Jaime
His dreams were of fire, as he'd grown well used to. But rather than the cackling of a mad man and the cries to "burn them all" he heard the distant sound of a laughter much sweeter and the closer sound of Cersei whispering heated words into his ear.
He wakes to a darkened room and the feel of his sister tangled around him, holding him against her with a sort of tight possession that Jaime recalls from when they'd been able to share their bed in the past. Her golden hair fanned out behind her and her features soft in the way they only ever truly are when asleep.
Jaime stayed still, breathing slowly and making the moment stretch as far and as long as he could manage. If she woke the day would begin. If she woke she'd send him from her bed and room and leave him to himself as she readied herself for her wedding.
If she slept he could imagine they were in Casterly Rock just the two of them. Or perhaps some estate in Essos, runaways and finally free to be together entirely.
He stays still and imagines it.
He stays still, but she still wakes.
He hopes he can linger in the fantasy a while longer. So he pulls her further against him, presses seeking and demanding kisses to her skin as she wakes and relishes the pleased sleepy sounds she makes. She stays laid out on her stomach as he moves over her, lowering the blankets and kissing down the bare expanse of her back. She moans and arches as his hands trail lower and more of her is exposed to the cool air of the room.
He imagines they're the ones being married today. He imagines she's his and only his and that's all she's ever wanted over everything and anything else.
He imagines as he goes and steals every bit of noise from his sister that he can with kisses and touches and stolen moments.
Her eyes open eventually, dark and green and watching him with lust. She lets him turn her over, lets him settle back on top of her and pulls him down with sleepy greed until they meet as they had the night before.
She swats at him when he bites her collarbone too roughly, "no marks." Her voice is low and husky with sex and sleep. She arches with his thrusts and pulls him flush against her, and he steals more of the morning, more of the moment, more of her until she's calling out and he's crashing down within her.
He steals the smallest of marks, left on her shoulder and he relishes in it during the afterglow.
Cersei lets him stay upon her for a few minutes after, but eventually her hands grab and push and he drops down onto the bed beside her and watches as she sits up and stretches, a pleased look upon her face that makes him burn as she stands and walks nakedly away from the bed.
The smile on her face drops into a look of displeasure as she looks into the mirror, "I said no marks." It's a harsh contrast from the low tone she'd had before, and joined by a sharper more awake glare that is shot his way before she sighs and reaches for something upon her vanity.
Jaime lies there, not willing to get up until forced, and he watches her move about the room.
Eventually she returns to the edge of the bed, a robe on and her typical sharp look upon her face. "You have to get up Jaime and leave," she tells him and he simply sinks further into the blankets and bed. "My ladies will be here soon to start helping me get ready for the day." She reaches and pulls at his foot, "and you absolutely cannot be laying naked in my bed when they do."
He sits up and reaches down, grabbing her wrist and pulling until she has to climb upon the bed with him. She kneels on the edge and stares at him, a careful brow raised as she looks on at him with the clear message of him pushing her to thread the delicate line of annoyed and enjoyable versus annoyed and aggravated.
He pushes further all the same, bringing her wrist fully to his mouth and pressing his lips to it. "Let's both leave." He murmurs as he kisses up her skin. She sighs, halfway between aroused once more and annoyed with his words. He continues forth though, "take some gold, your jewelry, my sword. Get on a boat and find our way to Essos."
"Jaime." Her voice is sharp warning and he pushes on more in spite of it.
"It would all work," he says, "I could make money as a sellsword, we could be together openly. It could be good."
"This will be good." She snaps, "I will be Queen and you will be my Kingsguard. We'll be together."
"You'll be with Robert."
"And you." She counters but it falls bitterly upon Jaime's ears and he tightens his grip upon her. "In Essos I'd be nothing— we'd be nothing." She stares him down, sharp and heavy and forceful. "Here, in Westeros, I will be the Queen." She pulls herself free from his grip but moves closer to him, straddling over his waist and placing her hands possessively on his face to make him look at her. "That is better than anything we could get in Essos."
We could get each other in Essos, he doesn't say before she takes his mouth with hers. It's a greedy kiss, an angry one, but all from Cersei. She takes, demands, and he doesn't fight it, he moves with it, he gives and gives and follows until she finally pulls back.
"Tomorrow you'll go before Robert during the tourney and swear your sword as his Kingsguard." She informs him with a tone that says she's settled it all, holding his gaze with hers as she leans into him until her lips are a hairsbreadth away from his own. Her voice is low and hard as stone, unyielding. "You'll put your white cloak on again and then we'll have our lives here settled."
He doesn't speak. He can't. He just leans forward that last little bit and takes her mouth back with his and Cersei lets him with a simple sound of acquiescence. She lets him take until she decides it's enough, far too soon for Jaime, and pulls away again.
"Now," She brushes a hand through his hair, pulling lightly at the strands so he looks fully at her. "You really do have to leave." She pulls entirely away leaving him longing for the weight of her, climbing back off the bed and reaching for his discarded clothes to throw them at him. He catches them, and moves sluggishly with redressing until Cersei lets out an exasperated huff prompting him to hurry quicker.
She does grab him before he leaves, pulling him down for another greedy kiss before pushing him out the door and out on his own.
He finds his way to the training yard rather than his own bed even with the sun only just rising.
And he spends the whole of the early morning slamming his sword against a dummy until he's forced within to prepare for the wedding himself.
The wedding fell only a fortnight following the turn of the year. Likely it was meant to have some symbolic importance, Jaime supposed. Roberts coronation closing out the year, and the Targaryen Dynasty, and his wedding starting the year and his rule in truth with the promise of a secure ruler and future little princes and princesses.
Jaime would be happy to see the year start with a bit less symbolism.
It's an extravagant affair, as befits both the new King and a Lannister bride. It's doubtful that Jaime's father would allow for anything less than the most prideful shows of power and money, and Cersei would be the first to agree with him. Jaime hasn't actually seen her dress but he does know that it likely costs more than the keeps of most of the lords and ladies in attendance.
The Targaryens money also was being used in equal show of pride, as the old dragon house had plentiful gold in its vaults and the new rule was not stingy about taking hold upon it's riches. There would be a feast of great extravagance, and plenty of entertainment and dancing for all that are there.
And plentiful amount of booze.
That at least Jaime can appreciate even in the earlier hours of the day long event of the wedding itself, finding himself readily grasping a goblet of some fine wine as they settle into the Queen's Ballroom for the breakfast with all but Cersei and her ladies present.
He takes another long drink of the wine when he realizes that Alys is not in attendance, though he's offered more consolidation in tandem with the alcohol when he sees Oberyn Martell and thus is assured that at the least she's not skipping out of the festivities with him.
It's all rather dragging on for Jaime. They eat, gifts are given (he apparently gives a gift he does not recall ever having any thought for but he supposes as future good-brother it would be expected), and wine is drunk. Robert seems to enjoy himself, drinking and eating and laughing easily with the lords about him. Most seem to be those who fought beside him during the war, though a few are those who'd fought opposite even if for only a small while. He's certainly got the amiability of a King, those around him just as easy to laughter. Jaime swears he even sees Ned Stark's mouth quirk in the hint of a smile.
Jaime sits with Tyrion who drinks a glass of wine that Jaime had procured for him in secret after their father decreed Tyrion would be allowed only the one during the feast in the evening. He hopes he's not so clearly glowering but from the frequent hit of Tyrion's leg against his as a reminder to not be frowning so harshly into his goblet he gets the sense he's failing as miserably as he feels.
"Not enjoying yourself, Ser Jaime?" A voice comes alongside him and Jaime glances to spot Oberyn Martell sitting beside him. The Dornish Prince has a goblet of wine in his own hand and sips at it carefully, his dark eyes studying Jaime and reminding him fleetingly of Elia Martell's own with the sharp intelligence that lurks beneath them like a viper hidden beneath sand.
"I'll enjoy myself much more when I'm able to hit something tomorrow." That was one of the few saving graces of this whole affair, as it seemed Robert was determined that his wedding would have a tourney to accompany it and Jaime could only be grateful for the new king's apparent inability to enjoy peace without also needing to hit something hard.
Not that the day would likely hold as much enjoyment for Jaime as he'd have liked. Sure he'll be able to enter the melee if he wishes, though perhaps he'll opt instead for the joust despite his preference as Robert has made it clear his desire to enter the melee and though Jaime would have no qualms on not holding back against the new king he doubts it will be worth it. If anything it'll only inflame the whispers of Kingslayer and result in Cersei's plans being ruined as Jaime doubts Roberts pride would allow such an insult.
And that was evidently the plan tomorrow. For Jaime to bow his own pride and swear his sword to another king he doesn't care for.
"Will you enter the melee? Or are you more for the joust?" Oberyn inquires.
"Joust." Jaime replies, decided whether of his own choosing or not. Tyrion glances at him with a brow raised but thankfully says nothing.
"Then I look forward to riding against you." Oberyn muses. "I imagine you'll be a better competition than I often see."
"You'd imagine correctly," Jaime replies. He hasn't participated in a joust in years, especially considering his preference for the more action forward event of the melee, but he didn't doubt his skills. It wasn't a thing that just disappeared from him, like all martial skills he believed it ingrained deep within him.
"I've had to convince Alys to attend tomorrow," Oberyn remarks, he swirls the wine in his glass and Jaime doesn't miss the way he's watching him. "She evidently had little plans of watching the events."
"She's not had the best experiences with tourneys." Jaime responds with the dour memories of the last tourney in Kings Landing now falling upon his mind. Memories of being shunted aside, memories of a boy burning for spilt wine, memories of holding Alys as she cried and later sitting upon her bed talking with her, telling her a story until and even after she fell asleep.
"Yes she mentioned such when I inquired," Oberyn says and Jaime feels a familiar pang of contempt at the reminder of Oberyn holding that much closeness and familiarity with Alys. "But I made the strong case of needing her luck and support."
Jaime doesn't know if he was already frowning, but if he was it got miles deeper at the thought of Oberyn riding with Alys's favor. He suddenly hopes desperately that he'll be able to knock the Red Viper into the dirt as hard as possible tomorrow.
"Though I'm sure when she hears of your participation in the lists she'll be much happier to be in attendance." Jaime's frown doesn't deepen but it does gather a twist of confusion at the Martell Prince's comment, especially as Oberyn smirks at Jaime's apparent look before finishing off his wine and nodding. "Regardless, I look forward to seeing what sort of competitor you are, Ser Jaime."
And with that farewell the Red Viper departs leaving Jaime frowning after him and Tyrion snickering over some private thoughts beside him.
Eddard
He'd almost forgotten how long actual weddings not thrown together in the middle of a war were. All the ceremonies and affairs like the breakfast this morning. He was fairly dreading the longwinded event that the actual ceremony in the Sept would be, a proper royal wedding where the High Septon was able to drone on and on.
Not quite the same to his and Jon Arryn's weddings in Riverrun where the biggest part of it all was the feast. There hadn't been much ability then to prepare all the fanciful extras.
Ned was a bit grateful for that if he were honest.
And reminded of his lady wife, alone in Riverrun with their babe and preparing for her journey north without him.
A few more weeks, he thought, and then he can leave.
He'd given Robert his word that he'd stay to see him wedded off and until the last of the Targaryen resistance on Dragonstone was dealt with by Stannis. Stannis was nearing the island with his forces and Robert would be wed by the days end.
Ned was already making his preparations.
But sadly there were even more than he'd have liked to make with the addition of his new ward. Doran Martell was a shrewd man and as such he seemed determined that every bit of Ned's plans for the journey north be looked over by him before they are finalized.
Ned would be very, very, glad to be free of the headache that was the south. Even having spent a majority of his childhood in the Vale, and as such much closer to the South that he otherwise would have, he had never quite taken to the culture. It was too many sly words and hidden meanings, each lord and lady vying for some upper hand with so much determination that it could result in dishonor.
He missed the straightforwardness of the north, he was not made for these dances of politics that the south hold.
Ned made his way to Alys's rooms, and upon entering finds his sister fussing over Jon's crib within the attached nursery. "Alys," Princess Elia calls when she notices him, "you really must go now."
Alys glances up and over to him and he wonders if she'll ask to stick back from the ceremony as well. He'd arrived to accompany her to the breakfast and found her fussing over a crying Jon with Wylla, evidently the boy having not slept all evening and instead crying well through the morning. She'd still been in her nightclothes and robe and had looked near tears at the thought of leaving him.
"Is he alright?" Ned asks, nodding to the now thankfully quiet crib.
Alys twists her hands in her sleeves but nods, "Wylla says he's not sick, and Elia says that Aegon did the same thing a few nights around this age." Ned almost smiles at the way his sister looks unconvinced, he's certain her mind is running through all the possibilities that Jon could be hurt.
Elia speaks up and says, "I am not attending the wedding anyhow so I told Alys that Rhaenys and I would stay with Wylla to watch over Jon."
"And I told Lady Alys that if Jon shows any signs of illness I'll send for her right away." Wylla adds as she enters the room behind Ned, some blankets in her grasp that she sets onto the table. "And I informed her that I've nursed plenty of babes in my years, and thus would know if Jon were seriously in danger." The Dornish nursemaid looks Ned's way, "it a bit of colic my lord, and not even severe a case. He's already settled."
He looks to Alys whose own eyes have returned to Jon. "If you wish…"
"No." She shakes her head and turns to face him her shoulders set a bit, "I'm fine. He's fine. We're fine."
"And Oberyn would be disappointed if you missed the feast." Elia informs Alys. "And you should enjoy yourself, you only have so much longer in the south."
Alys nods, looks one last moment in at Jon, and then walks over to join Ned with a determined gait. "Alright, let's go."
Her determination doesn't seem to stop her from glancing back before the door shuts, making Ned smile just the smallest bit and earning the lightest of taps of her shoulder against his.
"It's not bad that I worry." She says with just the thinnest veil of defensiveness.
"That has never been a bad thing," he responds, "for any of us." He smiles further, "I recall once before I left for the Vale when you noticed I was sniffling, I hadn't even really noticed yet, and you forced me into bed like you were Maester Walys yourself. Wrapped me in furs and fed me soup."
"You were sick." She defends.
"Yes," he nods, he had been. That next morning he'd developed chills and a fever. "and Walys had said I'd had been sicker for longer if you hadn't coddled me so."
Alys does smile, just the lightest bit at the memory. "Brandon would always say before he left Winterfell that he never had to worry that we'd all be okay in his or father's absence because he knew I'd do enough of the fussing for the both of us." Her smile lowers with the slightest weight of grief. "I miss him. And Father."
Ned's own smile faded with a similar grief. "As do I."
"The last thing Brandon said to me was to 'not worry, I'll beat any champion he throws my way.'" Alys stares forward into the hall as they walk, and Ned can imagine she sees that day clearly. "None of us really understood at that point how bad it had gotten here." They step out of the Holdfast and into the air. "Father even said that it wouldn't be the end of us." Her face is pained and Ned holds her arm tighter in hopes of lessening her grief, and his own.
"It wasn't," he says, "You survived, I'm still here, and Benjen too. And we're still going, and together. Which will only make us stronger."
"Like mother always said." Alys smiles.
"The pack survives." Ned nods. "We survived, and we'll continue to Alys. The war is ended, King Aerys is dead."
She nods, then shakes her head after a thought, and in a surprising boldness remarks to Ned "and you'd condemn the man who did it."
"Aerys's fate was sealed by that point." Ned states firmly, "Jaime Lannister had no reason to raise his blade, and in his doing so he sullied it with broken vows and honor."
"You don't know how it went," Alys says, her gaze staring about the walkway as they got lost in perhaps a memory. "You don't even know, not really, how bad it was here. Like father, or Brandon, or me at the start." She shakes her head, "regardless of the vows Jaime broke, I'm certain he is an honorable man."
"He betrayed his king. And no man, not even Aerys, deserves to die by betrayal."
"Aerys burned our father alive in a suit of armor, and strangled Brandon with the chance to save him." Alys's voice is blunt, her gaze turning to him. "And besides that point, what he deserves matters little now. He is dead. But Jaime is alive and he hardly deserves the level of scrutiny and judgment that he has faced for doing a task you or Robert or Tywin would have done anyway."
The pair of them have stopped on a walkway, just a short ways away from a stairwell that would lead them to the gate where the other lords and ladies were exiting on their way to the Sept.
And here on the walkway Ned looked at his sister, her gaze sharper and more bold than he believes he'd ever seen. And it only just made her look so like Lyanna, with the defiant tilt of her chin and the stubbornness in her eyes daring him to even try to speak back. It was strange, like seeing a ghost, because for all Alys and Lyanna were twins and looked alike, they'd always been easy to tell apart as Alys was gentleness with soft words and easy manners while Lyanna was bold stubbornness and energy.
The look made Ned lower his head, grief at the ghost of Lyanna halting any words he had on the subject more than anything else.
Alys seems to note it, whether she knows the reason for it is beyond him though he'd not put it past her as she was always the most perceptive at reading him and his siblings through to the core. And she simply lets out a sigh, and with it the fight that brought the ghost of Lyanna to her fell away until all that was left was a resigned Alys squeezing his arm.
"Come," she nods to the stairwell, "it wouldn't do for the Kings dearest friend to be late to his wedding."
Alys
The ceremony was held in the Sept of Baelor. Alys sat beside her brother near the front and watched as Cersei Lannister stood in a gown of ivory silk with lions and stags embroidered delicately and intricately throughout it in golden thread and married Robert Baratheon. The sun shone down through stained glass and lit the affair in a golden hue, and Alys couldn't help but smile. It was lovely, all of it, and made some small part of her yearn for more beauty like it.
She watched as Lord Tywin removed from Cersei the finely crafted maiden's cloak of red with a golden lion intricately detailed upon it. He folded it over his arm and stepped away as Robert stepped forward, a cloak of black with golden stags in his own hands that he sweeps around to lay across Cersei's shoulders. Cersei smiles through it all, a bright and brilliant smile that Alys can't help but feel is nothing short of genuine in the moment.
As Alys watches the proceedings her mind can't help but wander to Lyanna. In another world it would be Lya marrying Robert, perhaps not here and perhaps not with him as a king, but it would be her that he sweeps the Baratheon cloak upon not Cersei.
Or perhaps even as a king. If Lyanna had survived and Jon not been born, would it be Lya stood in the Sept of Baelor becoming the queen?
Alys doesn't think so, or at least a part of her hopes not. Lya would still have fought it, even after all that's happened, and Alys hopes that Ned would not force their sister into a marriage after everything. But on the other hand, perhaps he would, as even if he and Robert are friends would that be enough to allow Ned to say no to the King?
Alys forces Lyanna from her mind, the worries and grief far too dour for this event. She watches as the High Septon speaks and the ceremony steadily moves to an end.
Cersei's chin is lifted with pride apparent in the brilliant smile still on her face, and Robert gazes back, looking as dashing a picture that one would expect the champion of the Rebellion and a King to look. They spoke in tandem, all eyes upon them, "With this kiss I pledge my love." Robert steps forward, a hand going about Cersei's neck and the two meet in a kiss.
The procession back to the Red Keep was slow, and Alys walked rather leisurely beside Oberyn for most of it. Ned had walked ahead, joining Jon Arryn nearest to Robert who walked with his new Queen on his arm at the front of the procession. Small folk had flocked out to line the streets and see the newly wed royals, some cheered but Alys could spot a few further back jeering and shouting fouler thoughts. The gold cloaks lining the way kept their hands upon the hilts of their swords.
"Some haven't forgotten the siege." Oberyn remarked, evidently having noted the same sights that Alys had. "They are not likely to either, for quite a while."
"It was hardest on them," Alys says, feeling her sympathies for the people spread as she remembers the sight of the city in flames as she hurried through the keep that evening many months ago. She'd been too focused and panicked with Elia and the children to think on the rest of the city for too long, and after she had little time to pray for them when she was too busy traveling and worrying on companions and herself.
"And they are not as clueless as many nobles think," Oberyn says, "they know the flags that had accompanied the attackers, and they know our new queen comes from the family that bore them."
"Has anything been done to help them recover?"
"I imagine only as much as Jon Arryn has been willing to spare, but attentions of the crown are probably focused upon more immediate damages and dangers. " Oberyn says. "The common folk are often the most forgotten in both times of war and peace. It's often only when they start to bring up a fuss that any attention is given to them."
"Thats…"
"Not entirely fair," Oberyn shrugs. "But sometimes it is simply the way of it. The small folk are subject to the whims of highborns and a sharp chair most of them will never even lay eyes upon."
Alys sighs, looking over the crowds more as they passed and feeling her sympathy grow as they neared the Keep and the guards increased while the crowd sinks. With little else found for her to say on it she looks forward and forces herself to push more unwanted thoughts from her head for today at least. Oberyn, evidently able to read heavily into her mind and mood, takes her arm in his and squeezes garnering her gaze his direction so he can flash a brilliant smile until she returns it with her own meeker version as they enter the Keep and head for the feast.
Alys hasn't been in the Great Hall since the night of the Sack. Mostly out of luck and little need to enter it, but if she were honest some part of it was her avoiding it. It held only one good memory, her reunion with Ned, and a multitude of bad ones. She enters beside Oberyn and looks down the large space and can see glimpses of those memories. Her eyes track immediately to the spot of empty air where her father had been hanging with fire beneath him, her step lingers in the spot where Brandon had struggled, her eyes traced along the tables that were set up in the same fashion that they'd been during the Kings Tourney all those months ago and she looks along them to where the Kings table sits and can imagine the poor serving boy who had spilled wine, and she's almost surprised to not see scorch marks where Chelsted was dragged and burned.
And lastly her gaze lands upon the throne where Aerys had sat so many times. It looms just as threatening as it had the first time she'd seen it.
She forces herself to look for the changes.
The skulls of the dragons are gone, no longer hanging along the sides as shows of power and strength or fire and blood. In their place are hunting tapestries decorating the space. And hung near the looming throne are banners of gold with a crowned black stag upon them, some of the banners even show a gold lion on a crimson field.
But little else has truly changed of the space, only decoration. Fitting, Alys supposes, as the history still remains even if the rule has changed. All covered up, but impossible for some to truly forget.
Oberyn escorts her to a seat and takes the spot beside her, she smiles and listens as he starts in on some story while the feast starts in full. She lets him and the food, wine, and music take her thoughts to happier places as the night continues on. Courses are served and laughter can be heard throughout the Great Hall.
It's a happier sound than what haunts this place, and Alys allows herself to enjoy it.
She visits with the Tyrell ladies, who fawn over the wedding ceremony and are quick to gossip over the most recent affairs that have occurred just in the first hours of the feast. Alerie's hands rest gently on her rounded stomach, the Lady Tyrell occasionally glancing over to where her husband Mace stands chatting amiably with several other lords. Mina is escorted out to the floor by her betrothed Paxtor Redwyne for a dance, and Alerie watches her good-sister depart with a smile and a laugh.
"It's a shame you're heading North so soon," Lady Alerie remarks, drawing Alys's attention from where she'd been watching the King and Cersei dance amongst the other nobles. "I know Mina would love for you to accompany us to the Arbor for her wedding in a month."
"I wish I could," Alys says, "but I haven't been home in so long, I miss it and long to see my brother Benjen. And I doubt Ned would wish me to leave his side again so soon."
"What will he do when you marry?" Alerie remarks, a slight inquiry that has been fished for before by the older woman.
"That is something he is unlikely to have to deal with," Alys finally admits. She hadn't ever said to any of the Reach ladies that she has no intention to marry, or that Ned has no intention to find a betrothal. Most of them likely would not understand it. "I would be very content to live in Winterfell with Jon and my family."
Alerie's gaze studies her carefully, shrewd eyes sizing Alys and her words up before she shakes her head with a gently cradling laugh. "Perhaps you'd be content, but you may not be as fulfilled as you should be."
"Fulfilled?" Alys questions.
"You'd have no role there," Alerie explains. "You'd have your son, and your family, and a home. But what would your days be filled with? Your weeks, your years?"
"I…"
"You're a woman from one of the most prominent houses of the Seven Kingdoms," Alerie continues on, "your hand, even with a bastard attached, would be worth quite a lot. And your temperament would do very well in running a household for any lord." Alerie reaches over, grasping Alys's hand and giving it the gentlest of squeezes, "I've found you're the type who likes to keep busy. The path you're on would find you with little to occupy your time outside of your son, and while being a mother is a fulfilling endeavor, I don't imagine it will be fulfilling enough for you."
Alys is saved from finding a response by Oberyn's arrival, his hand outstretched and his smile charming. "May I have a dance, Lady Alys?"
Alerie smiles and pats Alys's hand where hers still held it. "Go and enjoy your evening."
Oberyn takes Alys's arm in his and leads her towards where the floor is cleared for dancing. "You looked like you needed saving." He remarks lowly, his tone laced with jest as his head lowers near hers. "And lucky for you a dashing prince was near for the rescue."
Alys laughs, "did I look that uncomfortable?"
Oberyn smirks and spins her around so they face each other, one hand moving to rest lightly on the small of her back. "Only the smallest bit," he says, the music starting in the next dance and him moving them along with the rhythm. "But enough for me to take the chance and ask for a dance."
"Thank you," she says, "it's one of the parts of the feast I was looking forward to."
"Dancing with me?" he remarks, a suggestive raise of the brow as he sweeps her along.
"Dancing in general," she laughs, "I didn't imagine I'd have many askers."
"Then they are all fools to overlook you," he informs her. She smiles bashfully, blushing terribly and shaking her head. Oberyn laughs and his hand holds her just the bit tighter as they spin about amongst the other couples.
It reminds her of one of the pleasant moments of the Tourney of Harrenhal, when she'd first met the Red Viper and danced with him while he told her of Dorne. Strange, she figures now, how she would become friends with him and have traveled the country in his company. She would never have guessed at it at that time.
She's grateful for it though, and grateful for his friendship. It lightens her day and she lets him lighten her evening as they drift through another song, laughter bubbling up from her as he spins her about.
Eddard
"Another round!" Roberts voice booms, it was met with cheers and laughter as servers came through to their king with more ale and wine in hand. Robert leans, gripping Ned's shoulder and smiling widely. "Come on Ned, smile! There's wine, and women, and music about."
It was a familiar feeling, if not setting. Robert's boisterous energy and the feel of alcohol in his system. But the throne loomed nearby, and Ned's eyes kept checking upon his sister. Still, he offered his friend a smile and took the goblet extended to him.
"There is only one woman you should be concerning yourself with tonight Robert," he says, glancing in the direction of the new queen where she still sits at the head table sipping a goblet of wine and talking with various ladies of the court. Robert had come down some time ago, apparently in need of more loud company, and he'd dragged Ned along with him.
Robert glances in the direction of Cersei and a shadowed look crosses his gaze with the hint of grief to it. But Robert, never one to linger on dour moods when feasting and wine was near, pushed it away and took a long drink from his wine. "And what of you? No women here catch the Lord Stark's eye."
"My eyes and my bed are for my wife, and she is elsewhere." Ned responds, feeling the bit of longing he often feels when thoughts of Catelyn reach him. It mingled with the guilt that still loomed in reference to his marriage, but he still missed her more than he'd have expected when they wed.
Robert laughs, "you've got honor to a fault Ned, and a cold bed I imagine to show for it."
"It's a good thing I'm used to the cold." Ned says, and it only gets Robert laughing harder. A hand slapping onto his shoulder and a smile shared between two men who were as good as brothers. It made Ned think of the years in the Vale, nights sneaking out to a tavern or with a bottle of wine in the garden.
It made him feel like a boy in the Vale. A second son with little worries beyond not getting caught by Lord Arryn.
"Robert," speaking of Lord Arryn, the new Hand stepped behind them, a hand falling on both his former wards shoulders and a warm smile to his face as he looks them over. "You should see to your wife," he speaks low, just for the two of them.
Robert gets a slight look of wanting to fight crossing his face before he sighs and raises his glass to Ned, "at least my bed will be warm." He remarks before downing the glass and setting it aside as he stands and heads towards Cersei, a familiar charming smile upon his face as he bows low before her with his hand extended.
Ned settles back against the table, watching as Robert escorts Cersei out into a dance. His queen is a beauty, hair catching in fire light like liquid gold and a face that many minstrels had already started penning songs for. Yet Ned can see the way his friend looks at her, a mask of joy and care covering the longing for who he wishes were in his arms.
It worries Ned, and strikes at his own grief enough that he looks elsewhere. Eventually his gaze landing on Alys where she stands in conversation with Ser Barristan Selmy. The older knight smiles kindly towards Ned's sister, and Alys responds in kind. Ned glances about and sees Oberyn Martell nearby looking Alys's way, and Ned thinks on the two dancing much of the evening already.
It was better than other options, in Ned's opinion. His gaze looking towards where Jaime Lannister stood with his father and brother, a goblet of wine in his hand and a bitter look to his features.
At least he hadn't seen Jaime and Alys interacting throughout the evening. Alys has either been with Prince Oberyn most of the night or amongst the Ladies of the Reach, while Jaime has been near his father's side almost exclusively.
Ned couldn't really understand it, Alys's relationship with Jaime. It didn't make sense how she could like or trust a man like him. She was practical, and believed in the values of honor that their father had raised them with. Jaime was a Lannister, full of the pride and ruthless disregard for honor and vows known of his father and house. He'd broken his vows, killed his king, and sat upon the throne after the deed as though proud of it all.
Yet Alys defended him, and got angry on his behalf. Ned knew his sister, she was not a person made for anger. She was accommodating, and kind, and would sooner bide her tongue than argue over something. She played peace keeper all through their childhood whenever any of their siblings fought, and the few times Ned could think of her being upset she never yelled or argued. She went silent in the face of her own displeasure, minding her thoughts and working herself through it alone before coming to offer peace.
Perhaps that was it, Ned figures. She is a forgiving and soft hearted girl, and he's never known her to be one capable of hate. Not even for an oathbreaker like Jaime Lannister.
But that did little to explain the warmth that Ned has seen in his sister's eyes when she looks at the Kingslayer across the hall.
Ned frowns into his cup and sighs. It matters little, he reminds himself. They would be gone and far from the south and the Lannisters in only a few weeks.
His thoughts and musings are cut away by the shouts calling for the bedding, and Ned watches as Robert and Cersei brought apart in their dancing by the cheers of many lords and ladies ready for the spectacle. His gaze turns towards Alys, who smiles at Ser Barristan before seemingly excusing herself. He follows her with his eyes as she moves to one of the doors that leads towards the gardens and he figures she likely wants little to do with the whole show of the bedding, and he hardly can blame her.
He'd want little to do with it as well, if it weren't for Robert calling him forth and insisting he join the revelry. Ned resolves to search out his sister once the whole mess is finished and join her out in the garden air before they both retire to their rooms for the night.
Jaime
The call for the bedding is the last bit to break his patience and ability to stomach the Great Hall.
He'd entered to the memories of the Mad King's blood on the dais where the new king sat. And suffered through watching his sister smile and bat her eyelashes at the king, suffered though watching the pair of them dance. Suffered further through every time he spotted Alys in Prince Oberyn's company, even more so when he spotted the pair of them dancing closely for near an hour.
The rowdy sounds of lords wishing to help his sister along to the bedchamber pushed Jaime to leave quickly. Downing the last bit of his wine and glancing about he just caught sight of Alys, alone, heading out a doorway.
He makes his excuses, thin and short, to his father and Tyrion before slipping out the door behind her. He walks slowly, worried that perhaps he'd just missed sight of Prince Oberyn or her brother in her company and finding that he would much rather catch her alone if possible. He doesn't wish to deal with either of those men, and the distance they create between him and Alys.
He wants to speak with her alone, enjoy her company alone. Be with her alone. Like the chess matches in the godswood, like the nights in her bed.
He nearly thanks gods he hardly believes in when he sees that she is unaccompanied.
Jaime finds her out on some balcony in the part of the garden nearest to the great hall. She's leant against the railing, looking in the direction of the Blackwater though from here it's hard to catch sight of it properly. Lit rather fascinatingly in the torchlights that line the paths of the garden and the brazier that sits in this balcony bringing light for those who wander the area in the evenings festivities. Her hair is still a dark curl of it's familiar shade of brown, but parts of it are highlighted by the fire to an orange glow like a distant flame. Her skin is brighter, the paleness that hasn't escaped her despite her time spent in both the capital and Dorne, reflecting in the darkness.
She turns to face him when his steps are near enough that she can hear them. He isn't being entirely careful in his sneaking away from the feast, at least not now that Alys is the only one to hear him. The music of the Great Hall can just barely be heard in the distance.
"Ser Jaime," she greets, a brilliantly warm smile upon her face that brings one to his own despite his previous mood.
He joins her against the railing, before he studies the space around them and remarks with a smirk. "You're missing your baby."
She rolls her eyes at him before remarking, "I didn't lose him, he's being watched over by Wylla back in my rooms." She brushes a stray bit of hair behind her ear and Jaime smiles a bit softer.
"Really?" He inquires, "I'll say it's quite a surprise to see you without that thing at your side, let alone not in the same room."
She frowns at him, though it holds no anger. "He's a baby, not a thing." She shakes her head and he can see she nearly rolls her eyes again at him, making him smile further still. "He was up all last night, crying. But Elia convinced me he'd be just fine for the evening. Both she and Oberyn insisted I enjoy the festivities."
Jaime scowls a bit at the mention of the Dornish prince though he deflects it slightly by glancing off in the direction of the Blackwater. "Yes, I noticed you enjoying the dashing Dornish prince."
"Oberyn is harmless," Alys teases. "And he was the only one to offer the dance, it was quite nice."
"Well I highly doubt he's entirely harmless," Jaime states, "his reputation for bastards precedes him and well you do already, allegedly, have one so what harm could a dalliance between the pair of you do."
"Jaime," She frowns at him, arms crossing as she stares disapprovingly at his tone.
But Jaime hardly takes social cues into account when irritated and the thought of the Dornish Prince irritates him plenty so he continues against what most would think of as better judgement. "Hell I'm sure if timelines worked out better the man would be more than willing to claim your bastard, save you the gossip of who his father is."
"He doesn't need to claim Jon," Alys states, her voice much colder now than their earlier back and forth. "No one is going to be claiming Jon but me."
Jaime studies her a second before sighing and nodding, "yes. Of course." He pauses a moment, disliking the turn in atmosphere between them and offers, "well I'm changing the subject now, as I know I always end up in trouble when I bring that up."
"Smart move," Alys states, still cold but a bit less so and thus Jaime feels some relief on that front. He truly does dislike when they fight. A strange thing to him, he never much cared about that sort of thing with anyone else before.
They stand, turned towards the Blackwater for a few moments more. The icy nature of their back and forth thawing slowly but not enough yet for Jaime's liking so he turns more fully to Alys, listening to the muffled music in the distance and deciding to make use of it in hopes of thawing it fully. He holds his hand out to her and she studies it a second, "can't have the damned Dornish Prince be the only one you dance with tonight."
She smiles, and just like that the warmth is back between them and Jaime is smiling as well. Her hand meets his and he pulls her along with him in the small space of the balcony turning her about and eliciting the musical sound of her laughter.
It makes him feel light, and free just a bit more than he has all day. So he relishes in it, holding her close and making it last even as the music turns in beat and the sound of the drunken lords and ladies in the Great Hall grows louder.
Eventually though Alys slows them, a hand on Jaime's chest to stop them and a bit of breathlessness to her as she laughs still. "Thank you," She says glancing up at him. "I needed that."
"As did I," he says, smiling far more genuine than he thinks he has in days or even weeks.
"Walk with me?" She asks, "it's a nice night."
"A bit chilly," he remarks, but still holds his arm out. "If it weren't spring and we weren't in the south I'd expect snow." They start off the balcony and move off into the gardens proper.
"Probably a good thing there is no snow," She says, "some Northmen think it's an omen for a cold marriage if it snows at a wedding."
"Really?" he asks with a chuckle, "you northerners and your superstitions."
"I didn't say I believed it." She laughs, "my mother said her wedding was sunny, and warm, even though it was winter." She smiles warm at the thought and Jaime can't help but smile as well, glad to see her in happy memories rather than any sad ones. "And she and my father always seemed to have a pleasant marriage."
Jaime catches a glance of some Dornishmen walking the garden and his irritation scratches enough to make him remark, "well if you marry a Dornishman you're guaranteed a warm marriage simply by the nature of climate in Dorne."
She glances sideways at him, a look upon her face telling him she was not amused before she simply rolls her eyes. "I won't be marrying anyone, so I have little to worry about in regards to whether my wedding will have snow or sun."
"No?" he asks, brow furrowed, "you're brother not capable of finding a betrothal for you?"
"He's not looking," she says, "besides, not many lords are rushing to marry a girl with a bastard on her hip."
"That's hardly a non-starter. For one it shows you're capable of bearing children, but second you're the daughter of a significant house and the sister to one of the men closest with the king. Then of course you're kind, and quite fair to look at." She blushes and shakes her head, he smirks, "no, no, you are. All of which gives plenty of reason suitors would look to win your hand. And as I stated earlier, I'm certain Prince Oberyn would be more than glad to take it if no one else would."
"I have no intention of marrying."
"Really?" He asks, a bit perplexed on the topic. He can recall a discussion they'd had long ago on the topic of marriage. She'd not seemed particularly disinterested before, not seeking it but also understanding that it was expected.
"Really," she nods, a sad contemplative look crossing like a shadow. "I've seen lots of marriages now. Good ones and bad." She frowns just the smallest bit, deep in thought. "My sister ran from an unwanted one, my good-sister was moved from one brother to the next, and even your sister is marrying a man who longs for another." She shakes her head, and glances apologetically at him, "sorry. I… Marriage worries me now, and I'm grateful for Jon in that he grants me an excuse to avoid it."
"And your brother is okay with that?" Jaime asks, not many lords would be. He knows his father would never let a bastard stop him from marrying off one of his children.
"He's been similarly made wary of marriage, and he understands my views of it." She glances off towards the water where it is now visible along the garden path. "He's said he will not make me marry if I do not wish it."
"And what if you fall in love, and do wish to marry?"
"He's said if I find someone I wish to wed then I can choose it myself." She smiles and looks to him.
The pair of them come to stop in another balcony deeper in the garden. Firelight flickers and the smell of the Blackwater is stronger. The only sound is the gentle swish of wind in the trees and each other. "Do you think you will?" Jaime found himself asking.
She looks at him, her gaze contemplative once more but with plenty of warmth as it looks his way. She nearly opens her mouth, nearly speaks, but then the sound of raucously drunk nobles nearby startle them both and she blushes fiercely before turning her gaze harshly to the Blackwater. "I don't know." She says, light and airy enough to be carried out in the wind. Her eyes, grey and lit with the firelight glance his way. "Do you?"
He frowns, thoughts of Cersei and wishes flying through his head. "I'm sworn away from it." The looming weight of tomorrow threatens to settle over him, going before Robert Baratheon as he'd gone before Aerys and swearing himself to the Kingsguard. To a life of vows he's already broken, to a life of watching Cersei with Robert and standing guard outside their door.
A life alone, even if it's with Cersei.
Alys's hand startles him as it comes to rest on his arm. He looks at it, warm upon him and heavy but not with pressure but with comfort. "You don't have to be." She says it with conviction, belief not in what she's saying but in him. "You could find your own path, Jaime. You have been given that option, even if you haven't taken it yet."
"It's not quite that easy."
"What do you want, Jaime?" Her hand is still on him, light and heavy all at the same time. And her gaze is meeting his and the second he hears the question he doesn't see the cloak of the Kingsguard, or his father and Casterly Rock, or even Cersei as she was this morning pulled against him and yearning for some fantasy.
He hears the question, and feels her hand resting upon his arm, and looks into her eyes of grey that can go from cold like ice to cold like the softest snow, and he sees nights spent in comfort with Alys tucked against him and the most restful nights of sleep he'd gotten in all his time in Kings Landing, perhaps in all his life.
Jaime hears the question, and he finds Alys in the answer.
No thoughts cross his mind, he reaches up and cradles her cheek with his hand. Surprise flickers across her face as she watches him and he doesn't give her time to question, doesn't give himself time to either. He leans in and hears her breath stop as he lingers and searches her eyes and thinks— hopes —maybe he's her answer as well.
He closes the distance, and is met with the sweet taste of Alys. She's hesitant, wary, and he goes slower than he ever had before when kissing.
And Alys was soft against him. Gentle. She didn't take as her lips explored his, she asked and she gave in return.
And Jaime, Jaime could only give as well.
His hand moves along her cheek until it meets her hair and tangles into the soft tresses of brown while her own moves from his arm to rest lightly over his chest, not pushing away but just pressing lightly against the beat of his heart.
In this moment he can't understand the notion that Northerners are a cold people. Alys is warm, has always been warm even when she's in her hardest and coldest moments. Warm to the touch and warm in his arms and bed and he lives in the warmth like it's the sun on that day of peace before the siege when they'd sat down by the water side by side.
It lasts forever and not long enough, as Alys's head dips down separating them to a hairs breadth apart and he opens his eyes to see the flush to her cheeks and the breathless part of her lips as her eyes flicker between his own. A bit of wonder and daze to them as a smile lifts the corner of her mouth that likely mimics his own expression.
The only sound around them is the gentle swish of the wind through the trees, the light sounds of the ocean against the shore, the light breaths between them.
And lightly, softly like everything Alys is and does, she speaks with a whisper against his lips and she gives an answer of her own. "If it were you, I think I would."
Thank you so much for reading!
This is the new longest chapter and honestly probably one of my favorites that I've written, so I really hope you all enjoyed it! And yay! finally the Slow Burn is coming to a head.
Thank you again for all the wonderful comments left, they always make me the happiest I could be and I look forward to anything any of you have to say.