Elia V & Areli XI & Cersei I
Taking a careful step, Elia's bare toes wiggle in the sun-warmed sand. Her skin was contrasting to the white grains, bronze dusted with the finest granules, and she relished the texture. Her toes nails shined with their painted lacquer, a golden sheen her mother adored and imported from Yi. The large supply had been specially gifted to Elia this trip as a reminder of the beauty standards of Dorne, a gesture that signaled to Elia she was not to leave the West after the visit. "They will call your decorations many things. Your Rhyonish robes unshapely or improper in the same breath depending on the cut, your metal belts garish, your bracelets excessive, they will sneer at the lacquer that shines gold on your hands and feet. Lust for the crowns on your head. They will call your skin too dark, your hair too plain, your eyes- Everything they will call lesser. But my sunshine, know that the people of Westeros are wrong. Never will you be ashamed of what makes you feel beautiful. Never be ashamed for what is Dornish in your appearance. Stand my daughter, stand unbowed, unbent, and unbroken, for you are the very sunshine." Cassella had done them last night, strokes precise and careful on both hands and feet. She saw out of the corner of her eyes that Cersei Lannister was staring, eyes fascinated with what she probably thought an odd decoration.
It is a brisk, cold day, there is snow in the air, soft flakes shapeless and lazily drifting in the air. But in this sheltered beach, all is still and nearly pleasant. A perfectly still lagoon with the faintest touches of waves rippling the outer edges of the water upon the shore. It was only accessible through a tucked-away tunnel from the Rock, available from the Den of the family, and it is still looking at the Sunset sea that touched the shores of Dorne, and if she closed her eyes it was almost the same as standing on Dorne's shores.
However, it is not.
The coast of Dorne is quite different from that of the West, sharing the same sea or not.
This cove is hidden by sheer rock cliffs, almost, but not quite enclosed, hidden where the beaches of Dorne are open and free. It says much of House Lannister to hold this near-perfect place to themselves. To preserve something precious, they hid it away. The water is crystal clear and calm here, the most beautiful shade of blue. It lapped at perfectly the shimmering white sand, and all of it was enclosed by golden-toned walls of rock, a perfect cavern that was only interrupted by a hole above the water a few hundred meters above their heads, allowing buttery and much-needed sunlight into the Lannister's Cove.
But, it was, as Mother had promised, a beautiful place.
Intimate and another show of… Of promise of her future.
"Princess, your shoes!" it was Lady Cassella, her voice fond but scolding.
Elia wiggled her toes into the faintly sun-warmed sand and sent her lady a grin over her shoulder.
"I left them just there, beside the blanket!" she called back, cheekily.
Jaime giggled next to her, gripping her hand in a sweet squeeze. Cersei, holding her other hand, still slightly entranced by the lacquer, jumped and snorted. It had taken much coaxing to bring the four-year-old girl off of the blanket, but it had been accomplished by both Jaime and Elia encouraging her and by the promise of some mischievous play in the sand near the water. She had only been allowed to be escorted by Elia and Gerion together and had only relented when Jaime had given her large wolf eyes. Said lord was holding onto the girl's other hand, shirtless despite the cold air, his golden hair full of sand and snow alike. Jaime's doing, as he had tossed a ball of sand and snow pressed together onto his uncle's head when he had been coaxing Cersei. It had been that movement, that had set the young girl giggling, that had brought her to take Elia's hand and chase after Jaime and Gerion, together.
"This is one of my favorite places," said Lord Gerion, voice jovial, "It's the best place to launch my sailing ship!"
He gestured with his chin to the little dock on the far side of the cavern. The 'ship' in question was small, not quite big enough for a party of perhaps six, its mast wire-thin, wood dark and painted with pitch, its white sail stark against it. It was the smallest vessel there, with a single large, proper ship that in her mind, was probably meant for emergencies for the household. The fact that they were allowed to see it was a reminder that she would probably be joining said household.
"It's beautiful, Lord Gerion," she told him, smiling.
"It's even better in the summer," said Cersei, voice proud, her gaze snapping to look up at Elia's. Her dark emerald eyes were firm for such a young child, and they shone with pride, luminous and achingly beautiful, "Wildflowers grow on the rocks, all along the cliffside, up to the top! And they shine in the sun, like gold. They're Mother's favorite."
Elia smiled.
"The beautiful and full goldenmane, so named for the lions that would prowl among them. A personal emblem of your mother."
Cersei surprised her. Because the young girl beamed. And Elia had no doubt that she would be seen as a beauty across the Seven Kingdoms, if not the greatest beauty. A kind of beauty that was devastatingly attractive. And at that moment, Elia thought she had never looked more like her mother, than when she was smiling sincerely and fully.
"Only local to the West, and on the cliffs on by Casterly Rock!"
"What is your favorite flower, Lady Cersei?"
She sniffed.
"The goldemane, of course."
"Mine is the gloom poppy."
"I have never seen it."
"Local only to the deserts of Dorne. It is a rich violet flower of five petals, with a pink middle."
"Sounds ugly."
Elia felt Jaime's hand squeeze her own, tightly, and it was evident that he was asking for forgiveness for his sister without words.
How many excuses do you make for your sister?
"It may sound that way. But it is such a pretty color. Of course, you will have to see it to judge it yourself. I realize you haven't traveled much, my lady. It is normal for you not to know much."
Elia kept smiling. Even as Cersei made a face of quiet contempt at the reminder that Elia was better traveled than her.
"And you, Lord Jaime, what is your favorite flower?" she asked, turning, still smiling at the boy.
Light green eyes blinked. And he gave a helpless little shrug.
"Don't really think much of flowers. But the Gloom Poppy sounds pretty. I like violet."
He beamed at her, even as Cersei shot him a look with wounded eyes. But Jaime was looking at her and smiling.
"And you, Lord Gerion?"
"Flowers are for girls," he said with a bored air, frowning, "So I do not think of them much."
"But Uncle," exclaimed Jaime, voice surprisingly firm, "Did you not say you wished to travel the world? Surely you will see so many different flowers because of it? You can't dismiss them just because you say they are for girls? What happened to being the first to see sights no one has ever seen? You will be the worst explorer! Not being able to name flowers?"
Gerion looked affronted, as he turned to his nephew, about to argue, no doubt. Oberyn, who had stayed relatively silent till then, puffed up, as if to fight.
Elia felt something then. A warm trickle in her heart, a fondness already taking root, starting to sprout, and perhaps, just maybe, on its way to flourishing, as Jaime squeezed her hand.
OOOOOOO
There is a sort of painful victory in being able to speak.
Victory, because hello, one step closer to reaching normalcy, well, as much normalcy as a reborn transmigrated soul could feel in their new life. Painful, because it was such a small step. A single word had crossed her lips, and she was already impatient to say more, and it had taken much of her restraint to resign herself to that one word. She was mimicking Tyrion, after all. If he only could clearly pronounce Jaime's name for a while, she was stuck with calling for coffee like a nurse on the end of a thirty-eight-hour shift.
Guess things don't really change that much, even if you're reincarnated.
"Say, Aunt Genna," cooed her Aunt. She was smiling sweetly, and her fingertips touched her twin's cheek with clear affection.
"No, say Uncle Tygett," called her Uncle Tygett with a pout, someone she didn't particularly remember from any of the media of A Song of Ice and Fire.
He must've been written out from the show, or only mentioned in passing. Or was dead by the time that timeline started. I don't quite remember. Oh, why didn't I ever finish the books?
She suppresses a twinge at the thought of the pouting teenager being dead. He was so young. He was just written out, don't think about it. They must've smashed him into another character. Don't think of it.
Her other paternal uncle, one Kevan-such a normal friggin name, was lazily sprawled on the ridiculously large, plush rug on the smoothed platform made of crudely hewn stone, just before the white sand started, his lady wife's head, a woman's name who she still couldn't remember, on his lap. Damn, do the Lannisters populate. Tywin is the oldest of five, and Joanna mentioned that she was the oldest of nine. I have a lot of names to memorize without even thinking about the cousins. The Lannisters were a sprawling House. So large that their family branch had to be established just before her Mother's generation, and it would only get worse as they seemed to have a lot of boys, making the name carry out.
She vaguely remembers Robert Baratheon bemoaning being surrounded by Lannisters, and now she thinks it may have just been a case of numbers. Just having that many running around as a family unit had overwhelmed him. And blonde is recessive on Earth- and in this dimension considering the whole Lannister Baratheon coupling plot point… So there's a lot of them blonds running around despite that.
Tyrion gurgled happily, chirping back nothing concrete, simply smiling at them both.
Still only duo-syllabic big bro. You will get there. Hopefully sooner rather than later.
Areli watched it all amused at the gentle competition between the siblings as they tried to coach the second youngest of their House into saying more words. Particularly their names.
None of them dared look to her to do the same thing, and she wondered if this was going to be a theme in her second life.
Looking on, set aside.
Because currently, she was looking at their antics on the lap of Lord Tywin Lannister. Her father was sitting against a particularly large rock a little ways away from the rest of the merry party, with many many blankets piled on top of her. Tywin Lannister was a paranoid man, and as a result, she had been constantly swaddled and covered in layers and layers of whatever warm thing he could get his hands on. It was good practice, as far as babies went. But it seemed her Father took things to extremes on the regular. She wondered if he was hot, as she was in his lap, but he seemed focused completely on a book in front of him, held out of reach, unbothered by the heat that was roasting her.
She was somewhat bored and wished she could sneak a peek at the book.
It was a slim, tattered volume wrapped in supple, buttery yellow leather, obviously well-read with no title on the spine or cover. The fact that Tywin Lannister took a book to the beach, even on a winter day where swimming would be out of the question, was a nuance she did not know him capable of. It seemed almost out of character, the little of it she could make out at least, from her limited interaction and her foreknowledge. It didn't look like work, too small, too slim to be of something official, and he hadn't brought ink nor parchment. So, she could only conclude that it was a book.
For leisure reading.
She hadn't known her father knew the meaning of being idle, or unproductive.
But here he was. Baby in lap, spending a lazy afternoon away from his duties to read while his children, and that of a foreign diplomat, played in the cold sand with shrieks of laughter. And he was even barefoot. Despite the cold, trouser legs rolled up.
It was frankly bizarre.
But Areli was bored, still, as she looked up at him, eyes trying to catch a glance at any form of writing. There wasn't a title on the book, and it looked hand-bound as far as she could tell. Considering the personal nature of the book, and the middle-aged framing of this dimension, it was either a religious prayer book, a ballad written out or some form of poetry. In Middle Age history, from what I remember, novels weren't popularized until the printing press, and the most popular form of written entertainment before a high literacy rate was religious texts and folklore ballads, and poetry… Areli speculated one of the latter, as she could not see Tywin being any sort of devout. In all the time she had known him, he had never uttered a prayer to the seven deities of Westeros, nor sworn in their name, nor had he even mentioned the building of worship. What the heck was the name? Queen Cersei blew it up in season 6 with Queen Margery in it- Sep- Sept! Yeah. And the minister is called a Septin? Septon, the bird dude who played Elizbeth Turner's father in Pirates of the Caribbean? God damn it, I should have been more than a casual viewer of the fucking show.
It was a fairly common pastime for medieval noblemen and women in her own original dimension to have such a hobby, reading poetry or epic tales. Considering the thickness of the volume, she was leaning more towards poetry, though she couldn't really see Tywin reading that either. God am I bored to be making a game of guessing the contents of a book that is right in front of me. Well Papa Tywin, be prepared to have a fussy child with grabby hands.
Areli smiled at the slightly petty thought and made her first move, a sweet gurgle in her throat as she reached upwards for the book.
Tywin didn't disappoint. The man held it higher, and she giggled at his face. More time had made her more comfortable, despite what she knew about the man. What was that saying? It takes about three days for the human mind to adjust to a new reality? Bullshit. But it does remind me that I've gotten used to this. Not quite comfortable. I think I will take a way longer time, but I am getting there. The slight downward tilt of his full lips, his rapid blinking. He was bewildered, she guessed. She was usually pretty chill when she was placed in his lap or arms, kept still, and avoided doing more to bother him but to tug on his clothes. Any deviation of the established routine tended to put him off-kilter. Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder? Or is he really just particular and used to control?
She smiled, bright as she could manage. If it seemed more like an animal baring their teeth, even if she didn't have many, that was neither here nor there.
Tywin lifted a single brow. Usually a danger sign of his impatience. But at this moment, it was tempered by the unusual sparkle in his summer green eyes. By the twitch to his full lips. Who would've thunk, Papa Tywin likes to play. Areli giggled. And reached up for the book again. Tywin kept it out of reach.
Areli dared for more imposition.
She dared for recklessness that would press on Tywin's patience. She kicked off some blankets. She crawled forward on his chest, hands reaching for the book again with a giggling shriek. Yeah, four years of theater in high school and boredom will reduce me to my actual age for entertainment. Tywin kept pace, keeping it even higher. She was surprised by his slight smile. She thinks she will always be surprised by her father's smile, even if it is becoming surprisingly very common in her presence.
Or, well, as commonplace as it could possibly be.
For it was a stunning thing. Tywin was objectively, very attractive physically. Young, golden blond, and chiseled face. All of his children were tens, as far as she could tell. Tyrion, from what little she remembered from the book, had been described unfavorably, but Peter Dinklage had always been unfailingly attractive to her. And objectively, she could see that it was not just Joanna's genes that had blessed her children.
And when Tywin smiled, it was easy to see him as a King in all but name.
It was easy to see the man that her mother loved.
Areli reached out her small, pale hands. Touched golden-tanned skin, high cheekbones that could cut glass. With her hands pressed against the face of her father, she could see why people thought she looked dead. Wrong. And she realized despite that, despite the fact that most would have probably drowned her at birth considering the type of world, this man was holding her. Before she had unintentionally grabbed his attention and affection, this man had not killed her nor her twin. She remembered then the fan theory that Tyrion was the Mad King and Joanna's son via rape, which had been hinted at vaguely in the show but never confirmed one way or another. She remembered that that could have been running through his mind, and the man hadn't killed them both with that possibility.
Tywin's golden brow furrowed.
Areli stared.
What do I know of this man? He can be terrible. He can be a monster. The Rains prove it. But he is my father, who did not kill me because of his love for his wife. And he has some level of affection for me. He feeds me from his own hands, has me in his lap in blankets enough to roost because of a mild fever. Plays with his baby despite his serious deposition.
I am his comfort.
I am tired. Grief is difficult to shake- But. I have so much time to get over it.
"Will, you not try again, little lioness?" Said Tywin Lannister, monster, father, in a voice that was a shade warmer than usual, a tenor of humor.
Areli blinked.
And she realized she felt something for this man, for her father, despite herself. Despite who she had been.
And Ana Marino is really not who I am anymore. She is partly my past, partly who I am… But not all of me. I am Areli Lannister and I am right where I am supposed to be. With my father.
"... Father," she whispered and smiled as Tywin jumped in astonishment.
Jumped to his feet with a gasp. Mouth actually hanging open. Actually dropped his book.
Areli laughed. Sweet and open. Touched her hands again on his face.
"Father," she repeated, sweetly.
"Did she just-" called out her Aunt Genna, mouth hanging open.
Areli laughed as she turned to her.
She saw the stunned faces of her family. Her family. Areli relished them, loved them, even if she didn't know then that well.
"Tyrion, father!" She pointed at her twin, in Genna's arms.
Princess Meria gaped. Genna nearly dropped Tyrion when he laughed, clapped, and pointed back.
"Leli!" He cried, "Leli!"
Areli laughed.
Because of course. Twin power. And one of the smartest minds of this dimension.
"My word they can already speak more," murmured Princess Meria, voice astonished.
Areli pointed at the princess.
"Coffee."
"Offee!" Agreed Tyrion.
The older beautiful woman burst into laughter. Tyrion, seemingly thinking it a game, pointed to Jaime, who was scrambling on the rocks to reach them again at the sight of all the adults jumping to their feet.
"JAIME!"
He skidded to a stop, Cersei, Elia, Oberyn, and Gerion at his heels.
"Did Tyrion call my name again?" he asked, beaming.
"Better, little lion," called out Uncle Kevan, mouth wide and grinning, "Your sister and brother are showing off the names they know!"
Areli grinned.
"Jaime," she called, smartly.
Jaime gasped, delighted.
And Areli saw Cersei's pinched face. Saw the wounded look in her dark eyes. And Areli felt her heart be touched. She reached out, pale hands moving in a wave. Her sister was in pain.
"Cersei!"
The little girl blinked. Gaped, as she turned to look at her. Areli waved enthusiastically again.
"Cersei!" she called again.
"ERSEI!" Called Tyrion, as if in agreement.
Areli laughed, clapped her hands because she could.
OOOOOOOOOO
The little white thing and the imp knew her name.
Cersei stared as the thing in her father's arms looked at her, pale eyes, the darkest part of her, mother's eyes, stolen gleamed and sparkled as it opened its mouth in a sloppy smile, and waved at her with her strange sickly looking hands. Hands fat and stubby, skin so light it looked like the snow that was falling, veins like cracks in porcelain, blue and silver and looking wrong, and ugly.
"CERSEI!" called out the thing in her father's arms, again, and again.
Cersei felt her knees tremble, felt her breath catch as her father turned to look at her. A look of- a look of warmth crossing his usually stern expression. He then turned that warmth to look at the thing in his arms, his smile growing wider as it turned its ugly white head to look back up at him. Warmer. More. Affection that was her's given to her mother's killer.
"Father," said the thing that had ripped her mother apart, voice high and too flowing, too much, as she looked up at father, "Father, Cersei, Jaime, Tyrion."
"Say Aunt Genna!" called out her Aunt, bouncing the imp.
The imp giggled.
"'UNT!" he called, happily.
They all laughed. Everyone smiled and beamed and praised with an air full of joy.
But mother is dead, why are you all so happy that they have only spoken a few words? I speak more, I can dance and- Why do I not make you as happy?
The thing with father only reached up and touched his face. Cersei gaped, and hoped, and wished he would drop it on the stone he stood on. Because father doesn't like people touching them, not even me, his daughter, his eldest, and for something like that to touch him, he must hate it! But father only smiled as she touched his face and giggled and reached forward with her sickly face- and kissed him.
Kissed him in the same spot mother used to, just next to his eye, a sloppy kiss that must be putting spit on her father's face-
And he smiled even more.
Cersei felt something crawling in her chest, something clawing and heavy pressing on her and it was so hard to breathe.
"Say, Uncle Kevan!"
"No, say Uncle Tygett!"
"UNCLE GERION!" Called out Gerion, pulling away from her to run to Aunt Genna and the Imp, "UNCLE GERION!"
"Nuncle!" said the Imp.
Her lips opened. Say something, Cersei, she thought furiously to herself. Make them stop looking at those things and look back to-
"How smart your brother and sister are," said Elia in her strange way of speaking, strange and not the proper way to talk.
Cersei looked at her and realized with a start that she was still holding the princess's hand. Tightly, so hard that their joined hands were trembling. She stared at the older girl, not as pretty as me, who was smiling at the things with a fondness in her dark, ugly eyes. Cersei felt her nails press into the princess's hand, waiting for the older girl to flinch, to gasp, to push her away- Pressed harder, dug in her nails. Because everyone pushes me away.
Elia did not let go.
Just allowed Cersei to crush her hand and press her nails deep enough for blood to start to seep. Cersei pressed harder. Still, the older girl did not flinch.
Funny how her blood is just like mine.
"They-" Cersei froze as Elia squeezed her hand back.
Not as tight. But just enough that Cersei's grip slacked in reflex.
"This is a happy moment, Cersei," Elia said softly, gaze still on the twin monsters, "But you are not happy."
Cersei shuddered.
"I-"
"It's alright not to be happy."
Some of the weight started to ease off of her chest. Not much. But enough for Cersei to breathe more clearly.
"Cersei, leave them to their happiness. If you break it you will only hurt yourself."
Cersei thought of the fire in her throat the first day she had spoken against the pale thing. The cold in her father's eyes. She looked back at them. They just didn't just know. But Cersei would make them all see-
Elia looked at her.
Looked at her.
She was smiling softly, gently, this older girl who wasn't nearly as pretty as her. But she was looking at Cersei. At Cersei, while everyone else was looking away.
"Did you like my nails?" asked the girl, smiling gently.
Cersei could only nod, blinking at the very sudden question.
"Let's leave them to their happiness. Cassella, did you bring my lacquer set?"
The other Dornish lady was suddenly there, the one who could use knives, tall and rather pretty, if strange with her brown skin. She was not looking at the monsters either. She was looking at the princess. And then her blue eyes turned to her.
Looking at me too.
"Do you prefer gold, Lady Cersei, or sliver?" said the young woman, face easing into a smile.
Cersei turned her back on the misplaced happiness of her family. It will change soon enough.
"Gold."
AN:
NEW POV, SAY HI TO CERSEI. Because the author realized that she needed at least one chapter whilst they are all young and before the real changes of Lion-Heart are implemented. And that not having Cersei have a POV before this was due to avoidance.
Because I am a coward.
But NO MORE.
Also, three POVs in one chapter, who is she?
Hey, questions, which POVs are your lovelies' faves? One of my favorites to write is probably Tywin? As much as I hate him? Just cause he's an interesting asswhole to write. The second would probably be a tie between Areli and Elia if you can't tell why Elia has gotten the third most chapters as of this point.
Also because she's a dead woman in the fridge in canon and I fucking loathe that trope.
And in ASOIF it is so fucking overused.
Like. Seriously. Everyone has a dead woman in the fridge, we have: Elia Martell for the Martels, Lyanna Stark for the Starks/Robert, Joanna Lannister for the Lannisters, Rhaella Targeryon for Dany, even Selmy has fucking Ashara Dayne. And that's the woman I can name off the top of my head.
Like I get it, Martin. You like yourself some tragic females for people to simp and mourn over. Did they have personalities- oh the only one you've given any flashbacks for to flesh out is Lyanna? One out of like five women? Great. A plus my dude.
Fun fact: Nail Polish was said to be invented in China, as far as back as 3000 BC. Not the way we know it, of course, but the most similar as far as I could gather. Standard colors were metallic silver and gold, with red and black coming into popularity much later. Other cultures would buff and polish nails, and tint and or dye them with an assorted mixture of minerals and plants. The Egyptians, for example, had a class divided in who could use the darker colors, henna being used amongst the upper class.
Yi Ti, as a stand-in for Imperial China, seems to be a pretty logical place in my mind for nail lacquer to be acquired.
Fun Fact Two: Once a baby starts talking, they never seem to be satisfied, and quickly make connections of a word being a thing. I have so many nieces and nephews that started with just one simple word and just started understanding and could quickly start to actually figure out words within a few weeks/months of them saying their first. "Oh, this series of sounds mean this, so this sound has to mean this!" My mom also mentioned that when one baby starts, the other baby starts to catch on. My sister wasn't speaking by the time she was like a year and a few months, but I was ten months when I started talking and she was like, "OH. ME TOO. I CAN DO THAT TOO." And started to speak regularly. Babies are incredibly smart, and in a social situation with other babies, they can really catch on quickly. I also learned English by mimicking my siblings, so yeah… If anyone is like 'what, babies shouldn't be speaking so quickly', nah. Tyrion is smart as hell. It wouldn't be weird for him to understand very quickly after he said his first.
Also, if anyone is wondering, I'm picturing the goldemane to be a weird cross between a peony and a marigold, with a much richer, almost metallic sheen in the right light.
Hey, it's a fantasy if they can have dragons, I can have shiny flowers.
This is a general update note, on the current status of my fanfics, as my last big note across my fics was in January of this year!
As of this Sunday, 13th of June 2021, I will be moving my EDIT updates to every Sunday. My schedule has changed quite a bit since my last note, so I figured giving myself some breathing room would be prudent. Whether or not this will actually help, I don't know, as I still haven't had much luck with my initial goal. I will be TRYING, though.
Send me productive vibes, my lovelies.
Or curse me in the name of my muse?
Whichever works.
Current UPDATE SCHEDULE:
A Study of Lions & Badgers, Harry Potter Fic: Every SUN.
Coming Home, Harry Potter Fic: Not Set. (Whenever I finish the next chapter)
Hold My Hand, Glass Mask Fic: Every 3rd Sunday of the month. (GONNA TRY)
Lion-Heart, A Song of Ice and Fire/ Game of Thrones Fic: Every 2nd Sunday of the month. (GONNA TRY)
She Is But The Wind, Jupiter Ascending Fic: Every SUN
~ Be Safe and Be Well,
Moon Witch '96