a/n: title references the prophecy cersei received ("gold will be their crowns" = children's hair color, literal crowns, rulers), but also alludes to how lyanna stark, the north, and rhageor targaryan (all connected to the color silver/grey), linger over the lannisters and their legacy.

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disclaimer: never watched the show (only seen clips) or read the series in full. canon knowledge will mostly be based off what the internet has to offer up, which is honestly a lot.

(if talking about [what would be spoilers for me of] GOT could be avoided in the reviews that'd be much appreciated. but if not, go off, i guess. i just probably won't know what you're talking about lol.)

golden crowns (shrouded in silver haze)

by sol-lune

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"jolyssa i"

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the north; royal wheelhouse carriage

JOLYSSA

"Mother, this is absurd."Joly's impassive voice cut through the soft chatter of the various ladies from court.

She didn't mind the wheelhouse. It was padded along the inside to keep the heat in, the seats were plush with fur and feathers, and when open, the large windows provided enough airflow to be comfortable. Most knew better than to disturb her whilst reading, so she was allowed to do so peacefully in a warm corner. However, if she sat near her little siblings and Mother, she had to participate, at least when directly addressed, in the conversation among the ladies.

Sometimes, the gossip was interesting. Tidbits that made Mother's eyes gleam in a wonderful fashion or caused Cella to giggle. Tomey had to be entertained as well, so there was always someone with a decent story to tell. Joly was largely indifferent to the usual Court topics and the people of it, that is, until they tried to ask her dull questions. One would think they would eventually stop trying, she certainly wished so, but alas, they were ever persistent in collecting frivolous information, like her favorite color or the material of her gown.

Those questions had obvious answers. If they paid even the slightest attention to her, and they did, her favorite color was easily discernible, so why ask? The material of her gown, Qarth silk with inlaid Myrish lace and Pyke pearls sewn on by way of silver Valyrian thread, had been excessively complimented when she discussed the finer details involved in its creation aloud not half a moon ago, thus the repetition was unnecessary.

Some might like others playing a farce for them, but Joly had never enjoyed that type of theater.

In her ten and five years of life, she had come to the disappointing conclusion that people were all the same. They would say and do anything out of self-preservation and greed. Those, she had found, to be the main motivators of people's actions.

King's Landing, her home, was full of flatters and scavengers, rats hiding in the streets and little listening spiders. She was surrounded by people who wanted to use her. Everyone desired to please her, not out of any real wish to make her happy, but because she, with her good will, influence, and power, could make them happy. A fair trade, if they ever succeeded in pleasing her and, oh, did they try.

She could say her favorite color was purple because it meant royalty in some cultures and mention a fashion in Essos, offhandedly, and a fortnight later, a dozen gowns in varying shades of purple, cut the Essosi way with a note about it befitting a royal princess would be part of her wardrobe. If not a week later, Joly said she preferred blues for no other reason then that the color flattered her eyes and "Tyrell tulle is exquisite," suddenly a surplus of Baratheon blue, Tyrell tulle dresses and agreement about how it suited her appeared.

Well and nice as it was to have new material and designs to examine, every interaction with others became the same boring song and dance. Was it truly too much to expect more from them? Something... worthy?

It was different when Uncle Tyrion gave her astrology books and equipment or Renly sent a shell comb. Uncle Tyrion listened when she spoke and rarely needed a reminder of her hobbies. Renly didn't understand why the swirls and sheen of shells fascinated her, but he knew it would interest her. Even Uncle Stannis who wasn't one for gifts, gave her the gift of intelligent conversation, willing to talk with her about things others would not. They were thoughtful, each in their own way.

Mother had been telling her and Joff no one could be trusted since they were children, but she always said family was the exception. Joly agreed, to a certain degree. Uncle Jaime cared little for people, even his nieces and nephews, but he was loyal to his house and if not the Lannisters, then his twin. Simply being born to Cersei Lannister had secured Uncle Jaime's protection in a way that couldn't be guaranteed through vows.

Words held power, but only so much as the pledger gave them. Uncle Jaime had broken his vows in full view of the realm and been unpunished for it. Was it money? The Lannisters were famously wealthy. Or fear? Uncle Jaime was incredibly skilled with the sword and Grandfather would have laid to ruins anyone who threatened his House, even if Uncle Jaime wasn't his favorite child.

It wasn't that she wanted Uncle Jaime to be killed or sent to the Wall, she just wondered, was all.

Joly was curious by nature. Nurture had its part as well. Not many would dare stop her, but whatever her status didn't allow, her mother and father, ensured available for her. Rules and laws and other social norms often didn't apply to the top few. Power was a force both coveted and feared. The Iron Throne was one indisputable source. Kings could fall as Uncle Jaime proved, but the Iron Throne withstood the passing of a crown.

A writer, ages ago, said, "Absolute power corrupts absolutely."* They were very likely executed for such direct, treasonous accusations, but Joly thought it aptly captured the symbolic 'absoluteness' of the Iron Throne. The quote had an inevitable feel to it, as if it were a foregone ending that such power would change everyone - anyone - negatively. It was the kind of statement that Mother would scoff at.

Mother wouldn't see it as the cautious warning Joly presumed the author meant it to be, but instead as a challenge. To Mother, corruption coming hand in hand with power was a perfectly payable price. Had Father thought the same?

No. Father barely understood the power he held as king. The position, yes, but the power itself wouldn't have been something he would vie for. He didn't like the meetings and work that went into ruling.

Father used to fight in battle. Father used to be strong and handsome. Father used to be a lot of things, apparently. But was it "absolute corruption"? Joly wasn't sure.

She knew righteous people did not survive in King's Landing. Joly suspected one would be hard pressed to find a truly pure individual, even within the Faith's walls. She didn't believe in the Seven. Joly didn't think anyone in her family did, not even her father or naive little siblings. Surely, if there were gods, divine punishment would have been cast upon them all already, sinners that they were.

The way Joly thought was unusual, she knew. It was tolerated because of her standing, but she didn't sit on the Iron Throne. Even a favored princess-daughter could be limited by a kingdom.

People were narrow-minded. They wanted simple lives, but coveted the wealth of those more materialistically well-off. And those born fortunate were greedy, they lived in fear of losing their luck. She wondered: was it human nature to always want more? To never be satisfied? Did it really matter, when so few were willing to do what it took, without violence or begging?

It baffled her that the sheep were afraid to ask her about what she was reading, a topic she might actually indulge, but couldn't be dissuaded from bothering her about practically any other petty opportunity. Everyone complained, but didn't care to ask why, or how a problem could be fixed. They didn't want to debate and discuss issues with her, like the state of their awful roads.

The wheelhouse wheels had gotten stuck in some mud back when they were crossing the Neck. Father had been ready to strap them all, ladies of the court and Mother included, to horses and continue on, an idea destined for disaster and one Joff had snickered about to her.

Luckily for everyone - Mother and Father's arguments weren't fun in the slightest for anyone involved - it was decided, by some rare, clever individual, they would stay at a dusty little inn. No one, except, perhaps Father, really wanted to camp and he didn't want to hear the protesting that was bound to occur if he forced them, as the wheels were fixed. That had been a fortnight ago.

There was a limited amount of scrolls and books in the trunk she brought along to keep her occupied. She was without decent conversation as well, having little of Joff's company during the journey. He rode with their father, so they could only speak at nightfall. The journey to Winterfell from King's Landing took weeks and after days of being confined in a single space with her mother, younger siblings, and the rest, she was restless. Which leads her back to-

"What's absurd, darling?"

Golden hair piled on top of her head, sharp green eyes and a full red mouth. Declared the most beautiful woman in Westeros by many a poet and lard. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Her mother.

Joly stared at her. Mother glanced back with half-lidded eyes.

"I'll ride with Joff if I must, but I'm leaving the carriage today."

"Joly," Mother started.

"Mother," said Joly, in the same tone.

"Don't 'Mother' me, Jolyssa."

"Mother," Joly's voice lilted into an unabashed whine, expression still blank. "I tire of this whole affair."

Mother's finely-plucked brow didn't rise. "As do I. The weather here is infernal." At her words a gust of frigid wind carrying frost swept into the carriage.

"Yes, the air is stifling," Joly said as the fresh breeze nipped at her nose and brought color to her cheeks. She flipped her wrist with a casual tilt at the carriage and ladies restraining themselves from fidgeting.

Mother hummed.

"Very well."

Joly perked up. A lively shimmer appeared, barely visible in her eyes.

"But," Mother held her hand up. The sliver of light coming in from the curtains glinted off a chunk of ruby. "You will stay close to Joff and Jaime."

"Of course, Mother."

The ladies tittered and cooed over the domestic display. Mother wasn't the best actress, but she could hide her intentions well enough. Nobody would be able to tell that Mother could have, at that very moment, watched one of her ladies be trampled by one of the forty horses dragging the wheelhouse and not cared a whit. Joly went to the window and caught one of the rider's attention with a wave.

"What do you require, your highness?"

Joff was a fair rider, but unused to a long, continuous pace. Whenever they rested for the night, Joff would slink into the wheelhouse and sit beside her to grumble quietly about it or she would creep out and they would look up at the stars as she named them.

"I wish to speak to my brother."

He nodded and rode forward to deliver her message. Joly leaned her elbow on the sill and watched the landscape slowly roll by as she waited for her twin. The reflection of her face in all but coloring suddenly forced its way into her line of vision.

She blinked, "Joff!"

"You called, sis?" Her golden twin smirked.

"Get me a horse," she demanded.

He brushed a hand through his curls and grinned at the petulant edge to her tone. "I'm not your stable hand, Joly."

"Of course not."

"But you're still expecting me to procure a horse for you." It wasn't a question.

The ladies giggled.

"Of course," she said again, flashing a faint indent of her dimples at him. "The finest horse."

"Oh, well, in that case," he drawled. "I'll insist Father unseat from his prized warhorse right away."

"Best hurry along then," she agreed.

He rolled his eyes and disappeared from view.

Not a minute later, he was back. Without a horse.

She raised an eyebrow in question. He smirked and tilted his head, indicating she come to him. Her eyes widened before she nodded.

Mother, who had a sense for these things as a twin herself, looked up from indulgently watching Cella embroider a design, likely a lion or stag, onto scraps of fabric, to narrow her eyes at them.

"Joly," Mother looked past her to outside the window, "Joff, what are you two planning?"

"About that-"

She was halfway out the window and reaching for Joff's hands by the time the ladies started shrieking. "Cease your noise!" Mother silenced them quickly.

Joly settled behind Joffrey and fixed her skirts. At the window, Mother glowered at them. The ladies hovered over her shoulders like frightened birds. As Joff soothed Mother's concerns, a concerned rider checked in with them.

"Your grace, is everything alright?"

Mother ignored him. She huffed and settled back into the plush of the cushion. Her eyes were amused.

"Be careful, darlings."

"Always," they chorused.

Joff dug his heels into his horse and she looped her arms around his waist. She was soon seated on her own horse; he had selected a fine one for her. They raced each other to the front of the procession and Joly waved to their ruddy-faced Father. He grunted, clutching a wine cask and forced one of his knight's to return her greeting.

The North was dreary. Grey dirt, grey sky, even the water was grey. The snow was endless and felt like it was muffling her and the rest of the world. Dull, but new. At least, she was experiencing it outside the wheelhouse and Joff was at her side. Just looking at him made her feel a bit warmer. He and Mother were both golden suns, while Joly was as much of a storm as Father.

After some time, Mother sent a rider to call her back. Joly went placidly.

Joff snorted beneath his breath when her thick skirts bunched up in the window. She turned her head and stuck her tongue out at him before trying to shimmy further into the carriage. Mother hissed something and then Joly felt tugging at the bottom of her dress and a hand around her ankle. The ladies finally decided to be helpful.

When her skirts were free, Joff pushed the top of her head the rest of the way in through the window. He rode off with a mocking wave once she was settled.

Cella giggled, a sweet sound. "Joly?"

"Hm?"

"Why did you go through the window instead of the door?" Cella pointed to the door next to the window she had just entered from.

"Yes, why, Jolyssa?"

Joly stared at the door. Smiled at Mother. Then distracted Cella by asking about her embroidery.

Cella beamed and shifted closer to her lifting the cloth and revealing the emblem she'd been working on: a stag. As she thought. Joly pat one of Cella's loose amber-yellow curls.

Telling her "because I wanted to" and "I like the jittery feeling of doing something reckless, especially with Joff" would likely upset Mother, even if she enjoyed the twin's antics, who would then find a way to blame and take it out on the ladies. Joly was still cold and just wanted to pile blankets onto her lap. This non-answer made Cella happy and kept the carriage cozy, rather than tense.

Joly was a woman flowered according to Westeros custom, and likely too old for such things, but she longed for a hand to run through her hair and lull her to sleep. As if sensing her thoughts, Tomey asked for a story. Curled in his seat, he looked like the content kitten in his lap. One of the ladies that had a soothing voice began speaking. Joly found herself distantly aware that she was slumping a bit.

The low croon about a lady and knight is still in her ears when she startles awake sometime later to find they've arrived at Winterfell. Cella is resting against her side, head on Joly's shoulder. Joly shakes her gently until she yawns and rubs her eyes.

The ladies fuss over the Royal Family, straightening Joly's pale yellow gown and arranging her hair. When the carriage came to a halt, the ladies file out first, then Mother. She sees Uncle Jaime extend a hand to help her out. It's Joly's turn next as the eldest daughter. She glances back at Cella and Tomey. Her little siblings are nervous, unsure of what awaits. They are alone in the carriage for this single moment - just family, no one else - so, to reassure them, Joly smiles.

Her blue eyes brighten, lips curling crookedly but genuinely into a comforting expression as her dimples deepen. Joly smiles in the way she does only for family and her siblings grin back.

EXTRA:

"Joly," Joffrey said, measuring each word. "You don't even like riding."

She shook her head.

"Then why did you bid me get you a horse? We could have just ridden together."

":) 💖"

notes:

* quote by Sir John Dalberg-Acton

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channeling old-timey formal-ish speak/tone for (internal) dialogue is fun.

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joly's nickname is intentionally joly. "laughing lion" anyone? tywin hates it. what makes it even better - better than having joly as a nickname - is that she isn't even, like, a jolly, bright/energetic/bubbly person. joly is stoic baby.

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random mc fact: joly loves pale green nectar wine from myr. it's kept well-stocked in king's landing just for her.

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