A/N: Hello again! Here comes chapter 2, from a fresh new perspective. Also, after this update, I will update on a weekly basis, because apparently that is the update frequency most of you enjoy XD

Chapter 2

Tyrion missed his brother, yes. He did want him back. He wanted him back every day. Jaime was Tyrion's only friend in the world, the only person he could trust. When his cousins bullied him, or the banner men roughed him around, Jaime was the one who would save him. Tyrion would be eternally grateful to his older brother.

It had only been one month since his death, and after all those discarded pillows soaked in tears, the eleven year old just was not emotionally ready for this.

It was a sunny day, and Tyrion had been reading under the shade of the oak tree when he saw a familiar lithe figure bound up to the stables, pointing a delicate finger obstinately at the brown stallion that stood in the place of Jaime's dead white. Dressed in old breeches that outlined her calves and a tunic that accentuated her delicate curves, she looked so much like Jaime that the dwarf gasped, covering his mouth with his large hand.

Her hair was bundled on top of her head, covered by a felt cap. She wore no jewelry, no flowing garments, and her breasts looked much smaller, as if she had bound them with tight cloth. He began to blush, hiding his shaking hands under himself.

He could just pretend that she was Jaime, if he hadn't known her. He could have pretended that his brother was back. God knew that was what Cersei wanted them to pretend.

The stable-hand was complying with her, seemingly terrified of her expression. Tyrion knew how that felt. Cersei was a fierce woman. He glanced at the entrance of the stable, where the unharmed Elena stood. She met his eyes and shook her head mournfully.

She had snapped, then. He knew that this was a possibility. Cersei and Jaime had been closer than siblings had any right to be. It was almost obvious that his death would push her over the edge.

Tyrion put his book down and made his way to the stable. Nobody else had the right to stop her, with their Lord Father in King's Landing. Only Tyrion, the last male heir to Casterly Rock, could order her to go back inside.

But his legs were short. He waddled as fast as he could to the stables, but Cersei was already seated comfortably on what should have been Jaime's stallion, legs on either side of the horse as a man would sit. She glanced at him with a smirk, with Jaime's smirk, and smacked the horse into a gallop in seconds. Tyrion was left in the dust, coughing at the stable-hand to force her to stop.

The boy, two-and-twenty years old at most, shrugged, grinning. Tyrion almost snarled. He wasn't afraid of her, then. The stable-hand was besotted with the fiery woman. They had been flirting. Oh, if he had been his father's favourite son he would have told the Warden of the West everything. In fact, he was of a mind to tell him about this nonsense anyway, despite the fact that his father would likely believe Cersei over him.

He gestured for the stable-hand to prepare his own horse with his dwarf-friendly saddle so that he could go after her. He was her only brother now, after all. It would be careless of him to allow her to get hurt in the same place Jaime had died.

As he hoisted himself up with the stable-hand's help, Elena came up to his saddle and placed her hand on the horse's neck. "Milord, she is going to the place her brother died. She told me that she wants to ride how he had when he died. She wants to…show that she is better than him."

That was all Tyrion needed to hear. He shot off on his horse, his dwarf-customised apparatus trembling as he followed Cersei. He could not let her kill herself the way his brother had died. His father would blame him, and worse, he would blame himself. He did not love Cersei, and she loathed him, but he could not let another sibling die.

He saw her tiny figure grasping the reins of the horse, and his memories took him back to that fateful day a month ago, surrounded by banner men, with Jaime in the lead laughing at a joke. They were only paces away. The tree branch hadn't been cut, they had been too distracted to cut it, and it had been forgotten.

He could see it now, brown and thick, and remembered his brother's head snapping back, his thin body pushed off of his bucking horse, flying in the air, almost angelic.

"Cersei!" He screamed. "Watch out!"

But he didn't have to. When the branch began to pass over Cersei's horse, she ducked, pressing flat against its neck, and swung back up like a spring. The air filled with her cackling laughter as she pulled her stallion to a halt. Tyrion did the same, on the other side of the branch, and stared her down. She hopped gracefully off of her horse and walked up to him, snickering.

"I was always better than him."

Tyrion shook his head, snarling. The flashbacks of Jaime's death still haunted him. Why did Cersei have to look so much like him? "Cersei, you goddamned fool. What did you prove, doing this? You already know exactly where the branch is. Ducking didn't prove anything."

Cersei gave him a haughty look, too Cersei-like for her Jaime disguise. "I was meant to have been born the son. I would have been a great son, much better than Jaime ever was."

"But you were not born a son. You were born Cersei, Lady of Casterly Rock. Now stop this foolishness, let's go back to-"

"What, are you feeling threatened, dwarf? Father would be glad to pass the Rock over to anyone but you. I can pretend to be Jaime for the rest of my life. Look at me! I am a better son than either of you ever were. Father will see that, and he will accept me. I know him."

"You know nothing. Now…Cersei, come back here!" But she was gone already, mounting her stallion like it was nothing and galloping off into the forest. He knew her, she would take the detour back to the stables, making it there before him. He didn't know what she was up to, but it was trouble.

Tyrion sighed. She was right. She would have made a great son. Cersei was not meant to sew by the fireplace.