The fairy tale was so very simple.
The beautiful princess. The handsome prince. Her happily ever after.
She had found the book in Myrcilla's nursery, picking it up almost casually. The faded elegance of the cover had seemed out of place amongst her daughters possessions.
She had turned it over, tracing the well thumbed pages, noticing how it was smudged at the back, as if it had been enjoyed many times. She was intrigued.
Her own childhood had been made up of sibling rivalries and dresses. The books she had been given sat pristine on their shelves and gathered dust. She even remembered well the time her governess had gone complaining to her mother, little suspecting that her charge had just discovered a new game which consisted of hiding beneath tables and listening to grownups.
The lady had listened attentively for about ten minutes while the Septa outlined her problems but had suddenly raised a hand for silence.
'I thank you for your dedication to your work and to your charge, but I hardly think my daughter's disinclination towards work and books is anything to worry over. See to it that she is not so uneducated that she seems a fool, but beyond that let it be. She is a woman and she must be beautiful. Let other members of the family comprehend so long as she is willing to play her part.'
The words had stayed with her far longer than any scolding her inattentiveness might have brought her. She had locked herself in her rooms for an entire hour and tried to make herself read, to make herself understand.
Abandoning that she had become wilder, her determination to be more than herself growing into something of an obsession, one that in later years would form a constant undercurrent for everything she did.
Now picturing her daughter she wondered if the child had felt anything of that pull. It seemed impossible that she should not. Oh of course there were women who were happy in their roles, but they were fools and they were not Lannisters.
Restlessly she paced, the book almost forgotten in her hands. Faraway worlds. Fairy tales. In the story the princess does not seem to mind that she is bartered for her families advancement to men not of her choosing.
They never looked elsewhere than their intended save for when a particular servant with something about them caught their eye, and only then when the man was conveniently a prince in exile; and never did the resulting scandal reflect poorly on their guileless innocence.
She imagined her daughter's face, sweet and eager as she poured through the familiar comforting stories. Yes of course this would be escape of a different sort, one that came not from donning a brother's attire to fool the court, but which took place within the mind.
A way of conveniently forgetting the true destiny of a princess to sell into the myth that the commoners bought and exaggerated.
She thought of her daughter aship and sailing to an unfamiliar home and betrothal. Now she would meet with the full force of the reality.
But it was not her daughter she thought of as she leafed through the well worn pages. The beautiful woman who glanced coyly back at her from gilt and paper seemed more of a reflection of herself.
A younger her, one whose youth and beauty could not be contested. Whose life had followed her own plan rather than the plan chosen by others. And the man whose arm was linked through hers was not a Robert, even as he had been in his youth before the years had bloated him.
It was not Jaime either, for the eyes and the hair if not the beauty were a striking contrast. The princess from the fairy tale watched her from the side of Rhaegar Targaryen, and though the semblance could not have been deliberate it seemed to her that the similarities grew with every second that she watched.
Hating suddenly, she slammed the cover on her smiling rival and put the book back with the others. The nostalgia of her visit thoroughly shattered she left the empty nursery with a storm in her eyes, searching for someone on whom to vent her newfound bad temper.
Opportunity obliged in her brother, standing in the middle of the hallway on his twisted legs and speaking to that sell-sword he had insisted on keeping close to him.
Alerted by his lounging companion the dwarf turned, exposing a visage common to every monster who the rightful prince must conquer.
'Sister dear,' he had greeted her, taking in the fury of her steps with ill concealed pleasure. 'How kind of you to grace us with your presence. Please do tell the secret to your continual good temper. I know the court is full of eager maids bursting to know the key behind such a charming countenance.'
'I should hardly think a dwarf need concern himself with the whims of maidens,' she had rebuked him sharply.
'Surely it is keeping away from your curdling smile that will keep any woman high spirited and young.' Glaring at the exaggerated grimace of pain the imp had assumed, and the amused turn of the sell-swords mouth she forced herself to recall time and place.
'Where is my son?' she demanded suddenly. 'I imagine he is with his Septa' he replied deliberately misunderstanding.
'JEFFREY' she snarled, and finally he pointed languidly in the direction of the courtyard. 'I imagine he is gone outside to play with his new piece of sharp steel. Why don't you run on down and stop him from slipping and stabbing himself through the heart.'
The cursed dwarf exchanged a look with his companion. 'I know the kingdom would be distraught at such a loss.' He added.
'Take care of how you address the mother of your prince,' she snapped, but left before he could say anything else to darken her already dangerous mood. She had no doubt that Jeffrey would indeed be where he had told her. Her child; golden and dashing. Her prince, and the one which would not bring her only to disappointment.