(King's Landing: 9/24/298 AC) Cersei IV

"Can you really trust him? He isn't one of us, he's not a Lannister," she asked her lover. The sun was high, trying its hardest to pierce the leafy canopy above them, as they, her, her brother, and six Lannister guard walked through the Godswood of the Red Keep. Her house guard kept a respectable distance away from them, as she wished to speak with Jaime privately. Two days had passed since the end of the tourney, and she was fraught with worry.

"He may as well be. Father has taken him into his confidence. The son he never had," her brother said wistfully.

"Nonsense! Father would never accept an outsider into his council," jealously crawled up under her skin. 'He shouldn't! Loras isn't family!' she fumed inwardly, all the while knowing her father intended to make him family, by offering up Myrcella when she came of age.

"You know his reputation? How fiercely he defends the Westerlands? The example he made of those brigands? He shares the Mountain's cruelty, but what the Mountain lacks in subtlety and intellect, the Blood Rose makes up for it a thousand fold. I hear even Gregor had been impressed, when he had displayed his 'blood roses' down along the River Road, between Sarsfield and the Goldentooth." They came across a sheltered path, heavily shaded by the overhanging trees. "He has no reason to betray us, not to her, at any rate. He hates the woman as much as his father does."

She had to agree with that. While she disliked the idea of someone other than her being close to her father, she knew that if there was any singular family that hated the bitch more than she did, it was the Tyrells. She did not trust them, but she did trust in their hate. Just then she had suddenly realized that Jaime had grown silent after his words, as he seemed to be contemplating something. The only sound emanating from him was the clinking of the spotless white armor he wore, that identified him as a member of the King's guard.

"You know he will not be an outsider for long? Not if our father has his way?" he finally asked, as if a large weight had been taken off of his chest.

"What would you know of it?" she asked. When Ser Loras had arrived at King's Landing, several days prior to the tourney, he had given her a message, or a demand, if one knew her father. She was to convince Robert into sending Myrcella to be fostered at Casterly Rock. This was her father's attempt to gain a foothold in the Reach by seeing if a match between the Tyrell boy, and her daughter, his own granddaughter, would be possible in the future. According to what her father had 'advised' her to say, this was to be labeled as merely an effort to assuage any grievances the Tyrells may still have over the war. 'Lord Tyrell, likely proposed this idea. Him or his senile old mother,' she thought. 'Regardless of who it was that sparked this idea,' she mused, 'what could the Tyrell's realistically offer?'

Near the war's end, when word had reached her father of Lord Tyrell's capture, he had sent her uncle Kevan to Highgarden, with terms. When she had asked, he had told her that the terms had been for the old woman, and her son's eyes only. Once word had spread, of the fat flower's fate, everyone had known that hostages from the Tyrell family were going to be taken in exchange for Lord Tyrell's safe return. It was only a few years later, that father had finally deigned to tell her of the terms. They would give him Loras, and in return, he would pressure Arryn to convince Robert into granting Dragonstone, the poorer seat, to Stannis and his bitch. Unfortunately, the whore did not accept, and she claimed her own Tyrell ward. Furthermore, after Samwell Tarly's death, prior to the Greyjoy rebellion, the Reach had nearly fragmented. Every lord and peasant with even a passing relation to the Tarly's had laid down a claim to the Tarly lands. Only a select few had been appeased, with the larger, weaker portion having been denied any rights to those lands. The Tyrells themselves had taken the lion's share, which included the castle fortress of Horn Hill.

"He told me as such, during the joust between Ser Barristan and Steffon. That was when I gave him the letter indicating our suspicions of the Lady Azula. The one he is to deliver to father."

"I hope your trust in him, is well founded. As for Myrcella? Father cannot have her, she is our only daughter," she hissed.

"You know father only asks because you are his daughter?" Jaime replied.

"Father does not ask, father demands." She respected her father, and he was the sole reason the Lannisters returned to their former glory after her grandfather had nearly brought them to ruin. Tywin Lannister was the most feared man in Westeros, and she had often imagined herself as his equal before Westeros had decided that Stannis' whore was. She trusted in his wisdom, but she did not trust him in this. She did not trust anyone with her children, save herself.

"If you do not assist him, he will go straight to Robert, and find a way to take her anyways," came his solemn response.

"Ser Loras fed me that same trite, but I will tell you this brother. He can try." She knew it was futile to resist her father's will, but she was going to try anyways.

Jaime looked at her, with a raised eyebrow, before he spoke. "Regardless, we need more Lannister men, now, sweet sister. Lee has already been confirmed as Commander of the City watch, and he has already arrested quite a few within his ranks. Most of which have been charged with corruption and bribery. I think Stark likes him," he scoffed.

"Yes, I know," she interlocked her fingers and held her arms slight below her breast. The wide cuffs of her velvety red gown, allowed a soft breeze to enter and cool her down. "I have been told he has provided Baelish no small amount of headaches. He and I have tried to get rid of him, but Lee's guards never sleep!" She felt the cobblestone beneath her feet as they walked down the shaded path. "Thrice I have sent men, and thrice have they not returned. I know Baelish has sent his own, but I have no clue as to how many. No corpses have been found, nothing. Somehow the incompetent fools just managed to disappear without a trace."

"No one simply disappears, sister," he replied, the crunching of loose pebbles sounding beneath his feet.

"Here they do…" she whispered, catching a sweet scent in the air.

As they rounded a copse of trees, Cersei and her escort laid their eyes upon a comely older woman dressed in a gray, dingy dress. The gray woman was sitting alone, on a stone bench, with an open book on her lap. As the woman read, she used her fingers to procure cherries from a small wooden bowl, situated near her. A sudden breeze lightly swept through the underbrush, carrying the pleasantly sweet smell towards her. Another book rested at her side, with its pages closed. It was emblazoned with a bold title, 'The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling,' Cersei had read, as they approached.

"Your grace?!" the woman stood, in surprise, nearly knocking the bowl of cherries off of the small wooden stand on which they had been located. She placed the book on the stone bench, and quickly knelt before her, her voice quivering, "Apologies, your grace, I…" Cersei saw the panic welling up, behind her eyes, as the woman nervously patted down her dress. Her feverish motions caused her dark brown hair to begin shifting, and cascading down, over her shoulders. "I am not in presentable clothing, forgive me."

'Pathetic,' she thought, studying the woman's face. 'She looks familiar.' "It is quite alright," she lied. "Who are you, and why are you here?" The woman remained, kneeling, never rising to her feet. 'Good.'

"Stork, your grace," she replied, her voice shaking. "I am the Lady Azula's house servant."

'I knew she looked familiar,' Cersei thought, having remembered spying her a few times, as part of the Stannis' household, when his bitch had first arrived in King's Landing. She had almost completely forgotten about her, as all reported sightings of her were few and far between. When she had been seen, she was either walking throughout the market buying fruit and clothing, or quietly reading in the servants quarters. 'Not a good mark to have followed,' she thought to herself, 'she does nothing. However, why waste this opportunity?'

"She allowed me free time, as she toured the city with Lord Stannis, and their son Ser Steffon, your grace," she trembled.

"Touring the city is she?" Cersei questioned, knowing that her myriad of spies had told her as much. Cersei sat down on the stone bench the servant had previously been sitting on. "Did she name any place in particular?"

"The Eastern barracks, your grace. They wished to see the rebuilding efforts, and visit the Commander of the City Watch," the woman replied, glancing upwards, with fear in her eyes.

'She fears me,' entered the thought, 'perhaps I can use her fear to turn her?' "Come, rise, and do not be afraid."

"As you…w…wish, your grace," she trembled, rising off her knees. The woman dusted herself off, before standing there awkwardly.

'Imbecile, must I hold your hand?' she thought, before putting on a sweet voice. "Please, sit," she said, gesturing at the empty spot beside her. Jaime remained at her side, watchful of their surroundings. She saw her Lannister guard down the path, from where they had come, with a few appearing ahead. The woman grew ever more fearful, as her eyes darted back and forth. 'I could have you killed now, as a message to the bitch. Fortunately, for you, you are far more useful to me alive.' As the thoughts swirled around in her mind, Cersei could not shake off the feeling of danger. As the woman moved to sit next to her, the hairs on the back of Cersei's neck rose. The sweet smell that accompanied the woman seemed to amplify her senses as they began shouting of imminent peril. However, she was a Lannister, and they did not fear the sheep. When the woman sat, Cersei asked, "Where did you acquire that lovely scent?"

"Dragonstone, your grace," the woman replied, smelling her forearm. "The Lady Azula calls it 'essence of cherry blossom.' It is one of her favorite fragrances that she brought from her homeland. It had taken some time to recreate, only having been perfected a year ago. It is one of Dragonstone's exclusive exports," she smiled, before adding, "It seems to be fairly popular in Essos, especially Volantis."

"Strange, how has it not been introduced here?" she questioned, surprising herself with her genuine curiosity. The scent was exquisite, and she wanted it.

"The Lady Azula has granted exclusive rights to Essos, in exchange for access to their coal and coal deposits."

"Coal? The black rock that powers the Iron ships?" Cersei asked, somewhat off put by the fact that she did not truly know.

"The very same, your grace," the woman answered. "All shipments of coal, east of Volantis are shipped to the Stannis Fort, nestled near Volantis. The Lady Azula has great favor with the Red Temple and the Triarch, Malaquo Maegyr. This support is what allowed her to have the fort constructed."

"Quite a busy woman," she replied, trying hard to mask the hate and sarcasm in her voice. With her anger, came a bit of hunger, and she spied the small wooden bowl of cherries. "Stork?"

"Yes, your grace?"

"May I have a cherry?" Cersei asked, glancing back towards Jaime, who had begun to close in on the bowl. 'Regardless of the answer, I will have one,' she thought.

"Of course, your grace! Help yourself!" the woman offered, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

She looked towards the woman, who took her cue and picked at one, tossing it in her mouth. She played with it for a bit, before biting down. Cersei heard a crunch, and saw the woman's face change slightly, before returning to its calm state. "Hmmmm, delicious," she said, before moving her hands up towards her mouth, and spitting out a cherry pit. "My Lady usually has the pits removed," Stork gave her a sheepish grin. The woman picked up a few more, sliding them into her mouth and savoring the flavor. This time, she bit down and procured no pits. After a few moments, the woman lifted the bowl and presented it to her.

Cersei eyed the cherries within, and selected one with her right hand, lifting up the sleeve of her dress, so as not to dirty it. When the small red fruit entered her mouth, she bit down, craving the sweetness within. It burst between her teeth and flooded her taste buds with its pleasant flavor. As she chewed, she looked down, between them, where a book still lay. "'The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling," Cersei stated. "An interesting book?"

"Yes, your grace," the woman replied.