Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire. Nor do I own Game of Thrones.

Author's Note: A thank you to Hoegh, Jake.K, Raikiri's Edge, SUNSHINGIRL, SerBlackfyre5, Tsubaki-San, .1992, bryan brolsen, daenerys and khal drogo 4ever, devilsmaster2, iron aegis, justaddyoghurt, shailjajoshi37 and shin18theOtakubooklover for favouriting this story.

A thank you to Daisy96, Evaline101, Firefly-class, Hoegh, Jake.K, Majandra.21, SerBlackfyre5, Thedevilmaycrie, Zyphrost, .1992, annabellecutie, bryan brolsen, daenerys and khal drogo 4ever, jasonxo, shailjoshi37, shin18theOtakubooklover, and slaterbug for following this story.

Ann: Yeah, I preferred Elia and Rhaegar or Elia and Arthur Dayne initially, but I think there is possibility for Elia and Jaime to have, both chemistry and love. There seems to be a certain honour within Jaime's character, yet a certain ruthlessness that I can't help but imagine appealing to a Martell woman. Let's see how it works out for them though.

As always, both positive and negative feedback is greatly appreciated.


Birds Flying High

Elia was wedded on a beautiful sunny day that felt like a blessing, but the day she arrived at Casterly Rock had been grey and gloomy, foreboding even. The building, while admirable, was oppressive and aloof, full of its own hauteur, much like its residents. Elia felt herself up to any challenge but even her confidence, her assurance, was challenged by these who did not even attempt to disguise their disdain. What could she do, brought up with manners and faced by those with none? How could she make a home for herself with these menacing people in this uninviting building? She set her shoulders, straightened her spine, and decided that it would be all the greater triumph for her, when she made such a place home.

She was not the only outcast. The three ladies who had travelled with her, Lady Emma Vaclav, and the sisters, Hermione and Willamina Wickaninnish, were pariahs by her association and courtesy of being Dornish. What surprised Elia was that little Tyrion Lannister was undoubtedly an outsider too.

The first time she had met him, he had stared at her with large eyes before rushing behind his Septa's skirts. He was anxious, she had realised, and kinship had stirred within her breast. No child should feel like this. Even less a child in his own home. What had that heartless father of his done to inspire such trepidation of strangers in such a little one? No guest in the Lannister abode would act out of turn had Tywin deemed it unacceptable, and that thought was unpalatable.

She offered him her friendship. She sought him out now and again until he became familiar with her presence. She then visited him everyday, spending time with him that delighted her as much as it delighted him. What a sharp one he was; he reminded her of Oberyn, so perceptive. He was far less mischievous but she made up for it. It eventually came to be that he would seek her out, whenever his lessons permitted him to, and she indulged him each and every time, careful to never turn him away. Even if she only had a minute spare, she would give it to him. So focused was she with little Tyrion Lannister that she never saw his father's eyes following her, watching her, never realised that the many ears Tywin owned heard every word that she told the Littlest Lord, who was the smallest in so many ways, and yet, had the biggest heart within his family.

The serving girls had also learnt that for all her foreign ways, they preferred Elia's soft words and kindness to Cersei's demands and tantrums. It was little wonder that Jaime Lannister preferred the same, the bravest of them whispered. For all their secrets, the masters and mistresses never noticed the servants and Cersei ignored them more than most. Her sinful relationship with her brother, her twin brother, may the Maiden curse her, was known. It just wasn't known by anyone they deemed important.

Lady Elia Lannister, with her soft words and kind smiles and gentle eyes, was such a reprieve that they took particular care with her. They knew she preferred her rooms hotter than the others, so they took kindling from Cersei's rooms, and ensured the fires burnt hotter and longer in her chambers. She liked to break her fast with fruits; they couldn't find Blood Oranges for her, but they found whatever fruit they could and always ensured there were some in her solar. They took care of her, the way they carefully didn't care for Cersei.


She was ugly. She was dull. She was stupid. She had no breasts and far too wide hips. She had intolerance for shelled fish. The list could go on for hours, Cersei knew because she had spent hours upon hours dissecting exactly how inferior Elia Martell was to her. Elia Lannister now, the filthy whore. The name alone infuriated Cersei beyond toleration; she felt like she was going mad, perhaps she would be an appropriate match for Rhaegar Targaryen after all?

The wedding itself didn't bother Cersei all that much. It nauseated her to see the Lannister name given to a wanton wench but still, what did a wedding mean exactly? It was the nights that Jaime spent in her chambers. Fucking the bitch, sure – that was expected. What need was there for him to stay the whole night with her, stench and all? Worse still, he had stopped coming to her, making love and all. The days had turned into weeks, and now the weeks were turning into months, and her arms, legs and lady parts remained devoid of Jaime's. And that – that was not acceptable. If she had to kill this snake, she would, to get her Jaime back.

The only question was how. Had her father not approved of the wedding, this wouldn't have even been a question. She would have wrung that skinny neck with her own bare hands. However, even if it had been a political move to expedite Cersei's ascension to the throne that would have been hers anyway, no matter what her father claimed, he opposed a death. Too suspicious, too quick, political turmoil, war with the Martells; excuses, she had accused him of. In turn, he had slapped her without regret. So unfortunately, openly killing her was out of the option. Not when her father would be displeased with her.

She would find another way. Cersei was nothing if not tenacious, and nothing made her more resolute than the brother she loved, the brother that belonged to her and nobody else, not even her father.

It wasn't as if Cersei was settled on killing the Elia bitch. She'd tried other options. She'd bribed the better looking of the knights around her to bed the girl but for all her wanton ways, the Dornish snake was smart. She'd resisted them, so much so that she had never even remained in a room alone with any man other than Jaime. And it wasn't just the three Dornish sluts that had kept her company; it would have been easy to spread rumours, of Elia's immoral ways and how she abused her women to lie for her. No, the woman had been smart enough to keep some of the Lannister's own handmaidens with her at all times.

Cersei had even paid for some of the less savoury men to try and forcefully bed her, with or without her will. They had never been given the opportunity.

The simplest answer was usually the correct one, her father had always said. The simplest answer was to kill Elia Martell (unworthy of being recognised as a Lannister), and that was the path Cersei would take.

A blade wouldn't work. Poison could, but the snake probably knew more about those than Cersei herself. The best bet was an accident. She often rode her horse, unskilled as a child, so who would wonder if an accident befell her? For no more than a silver dragon, she paid a large boy, with mean eyes and a nasty manner, to startle the horse. That talentless witch wouldn't have a chance to survive it.


The news came to Tywin first. A boy had startled Always Pure, Elia's personal Sand Steed, a boy with ugly manners and uglier demeanour. The horse had reared with Elia on it. She had luckily not let go of the reins, as so many fools would have done. She'd loosened her legs, allowed the horse to propel her movements, and she'd returned to the horse, inadequately but seated nonetheless. She'd dropped off the horse, some bruises and grazes adorning her but it wasn't the broken bones or broken neck everyone surrounding her had envisioned. From the words and tone of Lord Arnys Swyft, he had respected her horsemanship. For all that she never rode ventre à terre, she appeared to know her horse well. And when she had stumbled up to her feet, she had been clutching her stomach.

'I sent the Maester over to see her,' Lord Arnys Swyft told him, with the same amicability as his sister but far more personage.

'Of course,' Tywin's eyes were thin slits of concentration. How could he have missed such a thing? She had never been sick when she had first arrived at Casterly Rock, so why had he put her vomiting down to her innate frailty? It was a foolish error, no mistaking that. But one that had better not cost him a grandchild, an heir for his heir.

'Send Cersei to me,' his words were brisk as always but Lord Swyft was quick to recognise the displeasure and quicker to leave its vicinity.

She was untroubled when she entered the room, but one look at his face had Cersei guarded.

'I told you not to make any attempts on Elia's life,' he spoke with no preamble. Why waste words and time?

'I didn't…' she began but his temper snapped.

'Don't lie to me, child. Lie to someone who would believe it or lie better,' his anger didn't have him pacing, it had his victim pacing, blonde hair trailing behind her.

'Why do you care? You don't even like her,' she spat back, as if disobeying him wouldn't have consequences for her. She was far too spoilt, Tywin realised, if she thought he wouldn't punish her just because she was his daughter. How could he have brought up someone so derisible?

'And that gives you permission to go against my direct orders?'

She still wasn't quelled, she still had more than her lion's share of pride. 'I'm doing our family a favour, we don't need snakes here,' she retorted, eyes flashing with the passion Joanna had often shown but none of her insight.

'She's a Lannister now,' he said, his decision made, troubling as it would be.

'She'll never be a Lannister, it's not in her dirty nature,' Cersei fired back, hands clenched and spittle flying, her eyes crazed in her face. So it was this despicable business again? Joanna had tried to convince him that it was just childish curiosity and not the taint the Targaryens insisted on passing with their inbreeding. He'd never believed her then, it was even less convincing now, with both twins grown up.

'Maybe not,' he conceded. 'She's still carrying a Lannister, this house's future. Which you're not.'

Cersei reared back as if she had been slapped. The colour had left her face, she was as grey as the robes the Silent Sisters wore. Tywin waited for sympathy and found that he had none. Daughter of his she may be, but she had threatened the future of House Lannister. As if he could ever let that go unpunished? She'd learn this, easy way or hard.


Jaime heard about it through the lads that cleaned his weapons., once he had finished his training for the day.

'So when's the baby coming?' One of them had said to the other.

'My ma always said it takes five moons for a life to be destroyed,' the other had replied. Such nonsense. The boy had clearly been too young to understand his mother's implications, but Jaime's ears had pricked up and he'd headed straight for his father's solar, heedless of his sweat and grime.

He didn't know what a sorry sight he was, face whiter than the foam on the sea, hair clinging to his face as if he were in the throes of fever.

'Is it true?' he demanded of his perturbed father with eyes that looked feverish too. Of all his kids, Jaime had been Joanna's child the most, with a softness that he did his best to hide but which existed nonetheless. Jaime also knew that he was the child dearest to his father.

'Is what true?' Tywin asked cautiously, bewildered. He hadn't told a soul of his plans for his wayward daughter, hadn't confirmed any plans within his own head, so how could his son know?

'Is Elia with child?' Jaime was shaking now. He looked like he should be seeing a maester. Tywin became uneasy – a child was good news, great news really. Jaime was the future of Casterly Rock, he needed an heir, and for Elia to get with child so soon was promising for her fertility. It was too early to tell if she would face the same problems Moniellar had, but Tywin would ensure that the best of Maesters would be brought here, if necessary.

'She hasn't told me as such, but I suspect so, yes,' His dry comment that he was no woman, gossiping whenever he could was left unuttered, for any colour that Jaime had in his face disappeared. He swayed for a moment before rushing out of the solar. He didn't see the anxiety and confusion on his father's face - how Tywin couldn't figure him out. He couldn't understand Jaime's reaction to news that would have pleased any other man in the seven kingdoms.

Jaime's feet found him rushing without thought. It was involuntary where it had led him – where it had always led him. How awful must he look if one glance had Cersei immediately dismissing the maid from her chambers.

Before she could voice a question, his hands grasped her, held her so tightly that for a moment, she was scared, the words of the prophesy running through her mind. A moment later, all thoughts disappeared, as his lips found hers in a kiss that was desperate and passionate and sent her pulses on a mad scramble.

It was a short path from the kisses to the bed, and after a draught of several months, it felt like a flood. A tangle of flushed limbs and hot breaths and hotter kisses, and Jaime's pallor was replaced by a flush. He held Cersei close to his chest, close as she had always been, but let his gaze wander away. This felt like a promise – either a broken one or perhaps one he had cursed himself with? He'll take a flower to Elia tomorrow, he swore to himself. Cersei only liked the most perfect of roses but Elia loved all of the flowers, and she liked variety, never settling on just one favourite. He'll take an entire bunch of different flowers, selected carefully by him. Maybe it'll lessen the blow she didn't even know he'd dealt her.


Just as the warm nights she had spent in intimacy with Jaime in her bed had turned to weeks and months, so had the cold nights with his absence. The more time Elia spent alone in her cold bed, the colder her anger grew. The cold nights in the dessert were as dangerous to life and limb as the hot days. Just as dangerous was her cold anger. She couldn't even understand his sudden change, although she knew just where he was spending his nights.

The haughty blonde bitch always looked like a cat indulging in cream. Such conceit also loosened her tongue now. She never veiled her insults anymore, just caring to do it out of the hearing of her father and brother. It mattered not who else heard them. In small reparation, Cersei's dishes were sometimes lacking salt, other times with too much in it, and sometimes she was given the spicy food that Elia was craving instead. It always made her throw up.

Elia was throwing up much more now, too. Sometimes she could keep some fruit down, but any meal she had, it would come out within minutes. Her skin had become itchy too. What was with this pregnancy of hers? The first two or three moons were meant to be the most distressing – she was now approaching her fifth moon, and she looked thinner than she had at the start. She had the bulging stomach, but elsewhere, her arms, her legs – the flesh were melting away from her bones. The heightened anxiety heightened her anger, and it was with the strictest self-control that she didn't lash back at Cersei. She would never give her the satisfaction.

It was after she had thrown up four times this day already, and had sat at the table for supper with a stomach that was already rolling that Elia finally lost this control.

'Poor Elia, I almost wish for the death of your child, that it may spare yours,' Cersei had whispered her curse venomously, eyes glinting like wildfire.

'Should my child die, I will certainly take yours in forfeit, Cersei,' she had snapped back but hadn't finished. 'Don't mistake manners for weakness. I realise you have neither, but be warned not to test my patience, else you'll find out just how poisonous snakes can be.'

They had stared at each other. Cersei had been the first to look away. Straight at her father, and Elia had waited with abated breath for the rebuke. Tywin Lannister had looked at her, impassively, and then continued to sup.

'Father,' Cersei had whined.

'Learn some manners from your Good-Sister,' he'd told her without deigning to even look up. 'You need to polish yours.'

There were angry tears in Cersei's eyes and she felt her anxiety leaping. She could feel the movement of her child, she had the Maester assuring her repeatedly that her child was fine, it was not the child he worried over. They had tried all remedies for sickness and none agreed with her. 'All you and your babe need is nourishment,' he despaired.

She paced in her chambers, paced between the vomiting, and finally came to a decision. She squared her shoulders and knocked on Tywin Lannister's solar at an indecently late hour.

'My grandmother writes to me that she misses me dearly. She is unwell, and may not live much longer. May I please extend her an invitation to visit?'

He couldn't refuse a Targaryen Princess by birth, could he? He didn't and she heaved a sigh of relief. Her grandmother would know what needed to be done.


He'd never heard kind, gentle Elia snap, and that more than anything made him venture into the gardens. Jaime had continued to give her flowers regularly, as an unspoken apology for choosing Cersei. He felt guilty but couldn't stop himself from seeking Cersei's succour.

Cersei preferred roses, only the most perfect of them. Elia's preference had always been variety - she liked surprises. Today, he chose an orange, perfectly bloomed rose. He surrounded this rose with a handful of orange blossoms; it wasn't the blood oranges she frequently pined for, but he hoped they would make her feel less homesick.

When he entered her chambers, he wasn't surprised to see an absence of smile on her face. He'd recognised that they'd increasing become more forced and less sincere of late.

'Some flowers for my lady,' he smiled his brightest, most charming of smiles. She took them in her hands, inspected them for a few moments, and then, with nary a change in expression, flung them into the fire.

'Save the flowers for somebody that appreciates them,' her eyes glinted like sharp flints.

'What have I done to earn your ire?' Jaime exclaimed, regretting it a moment later. Elia would never know of his passions with Cersei, but it was still a wrong against her.

'Perhaps it's not stopping your sister from openly insulting me daily? Maybe it's not even waiting until I've put on weight and become unattractive before seeking solace from someone else? Or maybe it is the insult to my pride that you think you can buy me with these pathetic little baubles?' Her voice grew icier with the words and Jaime had to fight the impulse to step away, the words hurting all the more for the truth within them.

'Treat me with some respect, wife. You forget your place, you forget who you're talking to,' he retorted.

'I think it is you that forgets himself, my lord. After all, most husbands wouldn't be spending time with their,' she paused. There was an unsettling piercing look on her face, a cunning, all-knowing mien that had Jaime's heart thundering in his throat, pulsating wildly through his head. She couldn't possibly know. 'Their bits of muslin,' she said at last, but Jaime felt as if she meant something entirely else.

His fear was the ignition to the gunpowder of his guilt. He knew he would regret his words but he hurled them anyway. 'If you desire me in your bed so much, perhaps I shall return and treat you as I would a bit of muslin?'

Her laugh was brittle and acidic, mocking him openly. 'As if I would allow you to touch me again.'

'You're my wife, I don't need permission,' he sneered at her, wondering at the monster she was turning him into.

'It'll be with me kicking and punching and screaming at you.' She'd tilted her head back as an open challenge, her slender neck stretched taut like a bow, her piercing gaze the arrows.

'Maybe that won't stop me,' he retorted, hating her for her mockery, for her biting words.

'Then I should have just married the Targaryen boy. Maybe it was my own stupidity that made me see more in you than there is.'

He stepped away in surprise. Her sneer grew, ugly on her face. 'What? Did you think we were unaware that I was King Aerys' preference? Did you think it wasn't my decision to make? I suppose I was wrong about your intelligence, as well as your character.'

Jaime fled the room before he smacked her, his anger mixing uneasily with his guilt.