Hello again, dear readers. The new chapter is finally here and I hope you'll like it. Thank you for your patience and for the support you've shown to this story, it means a lot to me.
Happy Easter to all of you who celebrate. To those of you who do not, I wish a lovely Sunday.
Now, on with the story :)
"There you go." Rhaella stood up to get a full view on her work.
A moment later she was kneeling again and straightening the black tunic Viserys was wearing. Its sleeves and neckline were lined with red, the only specks of colour on him, as his breeches and boots were completely black. There were hardly any wrinkles on his clothes, but she was so happy she was finally allowed to touch him freely that she couldn't stop doing it. He waited patiently as she made sure every little detail was polished to perfection, not letting out a single syllable of complaint. She liked to think he enjoyed receiving her love as much as she enjoyed showering him with it.
Truly, she had to stop or they would be late. He was perfect just as he was.
"Now you are ready." She straightened her back and smiled from ear to ear at the sight of her little prince. He made her heart swell with pride and love.
As if her longing was completely obvious to him, he raised his little hands towards her, asking her to lift him. She did so with delight. The servants assigned to him barely had any duties anymore, she had stolen them all.
"Now you must be very quiet." She told him seriously as she tucked a lock of silver hair behind his ear. "Today is a very important day, Viserys. A man called the High Septon will place a crown on your brother's head and proclaim him King Rhaegar of House Targaryen, First of His name…"
"…King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." A new voice finished softly, but with the most subtle note of bitterness echoing in it.
Rhaella looked towards the door and saw her eldest son approaching them. He was wearing magnificent black armour; the three-headed dragon spread its wings across his chest, the carvings in the metal lined with rubies. She had never seen anyone look more majestic – and more wretched at the same time. His skin was almost uncannily pale and his violet eyes looked haunted, sadder than Rhaella had ever seen them. She wished with all of her heart she could make the sorrow disappear. Not even under Aerys' torture had she ever felt so powerless.
"Yes." Her eyes returned to Viserys, who was looking at Rhaegar uncertainly, unused to his presence. "And he will be a wise and just king," Her voice dropped down to a whisper as she locked eyes with her eldest again, "Until the end of his days."
A shadow crossed Rhaegar's eyes, as if he knew something she did not.
"I hope I will not disappoint you, Mother." He said quietly after a few moments of silence, as if he had to tear the words out from his throat.
She stretched her hand out to caress his cheek gently; after a few moments of hesitation, he leaned into her touch, seeking warmth and comfort. Aerys' death had shattered the thick layer of ice that had been surrounding him, that had only allowed others to see him, but not to reach him. She was partially to blame for its formation too; so preoccupied with trying to birth another heir to the throne, with the numerous miscarriages and stillbirths and Aerys' accusations of infidelity, she had failed to do right by her young son. As much as it pained her to see him devastated, a small part of her was grateful that he was reaching out to her for reassurance, that she had been given this opportunity to reconnect with him.
"I know you won't." Her hand slid down her face to his shoulder, which she gave an encouraging squeeze to. "You are ready. And if you need us, we will be here," She smiled widely at the boy in her arms, "Won't we, Viserys?"
Instead of answering, Viserys turned to hide his face in the crook of her neck.
Her smile diminished, Rhaella sighed and stroked the back of his head tenderly. Aside from his two nurses and the knights of the Kingsguard, she was the only one whose company he didn't shy away from. Aerys' paranoia had turned him into an outcast even amongst his own family. When he had woken up that morning to find Rhaegar sleeping next to him, he had nearly pushed Rhaella off the bed trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and his older brother. It was only sheer luck Rhaegar had been so exhausted that the commotion hadn't awoken him and he hadn't had to witness Viserys being so wary of him. Rhaella didn't want her sons to end up as estranged as she and Aerys had been. She wanted them to be each other's strength, like Viserys' namesake and Aegon III had been.
"Don't hold his reserve against him." She smiled reassuringly, trying to prevent the distance between her boys from growing. "He will come around in time. If your father…"
She fell silent, but the damage had already been done; Rhaegar's eyes glazed over, as if he couldn't hold back the tears.
However, when he spoke, his voice didn't quiver. It was firm and accusing.
"I am to blame for his reserve." He said, his eyes fixed on the back of Viserys' head. "I've been neglecting him since he was born."
"That's not true." She countered instantly, instinctively.
After a few moments of careful reconsideration, she realized she wouldn't need both hands to count all the times she remembered him visiting his brother's chambers.
Rhaegar's eyes met hers again, with a knowing expression that made it seem he could read her mind.
"Yes, it is." He let out a weary sigh. "I convinced myself I didn't have the time to visit him, even though, when it was necessary, I found the time for Lady La…"
He fell silent abruptly and looked away, but Rhaella had heard enough to make her own conclusions and consequently come up with further questions.
Perhaps it was cruel of her to take advantage of his distraction and grief, but she was determined to find out more about his endeavours in the company of Joanna's daughter, especially as she hadn't seen them together at all during Lady Lannister's stay in King's Landing. When did they spend time together? Were they alone? He must know what danger that would present to her reputation. Did the Hand know about this?
Speaking of the Hand…she pushed her curiosity aside, reasoning there were more urgent matters she needed to discuss with her eldest son.
"I don't think it would be wise for you to go to Duskendale with Tywin Lannister."
Her voice had sounded too wary even to her own ears, but old habits died hard and she had been forced to call Aerys King for far too long.
Rhaegar raised his eyebrows inquiringly. She took it as an indication to go on.
"While your father was on the throne, it was said that he might wear the crown, but Tywin Lannister was the one who ruled the Seven Kingdoms." Quite a correct description of the state in the court in Rhaella's opinion, not that anyone would have dared voiced it after what had happened to Ser Illyn Payne. "If you accompany him to a battle against a lord you have no quarrel with, people will say the same thing about your reign. He has enough men and resources to fight his own battles. Let him."
Silence lingered between them for a few moments as her son – her king – contemplated her words.
"The Darklyns had defied the Crown before they took Lady Lannister captive." He said finally, his voice and expression carefully controlled when he uttered the lady's name. "Besides, I find it hard to believe that only Father, while gravely wounded, and Lady Lannister made it to Duskendale safely. Yet there has been no word of Ser Gwayne or any of the other knights."
She had to admit he had a point there, even if it didn't ease her qualms regarding Tywin Lannister's role in Rhaegar's rule. People might still view his reasoning as a sign of weakness or submissiveness to the Hand. Rhaegar's reign was too young and fragile for him to lose the respect of his subjects.
Could they excuse choices they had all made in their youth for the same reasons? Would affection be seen as less of a weakness? It was clear from his earlier slip and the attempt to cover his connection to the girl that Rhaegar's motivation wasn't completely impersonal. Lady Lannister had clearly left a mark on him. Could the bond between them inspire admiration among the people instead of sneer and whispers of how nothing had changed and Tywin Lannister still ruled the Seven Kingdoms?
Her silence had lasted for long, so it fell upon Rhaegar to interrupt it.
"I intend to keep Tywin Lannister as the Hand, no matter what people might whisper about his influence on me." His voice was steady and unyielding; in that moment, she believed he would be able to stand his ground against Lord Lannister in the Small Council. "He is many things, but he is not incompetent."
Rhaella could only nod her agreement. Despite his pride and thirst for power, Tywin Lannister had saved the Seven Kingdoms from falling into ruins because of Aerys' neglect. It would be unwise to offend that man, for more reasons than one.
"But if you even think, even for a moment, that I have become susceptible to his influence, do not hesitate to tell me so."
His words surprised her, made her breath catch in her throat. Was he implying her word would actually matter?
"In private, of course." Rhaegar continued evenly as if he hadn't noticed the disbelief that must have been written all over her face. "I hope you understand."
It was obvious what he meant: if a king ruled by his Hand was considered weak, what would be thought of a king ruled by his mother?
Still, he had given her permission to share her opinion with him freely. Left speechless, she could only nod again.
He breathed in deeply and exhaled, as if preparing to face a dangerous opponent in a battle to the death. Then he turned on his heel and walked away, with his hands clenched firmly into fists. When he reached the wooden door, he pushed it wide open and gestured to her to go first.
She adjusted her hold on Viserys and exited the room, leaving Rhaegar alone behind her back. As she strode towards the throne room, an occasional servant passing by bowed at her with 'my queen' muttered under their breath. It was only when she realized she wouldn't be holding that title for much longer that she remembered her desire to talk to Rhaegar about Cersei Lannister. It was clear there was so much she didn't know about the relationship between her son and the Hand's daughter. Judging by the lack of gossip, it had remained a mystery to the rest of the kingdom as well. Of course, as Rhaegar still wasn't married (or even betrothed), nobles from all over the realm would come to court to present their daughters, in hope one of them might win the new king's heart. But what if it was already in the possession of Lady Lannister? What if the golden-haired girl was the future queen?
Joanna's daughter taking what could have been her mother's place. If he had been buried rather than burned, Aerys would be spinning in his grave.
As lost in her thoughts as she was, she was only brought back to the present when she heard the deep voice of the High Septon announce:
"I proclaim you King Rhaegar of House Targaryen, First of His name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."
Stupid.
Hit.
Prince.
Hit.
Stupid.
Hit.
Stupid.
Hit.
Prince!
Hit-hit-hit.
He knocked the sword out of his opponent's hand, a broad-shouldered, brown-haired boy a head and a half taller and three years older, with only a handful of exchanged blows. The weapon fell onto the ground with a thud, too far away for the boy to pick it up again, even if he wasn't busy swallowing hard as the tip of the other sword (blunt, but threatening all the same) circled around his Adam's apple.
The look of fear on the boy's face made anger rise within Jaime.
No, it was the boy as whole that made him furious. He was too short, too young, too slow, too weak, too not-the-Crown-Prince. Too not the thief who had stolen his sister. Too not the man whose face he imagined on every opponent he faced. The man who he wanted humiliate in front of Cersei. Make him beg for mercy. Make her realize her mistake. Make her come back and beg him for forgiveness.
(Not Cersei. She would never beg. But he liked to think she would.)
But how was he supposed to reach the level of skill necessary to defeat the Crown Prince if he practiced with such weak opponents? He didn't even need to break a sweat to defeat boys two or three years his seniors anymore. He was good at swordplay, more than good. He could become the greatest swordsman in the world (after Ser Arthur Dayne, of course), but he needed to be challenged. He needed his skills to improve with each combat, but he could feel he wasn't trying as hard when he knew he would win. That would not do. Losing to Rhaegar in front of Cersei would not do.
"Milord," An unfamiliar voice reached his ears. He turned and saw a servant standing close by with his head bowed, "Your uncle wants to see you."
Before he could even try to restrain himself, frustration overcame him.
He threw the sword on the ground and walked away, leaving it lying in the grass. Gritting his teeth in anger, he marched on straight towards his uncle's chambers, his steps echoing the corridors as though a giant was striding through the castle. If Uncle Kevan wanted to see him, it probably meant he intended to cut Jaime's sword-fighting lessons short in favour of stupid things like sums or politics. Couldn't he leave those boring things to Tyrion, who actually liked them? He read and wrote better at four than Jaime did at one-and-ten. The older Lannister brother couldn't be bothered by the fact; his weapon of choice was a sword, not a quill. No matter what Father or anyone said.
In Uncle Kevan's headquarters, he found their holder seated at the wooden desk, but also his other uncles and Aunt Genna, who was sitting on the chair opposite to Uncle Kevan with Tyrion on her lap. He locked eyes with her first, then with other pairs of emerald irises, before his gaze settled on the man who had invited him there.
"Jaime." Uncle Kevan beckoned him to come closer.
He moved to stand next to Aunt Genna and ruffled Tyrion's hair affectionately, without taking his eyes off the oldest of his father's younger brothers.
"We have received word from your father." Uncle Kevan glanced at a piece of parchment in his hands and sighed, then looked at Jaime again with a pitiful look in his eyes. "Your sister…she is held captive."
She…
Jaime suddenly felt as if he was under water, as if he was trying to breathe in, but there was a barrier in his lungs, just like there was one within his mind that prevented him from making sense of Uncle's words.
Cersei…Is held captive?
He was distantly aware his mouth was hanging open in shock, but he couldn't care less. Next to him, Aunt Genna was talking to Tyrion quietly, but Jaime was too stunned to make out the words.
"We will gather our men and head for Duskendale in three days' time." Uncle Kevan said, not giving him a chance to speak. "You and Tyrion will remain here with Genna. When Cersei is safe, we will send word."
He didn't spare a heartbeat to think.
"I'm coming with you."
As one, every pair of eyes in the room save for Tyrion's narrowed at him.
"If Jaime is going, then I wanna go too!" His little brother exclaimed at the top of his voice, but nobody paid any attention to him.
"Absolutely not." Uncle Kevan said in a tone that wouldn't allow any objection, if it had been used by Father. "You are too young, and even if you weren't, your father has commanded that you remained here."
"She is my sister." Jaime protested. He only noticed he had moved and was now towering over Uncle Kevan when he slammed his fists onto the desk.
"Mine too!" Tyrion shouted at once.
Biting his lip to prevent himself from snapping, Jaime wished his little brother would hold his tongue. Tyrion's whining made his request to go with his uncles seem so childish. He couldn't be left behind; he had to be there, where his sister was, to rescue her.
My sister, who left me for the prince.
Why was he insisting on going? Why did he care what happened to Cersei? She didn't care for him anymore. She had her prince to rescue her – if he could. Perhaps Prince Rhaegar would fail to free her and she would realize Jaime was the only one who would never let her down and return to him…
"And what do you think a boy of one-and-ten could do to save her that thousands of grown men couldn't?" Uncle Tygett's cold voice snapped him out of his musings. "You will stay where you are. Cersei will be fine. The Darklyns won't dare harm her."
The thought of Cersei hurting – bleeding the blood they shared – made Jaime's stomach turn and his hands shake. He pressed his eyelids together, until he could see nothing but darkness instead of crimson.
He wasn't supposed to feel this way. He shouldn't care – and yet he did. It was instinctive, carved into the core of his soul. He couldn't let anyone hurt her.
There was only one person in this world that had the right to hurt her; it was him.
"Take him with you."
Instantly, gazes of all men turned to Aunt Genna.
"If we don't let him go, he will try to follow you." The golden-haired woman said with a knowing look in her eyes as they met Jaime's. "I would rather know he was safe with you than worry where he could be. Take him with you. He will be where he wants to be, but far from any battle and we will all sleep more peacefully at night."
"Tywin said he was to remain here." Uncle Kevan countered, but he seemed less determined to obey that command than he'd been a few moments ago.
Aunt Genna let out a mocking snort and rolled her eyes.
"If you are scared of Tywin's reaction, tell him it was my idea." Her lips curled into a mischievous smirk. "He is already used to my most unbecoming trait of thinking with my own head."
Jaime's uncles rolled their eyes at her remark, but didn't protest. Excitement rose within him; they would let him come with them.
"But, Aunt Genna, I wanna go too!" Tyrion moaned, to Jaime's irritation.
He didn't get angry with his brother often, but Tyrion's belief in Cersei's impending return and the innocent love he held for her vexed him to no end. How could he keep hoping when she never came back, day after day? How didn't he see she had abandoned them? Jaime had been refusing to write to her since she had left, but Tyrion claimed they occasionally communicated through letters (Jaime couldn't bring himself to believe that, doubting Cersei would waste the precious time she could be spending with the prince to write to Tyrion). How could he forgive her betrayal so easily? Did he love her more than even her own twin? No, he couldn't – it was not possible.
"Someone must stay and keep me company, darling." Aunt Genna caressed Tyrion's cheek and placed a kiss on his temple. "Otherwise I'd get bored and lonely. You wouldn't want me to feel lonely, would you?"
Tyrion stared at her thoughtfully for a few moments, then shook his head. Aunt Genna smiled at him and ruffled his hair, then turned to the men and boy standing in front of her.
"That's settled then." Her words (and tone) were unquestionable.
Not for the first time, it crossed Jaime's mind that it was Aunt Genna who was most fearsome of Father's siblings. Aside from Father, she was the last person he would willingly make an enemy of.
"You should go prepare yourself for the journey. If you are late, along with you," Her eyes paused on Jaime, "Being where you are not supposed to be, Tywin might actually have all of our heads."
Lifting her eyes from the needlepoint in her hands, Cersei let out a quiet sigh and glanced around absently, allowing the muscles of her neck to relax and stretch as her head turned. If only she could stand up and stretch her legs too; a sword-fighting lesson would do them exceptionally good.
Her gaze passed over the ladies that surrounded her without truly seeing any of them; all grown women, the youngest of them six years older than Cersei, already a mother of a boy of two. She had found she had little in common with them; luckily, her lack of interest in the subjects chosen by the other women hadn't gone unobserved by Lady Darklyn. The red-haired woman changed subjects effortlessly, as if she herself was bored with them, and didn't try to forcefully include Cersei in their conversations. She rather left her be, which Cersei appreciated greatly. If she focused all her attention on her work, it helped placate her thoughts. Once snapped out of that state of not-thinking, it took a lot of time for her mind to return to it, so she swiftly averted her gaze from the women, having no desire to start another pointless exchange.
Her eyes paused on the window, where the sunset was colouring the sky.
A big sphere of yellow with rings of gold and orange around the edge, specks of red, crimson and amethyst staining a few passing clouds, a wave of cerulean washing over the beaches of indigo.
The sight lured another sigh from her throat to her lips. Another day had gone by; no message had come from King's Landing.
What was Father doing? Where was he? Was he coming?
Had Rhaegar been crowned King already? Had she missed it?
The suspense was suffocating her; the long days only made the matters worse. She had got used to busy life in King's Landing, as draining as it was. Her days in Duskendale were so boring; at times, the monotony made her want to scream. She couldn't believe it, but she actually missed Small council meetings. She missed Father's questions about politics, laws and trade. She missed the late-night lessons with Rhaegar. It had taken her a while to realize she missed being challenged, kept on her toes. Being pushed to her limits made her feel like she was aspiring to something great – to being Queen.
In Duskendale, she was just another lady trying to pass the time by sewing, dancing, painting, singing or conversing.
In Duskendale, she had time to think – too much of it.
Being reminded of Mother always felt like a stab in the chest, but since her conversation with the late king, she had been thinking too much about Joanna. Despite it (or maybe just because), Mother's face had never seemed more blurred in her memories; scarred by King Aerys words, it was nearly a face of a stranger now. Cersei had been looking up to her mother all her life, cherished every time she'd been told she looked exactly like Joanna. Thoughts of her had used to be a sanctuary, warm and soothing. Now they were a source of doubt, of fear, of pain. No matter how many times she told herself the king could have lied to her or imagined it all, a small part of her held firmly onto its suspicions and refused to let go. It made the image of Joanna she treasured dissolve slowly, like ashes of a burnt home carried away by wind, and she could do nothing to stop it.
Who could she even ask to relieve her qualms? The king had died (may he burn in the deepest of Seven Hells for his offences against her) and Father would have her tongue cut off if she breathed out a word on the matter. The queen could possibly know the truth too, but Cersei doubted her curiosity about the subject would sit well with Queen Rhaella, so she had dismissed the idea as soon as it had crossed her mind; she didn't want the queen to turn against her. Was there anyone else…
Yes, there was. But that person was so far out of reach, seemingly as far as Asshai by the Shadow.
For the time being, she was left with a single option. She tried to push the matter into the back of her mind and ignore it, but unfortunately, she had just about as much success with them as she had had with Maggy's prophecies when she'd first heard them. Faces of her mother and the witch haunted her waking hours and kept her awake long into the night, occasionally blending into one until she couldn't tell them or the opposite feelings they inspired in her apart.
Without her daily duties, Father's questions about politics, laws and trade and late-night lessons with Rhaegar, her mind had too much time to dwell on things she would rather not think about. She needed to return to King's Landing soon or she would lose her mind.
"You need to come with me."
She blinked in surprise, struggling to process Lord Darklyn's request. As stunned as she was by his sudden appearance, she didn't even notice when she rose to her feet. A few moments later, they were walking together through the stone corridors, followed by steps Cersei could only assume belonged to Lady Darklyn. Stone walls and ceilings soon gave way to open sky and they started climbing the stairway that led to the top of the city gates. She was just about to turn and ask for an explanation when she was blinded by the setting sun as wood gave way to stone beneath her feet. When her eyes recovered from the sudden exposure to light, she instinctively glanced downwards.
Her head started spinning. She hadn't noticed how high Duskendale's walls were before.
"What…" She was at loss for words. Why had Lord Darklyn brought her there?
"It seems your father cares more for his money than for his own flesh and blood." Lord Darklyn remarked mockingly – cruelly even. "I thought the sight of you might convince him to change his mind."
Her father? What was he…
She could see it, if she narrowed her eyes, thus preventing the last sunrays of the day from blinding her. She could see men gathering in the west, far more of them than it was necessary to accompany her to King's Landing. She couldn't distinguish their colours or sigils, but if Lord Darklyn was to be trusted (even though he clearly was not), they were Father's men. Perhaps he was among them too.
Her heart leapt into her throat. If Father had come to Duskendale's gates with an army, it meant…
"Let me go." She said with as much steel in her voice as she could muster.
For her efforts, she was rewarded with having to watch Lord Darklyn sneer sardonically at her demand.
"Not until your father gives me what I want." He grabbed her wrist roughly and pulled her closer until she could feel his breath on her face. "You'd better hope he sees sense – soon."
The unsaid threat made her heart thunder inside her chest. What would he do to her?
Now. A single word forced its way through the panic that had flooded her mind. She was beside herself with fear, but one small part of her was unnaturally calm, as if unaffected by all that was happening. Father's words started re-emerging from the darkness and she could nearly grasp them. Make it sound convincing.
She took a deep breath and clenched her fists, emboldened by the sound of Father's voice in her memories. She could do this. She was a lioness, a Lannister.
"If any harm comes to me, he will not hesitate to burn this city to the ground." She could imagine Father would be proud of the sharpness of her glare and the fierceness of her voice. "Any harm." She stressed out for good measure.
Her words had the desired effect. Lord Darklyn's eyes narrowed at her briefly, as if trying to catch her in a bluff, but they both knew she was right. She was just about to grin victoriously when he dropped her wrist and pushed her away harshly. She would have fallen if she hadn't stumbled into the body of a person standing behind her.
"Take her to the dungeons." Lord Darklyn snarled, staring at her menacingly. Her nerve evaporated under his glare, leaving only terror behind. "Perhaps it's time the lady learned what it's like when her hosts are not as welcoming as we've been."
Two guards seized her by the elbows and half-carried her to the dungeons. She nearly had to run to keep up with their long strides; wasn't it cruel of them to make her run towards what was to be her cage, as though she longed to be there? She tried to escape their clutches at just about every step, but her struggle was futile; they were older, higher and stronger than her. At least they didn't throw her on the ground like a sack of potatoes when they entered one of the cells beneath the castle, but she hardly enjoyed the treatment she received. She tried to fight them off as one of the guards held her in place and the other chained her wrists, but her resistance represented only an inconvenience to them, rather than a threat. The last she perceived of them was the sound of a key turning inside a lock, but her gaze had stopped following them long before that, focused on the chains that restricted her movements. She gritted her teeth as she tried to make the metal snap in two, but the iron wouldn't yield.
"If you could be so kind as to stop making that infernal noise and listen to me."
At the sound of the voice, she turned around and locked eyes with Lady Darklyn through bars. Fury bubbled inside her chest, hot and destructive like fire dragons breathed.
"Why should I?" She shouted most ungraciously at the red-haired woman; people who crossed her didn't get to make her feel guilty about poor manners. "You keep me prisoner!"
"Lady Darklyn," One of the guards who had brought Cersei to the dungeons called in a tone that suggested his patience was wearing thin. She hoped the guards were feeling guilty for treating a lady so rudely (or that they were trembling with fear at the prospect of what Father could do to them if he found out about it, even better), "She is to be…"
"This won't take long." Lady Darklyn cut him off without even a glance in his direction. "Yes, my husband keeps you prisoner." She said calmly to Cersei as their gazes met again, unaffected by her yelling. "He didn't appreciate your rather daring attempt at threatening him. He's thinking of a way of intimidating you as we speak, just to prove that he can."
Chained to a wall and locked behind bars, Cersei didn't really feel courageous anymore, but she couldn't let the Darklyns know they had scared her. She directed her best glare at Lady Darklyn, trying her best to channel her father.
"If he does anything to me, he is a dead man."
"Rage can overcome even the most reasonable of people." Lady Darklyn crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged her shoulders evenly. "He is surely considering handing you over to his men to have their fun. Some of them won't care you haven't even bled yet."
This time, Cersei couldn't help swallowing a lump down her throat. Suddenly, she noticed her hands were shaking; despite her mind's commands, her body displayed her terror openly.
"There is one thing I'd like you to remember during your stay here." Lady Darklyn's green eyes rolled in their sockets as she glanced suggestively at the cell Cersei was trapped in. She then crouched, so their faces were nearly in the same level. Unlike her husband, her expression remained as amicable as it had been since Cersei had arrived into this cursed town. Her voice was still soft and kind, as if her words were supposed to be soothing rather than threatening. "Whatever is done to you, it could be far worse. Remember that."
Before Cersei could come up with an answer, Lady Darklyn stood up and left the dungeon, as did the two guards. She was left alone, surrounded by cold walls and hard floor, without anything to eat or drink or even a chamber pot. Once the sun set, what was left of day's light would be gone too.
How dare they treat her like this, like a common thief? How dare they threaten her?
Father would make them pay dearly for their insolence. He would make them regret the day they had dared assume they could challenge the lions and live. He would eradicate them.
The Reynes and the Tarbecks had been drowned. A change of method was needed, lest the Lannisters risked being accused of repetitiveness and lack of imagination.
The Darklyns could burn instead.
Suddenly, a strange sound ringed in her ears. She turned around abruptly, as much as her restraint allowed her to, and cast an eye over the space bathed in the weakening light, trying to spot the intruder.
There was no-one there.
She let out a sigh, berating herself silently for reacting so immaturely. A few minutes alone in a prison cell and she was already imagining ghosts of former prisoners chuckling in the shadows? If Jaime was here, he would laugh at her.
She drew her legs closer to her torso, wrapped her arms around her knees and laid her head on them to keep herself warm. Then she closed her eyes and let her breathing pacify.
A cage couldn't break the spirit of a lion. She would wait for her chance and escape.
I will see Jaime again. I will return to Rhaegar.
And I will be Queen.
There was but one possible response to their enemy's demands.
"They have to pay for what they've done." She crushed the parchment in her fist and threw it to the flames. "Let me ride to them. Let me bring them fire and blood."
He looked at her with that pleading look in his violet eyes that so infuriated her. It reflected his apprehension. His cowardice. His love.
"I cannot allow it. They will come after the boy, after you."
She hated him so much for loving her sometimes.
"Let them come." She brushed off his plead for reason with a dismissive wave of hand. Her pain and her rage were crimson behind her eyelids, just like the blood that had been spilled, that had yet to be spilled. "I will enjoy drenching my sword in their blood."
"How if you won't even be able to see them coming? They could come to your chambers wearing my face. You would be dead before you could even scream."
Her eyes narrowed at him. "I would not scream."
Offering no answer to that statement, he made as if to take her hand into his, but she evaded his touch. His eyes filled with different kind of pain, but at the moment, she would take it as proof that he was suffering as much as she was, because she couldn't bear this pain alone.
"Please." He pleaded with her softly, despite knowing how much she resented seeing him beg. They were blood of the dragon; they begged for nothing under the sky. "You and the boy are all I have left. If I were to lose you…"
"You would survive." She cut him off with a cruel snarl that made him stumble, as though she had actually run a sword into his side. It made her scowl in disdain, but beneath the mask, she regretted the necessity of it. He needed to remember who he was, who they were. "You would rule while you lived and your heir would rule after you. Do not tell me otherwise."
She turned on her heel and made as if to leave, but he had recovered from her cruelty before she could leave the room.
"You will not leave the castle." The change in his tone made her pause at the door. His cruelty was cold like ice, but no less painful when run into her heart like an icicle. "I command it."
She breathed in deeply, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. For a moment, her wrath threatened to overwhelm her, to burn him, the castle and everyone in it until only ashes remained. She would be left to rule alone, the queen everyone would worship and fear.
The dragon has three heads. She reminded herself. Never one.
She turned around and their gazes met again. As she bowed before him, her eyes never left his.
"As my king commands."
She knew he knew she would never forgive him.
