First, let me take the time to address some reviews I couldn't address through the PM system.

To Lexi: Thanks so much. I am thrilled you like this story and Changed Circumstances so far.

To Guest: My Ao3 has my complete list of works. I deleted it here for personal reasons.

To Hahahajcsik; As I understand it, treating characters, even fan favorite characters, with kid gloves or writing them happy endings is not a requirement of fandom engagement. Besides, "Spoil of War" is a tragedy. It appears you don't enjoy this story. All the same, thanks for reading and input. That said, due to my severely limited free time I can and will continue only writing what interests me.

To Appirinia: Are you sure you want to see where this goes? It's going down a very dark rabbit hole…

Next, I should like to thank everyone who took the time to read, left reviews, and/or are following the story.

Thirdly, please let me say that I own nothing and that all things recognizable are property of G.R.R. Martin, David Benioff, D.B. Weiss, & company, & the asoiaf wiki.

Finally, though this is ASOIAF-based fic, I am stating upfront: this chapter contains violence, minor incest, dub-con, and addresses subjects which may cause unease on the part of the reader.

Chapter 4: Cersei, 283 AC

She swirls the contents of the goblet offered her upon her entry into this place. At least the wine is good. But, not good enough for this. Every moment she waits her mood sours further.

Where is Jaime?

She grimaced. She had been told that he was here. If that was true, where is he? Why did she have to come here to see him at all? She is his sister. She barely stepped foot in King's Landing and he keeps rushing away from her? When they are finally able to be together, why is he forcing her to seek him out? How much longer must she wait for him? Why was he making her wait? She is going to be queen. It is just as they dreamed when they had been children. Why is she left staring at her cup of Arbor Gold?

Too distracted with thoughts of Jaime, she had not minded how the girl who let her in took the bottle away as she fled from the room. After all, she was not intending to remain long. But, now that she is forced to wait, she begins to think of more than her brother's whereabouts. If Martell was supposed to be a prisoner, why does Martell have good wine and why does she live in comfortable manse?

The creak at the door and the whisper of cloth tells her she is closer to her quarry. "Lady Cersei. I apologize for keeping you waiting."

Martell was wearing no jewelry and a plain gown and looks sicklier than she had seemed at Harrenhal. Cersei always knew Martell was going to be disappointing. But, it is not disappointment she starts to feel; it is rage.

Martell owes her more than one apology and more than just for keeping her waiting. This woman, draped in Targaryen black, stole Rhaegar from her. She stole the life meant for her. If she married Rhaegar, she would have never disappointed him. If she married Rhaegar he would not have died. If she married Rhaegar, she would have her Rhaegar and her Jaime would be with her now.

Oh, but, she knew this world was a cruel one. How can it not be when her dear, glorious Rhaegar is dead and now she must go through others like this to see her own brother?

Martell explains, "Jon would not settle today."

Despite herself, she asks, "Who?"

Martell's lips pinch together before she answers. "Lord Stark's son."

Surprised, she puts her goblet down on the low table off to the side. "Lord Stark's son? Here? Is his name not 'Robert' for our king?"

Confused as this is starting to make her she barely keeps the disgust from her voice. She hates Robert almost as she hates this woman. After all, though by different means, they both took her Rhaegar from her.

Martell murmurs, "Lord Stark's eldest son is called 'Robb'." Martell blushes. Embarrassment is a good look on the woman, she thinks. Martell continues, "This natural son is named for our Hand."

She sneers. Ah, yes, the oh so honorable Ned Stark who'd wanted to have Jaime sent away to that awful Wall as though he was a criminal, but, not so honorable enough to keep his britches closed. She shakes her head. She has more important reasons to be here than to discuss Ned Stark or his bastard. "Where is my brother?"

"Ser Jaime?"

She sneers. Obviously, she means Jaime. Why would she be bothered about Tyrion? He is where he should be; tucked away at Casterly Rock, far from where anyone of importance would see him. "Yes. I was told he was here."

Settling across from her, Martell gives her a demure smile. It increases her ire. She must go through Martell to get to Jaime? Why did Jaime bleat about attending to her if he was not here at all?

"He took young Clegane to the armorers. They should be back shortly."

Jaime would rather be at the armorers than be with her? Shoving down her hurt and irritation, she thinks of a much better thing. Smiling in earnest now, she settles back. "That is good. It gives us time to talk. I would require something of you."

Finally, Martell startles. "Of me?"

She dreamed of being queen since Lannisport. This is one of the few things which could make having to marry Robert better. "You are to attend my wedding and the coronation as my guest."

She smirks at the way Martell averts her eyes. At least Jaime making her wait is good for something. She does not want Martell there for herself. To know Martell sees her get what she never had and never would is enough. It would have to be.

"I am afraid I cannot oblige you."

Outraged, she demands, "You refuse me? I am to be queen."

"Is my presence the king's will?" A bold question when Martell is no one now as her father had said.

She longs to grasp at the haughty woman's hair and force her to her knees in front of her betters and make her to choke out those sweet words 'Yes, my queen'. Instead, she says, "Princess, it is mine. After all, this is for the day of my wedding. I would have you say, 'Yes'."

Sighing, the woman has the audacity to look apologetic. "Unless the king commands it, I cannot oblige you."

Suspicious, she demands. "Why not?"

Martell flushes and looks down again. "As loathe am I to deny a bride, it is also the king's wedding. I am forbidden."

Eyes narrowed, she accuses, "Forbidden?"

Martell's lips purse. "Even for a momentous occasion I cannot oblige you. I am barred from the king's presence. Even if the king allows it, and I know better than to think he would, I am forbidden from leaving the grounds of this manse except to worship at the Sept and if I am called to the Red Keep at the behest of the Hand or the Lord Commander."

Now stooped shoulders, Martell gives her an apologetic glance. This wretch surely must be lying to save face, but, surely this can be easily proven? She reaches out and lifts Martell's chin up forcing the woman to look at her. "How long?"

Martell stares at her. Puzzlement. It was as if her lack of knowledge was a shock. Did everyone besides her know about this? "When I was installed here."

Her irritation flares again. Even if this is true, why had no one see fit to tell her? If this is being kept from her, what else is? Jaime would tell her. Her Jaime would have told her…but, he is not here.

To hide her discomfort, she sneers. "You meekly accepted it? Are you that weak?"

Martell frowns at her. "There is no weakness in accepting the unchangeable."

She snorts. Is that what she tells herself? "What else would you call it besides weakness?"

"My lady, Cersei, if I may call you that…" Uncaring for this paltry attempt at nicety she nods briskly. "What weakness is it to refrain from expending energy for something unwanted?"

What was this woman going on about?

"You do not understand."

She bares her teeth at Martell who shrugs. "When I came to King's Landing I learned that we all serve at the king's pleasure. This king's is in forgetting that I am here. I do not fault him for it. I do not argue against it." She ends with a breathless, garbled laugh.

"Then you are weak."

Another shrug. That is what she gets. Where is the hurt? Where is her ire? Where is the rage she wants to see? "How dare you?"

Surprise, this time. "What do you desire from me?"

"Don't you think?"

Martell looks down for a moment. When she looks up again, she is greeted with a resigned expression. "Of many things. What does it matter?"

"I suppose you are right. What could you argue against? You are more useless now than ever."

She receives that puzzled expression again. At least this time, she wanted it. "Oh?"

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" She laughs. "Of course, not. Why would you be? Only someone worthy-"

Martell frowns. "What am I supposed to be worthy of?"

She sneers. "That is just it, you are not."

Martell gives her a hurt look. "How do you mean?"

"If Rhaegar married me instead of you he would have not looked once at Lyanna Stark."

Glee begins to coil in her when Martell's face purples. But, then, the Martell bitch just laughs.

Too shocked, she is quiet when Martell, with hand covering her mouth, turns away. When Martell looks at her again, she starts, "My dear-"

At the snicker, she snaps, "I am not 'your dear' anything."

Lips twitching, Martell shakes her head. "'Dear' is better than fool."

"How dare-"

The woman gives her a pitying look. "I dare because it unbecoming for you to sound like a love-struck child when you should know better."

Before she realizes it, she stands, towered over Martell's sitting form. "You soiled bitch!"

The damned woman only tilts her head and looks her up and down. Martell huffs. "Call me whatever you like, but, dear girl, if I did not laugh at you, I would cry for you."

She shakes with fury. How dare she! "Cry for me? Save your tears for yourself."

Martell's smirk widens. It is ugly just like the rest of her. "Most of mine dried up. I do not want to cry for you, but, this path you are on makes me think-"

Anger flares in her. This weak thing was lecturing her as if she had the right. Her fury only increases when Martell continues. "You see yourself a well-bred, pretty, wealthy man's daughter who is to be queen. I won't disagree; however, I doubt any of that will be of any use to you. You will ruin yourself if you keep up this foolishness."

What is this woman babbling about? "Ruin myself? How?"

Eyes now hard, Martell gives her head a rough shake. "You should be sharper than this. Rhaegar passed you up twice and here-"

She stands straight up. Of all the ugly lies. "You are lying."

Martell throws her head back. Martell's laughter echoes. The sound engulfs her. "In passing, Rhaegar told me once of how your father asked his for a match between you both. Rhaegar chose to marry me."

She hates this woman for the casual way Martell throws about Rhaegar's name and how he had been forced to marry her when Martell had been unfit clean his boots.

She draws herself to her full height. This time, she is the one laughing. "Aerys chose you. Not Rhaegar."

Martell snorts before leaning forward, grinning slightly. "Aerys did not want Rhaegar to set up our residence on Dragonstone. He did. Aerys did not want him to disappear for months. He did. Aerys did not want him to keep silent about where he kept Lyanna Stark and three of his Kingsguard. He still did it. If he truly wanted you, why would Aerys' displeasure stop him?"

"Tell yourself whatever you like!" Ugly lies from an ugly, deluded woman. That's what this is.

Martell shakes her head softly, clucking her tongue. It is as if Martell felt pity for her. "If he wanted your hand he would have had it."

"He did not pass me up twice."

Now that ugly dark face smiles sympathetically. She clenches her fist. The sneering died and, yet, her anger coils upward and fierce. However, Martell does not seem to notice. "It is obvious to anyone with a slight amount of sense. It is good to know you have some measure of steel in you, but, steel is nothing when you should be better than this. He married me. Then, he chose to go gallivanting off with Lyanna Stark. When you could have been persuaded, he did not choose you either time. Cry all you like of how much you loved him or how much better you are, but, to him you barely merited a thought. Only a fool would hold onto that."

Shocked at herself settles in as she stares at her stinging hand.

"Hit me again."

Her eyes fly towards that sharp bark. She can see the imprint of her hand on Martell's face. As joyful she should feel, the other woman laughs disdainfully. She does not understand it. She understands less when Martell clucks at her disappointedly. "Hit me again."

Martell sniffs. "Hit me as many times as you like, but, dear girl, no matter how many times you hit me it will not change what I say."

Gods, did she wants to strike her again, but, the first time had been a mistake. She should have never lost her control. The woman must be mad. Yes, that is it. Seeing that cheek redden further, she thinks that while she does not regret it, she reminds herself it was pointless to argue against a madwoman.

She draws herself up. "Why should I listen to anything you have to say? You have nothing."

"That is right. I have nothing." Martell whispers flatly. "But, I had more than nothing once. I had a good life. A husband. Beautiful children. I nearly had a crown too. It did not take long for my dreams to shatter. Think, girl, and think hard. Think for your own future. You consider yourself as near divine. Listen well if my fate or worse is not what you desire. You covet what I had; go look for it now. Stop chasing ghosts and walking roads leading nowhere. You are already at a disadvantage."

She shivers. What disadvantage? Her head spins and her thoughts fly. What is Martell saying? And why does she sound like that horrible crone whose words haunted her dreams as a child?

No. She will not think of that. Martell is bitter and mad; that is all. That is all it must be. Pushing down her dread, she sneers, "What do you know of my future? You dare talk to me about other people's futures when you live on other's sufferance?"

"I can taste pride and surety in you as deeply as I still can the sting of that slap." Martell's lips hint at a smile. "I know you are going to be a queen."

"Yes, that's right. I am going to be a queen." Her lips curl upward. Like you never were. Like you never deserved to be.

Martell's smile is now gone. She looks haunted without it. "If you do not heed my advice, I doubt you will enjoy much of anything. Of course, you might not enjoy what you have now."

"Why wouldn't I?"

Again, Martell shakes her head sadly as she extends her hand as if asking her to take it.

When she recoils, Martell gives her a hurt look. "Since you claim to love my husband so much, what joy can you get from marrying the man who killed him?"

She almost slaps this damned woman again. The only reason she refrains is due to the obvious attempt at baiting. No matter what she is told, she will not lose her temper again. Throwing her head back, she sneers. "Weren't you just saying I should not think of Rhaegar? A victorious, warrior king like Robert will do just as well."

It is a lie, but, she could do nothing about Rhaegar marrying Martell and doing nothing about marrying Robert, she will not let Martell have this too.

Martell clucks softly. "Victory in battle might be the only thing worthwhile about Robert. But, that is not what I mean. A girl grows up dreaming of having a content life made richer by the love of the best of men. Perhaps I am cruel to say this to a woman, an eager bride no less, but, it was to my detriment I, too, believed in pretty lies people tell their daughters. Though I wish I think wrongly, I am certain what Robert gives you will be of little worth."

Why is she certain? How could she be? "Why would anyone with sense believe you? Look at yourself. You are just a bitter crone."

Martell tuts at her. "And you are a dreamer, aren't you? You poor thing. Dreams only get people killed. Foolish girl, why do you refuse to see what I tell you?"

She laughs in Martell's face. "My fate will not be yours. I am not you."

Martell cranes her neck forward. "It makes no difference. Your dear warrior king wanted to marry one person. He knows she betrayed him for the same man you claim to love. You will have Robert's name and his children. If that is all you require to be content I…well. I am more than certain no matter how much you try, if he knows how to give it to you, his love, his regard, or anything you truly want or deserve will be denied you."

If he knows how…

Six and ten for him… three children for her.

"I will make him love me." Even if I will never love him, she vows to herself she will make Robert love her. She will make all love her like they never loved Martell.

Martell turns away, but, she had not missed the newest pitying look. "I wish you luck then. I suppose you owe it to Jon Arryn and your father to try."

Unnerved and suspicious, she narrows her eyes. "My father?"

Martell clucks at her again. "It is your duty to mind your father's investments not going to waste."

Her face curdles. "My father invest-?"

The ugly little woman waves a negligent hand around. "Who do you think pays for this manse or that Clegane's lordling's supplies? Not Robert. Your father was always desperate to make you a queen. Your father gifted Robert with corpses of Rhaegar's children. It takes more than that to win a crown and more than that to keep it."

"Do you not get tired of trying to stomp on the joys of others by furthering your lies?"

Martell sighs heavily. "Even your precious warrior king knows I am no liar." Martell shakes her head. "That Keep and the men in it will take your beauty, intelligence, and your youth. They will use you up and give you humiliation and loneliness in return. Give it time, child, and you will learn what I already know."

No. She will never let that happen. "My life will not be yours. Those men you speak of are different from the ones you knew."

Martell gives her another pitying look. "They are all the same. But, I suppose I should not be so harsh. If not for the fact that our mothers were friends, as a woman I owe you better."

She sneers. "As a woman…"

Martell sighs. "For Ser Jaime, then."

She frowns. "My brother?"

Martell mirrors her expression. "Your brother is too good to me to add to his burdens and you seem intent to add to them."

She startles. Why was Martell talking as though Jaime was in danger? "'What burdens?"

Martell waves a hand dismissively, but, there is no masking the tension in her shoulders. "Think nothing of it. You have your own concerns." What is Jaime involved in?

She finds herself leaning over Martell, "Tell me about my brother."

Martell looks away. "I have already said too much."

She reaches out and grips Martell's hand. "No, you do not get to turn away. You love talking too much to stop now. Is he in danger?"

Again, that cluck of disappointment. Why does she only warrant that? She is Cersei Lannister. She is going to be queen. She deserves better.

She snarls. "Tell. Me. What. Ails. My. Brother."

Martell shakes her head. "I cannot tell you what I am not supposed to know."

She accuses, "You do know."

"Your brother is a fine knight."

She digs her nails into the hand in hers. "I know that already. Stop stalling."

Martell looks at their entwined hands, but, only says, "It is a pity others, including your warrior king, do not think so."

What of it? "He is a hero. He saved the city."

Martell smiles sadly. "The city loves him for now; the city all of us are not beholden to. That is why, dear Cersei, there are no best men. There never are. You seem content to ignore-"

She lets Martell's hand go. "Stop speaking in circles."

Looking pained, Martell closes her yes. "I fear for him. Though Stark wanted your brother at the Wall, this city's new king and his Hand were set on killing him."

Fear grips her. No! No, not her Jaime. Martell glances about before stepping closer. Firm enough not to recoil or step back, she shivers. "Is he in danger?"

Martell's lips curl. She knows that expression to be disgust. "Ja-"

Her eyes narrow and Martell coughs before beginning again. "iSer Jaime/i does not like to unload his burdens onto me."

Her hackles rise. Martell gives her an apologetic glance. She does not want it. Aborted or not, she heard the pretense of familiarity. Her lips curl. "Then, what good are you?"

Martell bites her lip. "Few at the Keep, possibly outside of the new Lord Commander, trust him or want him near. Those who rule the Keep love to see him chafe."

"My brother does not chafe." How could Jaime when she is here?

Martell sighs. "I think if he does not wish to burden me with this, he would do more for you. He is your brother after all. Since you do not wish to think for yourself beyond what you believe should have happened for you, I would recommend you ask your father". Martell snorts disgustedly. "All though your father is the one to sell you to a man who is chief among those I meant."

She will not listen to more of Martell's stories. "Stop talking."

Martell gives her a mournful look. "Perhaps that would be wise. I seem to be wasting my breath. All the same it is my duty to warn you: it will prove dangerous if you do not keep your wits about you. If you can keep your eyes open and your mind sharp, carve out a life for yourself no one can take from you and try to make it so it does not make things for your brother worse. If not capable of that, I fear-"

She was never so grateful that the door creaks open.

"Princess, are you- Cersei?"

Jaime entire face brightens as he embraces her for the first time in months. Gods, finally things are what they should be.

But, no, she cannot have the slightest joy; not when Martell interrupts: "Jaime, where is Sandor?"

Jaime stiffens and pulls away. Jaime's jubilant face is replaced with the sight of Jaime's back. "I sent him upstairs, Elia, ah, Princess."

She noticed the slip. Martell was a no one; a prisoner. Why is Jaime allowing Martell this intimacy? How did that come about? Why? Jaime is hers. He is supposed to be hers. He is not supposed to be anything to Martell let alone 'Jaime' and she is not supposed to be 'Elia'.

Martell's face grows solemn. "Jaime, as much as I am delighted to see the reunion of a brother and sister, we best be careful about the future queen's presence here."

A shiver of terror passes through her as the pair share a significant look even when Jaime's face smoothens out where there had been a curdled expression before. "Quite right, Princess. These walls do talk. I will escort her back."

Something sour fills her mouth as she shakes her head. This is wrong. Jaime is her twin. What he knows she should, but, the meaning behind that exchange she does not. How Jaime's hand comes around her elbow tells her that she will not share in it. Why is her Jaime like this now?

It's her. It must be. Martell was making Jaime like this.

Before she can even voice a protest at this treatment Martell interrupts again. "Shall Sandor and I expect you to sup with us tonight, Ser?"

Martell already took Rhaegar from her. She already took what being married to Robert could be. She cannot have her brother. Now that she was here, Jaime has no need of Martell. "Yes."

What? Incensed, she tries to pull away, but, Jaime's grip on her arm is sure.

Jaime coughs. Why is her Jaime uneasy? "Princess, would you give my sister and me a moment?"

Martell hesitates before nodding her head. "Of course, I left Jon for far too long."

Jaime visibly deflates and gives Martell a grateful look. Gods, how she hates this woman! "Thank you, Princess."

Martell turns to her again with a bow. "You must forgive my lack of manners, my lady. In our brief time together, I have not offered congratulations on your wedding nor have I apologized for my inability to join in on the festivities. All I can offer is that I am here if you need an ear."

With that she is left alone with her brother.

"How long have you be here?"

She bristles. She came here to see him. She listened to that woman's prattle and this is how Jaime greets her? "I came here for you and this is how you treat me? How dare you?"

Jaime's face darkens and it takes everything in her not to shake him. They used to be so simple. Why is it so different now? "You should not have come."

Why is her brother, her twin, acting like this? "What did you want me to do when you stay away? Do you know how much I yearned to see you?"

She shakes her head wildly. No. Jaime does not get to look hurt. "I will take you back to the Keep."

What is the matter with him? Anger rising, she prompts, "Jaime? Is it because of her? Are you pushing me aside so you can play a more handsome Florian to her ugly Jonquil."

Crestfallen now, Jaime's eyes fly wide open. "How can you think that? It isn't like that with E-"

She sneers at her brother's hurt look. "What is it like, then? With Elia… Why you think of her when you are with me. You are with me. You are my brother, my love." She steps closer. Do you love me?" She does not doubt his love for her. She never has, but, today, given everything…given how he kept her waiting, given what awaits her with Robert, she wants to hear it. She needs to hear it.

Jaime presses close to her. "Of course, I do."

She almost sags in relief. "Then why did you keep me waiting?"

Jaime glances at the closed door fearful? "Keep your voice down, sister. Not now; not here."

She stiffens. "When? Where? Why are you set on ignoring me?"

Jaime wraps his hands around her shoulders. "Gods, Cersei I am not. It is just-"

Where she had been leaning in to Jaime, she flinches back. "Is that what this is about? Him? Robert?" She shudders. Even if she had married Rhaegar she would not have abandoned Jaime. She would not do it for Robert. Surely, Jaime must know that?

"Yes. No. This is about us."

"Then, why do you keep yourself away from me?"

"I-"

"You what Jaime? Why are you so frightened?"

"I am not." He sounds so sure, but, she knows her brother enough. HE is lying to her.

"Why are you lying to me, Jaime? What are you not telling me? I do not need protecting."

Jaime's lips quirk into smile. "No, but, I am here to do that all the same."

"Is it because Robert and his ilk?"

Jaime's face darkens again. "You do not need to speak of him."

"He does not deserve me, does he?"

She shudders when Jaime laughs. This time, the sound is very unlike her Jaime's. It is a hollow broken thing. It was ugly. It frightens her that her Jaime could sound like this. "No. No, he does not."

"She said as much."

Jaime stiffens against her. "What else has she told you?"

Martell said many horrible things; most she wishes she could forget. But, she cannot when Jaime's face pales. She leans into Jaime further. Something in her eases when Jaime's arms tighten against her "Nothing of importance." Anything Martell said she would dismiss as prattle of a madwoman who has nothing and no one. Because it was. It had to be.

He blinks. "Nothing?"

She purses her lips. Even if the woman was smart enough, or frightened enough, to keep most of what she says with her, no doubt the woman will tell Jaime something. "I asked her to come to the wedding."

Jaime pulls away suddenly to grasp at her wrists. "Tell me, you did not."

She gasps in surprise. "It's true then?"

Jaime looks at her confusedly. "Is what true?"

"Is it true she cannot leave this house except to go the Sept and if summoned?"

Jaime sighs as turns his head down and away from her. "Do not worry over that, Cersei."

Before she can think to reply Jaime presses himself closer to her and pulls his lips into a smile, the one that she loves. "No, my sweet Sister, just think of me. Just think of us together now that we can be."

When she feels the press of his lips again, she tries to forget about Elia Martell and Robert Baratheon. Now with Jaime's fingers in her hair and his lips upon hers, she tries to think of what it will be like now that they are together once more.

The wedding and the accompanying feast had been magnificent. All those people cheering for her…Gods, it was glorious. The weight of the diadem upon her head felt right. She imagines herself as she had been; resplendent and beautiful and the envy of all. But, the memory leaves her spent. She cannot get Martell's warnings out of her mind and nor can she dismiss them. She cannot when Jaime, despite his promises, left her at the earliest opportunity and now how she must wait for Robert.

Today had been nearly everything she ever wanted, but, not everything. What she truly wanted was denied her.

She tries to imagine the dreams she had as a young girl. She tries to remember the images her mind used to conjure in her youth, with Rhaegar as her bridegroom. She thinks of what that would have been like, but, now, that the ceremonies had ended and that night had fallen she knows she would have never been queen had Rhaegar lived and that having Martell visible at her wedding to Robert would have been a mistake.

As much as she likes to imagine Martell having to dress in a plain gown and even plainer jewelry among glittering throngs paying court to her, the image annoys her. Having her look like other widow of modest means would only make her seem weaker and more pitiable. There were so many fools who would long to champion such women.

She had been a fool to think bringing Martell to her festivities would only divert attention from where it should be: on her. She frowns. No, it would have brought her the attention she would not want.

The whispers start. Some begin to stand. She does not care about most. Yet, Ser Barristan gasps. Jon Arryn sent her father a baleful glance. The lines on her father's face sharpen.

For the first time this evening Robert puts down his wine Martell's low curtsey. "Your Grace, congratulations on your wedding."

Red-faced and now standing upright Robert's voice booms. "Cousin, you needn't have come."

Where there had been triumph, horror settles. Cousin? He calls her 'cousin'?

Robert growls at the nearest attendant. "Do not just stand there, get her a chair."

The boy scrambles and chairs scrape. Much as an invalid might, Martell drags herself pitifully to sit next to Arryn Seeing such a grateful expression on the Dornishwoman's face, incredulity and dread begins to take root in her. This was not supposed to happen. Martell was not supposed to sup with them. She intended none of this.

Lord Arryn speaks. "Princess, I you need not have come. I know you have been unwell of late."

The woman smiles as if his deference was her due. Of course, she would. Martell was always jumped up. "I will, of course, with the permission of His Grace take my leave early."

Martell continues when Robert grunts. "Jon with it is much too young to be left with the girl I left him with and young Lord Clegane does not have the disposition for such a task. However, I did not have the heart to refuse when the queen insisted."

Face purple now, Robert grips his goblet tightly. Arryn turns to her with a sharply disapproving glance. "The queen insisted?"

"Did she?" Too intent on showing the woman her place she had not bothered listening to Martell's warnings about Robert and Arryn. Her father, however, worries her most.

Mildly said, however, she hears the censure, not understanding it. Hadn't he wanted to see Martell humiliated?

"I could not in good conscience refuse a bride on her wedding day."

Uncomfortable titters ring in her ears. Thankfully, Arryn motions for the music to begin playing again and the food and wine begin to flow.

She tries to forget Martell is there. However, it is difficult when each time Martell is offered something well roasted her dark skin tinges grey. More than that it was how Jaime makes it a point to wave away the offending platters with sharp words and the soft, meek tones she uses to thank him has him smiling. Jaime is hers, and Jaime, her Jaime, barely looks at her.

Arryn's wife, the silly slip of a girl, compounds the disaster by asking why Martell refuses the best of the choicest morsels. Martell smiles reassuringly at Lady Arryn who grows abashed at her husband's rebuke. "It is nothing, my lord. My lady, some cooked meats disagree with me and my constitution was never the strongest."

The Hand murmurs awkward encouragements at Martell. Robert, sitting stiffly, gluts on his wine as if it would run out. Most of the others now try to look anywhere away from Martell. Father, though, is staring at her.

When it is her time to dance with her father, he grips her tightly enough to hurt. "Do you not appreciate how I tried to make you a queen."

Tried? "I am a queen."

She hears the sneer even if Father's face is an impassive mask. "You barely act as a lady ought."

Sensing how she almost jerks out of his grasp, he clutches her wrists more firmly. "Father?"

She can feel his anger when he presses his cheek against hers. "You failed to act like a queen in your first opportunity."

She almost shakes her head wildly, but, she knows all eyes are upon her. "Father, I haven't!"

His voice grows harsh in her ear. "Born a lady to a great house and now a queen and yet perhaps I erred in thinking you clever enough to act like a proper one."

Disbelieving the vitriol coming from her father, she insists, "I am."

Her father's face becomes more impassive and more dangerous. "Are you? Then why is it you do not know your proper place. You should know not to embarrass your fathers or your husband."

"I have not, Father."

"Oh? Why is that woman here and at your behest? What do you think you were doing?"

"She looks positively shabby." Why does that not please her father? Doesn't he want Martell humiliated as she does?

"She is not supposed to look like anything. What possessed you to remind the realm she lives?"

"I learned from you to ensure your acts are remembered."

Father pulls away enough for her to see his disgust before drawing nearer again. "Charm the husband I sacrificed my men and more gold I should have needed to spend to get you. Bear him children. Make the dregs of this city love you. That is what you ought to be doing. Do what I need you to do and nothing more. Do you understand me, Cersei?" His father lets her go as abruptly as he could without calling attention to them.

She startles from her horrible imagination when the door opens with a bang revealing a ruddy-cheeked Robert.

The closer he steps the stench of drink on him nearly makes her retch. He tries to kiss her. Unprepared for the undesired gestures, she flinches back. He laughs. "There is no need to be shy."

Despite herself, anger flares. "I am not."

Robert smirks, but, his eyes they look past her. "Good. Let's get to it then."

When he climbs on top of her she shudders. Perhaps he thinks it from pleasure. She knows it is not.

When she tries to image how being with Rhaegar would have been like or remembers what being in Jaime's bed had been like, now all she can feel is Robert all around her. She closes her eyes waiting for this to be over. She tries to drown out the way Robert feels and the way he smells. But, all that does is bring to her mind that Martell warned her that though she knows this is what it takes to be queen, being Robert's queen will never be worth it.

She wakes alone and she nearly thanks the gods for it. She refrains. If the gods wished for her thanks she would have never married that brutish oaf, Robert.

That he butchered Rhaegar she had to appear to come to terms with. But, she could not forgive Robert; not for killing Rhaegar and not for what he put her through. Was it not bad enough he had been drunk? That he had been rough with her?

She shudders remembering how she felt tears upon her cheek as he whispered that name in her ear. Lyanna.

Lyanna Stark is why Rhaegar died. Lyanna Stark is the reason she is forced to marry Robert. The girl is dead and she still haunts her. Why had she been cursed so?

She tells herself to breathe. It does not matter. It does not matter that Rhaegar is lost to her. It does not matter that her monster of a husband thinks of his dead betrayer. All that matters are that she is queen and she has her Jaime.

That alone fills her with the strength to rise.

She smiles as she sees the flash of white when she opens the door.

"Your Grace."

Her smile dies. The right words sound wrong because Jaime is not saying them.

"Who are you? Where is Jaime?"

The purpling bruise on the man's cheek sharpens the expression into something nearly like a leer. "My queen, I am Ser Lyn Corbray at your service. It is an honor to be your sworn shield."

Her grip around the door handle tightens. "'Sworn shield'? You? Jaime is supposed to guard me. Where is my brother?"

A huff of a laugh. "Dragonstone, or going towards it."

She nearly snarls at the glee in his tone. "What? Why?"

His lips twitch upwards. "I am told the Lord Commander required him to accompany Lord Stannis."

What? Why had she not known this? Why had Jaime not told her? "How long is he to remain away?"

Corbray shrugs. "I was not informed." He said it as if implying that no matter the duration it would be too soon.

It has been only minutes and the hatred she feels for this so-called knight intensifies a hundredfold.

She tells herself to breathe. She will see to it he is punished later. Jaime was important, not what this puffed-up thing thought.

"When did he leave?" Surely it is not too late for the ship to be turned around.

Corbray's smirk widens. "Before first light there were some servants attempting to pack his meager belongings-"

Incensed, she growls. "There is nothing meager about my brother."

Seemingly shocked at her outburst, the knight gapes. "I only meant most of Ser Jaime's belongings he keeps at the Princess' manse. From what I was told, he had not intended to remain at the Keep after the festivities concluded."

Jaime had not intended or he had not been welcome to?

Putting aside her annoyance at the idea that her Jaime would not remain for the newest reminder of the responsibility forced upon her brother, she searches for any signs of deception on Corbray's part. Unfortunately, she does not find any. All she has is a supercilious tone not masking his undue arrogance. Oh, but, Corbray is not the only one guilty. Barristan the Bold certainly lives up to his reputation. She lifts her chin. "Is the Lord Commander in the White Tower?"

He drawls, "The meeting chambers of the Small Council."

She draws herself to her full height. "You are dismissed, Ser."

He smirks. "As my queen commands."

He saunters away and she stalks towards her destination where, once again, fate disappoints her. Ser Barristan is there, joined by Jon Arryn.

Both rise and bow awkwardly. The Hand greets her first. "My queen, this is most unexpected."

Of course, she was unexpected. These men were familiar with the weak-willed likes of Elia Martell and Lysa Tully. They do not know Cersei Lannister. She promises to herself they will learn. "I was equally surprised to see the knight at my door was not my brother."

Both men share a glance. Arryn turns back to her, saying, "Ser Lyn is a fine knight. He will protect you." Barristan says nothing, but, he looks away.

"My brother can."

Barristan frowns. "Ser Jaime is tasked with another duty."

"Why is he headed towards Dragonestone?"

Both men flinch.

"You know of that?"

She sneers. "I am new to your acquaintance, my Lord Hand, but, surely you must know that a queen cannot afford to be ignorant."

The pair share another look. Arryn speaks again, palms up as if to soothe her. "No, of course not, all the same, my queen, you have my assurances Ser Lyn will serve admirably."

She almost sneers. She does not need or desire his paltry assurances. She sees the demeaning attempt at a dismissal for what it is. Men truly are the same no matter where they are. She shoves away that thought so reminiscent of Martell's warnings. "Have you known Ser Lyn long, Ser Barristan?"

Corbrays, she knew, were Arryn bannermen, but, Barristan the Bold made the appointment. She wanted to know why. Why did he deserve the honor of guarding her person when her Jaime had been here?

"No."

"His Grace values him for his valiant efforts at the Trident."

The Lord Commander's grimace betrays his discomfort. Arryn nods as if it was truth. She might think more of the disparity behind the reactions, however, only one thing matters. "When will my brother return?"

"When the situation on Dragonstone is more firmly in hand."

A pitiful non-answer. "Where are my father and His Grace?"

"Lord Lannister left this morning."

Her father left?

Eyes narrowed, she asked, "Why?"

"Lord Lannister felt it his duty to return to his responsibilities at Casterly Rock."

Her suspicions grown at another silent exchange occurring between the two men. A pretense; it must be. Uncle Kevan was more than capable of supervising Casterly Rock in Father's absence. Was it the same as with Harrenhal? Had father taken Jaime being sent away as an indignity and he chose to return where he was master? Or had he been pushed away now that Arryn and his miserable friends no longer had use for him? They sent Jaime away. Even if they do not wish to admit it, they likely sent her father away.

"My queen, do not fret so. If you have need of anything we can provide it."

That is a pretty lie; one she will not believe.

She swallows the bile threatening to come up. Robert was the king. He had to be good for something. She might not need her father, but, she needed her brother. She wanted her brother. "Where is my husband?"

Lord Arryn says, "Hunting."

Hunting? She sneers. Of course, Robert ruins her life, leaves her to the tender mercies of his men, and he's off gallivanting without a thought. "When will he return?"

Arryn sighs. "Forgive me, my queen, he will when he when his task is complete."

Despite the words, Arryn's tone contained no wish for forgiveness. As for the dismal answer, it fails to tell her when Arryn spoke of "his task" if he referred to Robert or Jaime.

She turns away without another word. She can do nothing about being dismissed by these fools for now. There is still one matter left unresolved.

"You did this!"

Startled, Martell glances up from where the dark-haired boy, presumably Stark's bastard, has Martell's finger in a viselike grip. "What have I done?"

You filled my head with horridness!" She will not voice how Martell had been correct. She does not need to.

Martell rises to settles the child in to a cot in the corner of the room only to return to her previously vacated seat. "I warned you of what to expect."

She snaps back, "Not warning; gloating."

Martell sighs. "Was it not you who said I have little, if anything, to gloat about."

Enraged again, she rushes forward. "It must thrill you to make everyone else miserable as you are."

Martell looks up at her frowning. "I put myself in a more precarious position simply by telling you of what no one else would. You chose not to believe me."

What does Martell want from her? To hear an admission of truth? Yes, she ignored what was in front of her. She had always known no one would compare to being Rhaegar's queen. She had always believed that Jaime would be with her. She had been a fool to let herself believe lies. Remembering the feeling of those large, calloused, rough hands and the smell of stale drink on Robert's breath, cringing, she whispers back, "Yes. You were right and I was a fool not to see it! Is that what you want to hear?"

She shudders when Martell pats the space beside her. She does not take the invitation. "Why would you think I want to hear that?"

Why not? If she had been in Martell's place she would have. "What do you want from me?"

Martell extends her hand. She steps backwards instead. "Lying to oneself is the worst a person can do. You do not like being Robert's wife or the queen, do you?"

She cannot bring herself answer.

Martell frowns. "Come here, Cersei."

She remains where she is.

She wanted to be queen since she learned of the possibility. Now she is, it is nothing she wanted. She wanted to be Rhaegar's queen, not Robert's. He does not see her. What good is being queen when she is barely tolerated by those who govern? What good is being a queen who cannot even have her brother near her? She hates it all. "No."

She recoils when Martell's hand on her cheek. "Hush now, my dear girl. It will get better, you will see."

She flinches back, but, Martell's grips her chin.

Martell's frame is frail. She was the stronger one, wasn't she? Why does she not tear herself away? Why can she not bring herself to? As with Maggy years ago, though she knew not to listen, she cannot bring herself to go. "How?"

"Perhaps soon you will have children."

Nausea sets in again remembering her so-called wedding night. She wanted Rhaegar's children once. Jaime was supposed to be with her. Her dreams of Rhaegar were dead and Jaime was taken from her. Yes, she wanted children once and she will be forced to sire Robert's.

"They'll be Robert's." She cannot hide her disgust. She is too nauseated at the prospect to be angry about the way Martell snorts.

"They will be yours." She almost vomits. She did not want Robert's children even when they would be hers. They will forever be tied to him. They will be tied to someone she never wanted.

Martell's finger strokes her cheek gently. Despite the warmth, she shivers. She should pull away. She cannot bring herself to do it.

When was the last time anyone touched her with anything like tenderness? Had she a different father than Tywin Lannister perhaps he might have. Robert's rough hands grabbed and pulled. Jaime's touches, welcome as her own were to him, ran hot, desperate, and were done in secret corners. Who could say when she will feel his hands again? This is entirely different. No one touched her gently.

Her eyes are burning and Martell rises and wraps an arm around her shoulders. "Now is not the time for tears, child."

Child.

Mother. Even when Mother tried to keep Jaime away from her, she used to touch her like this, before that ugly little grumpkin killed her.

She looks towards the source of this warmth to be greeted with a soft smile. Something twists inside her. Martell's features were dark where her mother's had been light, but, the tenderness is the same. "There now. Here. It will get better, you will see."

Oh, how she wants to believe. "How?"

A soft laugh whispers in her ear as she is pulled towards the bed. For once, she lets herself be led. "You are a sharp girl, my dear. Find a way to your own happiness. I am certain you can."

How is she to find happiness when the world conspires against her?

A scrap piece of lace is waved in her face. "Start here. Comport yourself like the queen you long to be."

She takes dainty piece and dabs her eyes as she scolds herself. She should not lose control of herself like this. She should have never allowed it.

"There now. Take a few minutes before you get back to the Keep." That gentle touch jerks away and her eyes fly wide open.

What? "You cannot order me about."

Elia sighs. Elia presses herself closer and it stuns her when Martell puts her head on her shoulders. "It would not be very wise for you to stay for very long. Robert is not Aerys, yet, this failing of yours you must correct if you wish to prosper. You are not very conspicuous. You should be careful."

A new fear seeps into her. What if someone told?

"I am not worried."

Her eyes flutter as Elia comes closer, lips pressed near her ear. "People talk, you know this. And, dear girl, they would love to talk about you as they still might about me."

'Talk', Elia says when she means 'gossip'.

She shivers when Elia's hand is pressed against hers. "You are not the first nor will you be the last to come and gawk, but, for this to become a known habit of yours would be unwise and of late I find few people, and fewer ladies, of caliber care to speak to me. My failings are well known, but, it would be a pity for such a luxury to be further diminished."

Is Elia saying what she thinks she is? "Do you want me to return?"

"Yes." Something curiously warm starts to fill her until, "Surely you know how lonely it can be?"

She pulls out of Elia's grasp, insisting, "Why would I know the feeling?"

A cold feeling grips her when Elia pulls away and sneers, but, she relaxes when that gentle weight returns. "We have only just spoken about this appalling tendency to lie to yourself."

"Who are you-"

"The one know knows how dangerous and how easy the impulse is to believe the lie. Your father sold you to Robert." The accusation feels like a slap. But, it stings lessens when followed by "As my mother did me to Aerys."

Dark eyes flash. "Your brother serves the same men my brothers abandoned me with."

"My brother is not like yours!"

The Dornishwoman smiles. "You love your brother, yes?"

Abruptly, she stands and backs away. "Never doubt my love for him."

Elia turns her pleading eyes on her. "I do not. I only mean we live on the sufferance of others who cannot be trusted. You desire Ser Jaime's swift return as I do, no doubt more. They already sent him away on a pretense. It would be unsurprising if they kept him away to keep us docile. Whenever he is given leave to return it is my hope that he is not burdened due to intemperance on my part or another's." Martell stops abruptly and turns away as if embarrassed at her outburst.

Even then, she heard what Martell stopped herself for saying. They already took him away. They might keep him away. Her father was already gone and Robert hated her brother… Jaime could be punished if she pushed too hard. She saw how little Robert and his men think of her. To have her Jaime back, if playing the part of a simpering woman is what is required, she would do it.

Yet, one thought plagues her. "Why does it matter to you?"

Elia glances away before whispering. "We might have been sisters once."

She snaps, "Jaime would have never married you." No matter his behavior the other day, she knows Jaime loves her too much to think about anyone else.

Elia sighs. "No, perhaps not. I only meant that we are now undeniably bound. Not only are we are tied to this place until we are given over to earth we are tied by more than that. Is there any other woman in this thrice accursed city who hates Robert as you and I do? When you can tell your brother only so much Who else can you share your secrets with? Your fears? It is not as though I have no reason to tell anyone anything. That alone is why you should trust me."

She trembles. The surety in Elia's voice shakes her. When she had Jaime, she had not needed one or anyone else. But, she does not have Jaime now, does she? "Can I come to see you come again?"

Elia smiles. "Please be careful when you do."

"I will." She promises herself that. For now, she must be careful. For now, she will play the part required of her.

Elia gives her a kiss on the cheek and stands up and takes her hand. "I look forward to it, Sister."

She almost snapped again of how they were not sisters, yet, something in her did not allow it. She did not give name to the feeling; she dare not.

Besides, Elia was right. Without Jaime, who else was there for her? Her father? Her uncles? Tyrion? Her beast of a so-called husband? His arrogant, unpleasant friends? Empty headed courtiers who would enjoy building her up who would revel if she fell?

No matter what is done to her, she would persevere of course. She was a Lannister of Casterly Rock and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She would endure. She would and could do more than that. All the same there was something in knowing that there was someone else near her who knew her, who she could rail at and with. That, it was Elia Martell, who was in no position to betray her without endangering herself…well…it was a comfort where she has not known much if any.