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I own Evelyne Forrester, nothing more.

My name is Chloe Jane and I broke my rule! I don't like having multiple active stories going at once. But here I go publishing a new one. I've been playing around with this idea for a while now, trying to figure out the details. I have an outline. I wrote it last night. But unlike my future Jon Snow story the outline wasn't enough.
I NEEDED to write the first chapter. and then once the first chapter was done I NEEDED to publish it for you guys.
So here it is.
I have not abandoned Hell Hath No Fury. I will simply be publishing both stories. This one will not be updated as regularly as HHNF, (think once or twice every other week, instead of every day every other week) but it will get updated.
As evidenced by this first chapter they won't be as long either. But I hope that that doesn't ruin the story for you!
This is for my enjoyment as well as yours, after all.
Okay then ... that's all I've got to say. Without further adieu ...

Chapter One: Not Your Damsel in Distress

She came to him dressed as a serving wench. That was Cersei's successful attempt to persuade him to give up his claim to Casterly Rock. A small part of him was ashamed that it worked so well, that he was willing to give up on everything he had dreamed of since he was a young boy just to get his hands on his twin sister.

But the larger part of him, the part he listened to, was too caught up in everything that was Cersei to care about his weakness.

She pushed her way into his chambers and stepped straight into his arms. Rocking up on her toes so that she could press her lips against his, she whispered, "I have something to tell you."

"Tell me then," Jaime whispered back, one of his hands falling to his sister's waist, sliding around to the small of her back so that he could press her closer to him while the other reached up to pull the hood off of her head so that he could run his fingers through her blonde hair, so much like his own. "But tell me later."

She shook her head, though she did not move her lips away from his and her hands lifted so that she could untie her cloak, letting the heave fabric fall from her shoulders and pool around her feet. "It's too important," she told him as she pushed against his chest, pushing him backwards, following straight behind him.

She pushed and kissed her way further into the room. Jaime thought for a moment her protest was just a token one, that she would wait. It had been so long since the two of them had been together he could not understand what could be more important than the two of them being together. He lifted his hand to the laces at the front of her dress, but she slapped his hand away. "No," she hissed before she stepped out of his arms. "I told you that I had something to tell you."

Jaime sighed, "Then tell me quickly," he urged her. He moved to the table by the window and poured them both a glass of wine.

Now that he was no longer wrapped around her Cersei was able to look around his chambers. She sniffed in disgust. Jaime could understand why, the inn he was staying in was not the best. But his father had refused to let him stay in the Tower of the Hand. His father had told him that he would be much too busy to have Jaime there, but he knew the truth of it. Tywin Lannister wanted Jaime as far away from Aerys as possible.

And consequently as far away from Cersei as possible.

The chambers were small and dark, but they served their purpose. There was a bed, some wine, and it was far away from prying eyes. A place where he and Cersei could be safe.

Cersei took the offered glass and sat down at the table, arranging her skirts around her like a proper Lady. As if she had not just thrown herself into her brother's arms. "Father has had a raven," she told him as she took a sip of the wine.

Jaime raised his eyebrows at her as he moved toward the window, "I'm sure that he has many ravens," he told his sister. "He is Hand of the King, after all."

"This one came from Lord Hoster Tulley, at Riverrun," Cersei told him as if he had not interrupted her. "It seems that Lord Tulley's eldest daughter Catelyn is betrothed to one of the Stark boys, I assume the eldest. With his eldest daughter preparing to head as far north as possible he wants to send his other daughter south. And west."

Her meaning was not lost on Jaime. "Casterly Rock," he murmured. "He means for her to be Lady of the Rock and marry me."

"Well, I doubt he means for her to marry Tyrion," Cersei sneered. "Not when you're so much more appealing. And so available."

"And Father's agreed to this?" Jaime asked her, raising his glass of wine and draining it in one long pull. This was not how he had planned for the evening to go. This was not what he wanted. He had wanted to spend the night wrapped in his sister's arms not hearing that his father planned to marry him to a Tully girl.

"He has not agreed yet," Cersei told him. "But he is considering it. He says that he has allowed you to be on your own for too long. You're eighteen now and it is time for you to have a wife and learn how to rule over the Rock."

"You're eighteen as well!" Jaime fired back as he poured himself more wine. "I don't see him arranging an unwanted marriage for you."

Cersei sat up a little taller, almost preening, "He means for me to marry a prince," she told him, "and at this moment there are no princes available. But Prince Rhaegar's wife is sickly, there is no doubt that she may die in the birthing bed."

Jaime's fists clenched at the thought. As angry as he was to hear that his father was planning his marriage, he was angrier still at the thought of Cersei with any other man. He did not care that the man was a prince or not, Jaime would slit the throat of any man who tried to touch his sister. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his voice almost a moan. "If Father's made his mind up there's no changing it."

"There is," Cersei insisted. "We just won't be the ones to do it."

"What do you mean?" Jaime asked her, his tone rushed. He was desperate for his sister, but more than that he was desperate for a way out of this. He knew that one day he would have to take a wife, but he wanted it to be his choice. And he did not want the Tully girl.

Cersei smiled at him and took a sip of her wine, "Ser Harlan Grandison died in his sleep last week," she whispered to him as if it were some sort of secret.

Jaime snorted at that, the sigil for House Grandison was a sleeping lion. It was fairly appropriate that the old man had died while sleeping. "He was one of the seven," Jaime told her, "one of the Kingsguard."

She nodded, "And he will not settle for six guards for long. He will be looking for a seventh soon. A younger one."

"Of course he will," Jaime agreed, still not seeing the importance. The king had always been slightly mad, but as he grew older he grew worse. People did not like him. He needed as many guards as he could have.

Cersei sighed, as if disappointed that he did not see where she was going with this. "There will be a tournament in a fortnight," she told him. "Lord Crakehall is holding it in honor of Prince Rhaegar." Jaime nodded and fought to keep from rolling his eyes. He knew about the tournament, when he was younger his father had sent him to Crakehall as a ward and a squire. He had, of course, been invited to take part in the tournament but he had not agreed to it. Now that he had fought on a battlefield he was unsure if a tournament would hold the same appeal as it once did.

He waved his hand, signaling to his sister that she should continue. "Several members of the Kingsguard will be at the tourney," Cersei told him. "Men that have the king's ear. Men that could suggest that he trade a sleeping lion for a young, roaring one."

And there it was. The point Cersei had been trying so desperately to get him to grasp. The point that his brain had been fighting so fiercely against. She wanted him to join the Kingsguard. Jaime silently shook his head, still trying to process it all.

Cersei stood from her seat and began to tug at the laces on her dress, an action that would have teased him terribly if his mind were not reeling. "We would no longer be separated," she whispered to him. "You would no longer be at Casterly Rock. We would both be here in King's Landing. Together."

Her words drew him from his internal struggle, "But Casterly Rock," Jaime told her, finally giving voice to what he would be giving up to join the Kingsguard. White cloaks could not hold titles or lands. He would give up his claim to being Lord of Casterly Rock, something that his father had been grooming him for for his entire life. Something he had been looking forward to for his entire life.

Cersei finished with the laces on her dress, "Would you rather have Casterly Rock or me?" she asked him, letting the dress fall to the ground around her feet. Baring herself to him, she was completely naked under the dress.

As much as he wanted Casterly Rock it was hard to think of anything with Cersei standing in front of him, naked and beautiful. Her gold hair shining in the moonlight. "You," he whispered, damning himself as he moved toward her to take her back in his arms.

This time she did not fight him. She welcomed him, giggling even, when he scooped her into his arms and carried her toward his bed. He threw her down, staring intensely at her as he quickly undid the laces of his breeches. In quick, fluid motions he pulled his shirt over his head and pushed his breeches down, crawling over his sister. Both of them naked now.

"We're supposed to be together," she whispered to him, the same whispered promise she always gave him before they were together. Jaime wished that he was as sure of that as she was. It was easy to be when they were both together. It was easy to believe that this was right and not a sin when they were in each other's arms and Cersei's lips were kissing him the way she was now.

But when he was alone and it was quiet. Jaime could not help but wonder if it really was right. Or if he would spend an eternity in one of the Seven Hells for what they did.

Cersei's lips left his and moved down his neck, licking and nipping their way down and she wrapped one of her legs around his hips, bucking her own so that he could feel her wet, warmth against him. He moaned, low in the back of his throat as he felt himself harden almost instantly in response.

"Say it," Cersei ordered. "Say it."

"We are supposed to be together," Jaime whispered back to her.

Cersei nodded and wrapped her other leg around his hips, taking a sharp intake of breath when he thrust himself deep inside her.

She waited a few minutes, her hips bucking up to meet each of his thrusts in their wet, sweaty dance, before she whispered. "Promise me you will go to the tourney."

"I promise," Jaime told her, punctuating each word with a roll of his hips. "I swear it by the Seven, Cersei."

"I'll be there," she promised him. "If you want the attention of the Kingsguard you must win the tournament. You must win it. And when you do, you must crown me the Queen of Love and Beauty."

"But -" Jaime started. It was not unheard of for brother's to crown their own sisters at the end of a tournament, but that was usually reserved for the Targaryens, who also married siblings. Most of the other Great Houses of Westeros did not perform that particular practice.

"It's the only way I'll know that you mean what you say. The only way I will trust that you will join the Kingsguard when the summons comes. You must do it."

Jaime nodded, "I swear it."

-.-.-.-.-

They were singing again. She hated it. There were few times that she hated being the youngest child more than when her brothers got drunk and sang the childhood lullaby that her mother used to sing her. It was one thing when they were drunk inside the hall of Ironrath, it was quite another for them to be drunk and singing it during the day as they road down the King's Road.

But she could not be angry at them. It was these three fools, her older brothers, who had convinced her mother and father to let her go to the tournament with them. If her father had had his way she would still be further north. Instead, she was riding on horseback and they were approaching Moat Cailin. She had never been further south than Winterfell. And now, she was almost to Moat Cailin.

So as much as she hated when her brothers teased her. She would not be angry with them. Not this time.

Her brother Asher was the first to notice her smile, "There it is!" he cheered, breaking away from the song to make his announcement. "All we had to do was move her south and her smile comes out, blooming like a flower under the southern sun."

Her smile quickly disappeared as she pursed her lips, playfully glaring at her brother. They weren't singing the lullaby anymore, but they were still teasing her. Asher was always the worst, at least when it came to her face. Whenever she frowned he would warn her that if she did it for too long her face would become stuck that way.

He was always the first to notice her frowns. But in turn he was always the first to notice her smiles as well.

Her eldest brother Gregor waved his hand dismissively. "Don't get too used to the sun and the warmth, Evelyne," he warned her, as if she needed it. "You'll be back in the grey and cold of the North before you know it."

"And if I like the south?" Evelyne asked, arching her eyebrows. "I know that Father did not want me to go to this tournament for fear that I would find some southern lord who would want to make me his Lady, but what if I do? What if he catches me in a net of promises of sunshine and oceans and flowers and warmth."

Rodrick, the middle of her eldest brothers, chuckled. "No southern man will catch a northern girl with promises of warmth," he promised her. "They don't appreciate it enough."

"Any man that has been north of Moat Cailin appreciates warmth," Asher argued. "Even the southern ones."

Rodrick shook his head, "The North is by far the largest of the Seven Kingdoms," he told them. "It can fit the other six inside it."

"Not that the other six kingdoms care," Evelyne cut in with a smile. "It's too grey and too cold for them."

"Aye," Rodrick agreed. "It's cold and damp, that's how the southerners see the North. But without the cold, a man can't appreciate his hearth. Without the rain, a man can't appreciate the roof over his head. Let the South have its sun, its flowers, and its affectations. We northerners have home."

Evelyne smiled at her older brother. As much as she complained about the cold grey of her home, as much as she longed to see more of the sun, she had to admit that the way Rodrick spoke about the North made her a bit homesick. She nudged her horse forward so that she was riding beside him and she reached out, pinching his cheek between her thumb and forefinger, "I believe you're in love, Rodrick," she cooed at him as she let go of his face.

"In love?" Rodrick asked her, raising his eyebrows. "And you say you're not? Would you truly trade the Wolfswood for a southern beach. Would you trade the Ironwood for some southern flower?"

Evelyne thought about it for a moment before she shook her head. She would not, she would never willingly trade her home for any other place in the Seven Kingdoms. Not that she would have much of a choice. She was a daughter after all. And as a daughter it would be her job to marry a man and become Lady of his House. At least her father was kind enough, and stubborn enough, to wait for a northern lord.

Gregor nodded in agreement, "We're Forresters," he reminded his siblings. "What are our words?"

"Iron from ice," Evelyn answered in time with Asher and Rodrick.

Gregor nodded, "Iron from ice," he echoed. "The reason northerners are so hard, so strong is because of the harsh environment and unforgiving temperament of the North. An ironwood cannot grow in the sunshine and the warmth and neither can we. Those southerners are soft, and spoiled. It is always their downfall."

"And why Rodrick and Asher will do so well at the tourney," Evelyne agreed with a smile at her two brothers.

Rodrick grinned and reached one of his hands over his shoulder so that he could knock it against his shield that was strapped to his back, "My shield has never failed me yet."

"Nor will it," Evelyne promised him. All Forrester shields were made of ironwood, a wood that was almost as strong as iron. It was said to be impossible to burn. And it was her family who owned and guarded the largest ironwood forest in the Seven Kingdoms. Her brother Rodrick had fought in many tournaments and his shield had never been broken.

Asher chuckled and took another drink of wine in his saddle before he looked at his brothers. "Another round, brothers?" he asked.

Evelyn groaned, "Please don't," she begged. But they would not listen to her. They never did.

"Little baby, hear my voice,

I'm beside you, Oh Maiden Fair.

Our young lady, grow and see,

Your land, your true land here.

Sun and moon, guide us,

to the hour of glory and honor.

Little baby, our young lady,

Noble Maiden Fair."

"Are you quite done?" Evelyne bit out once they finished. She had always loved the song when she was younger, when her mother had sang it to her. Her mother would sing it to her whenever she had a nightmare, to soothe her fears. Her brothers sang it to remind her of her place. She was a maiden of a noble, northern house. Fair and beautiful maybe, but with no real power.

It was her brothers who would go out into the world and make a difference. Evelyne would leave her home and birth children.

...

The ride to Seaguard was a long one. But Evelyne managed to forget all of that when they arrived. She imagined that Seaguard was always busy, but it was positively bustling with people who had arrived for the tournament. There was a sea of pavilions and tents that stretched for miles outside of the city and Crakehall castle. Most of them belonged to the Greater Houses of Westeros, the ones who could afford to send many men and knights to the tournament.

The inns in the city would be full of knights and squires from lesser houses. Being from the North, House Forrester did not have many knights sworn to them. As far as Evelyne knew it was only her brothers Rodrick and Asher who earned their spurs and knighthoods. But her father was not going to have them feel less than any of the other houses. He had sent the four of them with a small compliment of guards, their best horses, and a bright tent that was much too big for only Evelyne and her brothers. Not that any of them would complain.

This was their first southern tournament and they meant to show the southern knights that northmen, particularly Forresters, were as strong as they come.

Evelyne smiled at the sea of banners before them. There were many that she recognized. The silver fist on a scarlet field of House Glover. The four connected silver chains on a red field of House Umber. The Bolton's flayed man. The Stark direwolf. A Karstark's white sun. The black stag on a yellow field of House Baratheon. There weren't many from the North, their banners and sigils were almost drowned out by the southern banners, but there were enough.

When a tournament was thrown in the honor of the crowned prince all the sons of Westeros came to fight. And to prove themselves.

Gregor, who was riding beside Evelyne called her name softly and nodded toward the Stark banner, "I wonder which of the brothers came," her brother said softly.

"Brandon of course," Evelyne answered without much interest. "And perhaps Ned. He's in the Eyrie with Jon Arryn. But Robert Baratheon's stag is here. And where Robert goes, Ned goes."

"He acts as if Robert is his true brother," Asher observed.

"Isn't he?" Evelyne asked, defending the second eldest Stark son. "They've grown up together since boyhood. He's spent more time with Robert Baratheon than Brandon or Benjen Stark."

Rickard grinned at her, "No need to be so defensive, Ev," he told her, his tone light and teasing. "No one was judging your betrothed."

Evelyne rolled her eyes and gently nudged her horse to move faster, away from her brothers. She hated when they did that. She was not betrothed to Ned Stark, not yet at least. Her father had wanted Brandon Stark for her, but he was recently betrothed to Catelyn Tully of the Riverlands. So her father had moved on to the second best thing, Ned. Her father and Lord Stark had not yet come to an agreement, but for almost a year now Evelyne had known that her father wanted her married to the long-faced, solemn Stark.

She did not want to marry him. She barely knew him. But every time she spoke about him her brothers would tease her and imagine her in love with him.

She could hear them calling out for her, but she kept riding faster. She was intent on putting as much distance between them as possible. "Let her go," she heard Gregor command them. "There's little trouble for her to find here."

Little trouble indeed. The road before her was wide and almost empty. Evelyne leaned closer to her horse, tightening her grip on the reins and urging the horse to go even faster. The sun above her warmed her back and the wind caught and pulled at the horse's mane and her own hair causing it to fly behind her like her own crimson banner.

For a few happy minutes she was able to pretend her brothers weren't behind her. She was able to pretend that her father did not mean to ship her off, and practically sell her to the Starks of Winterfell. She was able to pretend that she was as wild and free as any man.

And then the dog ran onto the road. And spooked her horse.

The black charger reared up on its hind legs, whinnying as it did. Evelyne's eyes widened and on some stupid instinct she loosened her grasp on the reins. She should have held tighter, she knew that, but as the horse reared her hands, moving against her will began to let the reins slip.

She would fall, she knew that. If she were lucky she would be able to get out of the way before her horse backed up and stepped on her. Her eyes closed, squeezing tight and she was not embarrassed by the scream slipped through her lips as she prepared for the fall. But it never came.

"Woah," she heard a man call out somewhere close to her. "Woah! Woah! Woah!"

With her eyes closed she felt him more than she saw him. He moved in, somewhere from her right. Very close. Before she could fall he reached around her, his hand closing one of hers tight around the reins. Then his hand moved away, gripping the reins for himself as he worked to calm the horse.

She took a deep breath as she felt the horse settle underneath her. When she was sure that all four of its hooves were on the ground she finally opened her eyes, turning toward the right so that she could look at her savior.

The first thing she noticed were his eyes. Green. And deep. They were the greenest things she had ever seen. Oval shaped, and almost feline, with flecks of gold in them. The gold in his eyes reflected the gold in his hair. His lips were full, and almost pouty. The corners were currently turned up in a smirk.

Her eyes narrowed at his smirk and she glanced down, pointedly staring at his hand that was still closed around her reins. "Thank you, Ser," she told him, her voice hard like ice as she inclined her head to him.

She had hoped that he would get her point and release the reins, but he did not. "Are you alright?" he asked her.

She bristled slightly at his question. His words were polite enough, but she could hear the smirk in his tone. He was gloating that he had rescued her. Or laughing because he had needed to. Either way she did not like it. "I am quite alright," she told him, her voice still hard. And since he had not let go of her reins yet she jerked them out of his grip.

He raised his eyebrows at her, no doubt surprised by her strength. "You shouldn't be alone," he told her, his hand lifting and reaching out as if he were about to grab her horse's reins again.

She pulled the reins to the left, guiding the horse a step away from the blonde man and his own horse, just out of his reach. "I'm not alone," she told him stubbornly, "I'm with him." She nodded down to the horse.

The smirk melted into a smile. It did not soothe Evelyne's irritation though. She nudged the horse forward, now that there was no dog in the road they could continue their ride. She half expected the man to follow her, but he stayed where he was.

"You know," he called out once she was a few yards in front of him. "It's common practice to thank the man who saves your life."

"I did thank you," Evelyne called back over her shoulder without turning to look at him. "You were probably too busy congratulating yourself to hear it."

His laughter followed her until she had turned the corner on the road. She did not know who he was, no doubt he was in Seaguard for the tournament, but she hoped that she would not see him again. There was something about the man's smug smirk that irritated her.

But when she closed her eyes for a brief moment, taking a deep breath, all she could think of were the deep green pools of his eyes.

Author's Note:

First chapter is in the books ... err ... on the internet.
You know what I mean. I hope you enjoyed it!
If you did let me know by posting a review in that lovely empty box down there. I've already told you that this story will only be updated once or twice during my writing weeks. BUT, as evidenced in the past, reviews make me update faster.
So do what you will with that fact.
See you later!
Chloe Jane.