Jaime
Myrcella was down in the courtyard when he spotted her. The young girl was sat on a low wall off to one side as she gazed out across the expanse of stone. How she had come to be out alone Jaime was uncertain, but he was unwilling to pass up the opportunity to catch the young girl away from prying eyes. As far as his children were concerned, he hadn't been particularly fond of any of them to begin with. Joffrey had laid claim to the looks of adoration that were usually only reserved for him the second Cersei had held him in her arms as an infant. It had been one of his lesser moments when Jaime had found himself jealous of a mere child.
Tommen and Myrcella's births had scarcely been different from Joffrey's, except for the ordeal Cersei had been through in order to bring them both into the world. The twins had taken what had felt like a lifetime to be born, and at one stage Jaime had promised one of the lady's maids that he would have her head on a spike if she didn't get his sister through the birth unharmed. When they had finally burst screaming into the world, he had regarded both infants with the same expected intolerance as he had felt for Joffrey. For the most part his feelings did not change – until he was first happened upon by a stumbling two year old Myrcella.
She had barely learned to walk and there she was, wandering about the red keep entirely alone. The entire seven kingdoms could say what they liked about his sister, but no one could ever accuse Cersei of being a poor mother. Jaime had surmised that she'd given the Septon the slip and taken herself for a walk about the castle (or a stumbling wander if he were to be more accurate).
He had a total of three children, and yet he'd still been completely clueless on how to react when faced with his own daughter. Mid-way through his awkward attempt to coerce her back to where she was supposed to be, she'd piped up and told her 'uncle Jammy' to shhh because she was hunting dragons. It had been from that moment onwards that Jaime had come to love his daughter.
Myrcella smiled and jumped to her feet when he walked into view. Clad in the shining gold armour and white cloak of the Kingsguard, Jaime might have struck an imposing figure for anyone who wasn't the tiny blonde girl with her arms wrapped around the cold metal of his legs. "Uncle Jammy!" Came Myrcella's cry of happiness. At three years old she still couldn't pronounce his name properly. It had taken time to get used to the 'uncle' prefix as well. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd had to hold back from encouraging her to call him 'father.' If there was one thing Jaime would never be, it was Myrcella's father.
The grin on his lips was genuine as he reached down to scoop the little girl up into his arms enthusiastically. "Killed any dragons lately?" He asked as he held her level with his gaze. Myrcella shook her head sadly and Jaime promptly set her back down on her feet. "Well then… we'd best get working on your dragon slaying skills."
When he pulled out the wooden swords he had slotted through his belt, Myrcella's squeal of excitement was enough to warm his heart almost as much as her mother did. He grasped one sword in his gloved hand and held the other out for his daughter's tiny fingers to take. The wooden handle was barely in her grasp before he was forced to block an enthusiastic blow to his leg. Jaime laughed, cutting off just as he was about to comment on her over-eagerness to smack him with a stick.
"There you are." Cersei's voice rang out across the courtyard and Jaime span on the spot to face her. Ever the cheeky child, Myrcella took the opportunity to smack him in the back of his armoured leg with her sword. She could only giggle when he glanced back over his shoulder at her. The laughter was infectious and soon everyone was laughing but Cersei.
"What in god's name are you doing with her?" His sister asked in a tone that was distinctly disapproving. The hint of curiosity did not go amiss to Jaime, however.
"Myrcella and I were just practicing our sword fighting skills." He pointed out with a sly smirk. Jaime knew that at the first mention of swords, Cersei would be putty in his hands. Ever since they were children she'd had a strange fascination with the weapon. Often she would beg him to dress as her for the day so that she could go out into the courtyard and learn to fight with a sword just as he was allowed to. Sometimes he would let her, and he'd watch from the window of a tower as she knocked one of the stable boys to the ground. For a girl with very little training, Cersei had been surprisingly skilled with a sword. Then they had grown too old to pass off as one another and his sister had been resigned to spending the rest of her days laced up in a dress.
After a pause, Cersei responded, "Carry on then." She tried to hide her smile but the corners of her lips betrayed her as they twitched upwards. It made Jaime smirk before he turned back to face an impatiently waiting Myrcella. The way her foot tapped rhythmically on the stone floor beneath them reminded him far too much of her mother.
"Sword up then. And stand like a taught you to." Jaime instructed the young girl, who then proceeded to hold up the wooden sword with all her might and strike up what she hoped to be a formidable pose. He had to keep from laughing at the expression she held on her face. Scary was probably the look she was going for, but what came out was little more than a sweet girl with a pout on her lips and a slightly narrowed gaze.
He was smiling when he swung his sword towards her at a quarter of the speed he would normally move at, feeling Cersei's eyes on him from where she sat a few feet behind the pair. Myrcella was quick, but clumsy. Her sword hit the edge of his with more force than was probably necessary and Jaime made a show of stumbling backwards. The little blonde girl giggled and ran towards him, sword outstretched in a charge.
"Mycrella, don't run. Didn't your uncle Jaime teach you anything?" Cersei piped up from her spot upon the stone wall. Of course she wouldn't have stayed quiet for long. His sister had never been one for keeping her opinions to herself. Perhaps she believed that if she were a man she'd have done a better job of teaching her daughter to handle a sword herself.
Myrcella seemed to pipe up at that. Her charge came to a clumsy halt mid-stride and her slightly cheeky grin turned to her mother. "Muv-er's turn to fight." She exclaimed with her wooden sword outstretched in Cersei's direction. There had been a time when his sister would have jumped at the opportunity to go up against him with a sword, but years had passed and with those years had come a different Cersei. The child who longed to have the power and the opportunities of a man had merged into the woman who resented the fact that she could have neither.
Several moments passed in silence as Cersei's gaze dropped slowly to the sword sheathed in its scabbard at his belt. There was a glint in the front of her eyes – a hint of something he couldn't quite place. Longing almost seemed the most apt description, but even that wasn't entirely on the mark. The look was gone as soon as it had come and her attention was on her daughter instead.
"A woman doesn't need a sword to fight a man, Myrcella. We have other weapons at our disposal." She spoke cryptically with another deliberate glance in Jaime's direction. He raised an eyebrow in question and her eyes turned away to Myrcella once more. The young girl's gaze was brimmed with innocent curiosity as it met with that of her mother's. "Like what?" Came the question both he and his sister were undoubtedly expecting.
"All in good time, my love." Cersei soothed with a stroke of her hand through the soft blonde locks of her daughter's hair. Her mouth came down to hover beside her ear as she whispered loud enough for Jaime to hear, "Now go show your uncle Jaime why he ought to count himself lucky we women don't fight with steel." The glint in her eyes was one of amusement with the hint of a challenge when her gaze met his that time.
Cersei was right, of course. She had never needed a sword to have him yield to her. What was between her legs and in her heart were far more potent weapons. Jaime could out-duel many a man, but his sister had only to say three words and he'd ask how high. It was a weakness he was more than willing to concede to. It was why he only laughed when Cersei's encouragement sent Myrcella racing straight back over to him with her sword aimed ready to strike the steel of his armour.