Title: The Wolf & The Lioness

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. If I had anything to do with TO, Davina never would've died and she and Kol would be blissfully happy like they are here (at least for the most part).

Genre: Supernatural/Fantasy

Rating: M

Pairings: Kol & Davina, Jaime & Cersei (Canon), Gendry & Arya (Future), Robb & Myrcella (Future)

A/N: So, I started GoT back in October after, finally, getting the okay from my mom, and fell in love with it. Being the massive Kolvina shipper I am, this whole AU storyline sort of manifested itself as I watched the show and the rest is kind of history. Hopefully I'm doing the show justice as well as my all time favorite ship, and I hope you guys like this! Also, the first scene takes place two years before the present setting of the story. Davina is thirteen in the flashback, but fifteen currently. All the events of Robert's Rebellion and the years following have happened and are canon here.

Warning: Mentions of incest. I'm never going to go full blown incest here, even though I do find myself shipping Jaime & Cersei at points, but their relationship is a huge part of Davina's story as well as the main plot, so just be forewarned...it's there.

296 AC

Burn them all!

Davina bolted upright in her bed, breathing labored and skin slick with sweat. She'd been having the same dream for the past week now, and while it came in flashes and disjointed bursts of ice and fire, the one phrase she could always make out without fail were the Mad King's dying words...or at least, what her Uncle Jaime had told her they'd been.

She released a deep breath before raking a hand back through her tangled bronze waves with a sigh, moving to draw her knees up to her chest, went she felt an odd stickiness between her legs. Frowning, she moved to the side a bit, just enough that she saw the dark crimson stain adorning the pristine sheets.

The sound of the door swinging open startled her, causing her to practically jump out of her skin as her head swung to the doorway of her chambers. One of her handmaidens - a girl only a few years older than herself - came rushing in with a look of worry plastered across her features. Davina and Myrcella's chambers were adjacent to one another, and their handmaidens often socialized together when they were not needed, so she could easily guess where she'd been.

"Are you alright, Princess? I heard you scream," she said hurriedly, her tone radiating concern, and Davina realized she must've been fairly loud for the girl to have heard her in Myrcella's chambers.

"I'm fine, thank you," she said in an attempt to ward off the girl's worry before her mind returned to her stained sheets and what exactly it meant. "Would you mind fetching my mother for me, before you return to watching over my sister?" When the girl looked equal parts confused and terrified, no doubt from the prospect of disturbing the Queen's sleep, Davina simply moved so that the girl could see the proof of her flowering, and a look of understanding crossed the girl's face before nodding and departing with a curtsey.

Davina released another deep breath before moving to lay back down, wincing when the action caused a spark of dull pain to ignite in her lower belly. She shifted, attempting to position herself better, only to have the feeling intensify and spread throughout her abdomen, extending to the tips of her fingers. Whimpering and feeling as though she were going to be sick all of the sudden, she bit her lip and curled into a tight ball, hugging her knees to her chest as she tried to manage the pain.

She didn't know how long she remained that way, but enough time passed for the handmaiden to return with her mother, who, upon seeing the look of agony spread across her daughter's face, sent the girl away before crossing the room and seating herself on the edge of her bed.

Confused and frightened at the immense amount of pain she was experiencing, Davina reached out grasped her mother's hand, her own moist with sweat. Cersei frowned at this before feeling her forehead with the back of her hand.

"Does this always happen?" Davina asked in a small voice, pressing her hand against her belly and wincing as another sharp pain ripped through her.

"You've merely flowered, my little lioness," Cersei murmured, tucking a tangled strand of bronze colored waves behind her ear with an encouraging, soft smile. Davina always thought she looked the most beautiful in moments like these when she was away from the King, her father. Those were the moments when she was the most happy. "I'll send for Grand Maester Pycelle and he'll give you milk of the poppy to ease your pains."

She stood and began making her way to the door, wrapping her shawl tighter around herself as she went, when Davina felt an odd sensation that began in her gut and made it's way up her throat. Feeling as though she truly would be sick this time, she shot to her knees in the center of her bed as her throat began to feel tighter, making drawing breath difficult.

The sound of her labored breathing stopped Cersei in her tracks, her expression morphing into one of terror as Davina began to cough uncontrollably as she bent forward, using one hand on the bed to support herself while the other held her throat.

"Davina?"

She tried to answer her, but as soon as she opened her mouth, another coughing fit ensued, and this time, rich granules of dirt flew from her throat, littering the white sheets of her bed. She felt her mother draw her hair away from her face - perhaps the only logical thing she could think of doing - and then the tremors started.

The last thing she remembered before losing consciousness was the sensation of the foundations of the Red Keep shaking violently beneath her.

298 AC

Davina glanced up from her needlework as she and Myrcella's Septa continued to prattle on and on about the importance for young ladies of their station to learn such a skill. Davina had to fight the impulse to roll her eyes at this. She and Myrcella had no use for the art of needlepoint and never would. Their dresses were always handmade by the best dressmakers in all the Seven Kingdoms and would be until the day they were laid to rest in the Great Sept of Baelor.

She looked over to see her golden haired younger sister intently focused on her own embroidery, no doubt ignoring their Septa like she was. She and Myrcella differed on many things, on most actually, but the one thing they agreed on was their general dislike of Septa Eglantine. That, and their fondness of their Uncle Tyrion despite their mother's evident hatred.

Her eyes then shifted to the window, and upon seeing the Sun's position in the sky, she quickly began devising a way to escape her Septa and her needlepoint lesson in favor of sparring with her Uncle Jaime. He'd said just this morning to meet him in their usual spot deep in the gardens when the Sun was at it's highest point.

Since her fifth nameday, Jaime had been training her in the art of swordsmanship and combat, per her begging and pleading. He'd resisted for a little while, telling her that her mother wouldn't be pleased if she found out, but Davina had been a stubborn child who'd already wormed her way into her uncle's heart. In the end, all she'd had to do was fix him with her emerald colored eyes, so similar to his, and he'd given in.

He'd been instructing and tutoring her ever since.

He often told her now that soon there would be nothing else he could teach her, for she was almost as formidable with a sword as he was now, and about as proficient as he'd been at fifteen. Sometimes, which seemed to occur with increasing frequency now, she was able to best him at least once a lesson. Whether it was a genuine defeat, however, she couldn't tell. She suspected that he was letting her win, despite his swearing that her skills equaled and at points even surpassed his.

"You are nearing your sixteenth nameday, Princess," her Septa said, causing Davina to look away from the window and fix her with a barely concealed glare. "Soon, your father shall marry you off to some lucky young lord and you will begin a beautiful family of your very own." Davina had to bite her tongue to avoid spewing her disapproval of the idea.

Upon her birth, her father, Robert Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, had resisted immediately betrothing her to one of his liege lords' or any nobleman's son, declaring instead that she'd marry by her sixteenth nameday to the man of his choosing. Why he'd chosen to wait, ignoring the proposals of so many and angering a good number of Westerosi nobles in the process, she'd never truly know, but she was grateful for it.

There was only one man in all the Seven Kingdoms she wanted, and she'd have him...she just had to convince her father of it first. Either persuade him or allow him to think it was his idea.

"That it still several moons away," she said in dismissal, with a polite, seemingly innocent smile that fooled the old woman far too easily. She nodded.

"Tis true, Your Grace...but, you will be the most beautiful bride to ever set foot in the Sept without a doubt. Even now you are the epitome of the Maiden." Davina's smile this time was almost genuine at her Septa's words, though she was used to many of the women of King's Landing fawning over her, even as a child.

"Thank you," she answered kindly, making the older woman nod once, accepting her thanks.

As the older woman prattled on, Davina's gaze returned to the window, a look full of longing radiating from her eyes. As long as Eglantine was in the room, her sparring session with her Uncle remained out of the question. The older woman would surely frown upon a lady partaking in such activities and would forbid her from them all together, not that Septa Eglantine could stop her from trying. She could make things extremely difficult if she knew, however, and Davina couldn't have that.

Myrcella releasing a sharp breath dripping with pain made both Davina and Septa Eglantine's attentions immediately focus on her. The blonde winced as she studied her finger, now accented with beads of crimson from where she'd slipped and injured herself. "Oh dear," Eglantine said in almost a condescending manner before standing. "We best find you a maester, my dear...wouldn't want that to become infected." She practically dragged Myrcella up from her chair and began herding her towards the door.

Green met green as Eglantine began guiding her sister to the door, and immediate understanding washed over Davina, as well as a feeling of gratitude. Myrcella, precious, dear Myrcella, had pricked her own finger so that her sister might escape the hovering presence of their glorified wet nurse. Davina offered her sister an apologetic smile full of understanding in response.

"We shall be right back, Princess," Eglantine promised, and then they were gone. Davina held her breath and counted to ten slowly, making sure that the two were in fact gone before tossing her embroidery onto the side table next to her chair and standing. Without missing a beat, she exited the room, and upon finding the halls empty, began making her way to the stables as quickly and as quietly as possible.

Davina waited until there was a clear opening before darting into the stables and making a beeline for her own mount's stall, where she kept her training gear safely hidden away. She was unable to help the wide grin that spread across her features at the sight of her dark bay, nearly black, Dornish mare - a name day present from her father several years before - looking at her with clear excitement as she approached, quieting her all the while. Dusk Rose was always ready for a ride on the beach, no matter the time of day, and she clearly thought Davina had come to free her from the confines of her stall, which was not the case.

She laid a hand directly on top of her blaze, just between her eyes, and stroked there several times in apology before hopping over the door of her stall and immediately digging for her breeches, tunic, and sparring sword in the chest she kept buried beneath mounds of hay at the back of the space.

Once obtaining them, she cast a momentary glance over her shoulder, making sure no one would happen upon her before sliding her dress off her shoulders and letting it pool at her feet. Within moments, she had the old, plain tunic pulled over her head and was in the process of sliding the breeches on when she felt Dusk Rose nudge her back with her nose, causing her to almost fall over.

She turned to glare at her horse, who was clearly perturbed with her, and shook her head. "Not now, Rose," she whispered in annoyance. The dark bay nickered lowly in response, voicing her displeasure at her rider's intentions. Davina merely rolled her eyes and finished pulling her breeches up, fastening them with a belt in order to secure them in place. "I promise we'll ride tomorrow," she swore as she released her hair from it's confines, letting it flow freely in soft, golden brown waves to the small of her back.

She quickly separated it into three sections and plaited it before securing it with a leather tie. Releasing a deep breath, she stashed her dress in the chest and covered it over with hay. She then picked up the sparring sword Jaime had given her and slid it between her belt and her breeches, the only place for it since it wasn't a real sword and therefore lacked a proper scabbard.

Judging she was ready and not wanting to keep her uncle waiting any longer, she turned to leave. The look of disappointment in her mare's eyes, however, gave her momentary pause. "Maybe I'll take you for a ride later," she negotiated, making Rose subtly nod her head, causing Davina to laugh. She kissed her right on the nose before departing, fully intending on making good on her promise after her lesson.

She crept through the gardens with barely audible steps, avoiding servants and guards alike. If anyone were to recognize her, they'd surely inform her mother, and then there would be no chance of her ever being out of Septa Eglantine's sight until she was wed.

Finally, after carefully maneuvering her way to their secret meeting place, she smiled brightly as she walked into the small grove surrounded entirely by trees. "Sorry I'm so late, I..." she trailed off, her smile fading as she saw the grove was completely empty. Frowning, she checked the Sun's position in the sky once more. She knew she was slightly late, but not outrageously so. Taking another step into their meeting place, she looked around with narrowed eyes. "Uncle Jai-" she cut off with a yelp as a sparring sword was swung straight at her head.

She barely managed to dodge the blow in time, ducking under her uncle's sword and spinning, grabbing his wrist in the process, locking her elbow, keeping his swordhand at a safe distance as she positioned her own blade against his throat. Immediately, his free hand shot out and grasped the wrist of her right hand, using his superior strength to prevent what would surely be a killing blow if she were in the possession of a proper sword.

They remained that way for several moments, staring at each other, before he finally chuckled, making her smile. "It appears you've learned from last time," he observed. She rolled her eyes but found she couldn't wipe the grin from her face. The last time he'd attempted to surprise her, not only had he struck her square on the temple, but had knocked her flat on her ass in the process. She'd had to style her hair differently for an entire week and suffer through a bruised tailbone thanks to her own naivety.

"I'd rather not have to explain yet another bruise to Mother. She must think I'm the most clumsy Princess in the history of the Seven Kingdoms with how often I claim to trip or run into things," she said as they both relaxed and began circling each other like lions did their prey. Davina lunged forward, swinging her blade towards Jaime's midsection, which he deflected easily.

"So, what was she having you practice this time? Curtseying?" he asked conversationally as she paired one of his thrusts.

"Worse...she was forcing us to sew," she said with clear distaste. "As if I need to learn how to fashion my own clothes." Jaime couldn't help but smile.

"You never know when that skill might come in handy," he joked, causing her to roll her eyes.

"I'd much rather be learning things of value," she lowered her sword as she spoke. "Such as politics, history, strategy, or this." She raised her sword again, meaning to indicate she was referring to swordplay when he swung, catching her off guard and nearly knocking it from her grasp.

"Hey!" she exclaimed angrily before deflecting his next blow and lunging forward with one of her own.

An hour later, Davina sat down in the shade of one of the trees on the far side of the grove, drinking from a waterskin Jaime had brought for her.

"So, I hear your sixteenth nameday is soon."

"No, it's not. It's several moon cycles away," she said dismissively, not wanting to talk of the day she'd been dreading for years with her uncle during their special time together.

"You know, just because you avoid talking about it doesn't mean it's not going to happen," he chastised, making her cross her arms across her chest and lean back against the trunk of the tree with a look that scarily mirrored that of an extremely cross, younger version of her mother.

"So you're saying I should be happy that the King is going to auction me off to the highest bidder like livestock? That my sole purpose in life, all that's expected of me, is to become a breeder for the next generation? To whore myself to whatever nobleman's son that Father wishes to align himself with?" She shook her head, refusing to accept that as her fate. In the next few months, she was going to accomplish a feat not many highborn girls of her station could ever dream of doing - she was going to marry for love.

All she had to do was manipulate her father by having several of his trusted advisors bend his ear in favor of a betrothal to Kol Stark, the boy she'd loved since childhood, and the rest would be smooth sailing. It was a fairly agreeable match that would unite House Baratheon with House Stark, like they would've been united years before had it not been for Rhaegar Targaryen - her mother's original intended until the Mad King had betrayed her grandfather and instead matched his son with Elia Martell simply to spite him - kidnapping Kol's late aunt, Lyanna, who'd been promised to her father.

The subsequent war to win Lyanna back had cost both sides many lives, but in the end, she couldn't bring herself to feel too broken over it. If Rhaegar had never taken her, then she and Kol would more than likely never have been born, and therefore never would have met - a thought that seemed almost too much to bear.

Even though nine years had passed since their last meeting face to face, they'd been corresponding through secret letters for years thanks to Varys, and their easy, though at times antagonistic, friendship had blossomed into a full blown love affair, the likes of which the greatest poems and verses were written about. She was hopelessly, devastatingly, irrevocably his, as he was hers, and they'd sworn to each other several years prior that they would not wed unless it was to the other.

She intended to keep that oath, she merely hoped he felt as fiercely about protecting their love and future together as she did.

"I never said that-" he began, but she cut him off.

"You have no idea what it's like. You joined the Kingsguard in order to escape a similar fate. Mother wasn't so lucky." At his look of surprise, she nodded sadly. "I'm not as blind to his mistreatment of her as she would like to think I am. I know about the whores and how he takes as many to his bed at a time during your watch, forcing you to listen as he dishonors her over and over again." She shook her head in disgust.

"I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn't be forced into such a union, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that doesn't happen to me," she vowed solemnly, staring vacantly at the blade of grass she was twisting between her fingers. She felt Jaime's eyes on her, but she honestly and truly didn't wish to discuss the topic any further, so, she sat in silence, praying that he wouldn't broach the topic again.

He didn't...someone else did.

"Your Grace!" Her gaze shot up from the ground and to the figures of Lord Petyr Baelish, her father's Master of Coin, and Varys, his Master of Whispers, approaching she and her uncle. Both sat on the Small Council with her Uncles Stannis and Renly, her father's brothers, though the former was usually absent from most meetings, choosing to remain in Dragonstone, which he'd held since he'd driven the last of the Targaryens away just before the time of her birth.

She stood to meet them, unworried about her less than elegant appearance. Thanks to the eyes and ears they both had everywhere, there was no doubt in her mind they'd known of she and Jaime's lessons for many years. They bowed to her briefly as she stopped in front of them.

"Princess, forgive us from interrupting your training, but we thought it best to seek you out with this vital information," Varys claimed, his eyes darting to Jaime as the tall, blonde Kingsguard came and stood beside her, clearly confused. "Perhaps we should go somewhere more...private?" he suggested, but she shook her head.

"Varys, whatever you must say, you can say it in front of my uncle." Though the eunuch still looked unconvinced, he trusted her judgement.

"I have heard from many of my small birds, Your Grace, that the King intends on bringing you before court to discuss the matter of forming a marriage alliance with another one of the Great Houses with you." She felt her heart drop in her chest at the news. She still had failed to come up with a viable way to trick her father into matching her with the man she wanted most, and it'd appeared she'd run out of time.

"Do you know which Great House?" she asked carefully, even though both Varys and Baelish knew of her relationship with the second eldest Stark boy.

It was Littlefinger's triumphant grin that set her mind at ease before she managed to even speak the words. "His Grace wishes to align with House Stark, as was intended years ago, before the War...and, to my knowledge, I hear he intends to allow you to pick your husband from Lord Eddard Stark's litter." Her answering smile was absolutely radiant.

"You're sure?" she asked with palpable joy. Baelish nodded with a wide smile.

"Yes, Princess. I have it on very good authority that he shall call you to stand before him in a week's time, and there he intends to negotiate the terms with you...might I also advise that you not seem as positively giddy as you do now, lest he catch onto our plans." She sobered immediately, locking away her feelings of joy to be celebrated later, in the privacy of her chambers.

"I'll make it seem as if I am less than enthusiastic about the suggestion," she affirmed, causing both of her mentors to smile.

"Very good...might we also suggest that, since you will have an audience, it might be beneficial to pose your proposition to His Grace?" Varys hedged, still eyeing Jaime warily.

"What proposition?" Jaime questioned angrily, looking between the two men before turning his attention solely to Davina. "What exactly are you planning?" She straightened her back, squarely her shoulders, and held her head high in a very regal manner.

"I'm going to ask my father to reconsider the line of succession in my favor," she responded simply, but her words were enough to send Jaime into a clear state of shock with his eyes wide and mouth slightly hanging open as he tried to wrap his mind around the meaning behind them.

"I am going to be Queen."

She had just reached the doors of her chambers, Kol's most recent letter clutched tightly in her fist - which Varys had given her as she'd left the three men behind, one still in shock - when she was stopped by Jon Arryn, her father's Hand and most trusted advisor, as well as her long time mentor. She smiled brightly at the elder Lord, though it faded when all he could do was meet her eyes, his own full of sadness and a confusion she'd never seen there before.

"Lord Arryn?" she questioned, her own expression of joy vanishing as he looked upon her gravely. 'What's the matter?" she asked, shifting her weight while a genuine expression of worry clouded her features. He looked down at his feet before fishing for something tucked into the sleeve of his tunic. He withdrew a folded piece of parchment and held it out to her.

With extreme confusion, she reached out for it, only to have him fold it into her fist so tightly, it was borderline painful. "As soon as you read what I have written, for your own safety, you must burn it," he murmured frantically, the fear in his eyes more than enough to spark some of her own. She tried to speak, to inquire about the contents of the note, but he shushed her. "Promise me, child. Promise me you will toss it into the fire the moment you've finished."

After several seconds of trying to find her voice and failing, she managed to nod her head in assent. Arryn's hand trembled as he released hers, offering her a shaky smile before turning and walking away, disappearing around the corner as rapidly as he'd appeared.

Eyebrows furrowed, she quickly checked to make sure no one had heard their exchange before hurrying into her chambers, lowering the bolt across her door as an afterthought so that no one would walk in on her. She stared at the folded piece of parchment for several prolonged moments before steeling herself for the worst. The fear in his eyes had shaken her to her very core. Whatever words were contained in the note, they were of such grave importance that her mentor clearly feared for his life.

Slowly, after taking a deep breath, she unfolded it, pausing as she took in the hurriedly scribbled words, clearly recorded in an extremely short amount of time, so unlike the nature of its author. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she realized the jumbled mess was a periodical depiction of her paternal ancestry. Frowning, she read through each one by one, whispering them aloud.

"Lord Orys Baratheon, black of hair. Axel Baratheon, black of hair. Lyonel Baratheon, black of hair. Ormund Baratheon, black of hair. Steffon Baratheon, black of hair. Robert Baratheon, black of hair..." She trailed off after reading her father's name, now even more confused than before. All Arryn had listed were the names of her ancestors and their hair color, nothing about their titles, marriages, or accomplishments. Likewise, Arryn himself had left a small inscription after her father's name, so tiny in fact, that she had to squint in order to make out the words.

"The seed is strong." She froze for a moment, pondering what exactly he meant, before continuing on. "Davina Baratheon, bronze of hair. Joffrey Baratheon, golden haired. Myrcella Baratheon, golden haired. Tommen Baratheon, golden haired." As she read out she and her siblings' physical descriptions, she felt an almost sickening churning sensation blossom in her gut.

"It is highly unlikely that Prince Joffrey, Princess Myrcella, or Prince Tommen were fathered by His Grace. With none possessing the key physical or facial features of His Grace or that of House Baratheon, I conclude they are illegitimate and hold no true claim to the throne, all being the Queen's bastards conceived with another." Davina lowered herself onto the foot of her bed as she felt her stomach roiling at the mere suggestion that her brothers and sister were bastards.

She wished she could discount Lord Arryn's suspicions as incorrect and mistaken, but it wasn't that simple. The King and Queen's relationship was far from loving or cordial, even she could see that. Robert and Cersei had hated each other for as long as she could remember, so the notion that her mother had sought out and found solace in the arms of another did not shock her as much as it should have.

"Given their likeness and resemblance, both to each other and their mother, it is likely they all possess the same father." Davina relaxed her arms so that the note was rested in her lap as she stared forward vacantly, trying to determine what man would be capable and foolish enough to bed the Queen under the same roof as the King, as well as who had been around during the time of all three conceptions. He had to be someone close to the royal family and someone her mother trusted and loved implicitly.

Davina felt bile rise in her throat as she realized there was only one person in all the Seven Kingdoms her mother loved and trusted besides her children.

Jaime.

With shaky hands, still partially in shock, she glanced down at Arryn's note to see he'd scribbled a singular sentence at the bottom.

"Of Princess Davina's legitimacy, I am unsure, but there is enough evidence to create doubt in my mind that she too was fathered by His Grace."

Her entire world crumbling around her, she stood from her bed and strode over to the hearth on the far side of her room, tossing the piece of parchment inside. She held out a trembling hand, and with tears in her eyes, she reached deep inside herself, drawing forth her magic.

"Perzys." As the note caught fire, she couldn't help but wonder what would become of her if anyone knew the truth.

Within a few days, Jon Arryn was dead. Grand Maester Pycelle claimed that fever had taken him, and while Davina supposed that might've been true, she suspected her dear mother and beloved uncle played a role in her mentor's death, further confirming her belief of their affair. She'd tried to deny it at first, convincing herself that her father's Hand had been sorely mistaken, but as soon as he'd taken to his sick bed, that denial had gradually become harder and harder to cling to.

She still held the little that remained in a death grip, praying that he'd been wrong and his beliefs were unfounded. She refused to believe something so egregious about two of the people she loved more than life itself, not until she heard one of them admit it themselves, which was exactly what she had set out to do as she'd left her chambers and headed to the throne room where the Silent Sisters were preparing Lord Arryn's body for burial in the hopes that she would find either or both Lannister twins there.

Rounding the corner, she entered the hallway that led to the gallery, pausing when she made out her mother's slim figure as she silently watched the sisters work. Davina took a moment, as she often did after not seeing Cersei for a few days, to admire her regal mother. When she was a child, she'd thought her the most beautiful woman in the known world - an opinion that had not altered much over the years.

Whispers had begun around the castle that she herself held the same beauty, and it would surpass that of her mother's with time. She had a hard time believing them, but if the words were ever said to her directly, she'd graciously thank whoever it was who'd said it before disagreeing. It was hard for her to imagine there being a more stunning woman than the one standing before her, and even more difficult to consider herself as her equal.

She shook her head, clearing it of such trivial thoughts, and prepared herself for the coming conversation where her mother would undoubtedly tell her, truthfully, that all the accusations Jon Arryn had brought before her were false. Right as she was about to announce herself, she spied Jaime rounding the corner opposite her, entering the gallery from the other end of the throne room, and she ducked back around the corner closest to her without thinking, her footsteps as light as a feather, just as he'd taught her.

Realizing that her breathing had increased dramatically, she willed herself to calm down, leaning back against the wall for a moment, steeling her nerves, before peaking around the corner just as he stopped next to Cersei.

"As your brother, I feel it's my duty to warn you - you worry too much. It's starting to show." Even though his back was to her, she could hear the smirk that was no doubt spread across his features. She was only about ten paces away from them, so his words were more than audible.

"And you never worry about anything," she shot back. He shifted his weight, looking as if he wished to deny her words, but she pressed on before he could do so. "When we were seven, you jumped off the cliffs at Casterly Rock. Hundred foot drop into the water... you were never afraid." Davina couldn't help but smile at that. She'd done the same when she'd been about that age during a visit to her grandfather, much to her mother's horror.

"There was nothing to be afraid of until you told Father. Lannisters, Lannisters don't act like fools." His spot on impression of Tywin brought a smile to Davina's lips and she had to cover her mouth to stifle the laugh it'd stirred in her throat. Again, he'd said much the same in a verbal lashing afterwards. Lannister Princesses don't act foolish, Davina. You will never do anything of the sort again, or you will suffer more than a night without dinner.

There had never been any love lost between she and Tywin, who hardly seemed like he cared for his own children, let alone his grandchildren. She suspected he'd been disappointed in the fact she'd been born a girl, and that displeasure had only grown with every passing moon since her birth.

"What if Jon Arryn told someone?" Cersei questioned as she looked out over the throne room again, and all the laughter caused by Jaime died in her throat. She waited with baited breath for her mother to either deny the accusations or to offer another explanation as to why he'd met such a sudden end, but found her heart sink in her chest as neither came.

"But who would he tell?" Davina shut her eyes tightly, her hands balling into fists at her sides as she felt tears sting the backs of her eyes. It was in that moment she realized he'd been right after all. Something had been carrying on between the pair in front of her for years, unnoticed, so well concealed, that it'd produced three - possibly four - bastard children that had been passed off as legitimate all too easily. She heard her mother sigh heavily.

"My husband," she said, sounding hesitant. Davina's hand sought the wall for support as she felt her knees threaten to give out.

"If he'd told the King, both our heads would be skewered on the city gates by now," Jaime reasoned. "As would the children's'." She could picture it all too clearly - five golden haired heads and a bronze one, all in a line, decorating the Gate of the Gods. Robert would not spare her, even if there was room for reasonable doubt. She'd have been as doomed as the rest of them had he told the King.

Had that been why he'd gone to her? In the hopes she'd reach that conclusion and escape with her life it that's what it came down to?

Feeling overwhelmed, she reached out for the wall again, blindly, only to be met with air. She stumbled backwards, shuffling an ornate freestanding candelabra in the process, generating more than enough noise to draw the attention of both Cersei and Jaime, whose eyes went wide at the sight of her.

The tears came rushing back then, and before she knew it, she was shaking as they rolled down her cheeks, green eyes radiating disbelief, anger, and pain. She could see by the looks on their faces that they knew she knew, and as Jaime took a step in her direction, she turned and ran.

It wasn't until King's Landing was nearly unrecognizable in the distance did she pull Rose up, taking back the reins, having given her mare her head the moment they'd passed through the Iron Gate. Looking around and making sure there was no one in sight, she steered her towards the beach at a leisurely pace, allowing her rest even though she didn't need it.

As she'd fled the throne room, the twins had both given chase, and because of that, she'd weaved a complicated path through less populated areas of the Red Keep, doubling back and going in circles several times in an attempt to confuse them, before heading for the stables. She'd wasted no time in mount Rose, not bothering with a saddle or bridle, and making her way out of the castle walls and into the city, cutting through Flea Bottom in the process, thinking that certainly her queenly mother wouldn't dare follow her, and for the moment, she could almost convince herself of it.

Now, as she slid off her Dornish mare's back, her feet meeting the uneven terrain that led to the Narrow Sea, all the feelings she'd suppressed during her escape came rushing back with startling, overwhelming intensity. She felt like screaming, sobbing, raging, and vanishing into nothing all at once. If Jaime were there, she'd liked to have struck him in the jaw with as much of her strength as she could possibly muster, just to make him feel a sliver of the pain and betrayal she was experiencing.

He'd had a million chances to tell her over the years, so many opportunities, and yet he'd kept it from her. Jaime was one of the only people she trusted implicitly, that she never lied to - about her feelings, wants, and wishes - and she'd foolishly believed that trust had extended both ways.

And Cersei...she shook her head in disgust at the mere thought of her mother's name. Her lies cut deeper than a thousand knives or swords ever could. It was an ache, deep in her soul, one that made her want to carve her own heart out of her chest and serve it to her on a platter made of the same gilded metal their House was so well known for.

She left Rose where she'd dismounted - the filly was so well trained, not to mention loved her dearly, that the thought of her galloping off was preposterous - and moved towards the waves, kicking off her boots as she went. Wading into the shallow salt water, she didn't stop until the tide reached her knees, and when she did, she closed her eyes and willed everything away. She didn't pay mind as the bottom half of her skirt grew heavier the longer it was subjected to the elements, or to her hair as it became tangled in the ocean breeze, blowing as the wind willed.

When she was alone, as she was now, she could almost imagine what it would've been like to be born a commoner, without a title or rank associated with her name, or perhaps not even a name at all. Surnames were reserved for those born of nobility, legitimate or otherwise. For a moment, she contemplated that, if she were illegitimate, would she bear the name Storm or Hill? She scowled and pushed the thought away, wrapping a hand around her long bronze mane in an attempt to tame it. Again, the likening of her hair to that of a lion's mane - as her mother so often had in her childhood - caused a bitterness to form in her mouth.

In an attempt to distract her wayward, treacherous thoughts, she sank down until she was kneeling in the wake, allowing her head to tilt back and her eyes to drift close as the sun warmed her face while the Narrow Sea cooled her body. A memory came to her then, entirely unbidden, of she, Jaime, and Cersei walking along the shores of the Sunset Sea, some several hundred miles away, with Casterly Rock looming in the distance as the Sun began it's descent to meet the waves.

It'd been on the same trip where she'd jumped from the cliffs, but it'd been the day before, only an hour after being received into their ancestral home by Tywin himself. It'd been an excruciatingly slow journey that'd spanned nearly three weeks, cooped up in the carriage with her mother and siblings, and she'd been at her wits end as they'd been presented to him, her eyes constantly flitting towards the ocean in the distance.

She'd always loved the sea - the smell, the feel, the wind, the warmth of the Sun contrasting with the coolness of the tide - a fact well known by both Jaime and Cersei. So, after Joff, 'Cella, and Tommen had been tucked in for a much needed nap, the Lannister twins had spirited her away to the beach and proceeded to let her release all of her pent up energy as they watched with barely concealed smiles.

Looking back on it now, it was her most treasured and favored memory she shared with them. She couldn't remember feeling more happy, innocent, carefree, and loved as she had that afternoon, especially as Jaime'd chased her through the surf while Cersei had watched with perhaps the most genuine smile Davina had ever seen her wear. Then, she remembered wishing that Jaime had been her father, not Robert. Her father hardly ever glanced her way, and when he did, it was only for a moment and always absentmindedly. He never truly paid her any mind.

Jaime was different, always had been from her earliest memory, and she loved him more than she could ever love Robert. As he'd carried her in his arms on their way back to the Rock as twilight rolled around, her eyelids drooping as exhaustion began to take over, she'd admitted as much as she drifted off into a fitful sleep. She couldn't remember anything after that until the next day on the cliffs, but she could only imagine the simultaneous joy and grief it'd caused them both.

Sighing in defeat, she leaned back and allowed her hair to meet the waves, thoroughly soaking it from root to tip, before splashing a handful of it across her face.

And that was how the two found her. As she heard the distinct sound of two sets of hooves striking the ground in the distance, and Rose's nervous nickering at the sight of company, Davina stood and began making her way back to shore. She paid them little mind as they drew near, focusing the majority of her attention on her filly as she grew restless, outwardly displaying Davina's innermost feelings.

Truthfully, she had no desire or intention to talk to either of them, but Jaime took matters into his own hands by dismounting his white stallion and approaching her. "Davina," he murmured as he gently brushed her arm in attempt to get her eyes to meet his, but she recoiled as if he'd slapped her, ripping her arm from his grasp. Her eyes did in fact meet his then, but there was a fire burning in their depths.

"If you ever touch me again, I swear, upon the Old Gods and New, that you will suddenly find yourself lacking your swordhand, Ser," she spat, making him flinch. Even as a child, she'd never addressed him so formally.

He backed away a few paces - whether from shock or some other motivation, she wasn't sure - as Cersei dismounted and moved towards her. Davina took a step back, almost panickedly, holding up a hand to ward her away as tears formed in her eyes. Thankfully, Cersei stopped, allowing Davina some room to breath, though she remained closer than Jaime.

"How long have you known?" Davina swallowed past the lump in her throat as she struggled to answer her mother's question without sounding weak, but it was futile. She was far too emotional to hide her true feelings as Cersei so often did.

"Lord Arryn handed me a written note detailing his assumption and the evidence behind it about three nights ago," she responded, her voice cracking slightly. "I didn't want to believe it at first. I'd all but convinced myself he'd been mistaken until I heard you two talking earlier..." she trailed off, a lone tear streaking down her cheek before she bit her lip and looked upon them, but her eyes were devoid of the anger they'd held just moments before.

"Why?" she asked shakily, her hand grasping onto Rose's mane for both physical and emotional support, but as Cersei opened her mouth, Davina's mind changed, and she shook her head. If her mother went into detail about why she'd chosen to carry on an extramarital affair, she'd surely be sick. "I...I don't think I could stomach it if you told me, so please, please don't. I just..." she trailed off as more tears fell, coating her cheeks in them.

"I trusted you...I loved you - both of you," she said fiercely, though her confession carried a hint of defeat with it. "But all I was to you was a means to an end."

"Sweetling, you know that is not-"

"How can I know for sure?" she questioned, cutting Cersei off. "For all I know, you could've been using my very existence to remain in power. Even if I'm not Robert's trueborn child, I look much more like him than Joff, 'Cella, or Tommen, and as long as I appear even remotely similar, then why should anyone question my legitimacy, let alone that of my sister and brothers'?" She shook her head in disgust, rationalizing Cersei's possible train of thought all too easily.

"You don't care about me...I'm beginning to think you never did. Joffrey can do no wrong. He's the golden prince - your little golden lion. No matter how many horrible curses he hurls at me or how many times he's physically harmed me, he's your favorite. Myrcella is prim and perfect and the prime example of everything a princess should be. Tommen is your baby boy...but what am I to you, Mother?" She questioned angrily.

"Some bronzed haired freak that can do things normal girls shouldn't be able to do? The daughter of a man whose throat you'd rather slit than allow in your bed again?" It occurred to her, then, that the only two people who were aware of who'd actually fathered her stood before her. Squaring her shoulders, she willed the torrent of tears to stop, if but for a moment, as she sought the answer she simultaneously craved and feared above all else.

"Or am I his?" she asked, her green eyes flicking to Jaime for a fraction of a second before returning to Cersei's once more, feeling her heart sink in her chest as her mother, for the first time, backed down and looked away. That one reaction told her everything she needed to know.

Not even Cersei knew.

Davina looked away, fighting back the next wave of tears as she let that knowledge wash over her like the waves of the Shivering Sea, hardening her to both her mother and uncle. She released an angry, clipped noise resembling a humorless laugh before turning her attention to Rose.

"Obūljagon," she commanded in High Valyrian, and her filly responded immediately, kneeling to make mounting her easier. She climbed onto her back, and once she was situated, she grasped her mane between her hands and commanded her to rise.

"SÄ«monagon." She stood with Davina seated expertly on her back, even without a saddle. Davina stroked her dark coat several times in silent praise for understanding and obeying her, causing Rose to nicker in kind. The Princess smiled despite herself before, for some unknown reason, her hand came up to brush against her gold lion pendant she'd had and worn for over a decade.

The necklace had been a gift from her mother, who'd fastened the clasp herself whilst still recovering from birthing Myrcella just hours earlier. Jaime had held Myrcella cradled in his arms while Cersei presented it to her, showing her the identical one she wore, as well as the one she'd had made for 'Cella when she came of age. To this day it was still one of her most treasured possessions, and she had scarcely taken it off since.

As she'd leaned back against her mother's chest, with Cersei helping to support her as she cradled newborn Myrcella in her arms and Jaime looking upon them with an expression she could now correctly identify as fatherly pride, she could remember her mother whispering in her ear.

"You are a lioness, my sweet...I pray you never forget that."

She smiled bitterly at the memory before ripping it from her neck, breaking the clasp in the process. The implications behind her actions were not lost on either Cersei or Jaime. Davina weighed it in her palm for a moment as she slowly urged Rose forward. Once she reached Cersei, she tossed it to the sand at her feet.

"Who knows what the hell I am," she muttered sadly, and before her mother moved to pick it up - at this point, Davina could care less if she did so or not - she kicked Rose's sides hard, sending her into a full fledged gallop as she fled back to the Red Keep.

Several days had come and gone since the day of Jon Arryn's burial, the majority of which had been spent in her bed feigning illness in an attempt to avoid any further interaction with either Cersei or Jaime. Her mother had requested to see her several times, but she'd refused her entry into her chambers, claiming she didn't wish her mother to catch the same sickness. Her handmaidens thought her a loving, caring, thoughtful daughter, and praised her for it, but she knew Cersei was well aware of the act.

Her gaze shifted to her mother as she sat by Robert, who was seated in the Iron Throne as he carried out his duties as King - a task he would've undoubtedly entrusted to Jon Arryn if he were still alive. She was in the gallery with the other highborn ladies, having made a miraculous recovery in the past few hours. Both Varys and Littlefinger had assured her that he would call her before him to discuss the matter of her marriage and she knew that if she wished for things to go her way, she simply had to be in attendance.

Her mother was in her usual place as the King's Consort, seated on his left side, the furthest from the gallery, and that suited Davina just fine. She didn't know when she'd be ready to speak to Cersei, but with any luck, it wouldn't be any time soon. She was more than content to avoid any further confrontation with her for the foreseeable future.

Abruptly, Robert's eyes sought her out and he motioned for her to come forward. "Davina, my child. I have a matter to discuss with you." She gracefully made her way down the stairs as the nobles parted for her, all whispering admiration of her beauty. Most had not seen her since she was a girl, so to see her now, a woman grown, coming into her own, drew their attention like nothing else.

Davina remained stoic as she made her way in front of the throne, knowing exactly what matter he wished to discuss with her so publicly thanks to Varys' warning.

She curtsied in front of him, displaying perfect form. She stayed that way until she heard her father ask for her to stand, which she did as fluidly as one possibly could, her head held high and her posture perfect. She knew every eye in the room was on her. They were taking in her hair, which was not in the customary style, but instead fashioned in her usual one - half pulled back and the rest left to fall in waves down to the small of her back. Her dress was as red as blood with gold accents as bright as sunlight on a midsummer's day, complementing her olive complexion and accentuating her Lannister eyes. The garment was just mature enough as to show off her womanly figure without displaying an outrageous amount of skin.

"Your Grace," she said diplomatically, making her father smile.

"You are clearly a woman grown, my dear...I believe it is well past time that you were wed."

"If Your Grace wishes it," she replied hesitantly, making her tone show she was not entirely in agreement without defying him outright. That would not go over well. Robert frowned at her answer, clearly seeing through to the hidden distaste for his proposition.

"You do not sound pleased."

"I mean Your Grace no dishonor," she said quickly, sounding as apologetic as she possibly could while not feeling even a shred of said emotion. If she wished to deceive him, she had to go about it in the right manner. "If you wish it, then I shall marry whomever you choose." Robert studied her for several long moments as her head remained bowed. If she met his eyes, he would see the clear disdain for him that surely shone like a beacon, and then she would lose whatever advantage she had over him.

"I will make a concession with you, since I favor you above most others," he said in negotiation, surprising her. Robert always got what he wanted - he drank whenever he pleased, fucked whomever he chose no matter if it was in public or in the private of his chambers, and hunted as frequently as he wished. King Robert Baratheon did not concede to many. "I merely wish that you marry one of Lord Stark's sons, the choice of which I shall leave up to you." Davina had to fight every impulse not to grin at this - it was exactly what she'd wanted, what they'd wanted for so long, and it was finally coming to pass.

"I shall do as Your Grace commands," she said evenly, bowing lowly once more, though much more quickly this time, before standing up and meeting his eyes. "There is only one thing I ask in return." She saw his cold blue eyes narrow at this, which nearly gave her pause, but, she only lifted her chin, challenging him to take the bait.

"And what might that be?" he asked through clenched teeth. She swallowed past the lump that'd suddenly risen in her throat. She was treading on dangerous ground asking him this, especially in such a public place. She knew, however, that if he agreed, his promise would hold more weight than if he'd merely conceded in private.

For a brief instant, she was tempted to back down, to abandon whatever dreams they'd had over the years, discounting them for fleeting, childish notions and wants, but then she remembered the suffering of the people and all her father wasn't doing to better the lives of his subjects while he lived in luxury. She steeled her nerves and forced her voice to remain unwavering and overflowing with confidence.

"If I do this, if I offer myself to one of Lord Eddard Stark's sons...then I humbly ask that you reconsider the line of succession." There was a mere moment of silence, where her voice echoed around the cavernous halls of the Red Keep before the whole court erupted, some whispering of her gall, while others were intrigued with her request and admired her for her bravery.

She met her father's eyes as he studied her thoughtfully, something that greatly surprised her. She'd half expected him to either laugh in her face or humiliate her in front of the entire court, but he'd done neither. He watched her for a few moments before his eyes turned to the crowd that was hastily discussing and sharing their opinions on the matter.

Davina took a chance and glanced to the left - well, Davina's right - of the throne, meeting her mother's clearly displeased gaze. She took satisfaction in the fact she might be about to steal Cersei's favorite child's birthright out from under his nose. She'd never voiced it outright, but it was clear she favored Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen above Davina, something that had always eaten away at Davina's confidence and sense of self worth.

Now that she knew the truth, she could easily attribute her mother's favoritism to the fact that they could be fathered by a different man, one that she loved instead of loathed. Because of her darker complexion and coloring, even if she were pure blooded lion, she could pass for a stag without question. Perhaps that was why Robert favored her above even Joffrey, his heir apparent. Maybe, somewhere deep within him, he knew or at least suspected the truth, but his pride prevented him from saying or doing anything about it.

"Silence!" he bellowed, and the whispering ceased just as suddenly as it'd begun. He eyed her up and down once more, sizing her up. Davina turned her attention back to her supposed father, the King, awaiting his answer with a nervousness she refused to show. She would not appear weak, especially now.

"You would have me forsake your brother's claim, as has been tradition for nearly three centuries, in your favor?" he questioned. She nodded gracefully, radiating an air of nobility Joffrey could never emulate.

"Yes, Your Grace. That is precisely what I am requesting."

"And why should I even consider betraying your brother, my firstborn son's, trust in support of an inferior candidate?" Davina narrowed her eyes. Robert was testing her, wanting to see if she would wilt under his clear lack of faith in her capabilities as a leader or if she would rise to the occasion and prove him wrong. She chose the later - he would not best her. She would not allow him to put Joffrey, an illegitimate bastard born of incest, a psychopathic spoiled child in the making, in such a position of power. He'd surely send the Seven Kingdoms spiraling into ruin as surely as the Sun would rise the next day, she was merely one of the first to recognize the inevitable future that laid before them if that were to happen.

"Because, Your Grace, while Joffrey might be your first boy, I am your firstborn. In many Essosi cultures, as well as Dorne, I would be your rightful heir, without question. I am a thousand times more capable than he will ever be..." she trailed off and cocked her head, almost mockingly. "Has the Prince even held a sword? I know that he has never shown interest in learning any sort of military practice, whether it be strategy or combat. How can one be the King, the protector of his own realm, if he isn't fit to defend it? What soldier would willingly follow an inexperienced child into the depths of hell if he knew the boy to have no experience?" Of all things, the King laughed at her response.

"You say that as if you have wielded a weapon." Her answering smirk was almost deadly in nature, causing the grin to fade from Robert's face.

"And who's to say I haven't?" she shot back. He narrowed his icy blue eyes and studied her again. "For more than the past decade, I have been taught how to wield a blade by my Uncle, Ser Jaime Lannister, arguably one of the greatest swordsman in the known world," she said, meeting Jaime's eyes, hoping against hope that he'd throw her his support along with Lord Baelish and Varys. It also helped that the two would vouch and swear Lord Arryn had supported her as well.

"Is this true, Kingslayer?" Davina had to bite her tongue as her father, who was perhaps her father in name only, addressed her Uncle, who could possibly be her true father, in a way she knew he hated. He'd once confessed to her during a sparring session that he loathed the title greatly.

Jaime stepped forward, glancing at her for a long moment before nodding and meeting Robert's eyes. "Yes, Your Grace, since her fifth name day," he replied. Davina let out a deep breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Jaime had been the one unknown in her entire plan. Without his support, her argument would've lost all credibility. Her main claim was that she could protect the realm a thousand times better than her brother ever could, but if Jaime had said she was lying about her skills, Robert would've laughed in her face and her rule would've ended before it'd even begun.

"And you didn't think to consult me first?"

"The Princess requested it as a name day gift, the only one she's ever asked of me, and she is my niece. How could I refuse her? It is clear even Your Grace has trouble since you are allowing her to pick her husband." Davina wanted to gesticulate to her uncle to stop trying to justify his actions by pointing out that even Robert himself could deny her nothing, but there were too many eyes on her. All she could do was close her eyes and pray to the Seven that he would remain true to his promise. If she couldn't have Kol Stark, then she would refuse all others. She'd be the Virgin Queen until her death, and upon that time, she'd more than likely name either Tommen or Myrcella as her heir, or even her cousin, Shireen, if she must.

All she knew was that as long as she had a say, the throne would stay safely out of Joffrey's grasp.

"I suppose you are right, she is awfully hard to resist. As she stated, she is my firstborn, girl or otherwise, and therefore she is dear to me in a way my other children are not." Davina took that as an agreement on her father's part and a sign that he would not retract his promise to allow her to choose her own husband out of the Stark pack. He glanced over at her again before turning back to Jaime.

"How is she? Is she as proficient with a blade as you?" Jaime turned and graced her with a smile, so painstakingly similar to hers that, for a fraction of a second, she was almost certain she was his. When people complimented her, they often commented on how her smile could put a thousand suns to shame, and the moment Jaime had looked on her, beaming with a pride she'd never seen shining in his green eyes, that very description had immediately jumped to the forefront of her mind.

"At times, dare I say it, she manages to best me," he responded honestly, making Davina grin widely before looking away sheepishly. It wasn't an extravagant compliment by any stretch of the imagination, but the fact that he truly believed her to be his equal at points meant more to her than any grand-sweeping, poetic verse or song ever could.

Her father fixed her with a look she'd never seen him direct her way before at Jaime's honest reply. "Then she must be rather formidable..." he trailed off, possibly seeing her with new eyes. When presented with all of her skills and capabilities, Robert would be a fool to not appoint her his heir, and she suspected he was coming to that very realization now. "But a leader must possess more knowledge than how to simply swing a sword." Davina's answering smirk was absolutely dripping with cunning.

"I am well aware of that, Your Grace, which is why I have been studying the Seven Kingdoms since my eighth name day with Lord Arryn, as well as the arts of politics and diplomacy." Thanks to Arryn's tutelage, she was as well versed in the histories and customs of the Great Houses as Pycelle. Her father's expression dropped at the mention of his departed Hand.

"Lord Arryn has advised you on such matters in the past?" he questioned. She nodded, unsure if he would take her at her word or if she would need Littlefinger and Varys to confirm her claims.

"It is true, Your Grace." Davina's stance relaxed slightly as Petyr Baelish stepped forward, drawing her father's attention away from her, allowing her to breathe easier. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Varys at Baelish's heels as, together, they walked forward to join her in front of the King.

If Robert Baratheon had seemed surprised at the news his daughter was among the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps even the greatest, the suggestion that she was well versed in all things a ruler should be at least somewhat knowledgeable of seemed to astound him.

"Myself, Lord Arryn, and Varys have been bestowing on the Princess every ounce of knowledge she was willing to drink in since her eighth name day, as she previously stated," he claimed, accentuating his words with a bow. The King appeared blindsided for a moment before he shook himself from his shock induced stupor.

"And how has she fared?" He asked, now sounding more intrigued than anything else.

"She is truly a special child, Your Grace. Not many can understand and master coin, history, politics, and the art of secrets, much less put them to use, but she has excelled at them all a hundred times over. It is she who has been aiding me in managing the Seven Kingdoms finances for the past two years, and because of her, we have prospered monetarily in a way that I myself have never witnessed. I would readily and gladly pledge my loyalty to her if she were in fact chosen as your heir," he said, bowing again before stepping back three paces, leaving she and Varys standing before her father.

While Littlefinger's praise was exactly what she'd been hoping for, he had lied about the extent of her involvement. Though she understood and excelled at managing money, Lord Baelish had never allowed her to personally handle or oversee any matter of great importance. She also knew his claims of prosperity were a bold-faced lie - they were up to their ears in debt to her grandfather, and there was no telling how much they owed the Iron Bank - but she would rectify that when she assumed the throne.

"I agree wholeheartedly with Lord Baelish, Your Grace. In these past seven years, the Princess has observed and aided me in collecting important information regarding the Realm, information that has proven to be invaluable. She is an astoundingly bright child with such a thirst for knowledge that would put even a maester to shame. I, too, would gladly serve under her if she were to be chosen." And, like with Littlefinger, Varys bowed and faded away into the background, leaving her alone in front of the very throne she so desired once more.

To say Robert appeared stunned would be a grave understatement. After several long seconds of silenced passed by as he absorbed all that he'd been told, he finally looked at her again, this time with barely concealed pride.

"It seems that I have sorely misunderestimated you, my child," he said with an honest smile, making her return it with blinding intensity. "Is there anything else you would like to say?" he offered, something he rarely did. The chance to speak openly in front of court, unhindered by anyone, was a chance she would be a fool to forfeit.

She turned to look into the crowd, being sure to look as many people in the eye as she could.

"My whole life, the people of this city have harbored a fear that I too share. It is common knowledge that both Viserys Targaryen and his younger sister, Daenerys, survived my Uncle Stannis' siege of Dragonstone and fled to Essos, where they remain to this day...but for how long? You know as well as I that Viserys plans on someday attempting to take back what he believes is his by birthright, so ask yourselves this - would you rather have a Boy King who has failed to show interest in his birthright, or a Queen who can and will protect you when that threat comes knocking on our doorstep?" She waited, drinking in their silence, taking it as affirmation that they believed she was a more viable option than her brother before plowing on.

"Now, I might be young, but the truth remains that I know better than most, certainly better than my brother, what we are truly up against, and I can help build a peace, ushering the Seven Kingdoms into a Golden Age unlike any other, or I can burn our enemies to the ground," she promised, with a conviction that her audience felt within their very souls. Making sure she had their undivided attention, she drove her point home.

"The question isn't whether or not I should be named the heir of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of The Seven Kingdoms and Protector of The Realm. The question is what the hell would you do without me?" A silence washed over the Red Keep as the nobles looked upon her, most with an expression radiating pure wonderment as they looked upon her as she stood just paces from where she longed to be most.

"Well." Her father's voice drew her attention, causing her to turn around so that she could meet his gaze, which was now overflowing with pride. "It seems that with all I've heard, and all you've just said, I have no choice but to reconsider." As soon as a smile began spreading across her face, he held up a hand. "I am not saying that the throne is yours...but you've definitely caught my attention, Davina, and it shall not go unnoticed." She bowed her head graciously, silently thanking him for his reconsideration. He then focused his attention on the other nobles in the room, who were watching the interaction between father and daughter with rapt attention.

"Let it be known that I, Robert of the House Baratheon, First of My Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of The Realm, have promised my firstborn, my eldest daughter, Davina of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, First of Her Name, Crown Princess of the Andals and the First Men, the Bold, blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, my reconsideration in the matter of succession, in her favor." His eyes fell on her and, again, she bowed gracefully, waiting for him to ask for her to stand before doing so.

He'd just bestowed her first true title upon her in front of the entire court to mark her bravery for her request. It was the highest honor a man could receive - for a woman to receive a given title that held no relation to her familial status or wealth was a rare occurrence.

Her grandfather, the mighty Tywin Lannister himself, had been dubbed as The Great Lion. Despite her misgivings and general dislike of the man who could possibly be her sole grandfather, she couldn't help but admire him for raising their house from the mud where his own father had driven it.

She intended to be greater still.

With her head held high, she turned and strode out of the throne room, fully aware of the nobles bowing to her as she passed, acknowledging her claim to the throne. The only person who failed to offer her their respect, besides her father and the members of his Kingsguard, was her own mother, who merely glared at her back as she made her way across the room and through the doors.

She lay in the waning sunlight later that afternoon, at the base of a tree near the seawall. After she'd been dismissed from court, she'd returned to her chambers to find that Varys had left her a letter from Kol, slipped under her door. Already victorious from her negotiations with her father, she'd quickly snatched the note from the floor before retreating out to her favorite spot, where the ocean breeze washed over her gently and the smell of salt tinged the air.

As the sun warmed her already bronzed skin, she unfolded the note, smiling immediately at seeing his familiar script.

My Dearest Davina,

I wish you the best of luck when you are inevitably called before the King to discuss the matter of your marriage. If the Gods are on our side, surely we shall be wed before your nameday, and I will count myself the luckiest man in the world when we are pronounced husband and wife before god and man alike. I know, without a doubt, it will be the happiest day of my life.

I also pray, to the Old Gods and New, to give you strength when questioning the line of succession. Your father is many things, but a fool he is not. Given the chance to demonstrate your superior skills, or the voucher of Lord Baelish, Lord Varys, and Lord Arryn, should prove more than enough to convince His Majesty of your abilities. From what I remember of Joffrey, he is extremely unfit to be King. Even though he was but six when we met, based off your stories over the years, he has not changed much.

Your father will come to his senses. You will be Queen, and I will be there at your side in any capacity you need, even if it is merely as a lover or a friend in counsel. If you wish me to rule by your side, it would be my supreme honor to be your King Consort - the first, if I'm not mistaken. Together we will decide what is right for the Realm, and one day a son or daughter of ours will ascend the throne and we will retire somewhere far, far away as our children and our grandchildren rule in our stead.

If your father agrees upon our marriage, then the day draws near that we are finally reunited. The prospect of once again holding you in my arms is almost more than I can stand, and I hope you feel the same, for once we are together, I am never letting you out of my sight again.

I am yours, from my first day until my last, as I pray you will be mine,

Kol Stark

She reread the letter several times before folding it back up again with a giddy, lovestruck expression. His unwavering support and faith never ceased to amaze her. He believed her fully and totally capable of anything she set her mind to, even a goal as mountainous as reaching for the throne, and his promise to be by her side, in whatever capacity she needed or desired, set her heart at ease, but at the same time, she couldn't help but shake her head at his foolishness.

Of course she wished for him to rule by her side. She imagined their lives no other way. She would sit the Iron Throne with him beside her, seated in his very own as they governed the Seven Kingdoms together as one. He would be the greatest King in nearly three centuries, and she would be the first true queen. They would have their own litter of golden wolf pups, one of which would live to succeed her, taking his or her father's ancestral name and bearing a new sigil representing the joining of the Houses Baratheon and Stark.

It was a beautiful vision that made her heart both ache and soar, and in that moment, she swore to herself she would ensure it came to pass, no matter the consequences. She refused to fall into a loveless marriage like that of the King and Queen. She respected herself far too much allow that to happen.

She had been so busy dreaming of the life she and Kol would begin in a few months time that she failed to realize her mother was approaching until her shadow cast itself over Davina's features. Though taken aback, she managed to carefully slip Kol's letter underneath her without Cersei noticing. It wouldn't do to have her mother aware of she and Kol's relationship, especially knowing how she opposed any of her children marrying into, or a member of, House Stark. She doubted her father was liable to change his mind, especially concerning her union, but Joffrey's was another matter entirely, one that her mother was surely attempting to sabotage.

Neither offered a greeting, but Davina couldn't hide her surprise when Cersei sat down on the grass beside her, making her severely uncomfortable. They sat that way in silence for countless minutes until, finally, Davina felt her mother's eyes land on her.

"What were you thinking, trying to convince your father to take away Joff's birthright?" she questioned angrily, and Davina sighed heavily. She'd been expecting a confrontation over her actions eventually, just not so soon.

"The Iron Throne should be mine, Mother, not even you can deny that I am a thousand times more capable of ruling the Seven Kingdoms than Joffrey could ever dream of being. I have put forth more effort into learning about each and every House, no matter their size or station, studying policies and diplomacy, training with a sword so that I might be able to lead our troops against Viserys Targaryen and whatever army he intends to form in order to protect our family, our legacy, our way of life. I want to lead, I was born for it...and Joff has shown little to no interest in any of it," she finally turned her head so that she met her mother's identical eyes for a moment before looking away.

"Instead, all he cares about is torturing poor woodland creatures and being a shithead," she nearly growled, her clear dislike for her younger brother emanating from her entire being. They'd never gotten along, even as infants. She remembered the first time she realized just how greatly she despised him.

They'd been four and three respectively, sitting in the gardens one day with Cersei and Jaime, having just finished a game of tag where he'd gotten mad that she'd caught him, so he'd kicked her as hard as he possibly could. Even at four, Davina had been unwilling to take any ill treatment from him, so, she'd responded by shoving him to the grass, making him cry. Cersei had scolded her mercilessly for it while she'd coddled him, soothing his tears, though she'd witnessed him strike Davina first.

Davina had sat quietly throughout her mother's rant, and when it was over, she'd simply turned to her uncle and asked if he would teach her to use a sword. Joffrey had berated her for it, in his still simplistic way, cementing her hatred for him.

When she realized Cersei hadn't immediately jumped to Joffrey's defense, Davina turned and found her mother studying her intently. Finally, after a prolonged moment, she shook her head absently. "I never wanted you involved in any of this," she said honestly, surprising Davina greatly. "The great game is not a thing I ever wanted any of you to partake in."

"I am your daughter, Mother. I am a Lannister, perhaps solely Lannister, and ambition runs through my veins as surely as blood...but here is where I differ from you lot - that ambition is tempered by my morality. I do not seek the throne to satisfy my own quest for power or thirst for blood. I do so in order to protect the people of the Seven Kingdoms, from both foreign and domestic threats until my dying day. Something that Father, Joffrey, Grandfather, and even you could never understand. You worry about the future, but only because of what it would or could mean for this family and our grip on the Iron Throne. I care about the people of the Realm, no matter their status or monetary wealth, and I will not allow someone as blind and inexperienced as Joffrey to sit on my throne and plunge the Kingdoms into chaos."

After her passionate rant, Davina feared that Cersei would scold her for doubting her brother's capabilities or claim that she was reaching too high, far, far above her station, but she did neither. Instead, she almost seemed...proud?

Cersei hardly ever seemed pleased with her lately, not since she'd been told by Qyburn - a former maester exiled from the Citadel she'd found to discover what had been wrong with her daughter - that Davina possessed otherworldly power that could prove difficult to control if not managed correctly. She'd locked Davina away in a tower at Casterly Rock while Tywin had been doing business in Braavos, claiming that the cure to Davina's mysterious illness was simply a change of scenery, forcing her to read the manuscripts Qyburn had gathered for her. She'd left her there for weeks on end until she decided that Davina had a handle on her magic and had sent Jaime to bring her back, keeping the reasoning behind Davina's prolonged visit to their ancestral home a secret, even from him.

She suspected he'd since learned of it if his lack of confusion at her outburst on the beach was any indicator.

"If it were left up to spirit alone, there would be no doubt in my mind that you are Lannister through and through without a drop of Baratheon blood flowing through your veins. At times, I catch glimpses of him, in your smiles, your laugh, the way your eyebrows furrow when you're cross, and I say to myself, she must be ours..." Her expression fell as her eyes traveled to Davina's golden brown waves which were splayed out on the grass around her head like a halo. Reaching out, she stroked the silky strands, much like she'd done when Davina was a child.

"But then I see this, neither black nor gold, and that certainty fades away just as quickly as it'd come." The solemness of Cersei's tone pulled on her daughter's heart strings. Davina had never stopped to contemplate how the uncertainty of her parentage had affected her mother. To look on your own child and not know which man had given them life was a burden Davina couldn't imagine, and Cersei must've been constantly plagued by it since she'd been handed to her nearly sixteen years prior.

"Sweetheart, just because I'm unsure if you're half Baratheon or all Lannister does not mean I love you any less. You are my child, regardless of who your father is, and everything I've ever done, I have done because I believed them to be within your best interests. And I will continue to do so..." Davina's hopeful expression began to fade as she realized exactly where Cersei was headed.

"Which is why I will never support your claim to the throne, no matter what Robert Baratheon says. You think it's so easy, so simple, but even you would fall victim to it, as so many have before you. Your grandfather will dig his claws in, as will Stannis and Renly, along with Lord Baelish and Varys, and they will rip you apart as surely as I am telling you this." Davina moved to argue that she was stronger than Cersei thought, but her mother silenced her before she could speak the words.

"I know how capable you are. I have seen great potential in you far longer than anyone else, but I will not allow your life to be wasted in pursuit of something which will undoubtedly be your ruin. I care about you far too much to watch you destroy yourself."

"You'd refuse me, but you would willingly have Joff inherit the Seven Kingdoms?" Davina asked incredulously. "What does he possess that I lack? Certainly not bravery, or honor, or-"

"He listens to me," Cersei interrupted, "whereas you do not."

"But for how much longer, Mother? Someday soon, Joff will realize the extent of his own power, and your word will mean nothing if it prevents him from getting what he wants. He will become a nightmare, simply because you've coddled him so much that he believes himself to be without fault, and that is the most terrifying character trait a King could possess." Cersei's previously soft expression had now hardened at Davina's accusation.

She stood, glancing down on her daughter with a look that made Davina want to disappear inside of herself. "The matter is closed and not open for discussion. You will not have my support, and that is final." And with that, Cersei turned and strode away, leaving Davina to openly glare at her mother's back until she was out of sight.

They'd been riding for Winterfell near a fortnight at an agonizingly slow pace when Davina finally could handle it no longer. She felt trapped, suffocated by her mother's unwavering gaze on her back as she rode only a handful of paces in front of the royal carriage where Cersei, Myrcella, and Tommen resided, the later two of which were probably entertaining themselves as only children could do. She was positioned on the King's right side per his request, something that struck her as terribly odd.

Traditionally, the King's heir was to ride at his side, so to have her riding there instead of Joffrey truly spoke wonders as to how seriously he was considering her claim to the throne. Even though he had verbalized nothing when he'd requested her to do so just before they'd departed from King's Landing, many had understood the ramifications and the deeper meaning behind it.

She released the reins with one hand so that she might brush back the shorter, unruly strands of her bronze mane that had escaped her braid and were now blowing every which way in the biting wind, so different from the sunny, temperate atmosphere she'd grown accustomed to.

They'd just passed through the Twins earlier that day, which belonged to Walder Frey, an older lord loyal to both her father and Kol's mother's House, House Tully. She'd done her best to ignore the elder man as his lecherous gaze had swept over her, even as he'd possessively held his new wife - a girl who couldn't be much older than herself - making her feel absolutely filthy. If the King had noticed, he had said nothing, but her mother certainly had, as well as her uncle and the Hound.

All three had warned the ninety year old that he was practically undressing her with his eyes, and that she'd definitely noticed, with great displeasure. Her mother, despite opposing her claim to the throne, had not so kindly reminded Lord Frey that he was disrespecting a girl that could very likely become his next sovereign, and Davina would remember it as surely as the Sun would set that night and rise come the morrow.

Lord Frey had immediately turned his attention from her and returned it fully to his new wife, who looked positively miserable and no doubt reviled her husband's advances, which had made Davina release a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. She'd then met her mother's eyes and, even though they hadn't spoken since that day in the gardens, she'd nodded in gratitude before pulling Rose up between her uncle and the Hound and quietly thanking them for protecting her honor as well.

Jaime had made a joke about how she could always personally remove the Lord's eyes from his head if he ever dared look her way again while the Hound had simply bowed his head, accepting her thanks graciously. Even though the man still frightened her at times, he was far, far more personable than his older, monstrous brother.

She'd offered them both a smile before the King had summoned her back to his side, labeling her as his favored child in the process. At Joffrey's indignant huff in response, she'd merely smirked in her younger golden brother's direction before urging Rose into a brief canter in order to catch her father.

Several hours later, she was growing tired of the mundane pace and her father's constant vulgar rambling with his Kingsguard surrounding them. She'd attempted to engage in it at first, trying to create some common ground between them, but all he talked about were war stories from the Rebellion, women he'd fucked in the days leading up to their departure, and how he couldn't wait to hunt in the Northern wilderness surrounding Winterfell.

She'd agreed to join his hunting party with the hopes that, if everything went according to planned and Robert accepted her choosing Kol instead of Robb as her betrothed, her love would be able to accompany them so they would be able to sneak away, just for a little while. Long enough to tell him about her possible bastard status and her unique abilities, no doubt against her mother's wishes and wants, which he fully deserved to know.

He needed to know just who he was marrying, and what he was marrying into. She'd be lying to herself if she didn't fear his reaction - he could take one look, see her for the disgusting, horrid thing she could be, and end it all then and there. With her confession, she could stand to lose everything, or she could gain his absolute trust and complete devotion. She prayed to whichever of the Seven would listen that it would be the later.

As another strong gust of wind blew by, further exacerbating her general annoyance at everything - she supposed she could attribute that to her moon blood's expected appearance within the next few days - she let out a barely audible sigh of frustration before taking Rose's reins between her clenched fists and turning to Robert.

"Your Grace, I apologize for asking so forwardly, but may I ride on ahead? The pace is boring me and I am in desperate need of some entertainment." She didn't care if she sounded disrespectful at this point - she just needed to get away. If she didn't do something soon, she was liable to make her frustrations blatantly obvious, and she couldn't have that.

Her father's icy blue gaze studied her for a moment in silence before his rounded features melted into a grin. "A girl after my own heart. At least I have one of you that isn't entirely boring." The comment was spoken loud enough for Joff to hear, as well as Myrcella and Tommen, though they were probably too preoccupied with whatever game they'd discovered. She couldn't help but smirk as she imagined the indignant, self righteous little bastard's face at that moment.

"Go, Davina," he urged before turning in his saddle to look back towards the carriage. She nodded in thanks, even though he couldn't see her, as she reached up and undid her simple plait, letting her bronze waves fall free of their confines. "Kingslayer!" he bellowed as Davina kicked Rose's sides hard, sending her into a canter that quickly turned into a gallop she knew her Dornish mare could hold for hours without tiring.

She was out of range before hearing Jaime's reply, but there was no doubt Robert had sent him after her and was hot on her heels, though she was almost positive he would not be able to catch her while weighed down in his suit of armor. Despite missing him greatly - having not talked privately with him since that day on the beach where she'd threatened to personally remove his prized sword wielding hand from his body if he came near her again before ripping off her beloved golden lion pendant and tossing it to her mother's feet in disgust - she still had not forgiven him for the years of lies, and who could blame her?

He'd had countless opportunities to confess to her, yet he'd kept it to himself. The rational woman in her had been screaming for weeks that he'd only done so to protect her, but the child was not so forgiving.

So, she refused to look back, opting instead to keep her eyes on the King's Road as she and Jaime lengthened the distance between themselves and the royal party.

The Sun was just beginning it's descent in the sky when Davina finally pulled Rose up as they approached a sizeable stream. If it'd been small enough, she would've taken her chances and had her mare simply jump from one bank to the other, but it was slightly too wide for that. She wasn't foolish or uncaring enough to risk her mare's life just because she wanted to avoid talking to her uncle, who could very well also be the man who'd given her life, for as long as possible.

Davina studied the stream as she heard Jaime's horse approaching from behind, laboring much more than Rose was. Her horse hadn't even broken a sweat whereas his was breathing heavily. Idly, she wondered how long it would take for his mount to give out. If she merely kept riding after that, she would be at the gates of Winterfell in less than a week's time, far sooner than she would be if she stayed with the rest of the procession.

"We should find a safer crossing point," he said as he slowly pulled his white stallion up beside her smaller mare, and her dreams of leaving him behind vanished as quickly as they'd appeared. She bit her lip, not wanting to admit he was right. While it wasn't particularly deep, the current was strong and, from what she could see of the bottom, riddled with rocks that she or her horse could twist their ankle upon if they tried crossing on foot.

Reluctantly, she nodded and steered Rose to the right, intending on going around her uncle and continuing on her way when he used his own horse's superior size to block her path. She scowled in his direction, but he held his ground.

"You can't ignore me forever, Davina." She rolled her eyes before trying to pass him for the second time, only for him to block her yet again. She shot him a clearly unamused look, which he merely shrugged to in response.

He was right - if she wished him to eventually be Lord Commander of her Kingsguard after Ser Barristan passed on, she had to learn how to at least be amiable with him.

After several moments of silence, she exhaled heavily in frustration before conceding.

"Fine."

"Did you know that you had an older brother?" Davina's emerald Lannister eyes, that had been focused straight ahead, swung to meet his without her permission. She'd known that there had been a boy born before her, but she'd never been told his name or what exactly had taken him from this world. Neither of her parents willingly discussed it, even when she'd asked as a child, so eventually she'd just stopped asking. The pain in their eyes every time she'd broached the subject said more than a thousand words could.

"I know, even though neither of them would talk about him. Lord Arryn told me that he looked just like the King." Looking back on it, she wondered how long the Hand had suspected of her mother's infidelity. Perhaps that very conversation had planted the seed of doubt in his mind.

"That he did. Black haired with blue eyes, a Baratheon through and through...I remember storming out of the birthing room at the sight of him, ignoring your mother's cries of apology." Davina quietly waited for Jaime to continue. While the thought of them together still turned her stomach, she swore to herself in that moment to put forth an effort to understand the Lannister twins and perhaps even support them, for what else could she do?

"The first year of her marriage, she'd put forth effort, even though that drunken pig did not, and it had caused a rift of sorts to divide us, moreso still when she learned she was with his child. When her time came, we were barely on speaking terms. Your royal father," he practically spat the title, "fled to the Kingswood the moment he knew, as he did for all of your births, leaving her alone with Pycelle and a handful of servants. I'd intended to stay away, to keep my distance, but then one of her servants came to me, telling me she demanded to see me," he chuckled lightly under his breath.

"If you have not realized, Davina, much like with you, I can deny her nothing. So, I went to her, ignoring propriety and tradition, and there I stayed until she gave birth."

"What happened to him?" she asked, genuinely curious. In a different world, had the child, her own brother, the one true Baratheon, lived, how much would be different?

"Fever," he answered simply. "He caught it soon after his birth, but he fought a whole month before it took him." He shook his head sadly. "Your mother was inconsolable, as was the King. I wasn't present when they took his body away, but I heard her screams of anguish and the sounds of him beating his fists bloody on the stone wall of the room."

Davina gently brushed a stray strand of her bronze waves behind her ear as it blew across her face due to the wind. The sun was close to setting and the wind had picked up anew. Jaime noticed her shiver slightly in response to the biting breeze.

"I think we've gone far enough. Let's make camp and wait for the rest to catch up," he suggested. She nodded readily, eager to have a fire to warm her chilled hands.

Davina stared into the flames absently as Jaime added more kindling to feed the fire. The sun had disappeared beneath the horizon about half an hour before, and the royal party would be upon them within the hour. She'd been mostly silent since discussing her older brother's birth and fate, mulling over all of what the older Lannister had said thoughtfully. After hearing of his reaction to his birth, she couldn't help but wonder how he'd reacted the moment he'd seen her.

Had he stormed out like he had with the first child his sister had born, a child that certainly was not his, or had he given her the benefit of the doubt and considered the possibility of her being his despite her not possessing any physical Lannister trait besides her eyes? She glanced up in time to see him sit next to her, several feet between them, and she found she had to know, even if his answer pained her.

Even though she was still not thrilled at the prospect of being the product of incest, the thought of Jaime having a hand in giving her life warmed her in a way she'd never imagined. He had always held a special place in her heart that Robert could never dare reach himself, and it was now she realized that, while Robert was supposedly her biological father, Jaime had filled the role a thousand times over. He, at least in her heart, was more her father than the King had ever been.

It was his approval she sought out the most and valued above all others. She respected and trusted him, knowing on an almost instinctual level that his hand in the Mad King's death was so much more than a Kingsguard simply betraying his sworn oath. He'd never said as much, but she knew there was a deeper, more noble reason than the one he gave to everyone who dared ask about it.

People called him Kingslayer and Oathbreaker, and while he hid it well, she could see the slight tension in his shoulders when he was referred to in such a manner. Whenever she was present, she'd feel a sharp pang deep in her soul for him, because while some viewed it as a joke, she saw it for what it really was - one of the greatest insults a knight of his stature could be given.

"Jaime?" she asked hesitantly, waiting until she was sure he was looking her way - she was looking into the flames again, not wanting him to see the hurt flash in her green eyes when he told her he'd rejected her at birth also - before garnering the courage to ask. "You said you were with Mother when she gave birth to the King's true son..." she swallowed thickly, but gave no other indication of her nervousness that he could discern. "Were you there for mine?"

Her voice trembled slightly, and she bit her lip in response as she waited for the inevitable. Of course he had, she chastised herself, even if you are his, how would he have known it then? He probably took one look at her bronze mane and had left Cersei alone with her while her mother had cried softly over allowing Robert to come between them again. While the birth of her first child, the boy she'd subsequently lost, more than likely ranked as the most bittersweet day of her life, the day of Davina's own birth was probably a close second.

"Yes," he answered simply, and as the seconds ticked by, Davina's fear grew and grew until he finally carried on. "Your mother had told me she was with child as soon as she was sure, before anyone else, claiming you were undeniably ours, despite Robert having forced himself upon her around the time of your conception." Davina felt like he tongue was made of lead at that admission. Before, if she was in fact Robert's and not Jaime's, at least she was legitimate, but now, she was either the product of incest or rape, and only the Gods knew for sure.

It made her feel dirtier still, knowing that neither possible conception was how the Gods intended, and she felt the sudden rush of tears well in her eyes, illuminating themselves in the firelight, even as she refused to let them fall.

"Admittedly, I was not as enthused as a man should when learning he had fathered a child, but as weeks grew to months, and you along with them, your mother coaxed more involvement from me. I was still not overly excited, mind you, but I put forth an effort at least. When the day of your birth came, the King fled to the Kingswood as he had before, leaving me by your mother's side. She labored just over a day to bring you into this world, more than she had with her first, but substantially less than with your younger brother."

She knew full well that Cersei had suffered a day and a half before giving Joffrey life. Even from the beginning he'd been difficult it seemed, and had only grown worse as he'd aged.

"By the time you were finally ready, she was exhausted. The pains were greater than with the first birth and she was on the brink of giving up when Pycelle announced you were finally coming. I've never seen her so determined - she'd already lost one child, through no fault of her own, and she wasn't about to allow you to be taken from her if she could help it. The scream she let forth as she delivered you will be forever burned in my memory."

"I was so worried about her that I hadn't realized you weren't crying until Pycelle hurriedly handed you off to one of the midwives, barking orders at the lot of them as he did so. Your mother was just lucid enough to ask me why you weren't crying, and at the time, I was more concerned with her survival than yours." She was surprised his confession didn't sting as it should have, perhaps because she was interested more in his personal account of her birth than the technicalities of it all.

"What was wrong with me?" she asked, this being the first time she'd heard of it.

"Pycelle instructed the midwife that had taken you from his arms on how to revive you-"

"Revive me?" she interrupted with raised brows. As far as anyone had told her, she'd been the easiest birth out of her living siblings. She'd never heard Jaime's version of events before, and was suddenly even more thankful she'd asked.

"Apparently your heart had stopped beating. Not uncommon, or so Pycelle said, but not something that occurred often either. Thankfully, before your mother regained enough sense to realize what was happening, you let out a cry that almost echoed hers as she brought you into this world. I remember thinking, such a mighty roar for a tiny cub," she smiled at the grin that graced his features, a smile that he had possibly given to her, at the comparison. She had always viewed herself as more of a lion anyways, even before questioning her parentage.

"Pycelle wrapped you in a blanket, placed you in your mother's waiting arms, and proceeded to usher the midwives out of the room, leaving the three of us alone. As you looked up for the first time, Cersei marveled at the color of your eyes - the most radiant green, even at birth - saying they were mine, that I had given them to you. Of course, I argued that my eyes were the same as hers, but she would hear none of it. They were mine, you were ours, and everything was finally right with the world. She was happier than I think I have ever seen her in that moment." His smile began to fall then, and she knew this was the part of his story that would shatter her heart into a thousand pieces.

"And then she pushed the blanket back to reveal your hair, a thick mass of bloody bronze colored curls, and her joy withered almost instantly. My own heart dropped at the sight, even though I still cared less than I should have, and I turned to leave, angrier at myself that I had failed her, failed us, by letting that bastard plant another seed within her, when your tiny little fist shot out and grasped the smallest finger on my sword hand with such a surprising display of strength, it caught me completely off guard. You looked me right in the eye with a degree of intelligence well beyond your age, and you smiled. You were so unbelievably pure, so perfect, and in that moment you managed to capture the thing that only one other had - my heart."

She looked up from the flames to meet his eyes, so like hers, that were shining with such a degree of uninhibited, unrestrained love, it caused a lump to form in her throat. Even in all the time they'd spent together over the years, during all the lessons and laughter, she'd never truly seen the full extent of how much he cared for her.

"I'd always assumed that once Cersei had a child, whether it was mine or not, I would inevitably lose her," he chuckled quietly before shaking his head at his own naivety. "It wasn't until that moment that I truly understood what my sister had experienced during her first pregnancy...The child hadn't replaced me, just as you wouldn't, her heart had just grown to accommodate it, as mine did for you. It didn't matter to me what the color of your mane was, I found, and I smiled back, causing you to giggle, so perfect, like a little bell. Your mother watched us, a smile of her own growing, and she told me that you had my smile and my laugh - a silent acknowledgement that she viewed you as ours, no matter what the truth really was - and then called you her precious little bronze cub. She predicted you would grow up to be a lioness, as strong and as fierce as the bravest lion, before naming you."

Davina's brows furrowed. "I thought the King named me." At least, that's what she'd always assumed. It was tradition for the father, especially if he were the King, to name his heirs. Jaime shook his head.

"No, that was entirely Cersei...with my approval. Robert came in not too long after, multiple pelts draped over his shoulder - fruits from his hunt - and you were presented to him. He seemed less than enthusiastic at the prospect of having a daughter for his firstborn, and you paid him little to no mind, focusing your waning attention on your mother and I. He barely batted an eye upon learning you'd already been given a name and gruffly agreed to it before storming out."

Jaime account of her father's reaction didn't surprise or affect her much - she'd known her birth hadn't brought him any joy seeing as how she wasn't the heir he'd wanted. Still, she suspected his reaction to Joffrey was about the same. Poor Myrcella had probably only received a glance from him, and Tommen even less than that.

Robert had never been loving or particularly fond of any of them, though he did favor her above her younger siblings, if only slightly, but she suspected that favoritism was growing by the day with how he'd been treating Joff as of late.

"When the time came for your brother, I expected to feel that same spark inside me that you'd ignited, but no matter how hard I tried...I just couldn't. Myrcella and Tommen stirred something within me, but it paled in comparison to you. As you grew, I couldn't help but see both Cersei and I in you - you'd inherited her stubbornness and pension to act out when treated unfairly and it appeared you developed a recklessness that rivaled my own."

They both smiled as they remembered her jumping from the cliffs of Casterly Rock on a trip there. She'd only been eight, and Joffrey had dared her to. Little had she known at the time, but as she'd snuck away from Jaime and Cersei - her Lord father had declined her grandfather's invitation, which had suited them all just fine - who'd been busy watching Myrcella and Tommen as they'd toddled around in the sand on their tiny little legs, and climbed up the cliff, she'd ended up picking the very spot Jaime had jumped from as a child.

Her mother hadn't realized what she'd been up to until she'd already leapt from the edge, refusing to give Joff the satisfaction of screaming on the way down. She'd emerged from the waves with a victorious smile and her laughter had carried all the way to shore, letting her mother and uncle know she was alright.

Needless to say, she'd suffered through a scolding from her mother as soon as she'd reached the beach, followed by a drawn out lecture by her grandfather on how a Princess shouldn't act like such a fool.

"Davina...I know how uncomfortable your mother and I's...the love we bear each other, makes you-" she interrupted him by shaking her head. Her clear rejection of him on the beach the day of Jon Arryn's burial had clearly stuck with him, and he was right - she still was slightly disgusted by it, but who was she to cast the first stone when she was far from perfect herself?

"We don't choose whom we love. Even though I might find it..." she trailed off as she searched for the right word, one that wouldn't offend him, "...odd, I can't fault you for something you had no control over." She smiled then, thinking of Kol and how her love for him had taken ahold of her heart before she'd even known what true love was.

Some could pinpoint the exact moment they'd fallen in love with their better half - though marrying for love seemed far less common than it should've been - but for her, there'd been no exact moment that had made her care for him. She suspected she'd felt something from the moment they'd first laid eyes on each other - she uncharacteristically hiding behind her mother's skirts while he gazed upon her with an expression of clear wonderment - and it had only grown from there.

The few months they'd spent together, they'd been practically inseparable, and though they had fought openly on many occasions, the bond of friendship they'd forged had planted the seed of a love that would put the most beautiful of songs to shame.

Realizing she'd allowed her attention to drift to thoughts of him, she refocused it onto Jaime, who was watching her with an understanding, yet bittersweet expression.

"This Stark boy," he finally ventured hesitantly, "do you love him?" She nodded without even a moment's hesitation. Of course she loved Kol...she had for so long that he was irrevocably a part of her. Sometimes she didn't know where she ended and he began

"I do, much like I suspect you love Mother," she answered simply. Jaime looked away, perhaps trying to come to terms with the fact that she practically a woman grown, his chiseled features illuminated in the light of the flames. Myrcella looked so much like him, she realized, practically a mirror image. How had she not recognized the truth sooner?

"Well then," he murmured finally, meeting her eyes. "I can't promise anything, but I will try my best to like him, if you're so keen on marrying him." The slight laugh that burst forth from her throat, entirely unbidden, caused one of his own, and as her eyes watered, she closed the distance between them and laid her head on his shoulder in silent thanks.

They didn't need words, for they understood each other as only two sides of the same coin could. She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but the embrace lasted until the moon had risen to it's highest point in the sky and the royal procession appeared in the distance. Only then did they pull away reluctantly for fear of being seen, but Davina knew in her heart that if their relationship had been strong before, now it was virtually unbreakable, and she took comfort in it.

She felt her heart begin to beat rapidly as they passed through the gates of Winterfell at last. It'd been a fortnight since she and Jaime's heart to heart, and after a laborious trek through the rough Northern countryside, they'd finally arrived. Earlier that morning, she'd quietly confessed the nature of she and Kol's relationship to Robert, begging his forgiveness and apologizing profusely for the deception.

When he'd inquired of her feelings, she'd answered truthfully, slightly terrified of how he would handle the news. Surprisingly, he'd been delighted to hear of it, laughing heartily before asking her if she was sure she wanted Kol and not his brother, Robb, their father's heir. Robert no doubt had his eyes on Winterfell and, subsequently the North itself, but she'd reminded him he'd promised her a choice and Kol was it. She would have no one else.

He'd chuckled at her stubbornness - strange, since it was a trait she'd inherited from her mother that he loathed - before announcing to the the entire procession that she'd chosen the second eldest Stark pup as her husband. She hadn't dared look back to see her mother's reaction, but she could feel her eyes burning into her regardless. Cersei wouldn't have been happy either way, but her decision cemented it's coming to pass and made it a reality.

Davina couldn't help but smile as the royal carriage carrying her mother and her two youngest siblings entered into the courtyard of the Stark ancestral home just in front of them. Robert had chosen to ride behind it for his grand entry, flanked by Davina and surrounded by his Kingsguard. Jaime had ridden ahead of the carriage, protecting Joffrey's front while the Hound had guarded his back. Both Baratheon children were adorned in nearly identical crimson and black garb, the only noticeable difference between them being their hair color.

This far North, even Joffrey's seemingly gleaming golden mane failed to shine, which meant Davina's bronze waves appeared even darker than they were normally, giving her the appearance of a true Baratheon heir until one ventured close enough to see the unmistakable Lannister eyes staring back at them.

She'd taken extra care of preparing herself in the tent this morning. The night before, she'd bathed for what felt like the first time in far too long, wanting to make sure she was at the very least presentable for her reunion with Kol. Though she'd had her hair tied back in a braid for most of the journey, today she'd let the increasingly unruly strands fall freely down to the small of her back, save for the first several layers, which were pulled back and interwoven together in a more Northern way - at least that's what Joffrey had called it as soon as she'd stepped out of her tent that morning, clearly meant as an insult. She'd added strands to the braid as she'd worked her way down, stopping when she'd reached the crown of her head, and had classically plaited whatever hair she'd gathered the rest of the way.

Personally, she thought it looked rather regal in a wild sort of way, like she was a warrior Queen of the North - which she likely very well could be one day should anything happen to Robb and he left the world without heirs, making Kol the Warden of the North as well as her King - heading into battle. She couldn't help but smile at the thought, hoping Kol would find it somewhat appealing. If he did, she could certainly be bribed to wear it like so more often once they returned to King's Landing.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity and then some, the carriage veered to the right so that she and Robert could enter into the main courtyard of Winterfell. Her eyes immediately went to the Stark family as they waited to greet their King, her heartbeat increasing still as she realized she was mere moments away from being in her love's presence at long last.

Lord Eddard Stark, head of his House and Kol's noble father, was a hard man to miss. He had aged accordingly from the last time she'd seen him, though much better than Robert had. Where her lord father had become increasingly rotund over the past nine years, Kol's had aged incredibly well and was still in good form. Even from a distance, she saw a kindness in his eyes - which Kol had managed to inherit - that set her at ease. She'd be lying if she denied feeling nervous upon meeting his parents and siblings. They were to be her family soon, after all.

A woman stood at his side, beautiful with long, red hair, who Davina instantly recognized as Catelyn Stark, his mother. The stories of the woman's love for her children reminded her much of her own mother's, and Davina was bound and determined to prove herself and worm her way into Catelyn's heart.

On Ned's other side stood a boy only a year or two older than herself with dark, auburn tinted hair and water blue eyes. Robb, her mind whispered. Despite never having met the eldest Stark, Kol had done an impressive job thoroughly describing each of his family member's personalities and physical appearances over the years, making it almost too easy for her to put a name with the correct face. He bore the same kindness in his looks and overall presence as his father.

Next to Robb stood Sansa, Kol's younger sister who'd been born a handful of years after him. She was the spitting image of her mother, and Davina couldn't help but think she would grow to be a great beauty, perhaps even rivaling that of her own, but then she felt a sharp pang of sympathy for her, as she realized Sansa was more than likely Joffrey's intended. The poor girl had no idea what a monster the Prince was, and, seeing as though her brother was already trying to woo her, looking every bit the gallant young gentleman he was supposed to be, Davina made the decision to befriend her. Sister-in-law or not, Sansa would need someone if she were bound to Joffrey before the gods, and Davina was more than willing to fill that role if the need arose.

Arya came next, the younger of the two Stark sisters, and Davina couldn't help the excitement that rose within her at the prospect of becoming an older sister to the girl. From what Kol had told her in his letters, she and Arya were cut from the same cloth. While most girls, like Sansa and Myrcella, strove to meet society's expectations eagerly, Davina and Arya tended to shy away from them entirely. The two of them would rather be knights than ladies, but fate hadn't been on their side. She looked forward to bonding with the girl, perhaps through swordplay lessons as she had with Jaime. Like Kol, Arya's hair was darker, though not the practically ebony shade of Robb's, and the mischief in her eyes clearly echoed that of her older brother's.

A young boy who couldn't have been a year Arya's junior stood on her right, his dark hair and facial features greatly resembling his older brother's. Bran. The tales of he and Arya butting heads reminded Davina of she and Joffrey, though neither Stark sibling harboured any true ill will towards the other. In their case, they argued and fought because they were so close in age, and while some could argue it was the same for she and Joffrey, Davina knew better. Joffrey was a monster molded by their mother's hands. Nothing she could do or say would endear him to her or the other way around, and frankly, after everything, she couldn't care less if he felt anything towards her besides hatred.

The feeling was certainly mutual.

Lastly, a boy, the youngest of the Stark clan, Rickon, stood by his mother's side. Unlike his older siblings, his hair was neither ebony, chocolate, or crimson, but a lighter, softer shade not unlike her own.

She frowned then, unable to find Kol in the line up. A pit formed in her stomach as she pulled Rose in between Jaime and Joffrey's horses, leaving Robert's side so that he could dismount and garner the attention of every eye in attendance. Where in the name of the Seven was he? She began looking around frantically, her agitation growing more and more noticeable as tears pricked the backs of her eyes.

Had he forsaken her after all? Were all the years spent planning and dreaming been for naught? She felt Jaime's eyes on her, obviously having sensed her distress. She worriedly her bottom lip with her teeth as she felt her entire world begin to cave in around her. Kol was supposed to be it for her - her past, her future, her best friend, her lover, her husband, the father of her children, her King. As she searched inside herself, she saw that, without him, she didn't know who she was. Since childhood he'd somehow become a part of her, that, if taken away, would not allow her to function properly, if at all.

Her knuckles turned white as she dug her fingers into Rose's mane, trying to anchor herself to something, anything, before she did something foolish that would earn her father's displeasure or disrespect their hosts. Joffrey chose that moment to lean over in his saddle, and, in a whisper barely audible to anyone but she and Jaime, mock her.

"Looks like your future husband found better things to do than to meet you," he murmured venomously. "He's probably off fucking a Northern whore right now, relishing in his last day of true freedom before he's sentenced to a lifetime of being married to you." Normally, Joffrey's harsh words would glide right off her back the moment he spat them in her direction, but, her brother had also always had a knack for striking when she was at her most vulnerable, and this was perhaps the most vulnerable she'd ever been.

She couldn't help the solitary tear that slid down her cheek, or miss the victorious grin on her brother's face at the sight. His evil expression, however, angered her so greatly that she simply wiped it away and cleared her throat before holding her head high once more.

I will not appear weak, she chanted to herself as her father dismounted, causing the Starks and their vassals and servants to kneel before him. I will not appear weak. Once Robert stood in front of the Stark family, he motioned for Eddard to rise with a simple gesture, and he did, followed by the rest of his family. I will not appear weak. Faintly, she heard her father call Kol's fat, and then the two old friends erupt in laughter. I will not appear weak. Her father greeted Catelyn and went down the line - patting Rickon on the head, shaking Robb's hand, complementing Sansa on her beauty, asking Arya's name, and promising Bran he'd be a fighter while displaying a degree of fatherly attention he'd never graced any of his own children with.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother emerge from the carriage, followed closely by Mrycella and Tommen, her little cubs. I will not appear weak. Jaime dismounted then and removed his helmet. I will not appear weak. He held Rose's reins, steadying her as she mechanically swung her leg over and dropped to the ground. Beside her, Joffrey was doing the same, though he had help. If she were feeling up to it, she would've rolled her eyes at the golden Prince, of course, always being coddled by all those around him.

I will not appear weak. Vacantly, as she began making her way to stand with Myrcella and Tommen, a few paces behind Joffrey, she heard her father ask about Kol's whereabouts. Steeling herself for the absolute worst, she bit her tongue hard and repeated the mantra with even more vigor than before, hoping it would drown out whatever reasoning Lord Stark gave for his son's absence.

I will not appear weak. I will not appear weak. I will not appear weak. I will-

"Davina!" Her head whipped to the right so hard she knew she would feel the pain of it later, but in that moment, she couldn't bring herself to care, because less than twenty paces away from her stood a boy about her age with dark hair and soulful brown eyes that radiated kindness. Even from a distance, she could tell he would tower over her - most did, but the last time they'd seen each other, he'd actually been slightly shorter than her - and was built more like a man than a boy.

She absorbed every detail she could make out of his face - his chiseled, sharp features, dark, shapely brows, angular chin, defined cheekbones, the beginnings of a beard like his father's gracing his face, enhancing his already disarmingly good looks in a way that made her ache deep within her bones.

He was absolutely perfect, the spitting image of a King, a thousand times more handsome than she had ever dreamed, and he was hers.

The answering smile that spread across her features put the Sun itself to shame as she looked upon Kol, and he gazed back in a wonderment that mirrored their first meeting some nine years before, only this time enhanced a thousandfold.

As they stood there, in clear awe of each other, her eyes ventured down to see he had a small bouquet of winter roses clutched in his fist. The tears that welled in her eyes this time had nothing to do with the empty feeling that had taken hold of her mere minutes before as she realized why he hadn't been there to greet her.

He'd been picking her flowers.

She almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of her reaction to his absence. Of course he'd been doing such a romantic thing - she should've expected no less from him.

She didn't know if he'd been the first to move or if she had, but she found herself striding towards him without making the conscious decision to, like a moth drawn to the flame or two magnets attracting each other. She threw her arms around his neck as his went around her waist, both clutching each other as tightly as possible without causing the other pain.

They didn't pay any mind to the hundreds of eyes on them as their worlds narrowed until all they felt was the other. Every crevice and dip of his form melded perfectly into the curves of hers and she felt more alive than she ever had. Her twin flame, her kindred soul, her light in the darkness, her home.

After an indeterminable amount of time, they pull back slightly so that their foreheads were pressed together, her hand on his rough cheek and his buried in her dark mane at the base of her skull, cradling her head. She knew every eye in the courtyard was on them, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Nothing could separate them now. After the years of waiting patiently, longing to be reunited, the day had finally come. They were together, at long last, and that was all that mattered.

She opened her eyes to find twin pools of mahogany staring back at her, full of an adoration so tangible, it stole the air from her lungs. A ghost of a smile graced his handsome features as their eyes met, a slight chuckle emanating from his throat. She shot him a look, questioning what he found so funny, and this only caused his laughter to become more audible. She scowled indignantly, fighting the urge to cross her arms across her chest as she realized she was the source of his amusement.

"What?"

He bit his lip momentarily, still fighting to rein in his laughter, before shaking his head. "Were you always so short?" Her eyes widened for a split second before she joined in his merriment, though there was a dangerous edge to the sound, her look of disbelief only egging him on. He pulled away slightly so that he could stand to his full height, as if to rub it in further.

She practically glared daggers as she now had to tilt her chin to be able to look him in the eye, but Kol knew it was all in good fun. Still, he noted that he never wanted to be on his love's bad side, for if this was her at play, how would she be when truly angry?

"I recall towering over you once," she said with a smirk. He rolled his eyes at this, though couldn't wipe the smile from his face.

"I hardly call half an inch 'towering over me', love," he said teasingly, stroking her smooth cheek with his hand, even as she scowled at him. She couldn't be more beautiful in that moment - cheeks rosy from the cold, hair blown haphazardly in the wind, lips chapped, emerald eyes radiating an astonishing amount of joy underneath a light sheen of annoyance.

"Still, let it be well known I was taller once," she insisted, her expression and tone shifting to more of a playful one. He wasn't about to let her win that easily, however.

"Nine name days ago!" he argued back, and she was smiling now, just as blindingly as she had before they'd embraced. If possible, his heart warmed even more at the sight, giving the sensation that his insides were aflame. She then paused for a moment, as if remembering something, and reached inside her furs, withdrawing a folded up piece of parchment, reminiscent of the letters they'd exchanged over the years.

"What's this?" he asked as she handed it to him. She glanced down at it before looking into his eyes once more.

"Open it," was all she could muster, fighting back the grin that was threatening to blossom across her face as he set to work on breaking her own personal seal - a lioness bearing antlers with a crown adorning it's neck. She had created it after her thirteenth name day, deciding that if she were to be Queen, she must have a sigil that distinguished itself from all others, Joff's included, which was just the Baratheon stag and Lannister lion combined in a rather non-creative manner.

She'd striven to be a bit more unique with her design, much to Joffrey's frustration. When presenting it to her lord father and lady mother during a family dinner one night, he'd sneered upon first glance, but his hatred clearly belied the jealousy he'd striven to mask. Robert had complimented it with a passing glance, much too focused on his wine to pay attention to any of his children, but Cersei had studied it carefully before a prideful smile had graced her face.

She'd openly praised her for her creativity, kissed her forehead, and then sent the two of them to bed. Tommen, then six, and Myrcella, eight, had already been escorted to their chambers some half hour earlier, leaving just the eldest two Baratheon children with their parents. On the way to her rooms, she'd bragged to Joffrey about how their mother had preferred hers to his, and he'd responded by calling her a "little cunt" before attempting to slap her for upstaging him.

He'd ended up with his face pressed to a wall and her hand around the back of his neck. She'd threatened to give him a nice black and blue cheek if he ever called her that again, to which he'd sneered that "mother would have you hanged if you ever laid a finger on me". All it'd taken was a slight increase of pressure on the back of his neck, a silent warning, for him to beg her forgiveness and promise to never do it again.

The sound of the parchment unfolding in her future husband's hands brought her back from her reverie, and as he looked, perplexed, she couldn't help but release a giggle at his expression. He flipped it over, checking to see if there was anything written there, but found nothing.

"It's blank," he said slowly, obviously wondering why, before meeting her eyes. "It's nothing." She felt mildly guilty for not writing him back after his last message - she'd had ample time to do so, though she knew word of their journey to Winterfell would reach his father before she could even finish hers - but she wanted to see his face the moment he heard of the King's agreement to their marriage. Was it selfish? Absolutely, but she hadn't been able to allow herself to spoil the surprise.

"The King let me decide... and I chose you, Kol." Her hand came up to delve into the surprisingly velvety softness of the hair at the nape of his neck. It was slightly shorter and less curly than Robb's, much shorter than Ned's, but she found she liked it cropped that way. It was still long enough to run her fingers through, and as they disappeared into the dark strands, the glorious smile that began to spread across his face made everything worth it - the years of waiting, the promises of a life together, full of children and happiness, the doubts and yearning - and as she returned his expression of pure, unadulterated joy, she found her heart felt as though it would burst.

"We shall be married. I will bear you as many children as the gods will allow, and we will be together, from this day, until our dying day..." she went silent for several moments as she mustered the courage to say the words that had been in her heart for years, but never said aloud or written on parchment. "I...I love you, Kol Stark," she said shakily, laying her heart bare before him and all of those watching the two with rapt attention.

He responded by immediately taking her face between his hands and joining their lips in the first real kiss they'd ever shared. Before, she'd counted the quick peck in the stables upon his departure from King's Landing some nine years prior as their first, but now, feeling a previously unknown fire ignite in her belly at the mere sensation of their mouths pressed together, she knew she'd been wrong to do so. This was their first, and it would be far from their last, she vowed to herself silently as he pulled away, his breathing uneven, as was hers. Despite it being innocent in nature, it'd still managed to take her breath away. If this was her reaction now, what would it be when they were locked in a passionate embrace? She shuddered and flushed red at the thought.

"Well, look what we have here," she looked down as her father approached them, moving to step back a pace or two, remembering where they were and how inappropriate their embrace truly was, only to have Kol step with her, his arm still encircling her waist. She laughed nervously before turning to face Robert as he stopped in front of them, resting her hand on Kol's chest in the process.

"It appears that we'll be joining Houses after all, Ned." He was clearly referencing his former betrothal to Lyanna, and everyone knew it. Her father extended his hand for Kol to shake, which he returned with an equal amount of strength - to grip harder would only insult the King, and Kol was wise enough not to do so. "A wolf and a stag, as it should've been years ago," he commented thoughtfully. Davina's eyes automatically drifted to her mother as she stood with Ned and Catelyn and the rest of Kol's family.

Cersei showed no emotion whatsoever to her husband's comment, which was not unusual. Davina supposed she'd given up trying to fight Lyanna's ghost for Robert's love years before, and though the reminder still stung slightly, the bite of it had long since faded.

The King then turned, and Davina released a breath, sinking into Kol's form more. "Take me to your crypt. I want to pay my respects."

"We've been riding for a month, my Love," her mother argued halfheartedly, maintaining her composure as only she could. Davina had come to realize as she'd become more and more aware of the world and how things worked just how strong her mother truly was, despite being shackled to a drunken, whoring pig of a husband. "Surely the dead can wait."

Davina felt a palpable amount of rage as Robert acted as if Cersei simply hadn't spoken at all, calling on Kol's father before departing in the direction of the tombs beneath Winterfell. She saw Ned shoot Cersei an apologetic glance before following his King. Davina almost made a move to follow them and berate him for his behavior, but Kol's grip on her waist tightened, stopping her in her tracks. When she met his eyes, she could clearly see the sympathy in their depths - his parents had grown to love each other, but hers had not been so fortunate - no doubt recalling her many tales of Robert's mistreatment of Cersei in their letters.

Arya, predictably, was the first one to break the stony silence that had fallen over the courtyard by leaning over to Sansa and not so quietly questioning the whereabouts of Davina's other uncle, Tyrion. Davina frowned, realizing that she hadn't seen him all morning. He, too, had complimented her on her hair after Joffrey's insult and had proceeded to disappear altogether.

She watched as Cersei shot a quick glance Arya's way before turning, passing by Davina and Kol as if they weren't standing three paces from her, and striding over to Jaime, demanding to know where Tyrion was, not even giving him a chance to answer before she commanded him to go and find him.

Davina watched as Jaime set off to do his Queen's bidding with a heavy heart. She'd been looking forward to introducing Kol to him most of all, especially after her high praise of him in their letters. She knew Kol's father held no respect for her uncle, but she'd made an effort over the years to endear Kol to Jaime despite his family's misgivings of the younger Lannister twin. They were the two most important men in her life - her husband to be and her uncle who could very likely be the man who'd fathered her as well. She didn't think she could take it if they disliked one another.

Her eyes then went to the remainder of House Stark - all that was left of it, she realized - before she disentangled herself from Kol's grasp and approached Catelyn. His mother immediately went to bow before her, as she had with her mother, but Davina was quicker. Davina knelt low before her future good-mother, showing her the utmost respect.

"Lady Stark," she addressed her formally. The time for familiarity would come later, after her wedding.

"My Princess," she responded, indeed with a bow this time, making Davina smile, even as she shook her head.

"No, Lady Stark, call me Davina, please," she insisted with a genuine grin accentuated with a slight laugh. "If I am to marry your son, that would make me your daughter. It would be quite odd if we refer to each other by our titles, all things considered, would it not?" She knew this would probably infuriate her mother - granting Catelyn the right to a position she'd been the sole owner of since Davina's birth. She'd undoubtedly receive an earful later, but she'd simply have to reassure her mother that Catelyn could never take her place, not truly.

Catelyn merely nodded, perhaps taken aback by Davina's request. Lannisters and Baratheons were not known for humility, especially in their day and age, so to have a member of both Houses refuse to be reminded or referred to by their proper station was certainly not of the norm.

Davina smiled sweetly at Rickon, making the youngster blush and look down at his feet. Her eyes then turned to Robb, who was studying her closely. Once their eyes met, he immediately averted his gaze out of respect. "I hear you and your brother are quite close," she ventured, succeeding in regaining his attention.

"We're practically inseparable, Your Grace," he replied, holding his head high, though the use of her title made her shake her head.

"Robb, I am to be your sister soon. I would appreciate it if you, too, would call me Davina. Kol has told me so much about you in our letters that I feel as though you are the older brother I never had," she admitted honestly. Kol had often told her of the trouble that he, Robb, and Jon would get into together on a regular basis. Even Jon, Ned's bastard son born during the Rebellion, between Robb and Kol, held a place among the Stark siblings. Unlike with the innumerable bastard siblings of hers Robert had no doubt fathered, Jon was one of them, if only by blood alone.

She saw him standing behind the family with Theon Greyjoy, the only surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands. His father had rebelled against hers, and upon his defeat, Theon had been taken as a hostage by the Starks, though now it was clear he, too, was a member of the family. Davina made a mental note to meet them later, when there wasn't so much attention on her.

"If you wish it, Yo-" he cut off as he saw her teasing look. "I mean, Davina," he corrected himself with a chuckle. She grinned back, knowing they would get along just fine, before focusing on Sansa, who was already a few inches taller than her, though she was two years her junior. Thankfully, unlike with her brother, Davina did not have to tilt her chin to meet her eyes, but with the way the girl was growing, it wouldn't be long before she would have to.

"My father was right, you are very beautiful, Sansa." The redhead blushed and looked down. "You will no doubt grow to be one of the most stunning young ladies in all the Seven Kingdoms." The girl's Tully eyes - a clear water blue - shot up to meet her Lannister ones, clearly in disagreement, but Davina held up a hand. She didn't need Sansa arguing with her over which of them was more lovely. Though she was told constantly of her great beauty and saw how men watched her whenever she entered a room, the praise and attention made her feel...uncomfortable.

"Thank you, Your-" Davina gave her a look very similar to the one she'd given her older brother, making Sansa laugh lightly, both in embarrassment and humor. "Thank you, Davina." Davina bowed her head slightly out of respect and thanks before a wide grin spread across her features as her eyes landed on Arya.

"And you must be Arya. Kol has told me so much about you." The surprised, yet satisfied, look that filled the girl's brown eyes made Davina chuckle. "From what I've heard, you and I are not so different, little wolf." To her delight, the term of endearment caused Arya's entire face to light up with joy. "We'd both rather wield a sword or knock an arrow than practice our needlepoint, am I right?"

"You hate it too?" Arya questioned with raised brows and a barely concealed smile. Then and there, she decided Arya was her second favorite Stark, directly behind Kol, of course. They would get on like a house on fire. Davina nodded in response before crouching down in front of her and taking the girl's hands between her own.

"I have been learning how to handle a sword since my fifth name day, Arya, taught by my uncle, one of the finest swords in all of Westeros. If you would like," she began with a conspiratorial smile, "I could teach you as he has me." The enthusiastic nod in response she received told her all she needed to know. Still holding Arya's hands, she turned to Bran. "I hear you are attempting to master the bow, Bran...perhaps I could teach you a thing or two that your brothers could not?" She offered, still smiling.

Bran shot Robb and Kol each a look, almost as if asking their permission, and upon Kol's nod of approval, he turned back to her with a smile. "I would like that very much." Davina smiled softly before turning to meet Kol's eyes, which were focused on her with such a look of complete adoration, it stole the breath from her lungs. He was no doubt imagining the day they would teach their own children the art of war, he tutoring them on how to hold a bow and nock an arrow while she instructed them on how to swing a sword. Perhaps Jaime would help her teach them - they could very well be his grandchildren, after all. She hoped he would, just as she prayed he felt the same way about her children as he did about her.

She then released Arya's hands, only to stride over to her future husband and grasp his before leading him over to where Cersei, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen stood, steeling herself for her mother and Joffrey's reaction to him. Cella and Tommen would love him, but she knew for a fact Joffrey would insult him from the start, not that Kol wasn't expecting it though. He was well aware of her brother's acidic personality, but she doubted he was prepared for her mother's icy demeanor.

"Mother," she began nervously, biting her lip as she looked up at Kol for a moment before meeting Cersei's eyes. "I'm sure you remember Kol." Kol, ever the charmer, mirrored his father's greetings of respect by bowing and kissing her proffered hand. Davina held her breath as he straightened to his full height with a devilishly handsome smile.

"My Queen." Cersei faked a smile in response, and Davina's heart dropped. She'd expected as much, but she'd hoped her mother would've at least put forth an effort to like him. Kol, the gods bless his soul, pretended not to notice. "I believe it's quite clear where Davina's beauty comes from, Your Grace." If anything, Kol's compliment only managed to harden her mother's seemingly steadfast dislike of him more, for all she did was smile. She didn't thank him or try and deny it, she was just silent.

In an attempt to save Kol from any further embarrassment at her mother's expense, she turned and, begrudgingly, motioned to Joffrey, preparing herself for whatever vulgar insult he was about to spew. "Sweetheart, I'm sure you remember my brother, Joffrey," she said politely, extending an olive branch of sorts to her temperamental younger brother, praying he'd behave himself just this once. She knew the moment she saw his eyes that luck was not on her side.

"A pleasure, Your Grace," Kol greeted amiably, but there was nothing he could've done, no correct response that would satisfy her brother's desire to inflict cruelty.

"I see my sister has found herself a pet. She's always been asking father for a dog," he commented, thinking himself quite funny, seeing as how he laughed at his own joke. Kol merely smiled, though there was a dangerous glint in his eyes that would frighten even the bravest of men.

"While I might not be the sort of animal she had in mind, I would undoubtedly do anything she asked of me, Your Grace." He bowed his head once more, a clear dismissal of him, before turning his attention to her sister. Davina had to bite back a laugh at Joffrey's indignant expression of pure disbelief. Not only had Kol refused to take the bait, but he'd admitted Joffrey had been right without actually saying the words, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. Still, she sent her brother a smirk as his face began to turn a shade of red. Kol might not've been willing to revel in his victory, but she'd bask in it enough for the both of them.

As she turned her attention to Kol, who had bent down in order to be at her sister's eye level, Joffrey stomped away like the petulant child he truly was. She paid him no mind, and surprisingly, Cersei didn't automatically move to follow him. She simply watched him go with a blank expression.

"And you must be Myrcella...Davina has told me many wonderful things about you, you know...she loves you very much." Davina laid her hand on Kol's shoulder, which he immediately covered with one of his own, though his soulful brown eyes never strayed from her sister's. Myrcella blushed before glancing up at Davina.

"I know," was all she could seem to say, but Davina knew how soft spoken her sister was, as did Kol, so Myrcella saying anything at all was a good sign.

"She didn't tell me how beautiful you are, however. Just like your mother and your sister, you shall be a great beauty." She thanked him softly with an even softer, angelic giggle, clearly already infatuated with her soon to be good-brother. Davina watched the two with a wide, teary smile, feeling as though she was seeing into the future when they had their own daughter and he bestowed on her a very similar sentiment.

"And you would be Tommen," Kol said as his warm, mahogany eyes shifted to her little brother, who was watching the older boy with something akin to admiration. The thought of Kol being a possible role model for young Tommen warmed her heart. Joffrey certainly was not the ideal candidate, nor was their father, and Davina thanked the gods daily for her youngest brother's sweet disposition and good heart.

It was often said that, every time a Targaryen was born, the gods flipped a coin. It was believed that because half the Targaryens eventually went mad, it was due to their desires to keep bloodlines pure, therefore making them products of incest generation after generation. Their very efforts to try to purify their line more often than not caused their downfall. She wondered if there was any truth to them. If so, and if she, too, was the daughter of Jaime, not Robert, then the Lannister twins should be counting themselves lucky that Joffrey was the only bad egg of the bunch. Three out of four wasn't half bad all things considered.

Davina listened as Tommen, usually quite like Myrcella, rushed to tell Kol all about his cat, Ser Pounce, back in King's Landing. Kol humored Tommen, asking questions and appearing genuinely curious about said pet. Davina had to cover her mouth with her hand as Tommen babbled on and on about how, as soon as they returned home, he'd introduce Kol to Ser Pounce and the three of them could play together for hours. She supposed Kol was used to such behavior, having four younger siblings himself, but she still appreciated his patience and attentiveness.

Finally, after Kol had readily agreed to playdates with Tommen and Ser Pounce, he stood, wrapping an arm around her waist in the process. She couldn't resist leaning her head on his shoulder in response. By now, the courtyard was busy with unloading and preparing for the grand feast that night, so she glanced over her shoulder, seeing Arya, Bran, and Rickon all looking at her expectantly. Catelyn had silently excused herself while Davina had introduced Kol to her family, no doubt taking Robb with her so that they could make the necessary preparations for later that night. Sansa had disappeared also, but Davina guessed she'd gone to start getting ready as well, leaving the three youngest siblings to their own devices for the time being.

Davina sighed heavily in a dramatic fashion, making the three giggle slightly. "So, which one of you thinks they can best me with a bow?" she questioned cheekily. Arya immediately raised her hand, making Davina laugh. As the three Stark children leapt forward and grasped her hands, pulling her towards their training area, she looked back over her shoulder, intending on asking Myrcella or Tommen if they wanted to join, only to see their backs as Cersei herded them away before Davina had the chance.

"I'll wear her down, don't worry," Kol said quietly as Arya, Bran, and Rickon released Davina's hands and ran on ahead as soon as they were sure she was following them. "I wore you down, didn't I?" he asked wryly, causing her to chuckle. She vividly remembered originally not giving him the time of day, expecting him to be much like Joff, but even at six, he'd been relentless in his pursuit of her.

The first time they'd ever spoken, he'd complimented her on her name, but had then insulted her taste in music as they'd listened to several musicians in the gardens the day after his arrival.

"A lovely name...terrible taste in music, though. You obviously need me."

She remembered simply shoving him to the ground and stalking away, much to both their fathers' amusement. She'd avoided him for the next several days, refusing to see him no matter how many times Septa Eglantine had tried and failed to have her spend time with him. Finally, fate, as it seemed, had stepped in to lend him a helping hand.

He'd witnessed one of Joffrey's cruelest attacks on her yet, which had resulted her ankle swelling to the size of a small Dornish plum. He'd watched the exchange from the shadows, and once Joff had left her alone, unable to stand, deep in the gardens surrounding the Red Keep, he'd gone to her and offered her his help.

"It appears someone has knocked you head over heels quite literally...I thought I'd have that honor."

She'd scoffed at first and attempted to stand on her own, only to grit her teeth in pain and sink back to the ground in an unceremonious heap. Eventually, after much prodding, she'd set her pride aside and allowed him to help her inside to find Grand Maester Pycelle to treat her ankle. That day she'd decided the young wolf pup hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd once thought, and, slowly but surely, they'd developed a friendship of sorts. By the time he'd left some three moon turns later, they'd been inseparable.

She cast a glance in his direction and smiled sadly. He could definitely try, but wooing a six year old Davina was a much easier feat than endearing him to her mother.

Hours later, as the sun was slowly disappearing over the horizon, Davina was reclining in the tub as one of the Stark's servants washed her hair. The only light in the room was provided by the fire, which was lit only a few paces from where she sat, keeping the water warm despite the plunging temperatures outside the walls. Kol had requested that she be drawn a bath, stating that she needed a moment to relax after her long journey...and to wash the mud off her.

She, Bran, and Arya had gotten a little overly excited after their archery competition and a game of tag had ensued. Davina, of course, had been double teamed by the Stark children, resulting in her running for her life. She'd successfully evaded them at first, but once Rickon and Kol had joined in, there'd been no hope of escape. One ill-placed step had sent her headfirst into a large mud puddle just as Jaime had returned from finding Tyrion.

Despite being embarrassed beyond belief, she'd laughed at her own expense with the others while Kol and Jaime had helped her up, both making jokes at her clumsiness.

A knock at the door caused her eyes to shoot open, and before she could turn whoever it was away, the door opened. She sat up quickly, moving to preserve her honor and hide her nakedness as best she could, only to see her mother standing there, already dressed for the feast in an intricate crimson and gold gown and her hair done up in the Southern style that Davina loathed.

Davina had tried the hairstyle once upon her mother's prodding, but it simply did not suit her. The way the majority of her waves were piled atop her head made her face appear too small and she believed the twin spiral plaits left down looked utterly ridiculous. She'd taken it down immediately, much to Cersei's displeasure, swearing to never wear her hair like it again, and she'd stayed true to her word.

"Leave us." Before Davina could even blink, the servant had done Cersei's bidding, leaving mother and daughter alone. She slowly sank back into her previous position as her mother closed the door and seated herself on the stool the Stark's servant had been occupying just moments prior, taking Davina's long, tangled, dripping bronze waves in her hands and proceeding to wring the water from it. The sudden display of motherly affection - directed her way, at least - struck her as odd. Not only were they in the midst of an argument that Davina saw no true end to, but Cersei had made a habit of showering Myrcella with such attention while Davina received nothing of the sort.

"Word of your clumsiness is quickly spreading," she began conversationally, and though Davina still felt uneasy, she chose to at least attempt to play along and rolled her eyes.

"I'll have you know, I was outnumbered four to one and I'm terribly out of practice since..." she trailed off just before insulting her mother's golden child, unwilling to start a fight with her over something so trivial. She fumbled for a different explanation other than the truth - that she had sworn off her favorite childhood game in order to avoid fighting with Joffrey - and finally came up with a believable one. "Since Kol left King's Landing," she said as convincingly as possible, though it lacked an air of certainty she knew Cersei would see right through.

If her mother doubted the truth of her words, she said nothing as she guided her into a sitting position so she could wash her back. It was something she hadn't done since Davina had been a little girl. Though the sudden influx of motherly affection was a surprise, it was a welcomed change.

"You don't have to maintain this...charade with me, Sweetling." The mere inclination of what her mother was suggesting made Davina freeze. Was Cersei truly so blind that she couldn't see how much Davina loved him? "I know you are only trying to gain control where you are able, and that is perfectly understandable...but surely there is another boy who could provide you the heir you so clearly desire." She flinched away from her mother's touch in disgust. How could her own mother believe her to be so cruel and calculating? She'd stated plainly that the only reason Davina had even the slightest interest in Kol was because he could give her a son that would possibly one day sit the Iron Throne.

"Are you truly so blinded by your dislike of the Starks that you cannot see how fervently I care for him? Did you not hear my promise to him earlier?" She squared her shoulders and turned her head so she could face her mother, who was now wearing a look of clear displeasure, and for a moment, Davina wondered if it would be better to lie to her - to tell her she was playing her role in life and forging her own path and that she cared little about Kol - but then his face appeared in her thoughts. His sandy colored hair, his molten mahogany eyes that always seemed to flare to life whenever they landed on her, the way one corner of his mouth lifted slightly higher than the other when teasing her, like when she'd fallen just an hour or so before, and she found denying him impossible.

He was as much a part of her as the Lannister blood that ran through her veins, and Cersei would either learn to accept it or forever alienate herself from her eldest child and future grandchildren, because once they claimed each other before both the Old Gods and New, Davina was never letting him out of her sight again.

"I love him," she said honestly, hoping against hope that Cersei would actually see the truth to her words, but that hope was diminished as soon as she saw the look of amusement in her mother's eyes. "What?" she questioned angrily at seeing her mother's expression. "Are my feelings laughable?"

"My little lioness," Cersei murmured, still smiling with humor, before reaching out to caress her cheek, "You might believe that you love him...but this is merely a passing childish infatuation-" she stopped abruptly as Davina flinched away like Cersei had physically struck her. The disbelief, pain, and outrage in Davina's now watery emerald eyes spoke volumes as they met her mother's identical ones, and whatever Cersei saw in them caused her to straighten and pull away, her expression hardening considerably.

"Is that all Jaime is to you?" she asked lowly for fear of being overheard. Davina prayed to the Seven that by likening her love for Kol to her mother's love for Jaime, it would finally make Cersei understand just how deeply she cared about him, but she felt her heart sink as she realized even if Cersei understood, she'd never accept it. She could tell as much based off the acidic glint in her Lannister eyes.

A prolonged silence fell over the two before it was finally broken by Cersei. "Are you done with your bath?" she asked with a false smile that made Davina's blood boil, though she didn't show it. She didn't want to give her mother the satisfaction of knowing just how easily she could get under her skin. Instead, she turned away from her and stared into the flames.

"I can finish on my own," she responded flatly, focusing on the fire until her mother had stormed out of her temporary quarters. As soon as the door slammed shut, Davina glanced towards it, making sure she was truly alone, before releasing a deep breath and raking a hand back through her damp waves in frustration. She understood her mother's steadfast hatred for Kol's House, and in that respect, she could sympathize with her.

If Kol had loved another and she'd been stolen from him, and Davina had been offered to him in place of his lost love, she would've probably developed such a stalwart resentment of the girl's very name, not to mention her House. She couldn't imagine what it was like for her mother to be here, surrounded by the suffocating presence of Lyanna Stark's ghost. Davina supposed that Cersei had once loved Robert, as had every girl in the Seven Kingdoms, but that love had waned and simmered soon after they were wed.

She'd heard the tales of her supposed father's rugged handsomeness during the war and knew he'd been idolized by men and desired by women...but that man was not the one who'd raised her, if one could even consider his absentee role in her life that. The gallant knight, the scorned lover, the brave leader, died that day at the Trident as surely as Rhaegar had succumb to his war hammer, and in his place grew the foul, whoring, drunken pig she'd come to know and loathe.

As she'd grown older and wiser, she'd come to see her parents' marriage for what it truly was. There was no love between them, truthfully there never had been, and at first it had saddened her.

She'd been only seven when she'd witnessed one of their more explosive arguments. Septa Eglantine had been busy caring for Cella, then only two years old, so slipping from her grasp had been all too easy. Cersei had just borne Tommen a moon or so before, and his own Septa had been caring for him at the time. She vaguely remembered hiding underneath a table, covered by an ornate, thick tablecloth - what room she was in exactly, she couldn't even begin to recall - when her parents had stormed in, clearly very cross with one another. Robert's voice was slurred while Cersei's had a hardened edge to it that she herself had never witnessed before.

Most of her memory about it was foggy at best, but the one thing that'd remained with her, etched into her mind with startling clarity, was the sound of his fist meeting her mother's cheek. After Robert had stormed out, she somewhat remembered hugging her knees to her chest and whimpering softly, horrified that her lord father - the King - would dare strike the Queen in such a manner. A few moments later, Cersei had found her, gently coaxed her out from her hiding place, and had taken her into her arms and had begun to rock her back and forth soothingly.

The following conversation remained a blur, but she did recall vehemently vowing to protect her mother with a blade from Robert the next time he mistreated her. Cersei had smiled sadly before shaking her head.

"A woman doesn't need steel to fight a man, my little lioness." To this day, Davina still felt a warmth wash through her as she remembered the look of bittersweet pride shining in her mother's vivid emerald eyes. "We have other weapons, more powerful than any bolt or sword, at our disposal."

Then, she'd had no earthly clue what her mother was referring to, but now she had a better understanding of what she'd been trying to teach her that day. A man may wage wars with Valyrian forged weapons while wearing the finest armor in all of Westeros, but a woman could tear the world asunder by simply opening her mouth...or spreading her legs. Desire was a woman's most powerful, lethal weapon - one that her mother knew how to use. It had been desire that had sparked Robert's Rebellion, after all.

She shook her head slightly and drew her knees to her chest, much like she'd done that day, and pressed her forehead against her knees. Perhaps her mother's stalwart, steadfast dislike of her intended stemmed from some maternal instinct to protect her cubs, both from physical and emotional pain. It was the only logical explanation she could conjure up that would justify her reaction to him and to their relationship, but somehow, Davina doubted that overprotectiveness was the sole reason.

One would assume that a mother would only want the very best for her children - would want them to succeed and thrive in ways that she herself did not - and logically speaking, marrying Kol offered that outcome. He was already a thousand times the man Robert was at just six and ten, and they would be happy together, which was much more than her parents could ever claim to be...so why did Cersei seemingly not want that for her?

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly as she fought off the small whisper in the back of her mind that suggested jealousy was the perpetrator. Why would Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, wife of the King, arguably the most beautiful woman on this side of the Narrow Sea, be jealous of a possibly illegitimate, bastard princess who held no true power other than what she could generate with the swipe of a blade or a few words in an all but dead language? The mere notion was absurd, but somehow, she found she couldn't bring herself to discount it as a possibility.

If this was how she reacted when Davina entered into a betrothal, what would Myrcella receive? Would Cersei approve of her match or would she fight the King tooth and nail on the matter? There was no doubt that Myrcella's marriage would be far more advantageous for the family name than Davina and Kol's. While the Starks had once been Kings in their respective region, once they'd bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen, they had lost much of the power they'd once possessed.

Though they remained one of the seven great houses of Westeros - the Starks in the North, the Lannisters in the Westerlands, the Baratheons in Storm's End and the Crownlands, the Tullys in the Riverlands, the Tyrells in the Reach, the Martells in Dorne, and the Arryns in the Eyrie - they'd ceased to consider themselves royalty, unlike Dorne. There, the Martells still dubbed their penultimate monarch 'Prince', whereas elsewhere the title would be 'Lord Paramount'.

If it weren't for the Mountain slaughtering Elia Martell and Rhaegar's children, an affront that to this day the Martells despised her family for, she supposed an alliance with Dorne would be most favorable. Prince Doran even had a son near Myrcella's age.

A meek knock on her door caused her head to snap in it's direction. As the seconds ticked by, she was beginning to think she'd imagined the sound, but then came another, this one slightly more audible, before the door swung open. Davina released a breath when she saw Myrcella's golden mane glowing in the light of the fire and her curious green eyes land on her. The girl looked behind her quickly before shutting the door and nervously taking several steps towards her older sister.

"Were you and Mother fighting again?" Davina opened her mouth to deny it, but Myrcella shocked her by shaking her head. "I saw her storm down the hall. I know you had another argument, as seems to be normal as of late, and I know you only lie to protect me, but..." she trailed off, looking away sheepishly before her eyes remet her sister's, the green of them burning brightly with a resolve Davina had never seen in them before. "I can handle whatever secret you've been keeping."

Davina was glad that the lighting in the room didn't allow Myrcella to see how her face had paled at the suggestion. Cella had always been perceptive - moreso than Joff and Tommen ever had been - and Davina had never wished her to be otherwise before this moment. It was one thing for her to keep their parentage a secret, but for Myrcella to know what she herself had only just discovered a mere moon and a half before at her age was madness. The way she'd reacted to it had been terrible enough as it was, but for a girl of Cella's age to discover such a dark, dangerous secret? It would crush her, as it had nearly crushed Davina.

The brunette schooled her features and shook her head. "Mother doesn't approve of Kol," she stated, praying that Myrcella would accept this as the secret or simply forget her suspicions altogether. If Davina had it her way, Myrcella would never know the truth.

To her relief, Myrcella's expression of determination softened to that of pity, and while she hated to be the subject of it, she'd gladly take it over the alternative. Her precious blonde sister sat on the stool recently vacated by their mother. "On what grounds?" she questioned with confusion. "He was very kind to me, polite and charming to Mother, and humored Tommen. I can tell he is a good man, Davina...and he is also very handsome." She didn't know how Cella managed it, but the laugh her admittance brought forth was one of the more genuine ones she'd had in a long time.

"Sorry to say this to you, Cella, but he is taken. Despite you being my favorite, I won't relinquish him to you easily" she teased, and Myrcella rolled her vivid green eyes in response, making Davina's smile grow. Tommen was still too young to truly engage in any banter with her and Joff's humor was always laced with venom. Her sister was the only one of her siblings she could converse with honestly and openly, and their bond was stronger because of it.

"Perhaps you could take up with Bran," Davina suggested with a smirk, watching the emotions play across her sister's delicate features - shock, embarrassment, denial - as she shook her head. Davina chuckled lightly while shaking her head. "Why not? Bran bears a striking resemblance to Kol if that is what you are after."

Myrcella blushed, her alabaster cheeks stained red with embarrassment, and looked away. "Bran is...nice, from what I've seen of him, but..." she trailed off, biting her lip and wringing her hands together, making Davina cock her head in confusion before releasing a breathy giggle at her sister's behavior.

"Cella, what is it?" she asked, leaning her elbows on the edge of the tub so she could look her in the eye properly. When she still refused to meet her eyes, Davina reached out and caressed her smooth cheek lightly, gently coaxing her to turn her head so that their two nearly identical pairs of eyes met. "You can tell me," she whispered honestly, meaning the words with everything in her. She loved Myrcella beyond imagining, just as fiercely as she loved Kol and Jaime. They were the three most important people in her life, and if she and Cersei weren't quarreling, she would be included in that short list. And innocent, pure Tommen as well.

She loved the five of them unlike anything in the world. If the choice came down to their lives or hers, she'd sacrifice her own, without question. She was much like Cersei in that respect - a lioness protecting her pride.

"I won't judge you if that is what you are worried about." This seemed to encourage her, for she modified her posture as she'd seen Cersei do many a time, and as she'd seen her older sister do with increasing frequency as of late. For a moment, it was like Davina was looking into the past and seeing their mother positioning herself the exact same way when facing their grandfather, and it made Davina's breath catch in her throat.

On the journey to Winterfell, she'd marvelled at her sister's resemblance to her true father, and asked herself why she hadn't realized the truth sooner. She saw them both nearly every day, so why had it come as such a revelation to see her likeness to him? She might've always known, but what child would assume something so horrendous about her mother and uncle? Two people she trusted implicitly to always be honest with her?

"Do you think if I asked Father to broker an engagement for me, he'd do it? As he did for you?" she asked. Her eyes widened and she was sure her mouth hung open slightly at her sister's question.

"Who did you have in mind, little cub?" she asked curiously after recovering from her shock. She didn't even like the thought of Myrcella becoming engaged, not yet, and she could imagine the look on Cersei's face if she'd heard her youngest daughter's words. The phrase supreme displeasure wouldn't even be able to begin to describe their mother's expression.

"Robb is very handsome, wouldn't you agree?" she asked innocently, her eyes cast downwards once more, and if it were possible, the expression of shock Davina had worn before paled in comparison to the awestruck one on her face now. She couldn't dispute her sister's words - Robb was a very handsome man indeed - but she'd never have guessed her precious baby sister would feel that way about a boy of his age.

If she remembered correctly, he'd been conceived on Ned and Catelyn's wedding night just before Lord Stark had galloped off to join their father in the war. That would make him seven and ten, almost twice her age. He was a man and she was but a child who had yet to flower or start to develop into a woman. She felt a pang deep in her chest for Myrcella but didn't have the heart to shatter her hopes and dreams that she'd clearly already set on the heir of Winterfell.

She knew what their mother would say to her if she ever heard of her clear infatuation with him. "He is not yours to have or hold, little cub," Cersei would whisper soothingly. The thought made Davina's proverbial hackles rise and she nodded while wearing a smile. "I can't disagree, 'Cella," she said honestly, making her sister smile excitedly.

"His eyes are the bluest I've ever seen, much brighter than father's," she gushed, and Davina smiled again before reaching for her robe and standing from the tub, wrapping the garment around her in the process and wringing whatever little water was left in her hair out. Myrcella wasn't wrong - Tully blue beat Baratheon blue in their vividness almost every time in her eyes - and she laughed as she picked up her comb before making her way to the fire to help her mane dry faster.

"I can't argue with you on that front," she agreed as she began to run it through her bronze waves, jumping in surprise when she felt Myrcella gently pry the comb from her hands. "You have the most beautiful hair," Myrcella admired quietly as she brushed through the knots adorning the majority of it thanks to her tumble earlier. "It's the most stunning color, especially in the light of day."

"Yours is far prettier than mine, I'm afraid," Davina denied honestly. She'd always been jealous of the golden manes her younger siblings sported, making them appear angelic in almost every lighting, at any time of day. She felt Myrcella shake her head in disagreement.

"No, mine is boring. It's the same horrid yellow color all over. Yours is different. You have bronze and gold all mixed together so intricately. In the sunlight you can see how harmoniously they blend-" she cut off as Davina turned, sending her a watery smile. She grasped her sister's free hand and made sure she met her eyes before speaking.

"Never doubt your own beauty, 'Cella. In a few years, you will be the most sought after lady on this side of the Narrow Sea. Any man would be a fool not to want you." Tears formed in Myrcella's eyes at Davina words, and before the elder of the two could react, the younger had embraced her tightly, uncaring of Davina's still damp skin and wet hair. Though shocked, Davina welcomed her sister with open arms, relishing in the easy silence that fell over them.

Davina didn't know how long they remained like that before Myrcella finally pulled away, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye in the process. For the first time, Davina noticed her pretty red and gold dress made of what appeared to be the finest of silks and looked up into her eyes with a smile.

"Mother's letting you come to the feast tonight?" The blonde nodded enthusiastically, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Just for an hour or so, but Tommen has to go to bed before it starts. Mother wants me to stay with her, but at least I'll be there." Davina smiled and took both of her hands between her own.

"How about you sit in my lap? I'm seated next to Mother, and the added few inches will give you a better view of everything," she offered, laughing as Myrcella almost jumped up and down at the prospect. Sometimes, like after the conversation they just had, Davina forgot she was still just a child. Her sister was far more intelligent and mature than anyone else gave her credit for.

"Have you picked your dress out yet?" she questioned, mischief dancing in her green eyes as she pulled her up and towards her chests, making Davina laugh again. As Myrcella animatedly told her of how she'd escaped their Septa - something about Eglantine turning her back just long enough for Myrcella to sneak out of her temporary chambers - and dug through the many dresses she'd been forced to pack, critiquing each one on style, fit, and function, before casting it aside and moving on to the next, Davina couldn't help but send up a silent prayer to the Old Gods and New, whichever were listening, that her beautiful, kindhearted sister would find someone who would love and protect her in the way she so desperately desired and deserved.

In the end, Myrcella had settled on a gorgeous crimson and gold dress she'd found at the very bottom of Davina's second to last chest. The neck was cut in a way that left her shoulders bare and dipped slightly in the front, though not enough to reveal too much. The red of it was muted, more a subtle maroon color than the blood-like one of her maternal House, and the gold was toned down as well, but the likeness to the Lannister sigil was without question very strong. Whether Myrcella gravitated towards their mother's - and her father's - House instinctively or by pure coincidence, Davina wasn't sure, but her choice made guilt form deep within her older sister's gut.

She wished she could tell her, but it wouldn't be fair to Myrcella, and it would place her in danger as well. If this was the only way to protect her, then so be it. She'd endure the guilt every time she met her sister's ever trusting, vivid eyes, knowing that she was keeping her safe in the only way she could.

"Davina?" She turned, her vision coming back into focus as her eyes landed on Myrcella, who was seated in her lap, watching her worriedly. Before she could reply, the sound of their father's drunken laughter reached their ears, making the sisters both warily glance in his direction, just in time to see him pull one of the Stark's servants onto his lap as she refilled his flagon of Ale. She felt Myrcella stiffen in her lap at the sight - she'd only recently become aware of their father's philandering and drinking - and Davina caressed her hair with her hand, attempting to soothe her.

After several long moments, Myrcella turned to face her, righteous anger and pain burning in the depths of her beautiful Lannister eyes, and Davina drew her into an embrace, understanding her feelings all too well. As she stroked her hair softly while Myrcella buried her face in Davina's neck, trembling softly, the elder of the two chanced a glance to her right, reading their mother's body language with ease, causing an overwhelming sense of pity to engulf her.

Here they were, the royal couple, the pillar, the paste holding all of the Great Houses together, and it was all a lie. She couldn't help but feel a strong stab of hatred for Robert in times like these. He'd married the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros - and though her mother was not a conventional beauty by any stretch of the imagination, she outshone any and all others in her presence without putting forth any effort - and he was choosing instead to focus his attentions on a commoner whose face was all too forgettable and plain.

It was an affront to the Gods, what he was doing. Queens had been cropped at the neck for less - the only thing saving her father seemed to be the fact that he was a man, and therefore, could do whatever he pleased. Even Cersei Lannister was expendable to Robert Baratheon. The thought of the absolute power he possessed, and abused regularly, made her feel sick, both for her mother's sake and in the name of righteousness.

She wasn't religious to say the least, but she did value morality greatly, and if there was one thing Robert was not, it was moral.

Tentatively, she reached out, her hand seeking out Cersei's under the table. Despite their arguments and disagreements as of late, she was still her mother and she loved her - all the fights in the world couldn't change that. She prepared herself for the worst, only to be surprised as her mother accepted the gesture of comfort and interlaced their fingers, though her face betrayed nothing.

"Is this the first time in the North, Your Grace?" Davina's soon-to-be good mother, Lady Stark, asked, and she felt Cersei's grasp on her hand vanish. It was almost as if Davina had caught her in a moment of weakness, which had come to an abrupt end with Catelyn's question. Her now free hand went to Myrcella's gold-spun ringlets absently, toying with the silky strands as her mother answered.

"Yes...lovely country," she replied, though Davina could clearly detect the falseness in her tone. She knew all too well how deep Cersei's disdain for the North ran. To her credit, Lady Stark merely smiled and played along.

"I'm sure it's very grim after King's Landing." Davina's eyes were drawn to where she and Kol's siblings sat as Sansa stood and began making her way towards their table. She checked his seat, as she had been throughout the feast, but found that he'd vanished, as had Robb. Frowning, she glanced around the great hall, attempting to pick him out of the crowd, but found he wasn't there at all. "I remember how scared I was when Ned brought me up here for the first time," Catelyn added just as Sansa stopped in front of Cersei with a bashful smile spread across her lovely, youthful features.

Davina managed to return her smile genuinely, as did Myrcella - who was already overjoyed at the prospect of having yet another older sister - and Cersei, though, again, she could tell her mother's was less than sincere.

"Hello, little dove. You are a beauty...how old are you?" While Cersei's smile was false, the compliment was honest. To her credit, Sansa's confidence never wavered, even in the intimidating presence of her queen.

"Thirteen, Your Grace."

"You're tall," Cersei appraised as she looked Kol's younger sister up and down. "Still growing?"

"I think so, Your Grace," she responded, still grinning, but her expression faltered at Cersei's next question.

"And have you bled yet?" Davina wanted to say something, but it was not her place. Her mother was searching for a reason or excuse to break Sansa and Joffrey's betrothal, and while Sansa not having flowered would postpone things, it would inevitably happen. The sooner her mother resigned herself to her two oldest children marrying into the North and a Stark becoming the next king or queen, the easier it would be for them all.

Sansa's Tully eyes met her mother's identical ones, frantically wondering how she should answer such a question. It was clear from her reaction that she had not, but Davina didn't pity her at all. Her own moon's blood caused her awful pains and headaches regularly, leaving her bedridden or sick to her stomach. During those times she refused all visitors but Cersei, who would bring her warm towels to lay across her belly and milk of the poppy to ease her pains.

More often than not, she kept to her chambers for the duration of her bleeding. The mood swings that sometimes accompanied it was more than enough to keep herself sequestered away from the rest of the castle. The first moon's blood that came after returning from the Rock, she had nearly broken Joffrey's nose as he'd sneered at her pain. Luckily, Jaime had been there to catch her fist before Joffrey had seen it, thus saving her from his volatile temper, and while her mother had some stern words with her about the ordeal, she'd ultimately taken pity on her and seen to try and alleviate her pain personally.

Qyburn had attributed her more powerful reactions to her moon's blood to the magic it'd seemingly awoken within her and had told her mother so. Pycelle, not knowing of her special abilities, simply took it as a good sign that she was extraordinarily fertile and congratulated her as she lay in her bed. As soon as he'd turned his back, she recalled it taking both Jaime and Cersei having to hold her back from striking him in the gut.

"No, Your Grace," Sansa muttered, sounding crestfallen as she shook her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her mother nod minutely, though her expression gave away nothing.

"And your dress, did you make it?" That brought a smile of pride to Sansa's face as she nodded enthusiastically, and her clear joy was infectious as Davina found herself smiling along with her, as did Cersei. "Such a talent. You must make something for me." Sansa curtsied and then she was gone. Davina had intended on complimenting her as well, but as always, her mother had dominated the conversation, leaving little room for interference. Idly, she wondered if that was by chance or design.

"I hear we might share a grandchild someday in the near future," she said conversationally, sounding very unenthusiastic at the prospect. Davina stiffened at her mother's tone, bristling as the thought of her rejecting any of her grandchildren simply because they were Starks grated her.

"I hear the same," Catelyn responded, her tone mirroring her queen's, causing Davina to shift slightly in her chair, suddenly extremely uncomfortable. Were the only people truly overjoyed at she and Kol's betrothal they and their fathers? She had believed she'd made a good impression on her future good mother earlier that day, but her response said otherwise, and that worried her greatly.

"Your daughter will do well in the Capital. Such a beauty shouldn't stay hidden up here forever." Davina cast her worries aside, refusing to dwell on her fears while she should be rejoicing on their triumph, and offered Lady Stark a vibrant smile that reached her eyes.

"You needn't worry, Lady Stark. She'll have 'Cella, Arya, and I to keep her company... I'm sure we'll become the closest of friends, all of us. Sansa and I shall be sisters twice over, after all," she said with a light, airy laugh that made Myrcella giggle from her place in Davina's lap before she too nodded fervently.

Suddenly, she felt some sort of makeshift crown be placed on head, and she whirled, only to be met with the warm brown eyes she'd been searching for mere minutes prior. Her hand moved to touch it, but his shot out and grasped hers, shaking his head even though there was laughter shining in his dark eyes.

"Careful...I had no time to remove the thorns, and I'd hate for the Queen of Love and Beauty to injure herself on my account," he said with a charming smile. Her eyes softened considerably at this as her fingers intertwined with his, forming an effortless clasp, as if the gods themselves had crafted them for the other. At times, Davina truly believed they had.

"Is that what you were doing in the gardens earlier?" she asked, feeling tears prick the backs of her eyes as the events of earlier that day began to fall into place. He nodded, reaching out and stroking her cheek with his other hand, and though it should've been awkward in the presence of their mothers and her sister, she found it the opposite as she leaned into his touch readily.

"I thought, what better way to welcome the one who has owned my heart for as long as I can remember than by crowning her the Queen of it?" She responded by kissing the back of the hand she still held in silent thanks, making him smile once more before she remembered where exactly they were. Myrcella was watching the two with rapt attention and a barely concealed grin. Catelyn was looking upon her son with a look of pride, while Cersei herself seemed touched by the gesture.

"Someday, I hope to have someone love me the way you love my sister," Myrcella murmured, thinking her thoughts aloud without realizing it based on her facial expression after the words had left her mouth. Davina simply smiled on her with as much encouragement as she could muster, and all the love she held for her.

"And someday you shall, sweet sister," Davina murmured and she teasingly pinched one of Myrcella's cheeks, making the blonde giggle. She sensed Kol's smile, filled to the brim with mischief, without even having to look. There was something about his entire demeanor that changed whenever he'd planned something particularly clever or devious, and it made her feel a thousand times lighter, as if the weight of the known world wasn't potentially going to rest upon her shoulders one day.

"And I believe someday might come much sooner than you expect, my princess," Kol said in a conspiratorial manner, much as he would when playing with Rickon. His eyes went to behind the two sisters, and no sooner had Davina remembered that Robb had been missing as well, he reappeared, placing another crown of woven winter roses atop Myrcella's golden mane as her sister blushed furiously.

As he kissed her hand and asked her if she would dance the next with him, looking every bit the heir to Winterfell and the North, Davina felt her heart swell within her chest, both at the expression on her dear sister's face as Robb humored her and at Kol's thoughtfulness. It took much prompting, but once Myrcella was being led out onto the floor by Robb, Davina turned to Kol as he knelt beside her chair.

"How did you know?" she asked. He shrugged.

"I may or may not have been passing by your quarters when I heard her gushing over my brother's stunning eyes," he said with a smile that told her he'd heard much more than Myrcella's fawning over his older brother's disarmingly good looks. She wanted to say more, but the words that came to mind were far from appropriate in the company of their mothers, so she refrained and rolled her eyes instead. He responded by laughing and kissing her temple before grasping her smaller hand in his larger one once more and turning to Catelyn and Cersei.

"I would like to show the Princess the godswood, if Your Grace would allow me the honor," he kindly asked Cersei. As it looked like her mother was beginning to say no, Davina jumped in, displaying none of the propriety she'd been taught, but desperate to see one of the places she'd read so much about over the years.

"With an escort of your choosing, Mother, of course. It will only be for a few minutes, right my love?" she interjected, directing the last bit towards Kol with a raised brow, silently telling him just to trust her.

"Of course," he agreed readily, understanding her unspoken plea all too easily, almost as if they shared one mind. Davina bit her lip as her mother glanced between them several times, back and forth, and caught her eyes at the first opportunity, silently pleading with her as well.

If you love me as much as you claim, allow me this small freedom. Prove to me that I am as dear to you as my brothers and sister.

Finally, after what felt like hours, her mother's unwavering expression softened slightly, and Davina released a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. "As long as you are not gone long," she conceded before her eyes swept out over the gathering, easily picking out Jaime's form as he began stalking away from Kol's father. Davina's overjoyed smile slowly morphed into a frown as she felt the annoyance radiating from him as if it were her own.

Jaime and Cersei's eyes met, a silent conversation enveloping them, scarily similar to the one she and Kol had just shared, before he nodded and her mother's eyes returned to hers. "Go then, and be back before the hour is up." The happiness emanating from Davina was so potent, she couldn't help but lean over and kiss her mother's smooth, pale cheek in show of thanks before allowing Kol to lead her away.

He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as they made their way through the masses with Jaime following some ten feet or so behind them. "What is it you are so desperate to show me in the godswood?" she asked, having to speak louder than she would like in order for him to hear her over the commotion.

"You'll see," he said with a mischievous smile.

"If we weren't expected to marry in the Sept of Baelor," Kol began as they stopped in front of the massive weirwood tree that resided in the middle of Winterfell's godswood, "then dare say it, I would've lobbied to have us married under this tree here." He thoughtfully laid a hand on the bark, seemingly deep in thought, and Davina took the chance to drink in her surroundings. Every castle had a godswood, and the Red Keep was no different, but in the South, most had been converted to gardens or places of entertainment, seeing as how the First Men had built them to worship the Old Gods, not the Seven.

The tree itself was stunning - pale, thick bark adorned with crimson colored leaves that differentiated it from all others. She could only imagine how breathtaking it would be when surrounded by freshly fallen snow. If she focused enough in the dim light, she swore she could almost make out some semblance of a face, but before she could inspect further, Kol had turned back to her.

"In your last letter, you mentioned requesting Robert reconsider the line of succession...what did he say?" The letter he spoke of had been sent a fortnight before she'd been presented at court. It had been brief, as she'd already been second guessing herself, and had detailed her hopes, dreams, and fears at all possible outcomes. She'd refrained from writing one in response to the one she'd received shortly after her proposition to her father in favor of surprising Kol with her arrival in his ancestral home.

"He told me he would consider it, truly," she replied with a smile, but beneath the joy she still felt laid a palpable amount of terror that had, in truth, kept her awake during many nights while making her way to Winterfell.

"Are you having second thoughts?" he questioned tenderly, caressing her cheek with his hand. Her lips might've been smiling, but her vibrant, expressive eyes had spoken a different tale altogether. Eventually, emerald met mahogany as she felt salty tears burn the backs of her eyes.

"I want this," she said with a conviction she felt within her very soul. "I want you. I want all of those children we've imagined so many times, I can see them all clearly if I close my eyes. I want the life we've been dreaming of for so long...but I'm afraid." He stroked her cheek, encouraging her to continue. "If my father chooses me over Joffrey, who would support my claim? Would my father's enemies see it as the perfect chance to strike? And Rhaella Targaryen's children are still alive in Essos...how long before they set their sights on us?" She questioned honestly.

"I know there is a war coming, perhaps not tomorrow, or even a year from now, but the blood of the dragon will come again seeking what was stolen from them. While I utilized this fact in my favor, claiming I could protect us a thousand times better than Joff would ever be capable of, I do not wish to start a war if I can help it. There can be no true victory without loss, and you and I both know the fate of the last royal family. I fear that will happen to us."

The night following that day at court, she'd had a dream where she was in much the same place Elia Martell had been at the time of her gruesome demise - sickly and weak from childbirth, clutching her newborn son to her chest as her daughter whimpered softly in the corner. She could still remember the sounds of enemy forces going from door to door, searching for she and her children. In the dream, she'd received news that Viserys had managed to slay Kol on the battlefield and had immediately set off for King's Landing in order to take back what was his. She'd woken before she'd been found, but her quivering had been all too real, and had remained so well into the night as she laid awake, staring at her ceiling. A slight shiver ran through her just thinking about it.

"That will not happen to us, Davina," he swore, pulling her into his arms as she burrowed into the warmth of his embrace. In her periphery, she saw Jaime - who was standing a good twenty five paces away - shift his weight uncomfortably at the display of affection. "By the Old Gods and New, I swear to you, we will slay that spinless dragon, together, and be rid of he and his troublesome family for good. He will not take away all our fathers have built, and what we seek to add to their legacy. Our child shall sit the throne after you, and their child after them. We will leave the world better than when we came into it," he vowed powerfully, sounding every bit a king, before pulling away and kneeling at her feet.

She frowned, unsure of his actions, for they were foreign to her, though his words had sent a flare of warmth spiraling through her chest that she identified as hope. He reached into the breast pocket of his tunic and pulled out something small and silver that shone in the moonlight. Taking her left hand in his, he held it out for her, and to her amazement, she saw a ring sitting in his palm, as masterfully crafted as she had ever beheld.

"I know that this is unnecessary, since our fathers have already agreed upon our union, but I would feel remiss if I didn't ask you outright..." he trailed off bashfully, sounding nervous, as he took her left hand in his. "Davina of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, First of Your Name, Crown Princess of the Andals and the First Men, Rightful Heir of Robert, Future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms...would you do me the supreme honor of gifting me your hand in marriage?"

All Davina could do was nod, a watery smile spreading across her features, and he slid the ring onto the finger to the left of her middle one. The radiant smile that bloomed on her love's face filled her with more happiness and joy than she could ever recall feeling, and as their lips met, Davina was sure this was what riding a dragon felt like. She felt invincible, untouchable, and immortal in his embrace, and as his fingers threaded into her hair and his tongue pried her lips apart, she felt that same fire as she'd felt earlier that day when he'd kissed her manifest and then magnify a thousand fold, morphing into an inferno that she swore would burn her alive at the first touch of their tongues.

Emboldened with a desire she'd never felt before, her arms wound their way around his neck, drawing their bodies together until there was barely any space left between them. In response, Kol groaned into her mouth before wrapping his own around her waist, eliminating whatever distance remained, making Davina gasp. Her fingers disappeared into the dark waves at the nape of his neck as his own traveled to her hips, tightening and drawing her against him with a low moan.

The sensation of something pawing at her dress caused her to pull back abruptly, and upon looking down, she was met with a pair of intelligent, curious amber eyes belonging to a dark grey wolf pup. Completely entranced by the sight of Kol's direwolf pup he himself had written her of before she'd left King's Landing, she laughed softly before kneeling down next to it, paying her intended little mind as he growled softly in frustration.

The sound caused the pup to cock its head, glancing up to its owner for a moment before turning it's attention back to her. "You must be Shadow," she murmured gently, holding out her hand for the male wolf pup to sniff. She herself had never had a dog, but she'd heard of their intelligence and loyalty, and aside from reuniting with Kol and meeting his family, bonding with Shadow was something she'd looked forward to greatly.

Shadow sniffed her hand with his nose for a quick moment before readily nudging it. She laughed again and acquiesced to his request, scratching him behind the ears. He was much larger than Kol had described, and though it had been a moon and a half since he'd last written of him, it was hard for her to imagine an animal growing at such an alarming rate. She could tell he was still a pup, but he was already the size of a large dog.

"I thought I told you to wait in the stableyard," Kol said not so kindly, clearly annoyed at his wolf's interruption, causing Shadow's ears to lower back against his head in response to the reprimand.

"Well, I don't blame him. With everything going on tonight, the stableyard seems awfully dull," she said in Shadow's defense, though there was a playful edge to her voice.

"Davina, my mother explicitly told me-" he cut off abruptly as Shadow's ears pricked and he cocked his head, his tail beating the ground in an uncertain rhythm. Davina shot Kol a look before laughing at Shadow's reaction.

"Yeah, about that...I might mention your name a good bit when it's the two of us alone, to the point of which he recognizes it," he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head for a moment before bending down next to her. "Shadow," he began, chuckling as Shadow's intelligent amber eyes shot to meet his without hesitation. "This is Davina." He laid a hand on her shoulder, accentuating her name with the action, and Shadow's tail began to twitch in uncertainty once more, a happy whine building in his throat as his eyes flicked back and forth between the two.

Kol simply nodded in reassurance and then Shadow was all over her - licking her face, hands, ears, anything he could reach - making her squeal loudly. He allowed his direwolf to display the clear love he already felt for Davina for a few moments before gently pushing him away with a chuckle. "Easy boy, give her space. Wouldn't want to scare her off already, would you?" Based off the look in Shadow's eyes, Davina could tell that he comprehended what Kol told him, and as he dutifully sat back on his haunches, waiting for Kol's next command, Davina laughed before lightly whacking her intended in the gut.

"Oh, don't mess with him like that! It's cruel." Kol rolled his eyes at that as he reached out and ruffled Shadow behind the ear.

"Come on, you...we best get you back with the rest of them before Mother finds out you escaped." Davina followed his lead as he stood, looping her right arm through his proffered left one as they began making their way towards Jaime with Shadow flanking Davina's side. Seeing this as perhaps her best chance to introduce the two most important men in her life to one another without interruptions, she gently tugged on Kol's arm, her eyes going to Jaime's silhouette as he stood in the entryway to the godswood before returning to him hopefully. To her relief, Kol nodded, and she practically dragged him along behind her as they hastily closed the distance between themselves and her beloved uncle.

"Jaime!" she called out, gaining his attention, though she knew said attention had never not been on them to begin with. "This..." she began as she pulled Kol up beside her with a look of great pride shining in her eyes. "This is the boy I'm, as you so eloquently put it, so keen on marrying," she imitated his words with a slight laugh, and the sound was infectious as Kol and Jaime both smiled in response to it.

To her great surprise, Kol extended his hand first in a very respectful way, displaying a level of gratitude she was sure her dear uncle was not at all used to. "It truly is an honor, Ser. Davina has told me so much about you in her letters," he said amicably, and by the look on Jaime's face, not many addressed him with such honesty or genuine respect as Kol had. Though still looking slightly taken aback, Jaime returned the handshake readily, his well known charming smile slowly spreading across his face, masking his uncertainty.

"All good things, I hope," he shot back conversationally, displaying a willingness to give Kol a chance at the very least - something she knew in her heart would take years and many children for Cersei to even consider doing.

"She thinks very highly of you," Kol agreed with his own charming smile. Looking between the two, Davina couldn't help but imagine the havoc they could wreak on a room full of women with their dastardly good looks and charisma alone, much less together. She smiled as she realized the probability of either doing so was slim to none. If they could agree on one thing, it would be their steadfast loyalty and devotion to the one they loved. Davina hoped they had more in common than that, but it was as good a starting point as any. "As do I," Kol admitted.

The shock on Jaime's face would've told Davina all she needed to know about what had transpired between Jaime and Ned immediately following the Mad King's death had Jaime himself not already told her.

After sparring one day several years ago, she'd asked Jaime purely out of curiosity, and though he'd been hesitant, her encouragement had earned her privy to his own personal account that, to this day, he'd only possibly told her mother, if that. It was possible her mother hadn't even cared to hear it. Her heart had broken for him that day, and she'd cried, both in anger and sadness, on his account. No matter what the rest of the Realm thought of him, Jaime had made the right decision, even when caught between a proverbial rock and a hard place as Maester Pycelle would say. His actions had saved millions of lives, and she would swear to that fact until her dying day. To hell with Kol's seemingly noble father, who'd judged him the moment he'd laid eyes on Jaime sitting the Iron Throne with Aerys Targaryen's lifeless body lying at his feet. She knew the truth of it, and thanks to her, so did Kol.

"I know my father would prefer to think the worst of you, but because of Davina, I have the utmost respect for you. Who knows what would've happened had the Mad King gone through with his plan to burn King's Landing to ash - most of the people sitting in the great hall would either be dead or have never existed in the first place," he theorized, and Davina found his reasoning to be sound.

If King's Landing had been burned, then Jaime, Robert, Ned, and many others would've perished in the flames. In one fell swoop, in his dying act, Aerys would've annihilated many, highborn and commoner alike. The world would be a much darker, hopeless place had Jaime not made the ultimate sacrifice. Robb would've been the only Stark child Catelyn had borne and either way she looked at it, she wouldn't have been alive.

"The Realm owes you a great debt, Ser Jaime, and though I know you might never receive the respect you deserve, you should know that you will always have ours." He glanced Davina's way for a moment, and she nodded in encouragement. "Which is why Davina and I would be honored if you would be Lord Commander of her Queensguard...after Ser Barristan passes on, of course. I can think of no one more capable or worthy of it than you. I know that I can always trust you to have Davina's best interests in mind, for I can see you care for her as much as she cares for you."

Davina tried her best to hold back a grin at the sight of Jaime's clearly awestruck expression that reminded her primarily of the first time she'd managed to disarm him during a sparring lesson.

"I...I would be honored," he said finally before one corner of his mouth curved into a sly smile that reminded her all too much of the man standing beside her. "Though, I hope I've taught her well enough so that she'd never need my intervention if anything were to ever happen...tell me, what is your weapon of choice? I distinctly remember you being ungainly with a blade." Davina's laugh then was perhaps the most boisterous and hearty she'd experienced in a long time as Jaime turned the tables on Kol, though he wasn't wrong.

Kol had attempted to spar with her once near the end of his stay in King's Landing, but he'd been clumsy and sloppy in his technique - something Jaime clearly hadn't forgotten, though she suspected he'd had to dig deep into his memory to find something to hold over him, She distinctly remembered knocking him flat on his ass while Jaime had laughed to his heart's content.

"I might not be the best with a sword, but I can put an arrow through the eye of a boar from two hundred paces." Kol's prowess with a bow was much like what hers was with a sword - deadly, efficient, and accurate. He never missed a shot, not since he was strong enough to pull back the string to knock an arrow. Davina watched as Jaime nodded, feigning impression, before patting him on the shoulder.

"Davina could make the shot from two hundred a fifty," he said in dismissal, the ghost of a smile spreading across his features as he turned and began making his way back to the feast. She knew that, despite the antagonistic nature of their delivery, the words had been said in jest...but it didn't make them any less true.

When Kol had informed her of his success with the bow, she'd set out to match him in skill, and while truly neither knew who was the better, it was close. If Davina proved even half as talented with it as Kol, then she was rather formidable to say the least.

Kol made a move to follow Jaime, breaking away from her and sprinting to catch up to him. She stayed back for a moment, admiring them as they playfully argued amongst themselves, and she couldn't help the soft, bittersweet smile that graced her features at the sight before lifting the skirt of her dress as she hurried to catch them with Shadow ever present at her side.

The next morning, Davina was busying herself with adjusting Rose's tack in preparation for the hunt while her Uncle Tyrion sat just a few paces from her, clearly feeling the nasty aftereffects of a night full of too much wine. Ser Sandor Clegane, better known as the Hound, Joffrey's personal guard, was seated next to him, fixing his boots.

Nearly all the Kingsguard were in attendance save Jaime, who'd graciously volunteered, as he had so many times before, to skip the festivities in favor of staying behind to guard the Queen and her children. Davina had to stop herself before her mind traveled to what exactly they could be doing now or had done in the past when Robert had been out in the Kingswood. She might be sick if she thought on it too long.

"Rough night, Imp?" the Hound asked. Davina had to stifle a chuckle at the look of pure, self-inflicted misery that passed across Tyrion's face, which was turning greener by the second.

"If I get through this without squirting from one end or the other, it'll be a miracle," he replied, sounding every bit as miserable as he looked. Personally, Davina hoped she wasn't around when that happened. She could handle blood and innards just fine, but when it came to the contents of a person's stomach, she was as weak as they came.

"Didn't pick you for a hunter," Sandor commented, sounding surprised that her uncle was even partaking in it.

"The greatest in the land," he shot back. "My spear never misses."

"It's not hunting if you pay for it," came the Hound's reply before sheathing his knife and stalking off. Davina chuckled, loud enough for Tyrion to hear, and his bleary green eyes swung to hers.

"It's not polite to laugh at some else's misery," he chided, struggling to keep his eyes open. She had no idea how much wine he'd consumed the night before, but she could only imagine the pounding sensation he was experiencing in his head at the moment. It was for that reason, aside from her general dislike of the taste, that she refrained from consuming any form of spirit altogether. She'd tried it once, at his prodding, of course, and had felt so awful the next day, she'd sworn off the drink for life.

"Not if it's self-inflicted," she countered with a knowing smile as she slid Rose's bit into her mouth. If she were going off by herself, she wouldn't bother with a saddle or bridle at all, but because she was in the King's party and as a member of the royal family, expected to show at least some level of propriety, she did so out of necessity.

"Do you take pleasure in being a pain in my ass?" He questioned, though the lazy smile on his face told her he thoroughly enjoyed their banter. She was just about the only one in the family who could keep up with him mentally and often times gave back as good as she got.

"Careful, Mother already thinks you're a horrible influence on me...you wouldn't want her to hear you using vulgar language in my presence." He rolled his eyes.

"Your mother has had a perpetual stick up her ass since the day I was born. I couldn't give two shits about what she'd have to say," he commented dryly.

"That would make two of us, then," she said with a sigh, tightening Rose's saddle before testing it, trying and failing to ignore the perplexed look Tyrion shot her way.

"What did happen between the two of you these past weeks?" He questioned curiously, she went to backtrack, intending on denying it, when he held up a hand, stopping her. "You've scarcely said a word to each other and have all but ignored the other's presence." She bit her lip, stroking Rose's neck for a moment before glancing over to him sadly. A light of understanding sparked in his eyes, followed by a wave of sadness. In that moment, she knew he was well aware of the cause behind she and Cersei's distance as of late.

"How long have you known?"

"A moon and a half," she responded solemnly. "What about you?" He laughed once, humorlessly, at her question before sobering once more.

"Davina, I grew with them both. Your grandfather might've been blind to their actions, but I certainly wasn't." She felt her stomach roil as if she'd be sick at his words. She'd known their affair had extended to the time right before her birth, but Tyrion was suggesting it'd begun long before then. Pity formed in his eyes for her, obviously seeing the distress written all across her face, before answering her unspoken question.

How long?

"For as long as I can remember...since they were children." She swallowed back the bile that'd risen in her throat at his answer before putting on a mask of indifference, as she'd seen Cersei do so many times before. Nodding, she met his eyes.

"Thank you. You've been more honest with me in so few words than she's been all my life." Tyrion sighed at her reply.

"Despite her questionable methods...I do know she loves you fiercely, Davina. If nothing else, never doubt how much she cares for you," he said before his eyes darted to behind her, and she turned, an unconscious smile gracing her features as she watched Kol joking with Robb and his Uncle Benjen while sitting astride his mount for the hunt.

"He seems like a good boy."

"He's already twice the man Robert Baratheon will ever be, of that I can assure you," she said as their eyes met, and the smile that spread across his face nearly blinded her with it's beauty before he left his brother and uncle and approached them.

She swung up into the saddle expertly, refusing the help of a stable hand when offered before glancing back down to her uncle. "Are you sure you're feeling up to this? I'd hate for you to sully the Lannister name in such an embarrassing manner," she teased, pushing away her still turbulent emotions about Jaime and Cersei for the time being in favor of spending an entire day with Kol.

"I'll be fine," Tyrion said with a lazy smile before his eyes went to Kol again. "Tell him," he said encouragingly, shocking her greatly. Surely anyone else would've advised the opposite, but Tyrion was different. He could see how fervently the two loved each other, and knew what it felt like to have someone, even briefly. "The boy clearly worships the ground you walk on. You could tell him you were born with a tail and horns and he'd still look at you with the same love struck expression. He won't forsake you."

His words cracked the seemingly unshakable front she'd put up, and she smiled with watery eyes. "Thank you, Uncle. Truly." He nodded before gesturing to Kol again. She wasted no time in urging Rose forward, meeting him halfway as the party began departing through the gates of Winterfell with Robert and Ned at the helm.

"I need to talk to you," she said as they fell into place at the tail end of the group. "Not now," she murmured as he opened his mouth, probably to tell her she could talk in that moment. Glancing around and seeing as though no one was paying much attention to either of them, she leaned just a fraction closer to him. "In about an hour or so, what do you think about us breaking away and finding a place where we can speak openly, without fear of being overheard?"

The look in his eyes at this was near indecipherable, but it almost appeared as if he had some things to say to her as well, before he nodded.

"I know just the place."

"Wow," she breathed as they dismounted, her breath catching as she laid eyes on the hot spring Kol had led her to after they'd snuck away from the hunting party. It wasn't terribly large, but it was sequestered away, tucked into a hillside that ensured privacy, with trees on all sides. He smiled at her reaction as he led his mount over to a large fallen tree and set about securing its reins to one of the thicker branches.

"I used to come here to read your letters sometimes," he admitted while she did the same with Rose as he'd done with his horse. When she was finished, he took her hand and led her over to a different tree, this one standing and flourishing with vibrant green leaves thanks to the spring nearby, as was the rest of the vegetation surrounding it, and sat down at its base, pulling her with him.

He leaned back against it, moving to draw her against his chest when she resisted, placing a hand - the one adorned with the ring he'd given her the night before - just above his heart. She bit her lip, studying the beautiful simplicity of the band that she'd already grown accustomed to. It was quite possible he'd demand it back after hearing what she had to say, and if that were to happen, she wanted to savor the feeling, the all too familiar weight of it, as it rested there.

"I..." she began, trailing off as panic filled her. What if he looked on her with disgust when she mentioned the likelihood of Jaime being her father? Would he be afraid of her once he learned of her abilities? The odds were against her, for even if he did the unspeakable by accepting her, despite her possible parentage, there was still the chance he'd reject her for being a witch.

She was so busy working herself into a frenzy that she failed to see him move until he'd tilted her chin upwards gently, directing her eyes to meet the soft brown ones she had fallen in love with once again in the past day. "You're shaking," he murmured with a frown as he felt her tremble in his arms. "Davina, whatever it is...you must know you can tell me," he said encouragingly. She took one, two, three deep breaths in an attempt to quell her nerves before closing her eyes with an almost defeated sigh.

The boy clearly worships the ground you walk on. You could tell him you were born with a tail and horns and he'd still look at you with the same love struck expression. He won't forsake you.

"A few days before Lord Arryn died, he handed me a note outside my chambers and made me promise I'd burn it after reading it," she began, looking away from his dark, searching, soulful eyes. "In it, he..." she trailed off again, a lump forming in her throat.

"He what?" Kol prompted gently, giving her courage.

"He claimed Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen were not fathered by the King...a claim my mother herself has confessed to be true." Kol was silent for a few moments causing Davina's fear to grow substantially with each passing second, but she never would've expected his next words.

"They're Jaime's, aren't they?" he asked solemnly. She looked up at him sharply, equal parts fearful and shocked.

"How could you possibly...does this pertain to what you need to tell me?" she asked uncertainly, relaxing slightly after he nodded. He released a deep breath that mirrored her own of earlier, before launching into his own confession.

"Since I was a boy, I've been able to...to see things - things that've already happened and ones that still haven't come to pass." She cocked her head in curiosity. "For example, the night before I left Winterfell for King's Landing, I dreamt of your face as you hid behind your mother's skirts." She remembered the awestruck expression he'd worn as he'd first set eyes upon her all too well. "It's how I can sympathize with Jaime instead of look down on him."

"You saw him kill the Mad King," she breathed in realization. He nodded in assent.

"If a madman such as Aerys ever demanded I deliver my father's head to him, I would've chosen the same. I believe I would've done much worse to the old fool after learning of his plans for the city," he muttered solemnly.

"Burn them all," she whispered, and he nodded gravely. "Jaime told me that was all he'd said for hours."

"He intended to burn with the rest of them and be reborn as a dragon," Kol said, sounding equally disgusted and astonished, a feeling she herself echoed greatly. There was no arguing that Aerys had gone mad in his later years, whether that could be attributed to Targaryens wedding brother and sister or something else entirely, she wasn't sure, but no one could deny his lack of sanity during the rebellion.

If she didn't possess supernatural abilities of her own, she didn't know if she'd believe him or not, but because she did, it was all too easy for her to accept it without much thought or questioning on her part.

"About a moon and a half ago, I saw your argument, or at least bits and pieces of it," he began, no doubt referring to the confrontation she'd had with Cersei and Jaime a few miles outside of King's Landing. "I do remember hearing you say, what am I to you, Mother? Some bronzed haired freak that can do things normal girls shouldn't be able to do? The daughter of a man whose throat you'd rather slit than allow in your bed again?...Or am I his? You then gestured to Jaime and I immediately knew." He reached out and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She'd worn it completely tied back in a braid that day, but the wind had ruffled it just the right way to cause the shorter strands of hair surrounding her face to fall out of it.

"Davina, I don't care what blood runs through your veins or what name you bear. Lannister or Baratheon, you are the one I love; my Davina. All that matters to me is you - your smile, your laugh, the way you glare at me when you're annoyed, the look in your eyes when you're with Myrcella...that is what I love. It doesn't matter to me that you might be the product of a union the gods see as unholy, or that you possess a magic potent enough to shake the very foundations of King's Landing." He intertwined their hands together as she looked at him in shock, and upon looking down as her eyes followed the action, she now saw that he wore a ring identical to the one he'd given her.

"I don't care about all of that," he said honestly, and she could sense the conviction he himself felt. A gentle, soft smile spread across his handsome features. "And as for the future...I don't dread it. How could I when it is you?" He questioned rhetorically before sliding his hands into her hair at the nape of her neck, cradling the back of her head.

"I fear no fate, for you are my fate, Davina," he murmured quietly. Having rendered her speechless, she reached out, caressing his cheek, before doing the first and only thing that came to mind.

She kissed him.

In the end, they'd eventually gotten up and left in order to actually find something worthwhile to bring back to Winterfell with them. Kol had spotted a small stag not far from the spring and they'd each taken a shot with Kol putting his arrow through the beast's eye while Davina had gone for the heart. As they'd approached their joint kill, she'd rolled her eyes at his attempt to impress her with his archery skills. He was still fairly bothered by Jaime's comment, though he'd never let her blonde uncle know it, so she hadn't called him out on it.

They passed through the gates of Winterfell just as the Sun was beginning to set. If she were to wager a guess, the hunting party had only beaten them by an hour or so, and at least they had something to show for their absence. Her father would no doubt overlook what most would consider an indiscretion when she presented him with a stag's head and meat for their next meal.

No sooner had they dismounted their horses than did Arya come running towards them, appearing distraught. She launched herself into Kol's arms, and he caught her, holding her against him as she trembled. With a worried frown, Davina approached the pair and laid a hand on Arya's shoulder.

"What is it, little wolf?" She asked softly. Arya turned watery eyes to her soon to be good sister, but before she could reply, Jon came jogging into the courtyard. His appearance made both Kol and Davina stand with Arya remaining in her older brother's arms.

"Kol...it's Bran."

A/N: So, my fellow Kolvina lovers and Game of Thrones fans...how was it? I know it was super duper long, but there's just so much material to cover since I'm basing each chapter off it's corresponding episode in the series, plus this chapter had to lay a ton of foundation and backstory for my favorite kindred souls. And I know Kol is somewhat OOC, but a huge part of his character in the TVD/TO universe is rooted in his family troubles, which obviously he has none of since the Starks are nothing like the Mikaelsons. He's still hopelessly in love with Davina and would do anything to protect her, as well as being a general snarky, smart ass, so there's that I guess? I don't know...anyways, I would love to hear what you guys thought and Chapter 2 should be up fairly soon :)