wonderful memories of his youth, but she accepted who he was now: a man and a husband.
And I couldn't be prouder.
It wasn't until sometime later into the feast and evening when the din of their guests' celebrations had died down. The minstrels were still happily playing, ' The Queen took off her Sandal, The King took off his Crown.' In the aftermath of her son and bride being carried away and stripped by the rowdy, lusty, and the drunken for their bedding.
That was when her husband leaned over towards her. "They've stopped playing the song."
She did not try to look innocent when she met her husband's stare. "Of course they have." Joanna wasn't going to say what bribes or orders or threats were made to insure The Rains of Castamere would stop being sung and played at just the right amount needed for her to win.
Instead she asked him. "Did you really expect me to lose?"
Tywin smiled. "No, I did not."
Curious to see what Daeron does next? You can get a head start on Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons by checking out the early chapters on my Website at https://dravenshadefall-shop.fourthwall.com
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