Jaime:

"I yield!" Jaime called out in frustration, back on the ground, sword out of reach, and his right elbow tingling in pain having absorbed most of the impact from his fall. The sword of his opponent hovering inches away from his face, angled towards his exposed throat. It was a blunted blade, but an uneasy feeling still clung to him.

Prince Daeron Targaryen lowered his sword. "You fought well." He then offered his hand to help him up.

Jaime took the hand with a nod, as the Prince helped him to his feet. "Thanks," he brushed himself off, "I've never seen that counter riposte before," he confessed, that move had been what had caused him tumbling the ground and admitting defeat.

The Prince gave a proud smile. "Ser Barristan taught me that."

"It's an incredible move," Jaime admitted, wincing as the tingling of pain in his elbow reminded him just how good of a move it was. "Thought I had you."

Daeron took his words with a chuckle. "You almost did." He then clapped him on the back.

"Well done, both of you," Ser Barristan congratulated them both.

"Thank you," Jaime replied quickly, still amazed that he was talking to and learning from Ser Barristan the Bold. All of it thanks to Daeron who had invited him to join him in his morning lesson with the legendary knight.

"You have a lot of talent, Jaime," Barristan complimented him, "And I know you'll only get better when you grow older and stronger." His hand scratching at his chin. "Yes, greatness could be in your future with that sword in your hand."

Jaime's chest filled with pride at such a bold prediction from Ser Barristan. "I'll try not to disappoint you."

"It's not me you should be worried about disappointing," His blue eyes were kind. "Stay true to yourself."

"I will, ser." Jaime vowed.

Satisfied, that his message was taken to heart, Barristan turned to regard his squire. "You need to tighten your form and your stance," he said plainly. "You may have won the contest, but you never should've found yourself at such a disadvantage."

Instead of sulking or protesting at such criticism after a victory, Daeron perked up at the knight's words. Nodding along to them, "of course, Ser Barristan," he replied respectfully, a serious hue in his eyes as he took in the knight's advice.

Barristan smiled, "Good lad," he praised, "A knight should not shield himself from criticism, otherwise he risks being defeated," he warned, "But not by another's greater talent, but his own crippling pride."

"I understand."

"Good, we shall call an end to this lesson today." He looked to the prince expectantly, "You have duties as my squire to perform before the tournament is to start."

Daeron nodded, "I'll see to them at once, Ser Barristan." He then turned to Jaime, "It's been a pleasure, friend." He extended his hand.

"Aye," Jaime happily agreed, shaking his hand. "It has."

 

 

"Not to your liking?"

Jaime covered his mouth as he coughed, the sour taste leaving a bitter blaze down his throat. The Dornish Red had been given to them by Oberyn, who then encouraged them to help themselves, claiming they needed a way to pass the time with the tournament having ended for the day and with the feast still an hour or so away.

"It's something," he answered weakly.

"I think you'd prefer to taste a different Dornish," Oberyn was smirking.

Jaime felt his face heat up at who the prince was referring to. He kept his face down not wanting to give Oberyn the satisfaction to see how true to the mark his teasing had been.

Daeron chuckled. "You do not sound mad, Oberyn."

"Mad? Why should I be?" He sounded confused at the idea, "Who am I to stand between what my sister wants."

"Really?" Jaime's head shot up in an instant at that. Only to see the Dornish prince's eyes shimmer in amusement. Jaime then tried to recover, clearing his throat, "I mean, really?"

Oberyn shrugged, "Mayhaps," he put his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair as he did. However, his eyes stayed on Jaime. "Unless there is a reason I should involve myself?"

Jaime wasn't fooled by the prince's loose, unthreatening posture knowing, like a snake, he'd lash out if needed, or if threatened in a heartbeat. While he remained coiled, his dark eyes took him in, silently measuring what sort of man he was and if he was worthy to be the recipient of his sister's attraction.

He tried his best not to stir in his seat as he met Oberyn's stare, whatever anxiety he may have felt in his gut dissipating at the earlier reveal that his sister, Princess Elia did seem interested in him.

For a few heartbeats, all Jaime could hear was the sound of his own heart as it drummed against his ribs, even though it felt and sounded as if it was beating between his ears. Just before Jaime's restlessness could get the better of him, it was Oberyn who blinked first.

Smooth as silk, he leaned forward, a smirk on his lips, but said nothing, as he poured himself more Dornish Red.

Just like that it was over for Jaime. With the moment having passed, he felt the tension melt away, breathing a sigh of relief. Hoping he had passed the prince's inspection and met with his approval.

"I hear you look beyond the shores of Westeros, for your future, my prince?" Oberyn had turned his attention towards the quiet Targaryen prince.

"I do," Daeron confirmed, his wineglass in hand, but he looked to have barely had touched it, until Oberyn's question prompted him to take a rather noticeable sip.

"What is this?" Jaime asked, caught off guard by the shift in conversation.

"My future isn't here," Daeron put down his wineglass, "It's in Essos."

"Essos?" Jaime repeated, surprised and confused by the Prince's answer. "You're a prince," he chided himself for how dumb he sounded with that simple objection.

"Aye, I haven't forgotten," His lips twitched, but he didn't smile, "There's not much for me in Westeros," he admitted, "I've always wanted to see the Free Cities."

"My Uncle says they're lovely," Jaime recalled the great stories his favorite uncle, Gerion had told him of the places he visited and the sights he saw when his uncle had visited the Free Cities to celebrate his coming of age. Those stories had fueled Jaime's excitement about his own coming of age day, and wanting to share a similar tour that his Uncle had gone on. Jaime had made the mistake of mentioning it to his father, who had declined the idea rather swiftly and brutally.

You'll have the Rock, his father had said, a better gift then a tour of back water cities

That had been the end of that conversation and any remaining aspirations Jaime had had of seeing the Free Cities.

"Yes, such new and sweet fruits to taste," Oberyn popped a grape into his mouth.

"I could carve my own reputation and fortune across the Narrow Sea," Daeron's pale purple eyes seemed to shimmer at the possibilities. "I'll get by through my accomplishments and not have to depend on my brother's generosity. " He then smiled, "After all, I have enough coin I could even start my own mercenary company."

"I must say, I find this appealing," Oberyn admitted, "I may have to accompany you on this adventure you seem to be planning."

"Your presence would be welcomed, Prince Oberyn," Daeron looked pleased at the idea of not leaving Westeros alone, "You too would have an invitation, Jaime."

"Thank you, my prince," Jaime couldn't deny the appeal of such an adventure especially among friends. "I am honored."

"Though, this is just talk," Daeron cautioned them, a tone of melancholy in his voice, "It'll be years before I set sail to the Free Cities."

"That is no matter," Oberyn didn't seem bothered, "I am patient," that earned a snort of amusement from Daeron, and even Jaime couldn't stop the chuckle that came to him at the obvious lie. Oberyn took their reactions with a grin, and a shrug, "Very well, not patient, but I am a man who can keep himself busy."

"I'll drink to that," Jaime put in, and he did, to the sound of his friends' laughter.

 

 

"I think I'll take my leave," Oberyn suddenly announced.

The three of them had just left the feast that was being held to celebrate the end of the first day of the tournament. The sound of raucous laughter and drunken boasting could still be heard, echoing off the walls as the minor nobles and Westerlands bannermen continued to enjoy gorging themselves on his father's food and drinking up his wine.

"So soon?" Elia couldn't hide her surprise at her brother's abrupt decision.

"Yes," Oberyn answered, "I'm sure you'll recover, sweet sister," he poked her shoulder with his elbow, chuckling when it got her to frown. "Besides, I do not leave you alone."

In that second, Jaime thought he saw Elia's perfect composure crack, looking flustered at her brother's tone, her dark eyes darting to him and then back to her brother, before she regained her poise.

Or it's just my pride deceiving me, Jaime was quick to point out, before he remembered Oberyn's earlier remark: Who am I to stand between what my sister wants?

That was when Jaime realized what his friend was intending to do…

"Off with some wench, brother?"

"Only one?" Oberyn feigned hurt, "You think so little of your brother's charm?"

"Only because I've seen it," Elia replied with a playful smile.

"Ah, sister, as much as I'd enjoy this exchange of barbs," he wrapped his arm around her shoulders for a quick embrace, "I have other uses for my tongue," he winked, "As I'm sure you do as well."

"Oberyn," Elia's tone suddenly became as sharp as their ancestors' famous spears, Oberyn didn't even flinch at it, laughing it off as he walked back towards the Golden Hall where Jaime had no doubts that the Dornish Prince would grab some wine and a wench or two for his evening entertainment.

Jaime stood awkwardly in the hallway, eyes glancing from where a quiet and flummoxed Dornish Princess stood and towards the retreating figure of a Dornish Prince. His thoughts relaying Oberyn's earlier words while nervousness and uncertainty churned in his gut. Hating himself, for how his tongue felt clumsy and how his wit seemed to abandon him as the silence continued to stretch between them.

"It must be fun having him as a brother." Jaime found himself saying.

She turned to face him, a wistful smile on her lips, "Oberyn has always been a handful."

"I could imagine," Jaime replied dryly, feeling his heart flicker at the encouraging and musical laugh his joke had gotten from the Dornish Princess. "Shall we try to salvage this evening without him?" He offered her his arm.

"I cannot think of a better way to spend my evening," she tucked her hand into his arm.

The two went off on a silent stroll, Jaime barely paying attention where it was they were going, most of his thoughts and glances were towards the Dornish Princess, he had on his arm.

"You and your sister couldn't be much different then Oberyn and myself growing up."

You have no idea, was the first reply that came to him, but he was quick to clamp down on that impulse. "We are twins," immediately regretting the answer for how stupid and obvious it was. Some of which dissipated at seeing the smile it bloomed on Elia's lips.

"We were close," he picked his words carefully, not wanting even a hint to be uncovered of just how close they once were.

"Were?"

"Still," Jaime said quickly, realizing he should've been smarter with what he said, "I mean," he found himself amending, "It was easier when we were younger," he pushed away the memories that wanted to emerge, "When we had more time together."

"Yes," Elia's tone was all understanding, "Before your duties separated you?"

"Exactly,"

"You know had you been born Dornish, Cersei and not you would be heir to Casterly Rock."

Thank the Seven for small mercies, was Jaime's wry response, upon thinking of his impulsive and proud sister inheriting the Rock. He wasn't certain their family could endure that hardship. "A regret my sister laments," Jaime lied smoothly. Aware of the disdain his sister had upon the Dornish as a people, even if they let their women inherit titles and lands, she would still look down at anyone that wasn't them.

"Not to say the Rock isn't in capable hands now," Elia said, as if realizing her previous remark could've been perceived as an affront to Jaime.

Jaime chuckled at her sincere worry that she had insulted him. "Don't worry, princess," he assured her, "Neither myself or my hands felt any offense." He emphasized his words by bringing his hand to gently pat the hand she had tucked into his arm.

"I'm relieved," her eyes lingered on where his hand had was resting on hers before looking up to catch him watching her, dark eyes through thick lashes, and full lips that seemed more enticing then Jaime had ever remembered, "Where are you taking me, Jaime?"

Jaime swallowed at the enticing image that she presented before him, the soothe, rich accent of her voice, the demure tone that had just a hint of wickedness to it. His free hand clenched into a fist as if to try to will himself and his thoughts to remain under control. "The Godswood," blurting out the first name that came to mind. "There's something I want to show you."

"Lead on," she whispered, the softness of her voice accompanied with her intoxicating accent brought an involuntary shiver out of him.

"Have I offered you congratulations?" Jaime decided a change of topic was needed, "At the birth of your niece."

A bright smile flashed across her face at the mention of her newborn niece, "Arianne," she said the name with warmth that rivaled the Martell sun that made up part of their sigil. "She's a precious little thing," Elia went on, "and it is a relief to my brother to know Dorne has an heir."

"Indeed," Finding himself distracted as he watched how her face lit up and her eyes shone as she talked about her niece, the heir to Sunspear.

"Trouble in believing Jaime?" she teased, taking his distracted tone into believing he didn't fully agree with Dornish customs. "Do you not think women are commendable into ruling."

"No, no," Jaime hastily wanted to put that damaging idea out before Elia saw him in that light, "Women are very commendable," he didn't look away from her gaze when she regarded him with his words.

"Are they?" she challenged, a dark eyebrow raised up at him.

"Very," Jaime's eyes flickered from her dark eyes to full lips.

"I'm glad to hear that," she looked away first, and Jaime was certain or at the very least hopeful that he saw a faint blush on her cheeks.

His thoughts on what he saw stopped when they reached the Godswood of Casterly Rock, a beautiful and lush garden of various greens and flowers and a cobbled path that the two found themselves walking along. Jaime was always impressed at how well the upkeep was for an area that his family rarely used or even visited, but he was glad for it as he led Elia past the heart tree of the Godswood, a weirwood tree, pale bark, red eyes, with a half-smile carved onto its lips, as if it was privy to a jape that no one else could understand.

"Just over here," he was pleased to see the sun hadn't quite set on the Rock, wanting Elia to get the best view she could. He knew she had it when he heard her gasp. He led them to a small clearing on a cliff lip at the edge of the Godswood giving them an unrivaled view of the sunset.

The soft reddish glow of a setting sun, dipping beneath the horizon, casting shades of pale orange and red along the aptly named, Sunset Sea, that blazed as if it was a Sea of fire while streaks of purple crept along the setting expanse, winks in the sky, as the stars began to shine, heralding the coming of the night.

"It's beautiful," Elia's dark eyes looked at it with wonder, her mouth parted in awe.

"It is," Jaime agreed softly, but his eyes were on the Dornish sun not the setting one.

 

 

Cersei:

"Did you hear him play?" Cooed Jeyne Farman, a fat and foolish girl of Cersei's age.

Of course, I did, Cersei wanted to snap at her, she wasn't deaf. He played for me, she thought with a contented sigh, her tears had since dried from the sweet, but mournful songs he played, but she would never forget this night.

After a day of thrashing every opponent he came across in the tournament including Cersei's uncles and several members of the Kingsguard, her Rhaegar played that night, showing the soul of a bard as he perfectly played his harp to elicit the most beautiful and sad song her ears had ever heard.

He was the fitting image of a crown prince, handsome and regal looking, garbed in his black and red silk doublet, tall and slender with silvery hair and the most beautiful eyes that Cersei longed to drown in. Long fingers that strummed at his harp, but when she closed her eyes, she imagined them on her, the images that came to her mind's eye made her face grow warm with a haze of dizziness filling her head.

Soon he'll be mine, Cersei was giddy.

My king, she gushed softly, my husband, she felt her heartbeat quicken at her future. All of Westeros would call her Queen, her father would bow to her, her mother would bow, Jaime would bow. The last one made Cersei smirk in triumph, she would savor watching him bow to her, and making sure he called her, Your Grace .

Take your plain princess, Jaime, Cersei thought, I will be a Queen.

First her Rhaegar would defeat Ser Arthur Dayne in the final tilt of the tournament tomorrow, and then he'd crown her, his Queen of Love and Beauty.

Me, she thought proudly, then that night at the feast, their betrothal would be announced, all of Westeros will learn that she was to be their next Queen.

In her mind's eye, she could see Rhaegar's indigo eyes looking at her with affection, a smile on his lips, his smooth voice, promising to love her.

"The Prince is handsome," Melara admitted in a reluctant tone. She was a bold beauty even with a handful of freckles on her small nose and rosy cheeks. She was already a woman, having flowered, an achievement she liked to point out whenever she could. "But I still would have Jaime."

"Jaime already has his eyes on the princess," Jeyne giggled, "he's quite smitten with her."

Because he's a fool, Cersei wanted to say, how could someone as beautiful as her brother, her twin be attracted to that drab Dornish princess?

Melara looked put out at the reminder of Jaime's affections being directed at Princess Elia. "That's alright," a wicked smile came to her lips, "I still have my imagination and my hands."

Jeyne's face burned scarlet, looking scandalized at the crude, and not so subtle innuendo, "That's not lady like!" she scolded her friend.

Melara didn't seem to care. "It feels good." She then ignored Jeyne's sputtering remarks and turned her eyes towards Cersei. "Are you ready?"

"Almost," Cersei answered.

The three of them were sneaking out of the castle and were going to pay a visit to this fortune teller who had put up at a tent near the tournament grounds. Melara had been the one to tell them about her, claiming she was called, Maggy the Frog, who brewed loved potions and had the gift of looking into the future.

It sounded like nonsense to Cersei. The idea of a love potion was laughable to her, why should she ever need such a thing? She was beautiful, everyone told her that, and they claimed that once she flowered, she'd be the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.

I already know my future, she thought confidently, I'm to marry the prince and be his queen.

That being known, Cersei still couldn't deny her curiosity at meeting a fortune teller. It sounded exciting, and sneaking out of the castle was daring and promised to be a thrill onto itself. So, she had agreed with Melara and Jeyne to go with them, the former was excited and was already listing off questions she wanted to ask while the latter had remained pale ever since they agreed. Her eyes were twitchy and hands shaking, unable to hide her nervousness at meeting the witch.

Such a coward, Cersei thought viciously, not bothering to hide her disdain at Jeyne's behavior. If they see me with a craven, they'll think me a craven. Cersei didn't like that at all. A lion fears nothing, she reminded herself while quietly wondering if she could have Jeyne sent back to her family on Fair Island. Cowards don't belong in the Rock.

Cersei went to get her jacket and hood to hide her distinguished features from the castle's guards and servants, when a knock to her door brought her to a sudden halt. She spun around to see Melara who had been sitting at the table, looked annoyed at the interruption while Jeyne looked frightened as if fearing the Stranger had come to take them away.

"Yes?" Cersei kept her voice light and casual.

"Cersei?" The sound of her mother's muffled voice coming from the other side of the closed door was enough to temper Cersei's confidence.

Before she could answer, the door opened to show Joanna Lannister, Lady of the Rock, green eyes sweeping around the room, flicking to Melara and Jeyne, who both bowed their heads at her appearance, and chorused, "my lady,"

Joanna replied to their greeting with a nod before she turned towards Cersei. "I've been looking for you."

"I've been here."

A slight frown played at her lips at that answer. "I've discovered that," her tone had a warning lilt to it, "You are needed."

"Needed?" Cersei repeated, "For what?"

"Your brother, Tyrion has offered to give the Prince a tour of the Rock and he accepted."

"The Prince?" Cersei asked breathlessly.

Her friends and this stupid witch forgotten, she moved hastily to where her mother was standing, her hand going through her hair to make sure it wasn't tangled. "I need to change," she was dressed to sneak out of the castle not to be escorted by a prince. She couldn't let Rhaegar see her like this.

"Yes," her mother watched her move with unconcealed amusement dancing in her green eyes, "Prince Daeron was very interested in seeing the Rock."

Prince Daeron, with those two words Cersei's happiness was punctured, her smile curdled, annoyance flickered within her chest. I don't want to be with the spare.

"Let Jaime do It," He was already friends with the Dornish princess and her brother, another spare, let him collect Daeron too.

"He is already with Prince Oberyn and Princess Elia."

Cersei wanted to scream in frustration at her brother for running off with the Dornish and leaving her here with the Targaryen spare. "I'm," Cersei struggled to find a lie that could get her out of this situation while also giving her a chance to still sneak out. "Am not feeling well," she coughed suddenly, her hand going to her forehead, "I haven't been feeling well since dinner," silently trying to will herself to look and sound convincing.

"Really?" A look of concern flashed over her mother's face allowing a feeling of triumph to fill Cersei at her plan seemingly working.

Her mother then walked over to her, Cersei tried her to best to look sick, coughing again, a sniffle followed that sounded believable to her ears, and she swayed on her feet as if overcome with dizziness or nausea.

"My lioness," Joana placed the back of her hand on Cersei's temple, feeling for a fever, her lips pursed together, as she looked down at Cersei with a look of pity.

It's working, Cersei forced herself not to smile at her pending victory instead turning to her mother, her mouth sagging, eyes downcast.

"Is not as clever as she thinks she is," Joanna finished, the corner of her lips tugging upwards in a smile at seeing through Cersei's performance. "Come, your brother and the prince are waiting for you." She gestured to the open door. "You shouldn't keep them waiting."

Defeated, Cersei sighed, accepting her duty, but not before stamping her feet to show she wasn't at all happy about it. She stormed out of the room without a backwards glance to her mother or her so called friends, who had been silent sheep, meek and useless.

"Have fun, darling," Her mother's voice called after her, unbothered by Cersei's anger.

That had only made her madder. Growling, like the lion adorned on her family's crest, Cersei went off to find her brother and the prince, and silently prayed that if the Seven were merciful this would be a very short tour.

 

 

"Cersei!"

Blinded by her lingering annoyance at being forced in this predicament, Cersei hadn't realized she had arrived to where her brother and the Prince were waiting until she heard her brother's happy voice.

"Tyrion," she wrapped him in a quick hug, getting a giggle out of him. Seeing him smile and hearing him laugh, she felt some of her anger deflate at having to be here.

She looked up from her smiling brother's face to see the wrong prince was waiting for her. It should be Rhaegar, not you. I don't want you.

"My lady," he bowed his head respectfully.

"Prince Daeron," she replied politely, taking the moment to study the young prince before her. He was tall, and broad shouldered. He had silvery hair, but it didn't flow like his brother's, he kept his shorter, having it fall above his shoulders. Another thing different about him than his older brother was that his eyes were lilac, and she begrudgingly had to admit he had pretty eyes.

Rhaegar was the perfect prince, she thought as she finished her silent inspection of the other prince, you are but the spare, she reflected, lost in your brother's shadow, not to be seen or remembered.

Cersei put her thoughts and frustrations aside, knowing what was expected of her from her parents especially her mother. "I hope you were not waiting long for me," she addressed the prince, but put her attention on her eager younger brother, gently grabbing his hand which he liked, who responded to it with a warm smile.

"We have not been," Daeron assured her, before nodding to Tyrion, "I was just thanking your brother for being willing to show us this impressive castle."

She listened intently to his words and his tone, eyes darting between him and her brother, alert for any slight or insult he may try to mask or use against Tyrion. Cersei hadn't forgotten what the King had done to Tyrion, mocking him with a smile and sweet words. She hadn't been fooled, but furious.

Her blood had boiled, heat burning in her chest with each word the king dared to utter towards her brother. How dare he! She had fumed, wanting to roar and attack him for his slights on someone as innocent and as kind as Tyrion.

King or not, dragon or not, she didn't care, one did not insult a lion or their pride.

Putting that unpleasantness from the past behind her, she was pleasantly surprised to see that the prince was sincerely polite to her brother through his tone and words.

"I'm honored," Tyrion said happily.

Daeron gave him a smile, "Shall we?"

"Yes," Tyrion wobbled forward, Cersei walked with him, her hand still holding his while she clung to the illusion that it as her Rhaegar not Daeron who walked beside them as they started their tour of Casterly Rock.

 

 

"Remarkable," the Prince didn't try to hide his astonishment after they finished showing him the Hall of Heroes, where Lannisters were interred, but in this tomb only those who had died valiantly were put to rest in the splendid and ornate crypt.

"The last Lannister to be buried here was Lord Jason Lannister who was killed in the Battle of the Red Fork," Tyrion informed the Targaryen prince with a formal and solemn tone that never stopped being surprising since it was coming from a three-year-old.

Cersei had distanced herself from the pair the longer the tour had gone on, she wondered just how long and how much of Casterly Rock they had explored. Though, she was happy to see her brother enjoying himself, she herself felt bored and unnecessary. So as the tour went on, she found herself drifting away from Tyrion and the Prince, as the former regaled the latter with the tales of the Lannister family and history of the Rock.

Most of it was stuff she already knew and hadn't cared for when she was taught it by Maester Desmond. Finding history dry and dull, since it was filled with men and their accomplishments. Very few women trickled into the tales of heroism or courage. While the only other few women who were featured in these stories were usually the villains, scornful and too ambitious.

What do you expect, she found herself thinking, history was written by men.

No Lannister woman had been entombed in the Hall of Heroes for any deeds of valor, but instead for being wives or daughters to their heroic husbands and fathers. Not that she was surprised, a woman's battlefield was the birthing bed, and no man saw that as a death worthy to be sung by bards or to grant them a place in the Hall of Heroes.

They'd change their mind about childbirth if they had to experience it, her mother had quipped to Cersei once when she had first learned about the Hall of Heroes and how it had excluded women.

"During the Dance of Dragons," Daeron finished quietly, face pensive.

"That's right," Tyrion agreed.

"I must say the tales of this castle were not exaggerating," Daeron declared, looking to have regained his pleasant demeanor. "I understand my ancestor's sentiment now."

"Oh?" Tyrion tilted his head up to the Targaryen Prince. "And what was that?"

"Visenya Targaryen being grateful that your ancestor Loren Lannister rode to war against my kin instead of taking refuge inside the Rock," Daeron looked around the imposing surroundings that the group found themselves encased in as they made the ascent up towards the living quarters.

"That she wasn't certain even dragonflame could have cracked the Rock."

 

 

"I am in your debt."

Finally, Cersei thought with relief, pleased that her responsibility for the night was over. Her last task being to escort her brother back to his chambers. She looked to where the Targaryen prince was speaking with Tyrion, a few feet from her.

He treats him with respect, Cersei noted, reflecting on the interactions between the prince and her brother. As he should, she reminded herself, and if he had been foolish to try a more disrespectful stance then Cersei would've corrected that mistake-quickly and fiercely.

"You as well, Lady Cersei."

She blinked from her thoughts to see the prince was looking at her with those lilac eyes, that she found alluring.

The only thing he has that his older, better brother doesn't. She quickly added, as if afraid her observation could be seen as a perceived betrayal to her Rhaegar. She gave him a quick, but polite smile, only following her duties and what was expected of her.

Not to her surprise, it fooled him, and he returned it, and bowed his head to her in respect before turning to Tyrion. "I promise to return the favor whenever you visit the Red Keep or Dragonstone."

"Really?" Tyrion's face split into a wide smile.

"Really," Daeron confirmed, "It is the least I can do."

"Thank you, my prince," replied an enthusiastic Tyrion.

As happy as she was at seeing Tyrion's excitement, she had difficulty seeing her father allowing her brother to leave Casterly Rock to go to the capital or the ancestral seat of the Targaryens.

"Brother."

Cersei recognized the soothing, melancholic voice of her prince, turning to see him standing before there, looking handsome and regal, the perfect epitome of what a prince and a king should look like.

All thoughts on the other prince discarded when his older brother and heir to the Iron Throne suddenly appeared before them.

"My Prince," she announced her presence in case she was overlooked from where she had been standing. She hadn't wanted to be around for Daeron and Tyrion's conversation, but now that Rhaegar was present, she was quick to show herself. Her heat fluttered in her chest with each step as she closed the distance between herself and him. When his indigo eyes turned to her, her legs felt like jelly.

"Lady Cersei," he acknowledged her, voice soft and soothing, before he turned his eyes to his brother.

"Father wants you to return."

"I was on my way back," the other prince sounded almost petulant. "I was just thanking Tyrion and Cersei for their hospitality."

"Of course," Rhaegar said softly, looking down at Tyrion, who bowed his head,

"Prince Rhaegar."

Rhaegar took his words with a nod but said nothing, "You are to stay in your chambers for the remainder of the evening." He didn't wait to hear his brother's reply. He turned to leave, just as quickly as he had arrived.

"Prince Rhaegar," Cersei called after her future husband. Pleased, when he stopped, and looked over his shoulder towards her.

It took all of her poise not to melt from that beautiful stare, but she proved her strength and her courage by finishing her thought, "I wish you well in your bout tomorrow."

No, I wish you victory! She immediately, but quietly corrected herself, fearing her mistake may cost her the affection of her prince.

"You are kind, my lady," and with that reply, he left them.

My lady, she shivered in delight, a tantalizing feeling skimming just beneath her skin as she repeated the words her prince spoke to her before he left.

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.