For only a limited number of days, the Red Keep had been in mourning. The heads of servants bowed low as they walked the grounds and carried out their duties. Those of noble birth paid silently their respects as they crossed the path of the royal family following the death of their beloved King Joffrey. It was on the second rise of the sun, that the sorrow that consumed the keep had been long forgotten. Dimmed chambers were left behind for the shining sunlight, and the silence of strangers had been consumed by the shatter of handmaidens and a bard's song. For the day was one for celebration, today Jaime Lannister would be wed.
A chalice had become more of an accessory than a vessel to the queen as she stalked the corridors of the Red Keep. The bronze cup was held loosely in her hand, a delicate grasp, brought up to parched lips to indulge in the sweet Dornish strong wine that would leave Cersei pleasantly numb. Behind her, Bernadette followed, a cask of wine cradled in her arms. She waited silently, stepping forward only when she was beckoned to fill the cup with wine. While the sun had yet to reach its peak in the sky, Cersei had already consumed an entire cask and had no plans of stopping.
It was from the shadows, swirling the Dornish Red in her glass, that she watched as the castle servants prepared for a second wedding in as many days. Tables were dragged over stone floors and decorated with flower arrangements stripped of their Tyrell roses becoming what Cersei believed to be a rather sad collection of primrose petals and winding vines. Come evening the flicker of candles would ignite the room with their light, and lord and ladies would come to feast at their tables. Her throat filled with acid.
How dare they do this to her? A wedding mere days following the loss of her firstborn son. Their king!
Cersei took a long drink from her cup, the deep wine beginning to stain her lips. Holding her chalice out, Cersei silently beckoned her handmaiden to her side. "More," was her simple command. Her gaze remained out on the room, watching her their servants came and went. They should be tending to the flowers in the Sept of Baelor, or serving Tommon in his chambers - not decorating the halls for a wedding she was so desperately trying to prevent. Her grip grew tighter around her chalice, her breathing becoming rapid in her chest. She was running out of time.
The last place Tywin would have been seen would be hovering over the arrangements hours before the feast. He hadn't cared for the aesthetics of his own wedding to his beloved Joanna, his eyes captured by her beauty alone from the moment she had taken the aisle. The royal wedding of the late King Joffrey and the beautiful rose that was Margaery had been left to the hands of Olenna Tyrell. Tywin's greatest concern had been with the Valriyn steel sword he had gifted to his grandson as it would become their legacy. Yet, as the hours of the ceremony drew nearer, Tywin's concern for perfection had become clear. This wasn't just any wedding, it was the wedding of his firstborn son. Today, Jaime would be solidified as his heir; the Lord of Casterly Rock.
Large hands took hold of the chair seated at the head table, the gaze of the lion moving over the great hall assuring that everything had found its rightful place. Brows hung heavily over his eyes as they narrowed, spotting a slender figure between pillars that framed the room. She seemed to cower behind the glass in her hand, her eyes only coming to rise and meet her fathers as she stepped out into the sunbeam that embraced the room with its warmth. Her free hand grasped at her gown, clearing the way for each dutiful stride. "Father-" She spoke on her approach, Tywin taking in a heavy breath. He knew that tone all too well, she wanted something.
"I don't have the time to hear it," his voice was low, tired. He had spent years of his life correcting the wrongness created by her self-indulgence. Tywin watched as his daughter's face fell, but she was never one to take rejection.
"Seems wrong doesn't it, to celebrate love in a time of mourning - if you could even call it that. Love." A laugh shook her shoulders, her lips craving another taste of her Dornish red. "Certainly a wedding can wait until after the killer has been brought to justice-"
"We had agreed to the arrangements a fortnight ago," Tywin reminded, the grip of his hands growing tight around the elegantly carved wood of the chair. "I refuse to have your selfish delusions further degrade our family name-"
"I did what I had to do for the good of our family," Cersei protested, her own grasp growing tighter around the goblet. Could he not see all that she had done for her family? She had reigned as queen at Robert's side as a dutiful wife. She had birthed three perfect Lannister children. She practiced war as well as any man. "Father-"
"Silence," Tywin spoke quietly, but it cut through the room bringing it to complete and utter quiet. The sound of heavy tables dragged against the floor ceased, and the handmaiden's chatter was reduced to whispers.
Cersei waited, her lips left parted as she waited for her father to speak further. He brought no alleviation, his own lips pressed down into a firm line as he stared at her. Her knees near buckled as her skin began to crawl. Her entire life she had done nothing but desperately uphold their family name. Yet, her father had only craved more. He needed his son. "Father I-"
"Silence," he said again, his voice booming, "You do not get to speak. I will not indulge the whims of my daughter. A good man does everything in his power to better his family's position. If only one's daughter could do the same."The words of her father had earned sent Cersei's frame recoiling as if she had been slapped. Her own strong gaze was wavering towards the floor now, her heart aching deep in her chest. Cersei had been reduced to the child she once was. "If a single complication sends this wedding into shambles and I find that you had anything to do with it, your betrothal to Loras Tyrell will be the least of your worries."
Each strip of leather that would bind the doublet across the chest was pulled taunt by the young squire Jaime Lannister had in his service. Josmyn Peckledon was a slender boy, his shoulders pointed with protruding bone and his legs like two narrow branches. Pale brown hair hung low into hooded eyes and the beginnings of a beard framed the angles of his jaw. Jaime had scoffed when his father had first suggested he take a squire and had fought a laugh at the sight of the young man. Yet, his reputation proceeded him, a hero of the Battle of Blackwater. The cheeky squire had killed two knights and wounded a third. He had also captured two more, all the while being no more than sixteen. For his valor, he had been awarded a sword and suit of place, a warhorse from the stables, and a knighthood when he was to come of age. It was beyond Jaime how the young man had managed when many knights had been killed that night on the backwater. Jaime was sure Josmyn would prove himself a skilled combatant with time, until then he would be reduced to helping him dress for his wedding day.
The sun was high in the sky above the Red Keep, the hour for breakfast come and gone. Forgotten was the tradition of the wedding breakfast, Cersei's demands for greater time for mourning given if only for the morning, not that Jaime was disappointed. The wedding customs of the Faith of the Seven were nothing more than a formality to Jaime. For many moons his love had been dedicated Julianna, he didn't need to promise it before the gods to make it true, but as the sweltering sun found its peak in the sky Julianna would become his Lady of Casterly Rock. His final fitting with the tailor and the frequent appearances by his father kept the knight on his toes. It was as he was helped into his clothes by his squire that he had the closest thing to a moment of peace he could have, but the distant rattle of boot buckles sent Jaime's shoulders slumping. What could his father possibly need now? Shaking off the touch of his squire, he nodded towards the door as rough knuckles sent a knock echoing through his chambers. Jaime had expected to find the proud face of his father staring in at him with news of the arrival of their guests or another complication forged by the silver tongue of his sister. Instead, he found his brother's less than satisfied sellsword, Bronn.
"Been waiting down by the rocks all morning," Bronn's voice was rough with annoyance, his arms coming up to cross over his chest - but not without dragging a hand over the empty pouch that was filled with coin after every sparring session the pair completed. Today there was no gratifying jingle of gold, only a crippled man in his finest dress who failed to send his scrawny squire with a message to explain his absence that morning. "You want to learn to fight, or dress like a proper lady?"
"You talk to my brother this way?" Jaime scoffed, tugging his arm out of the reach of his squire who had found his way to fidgeting with the cuff of Jaime's sleeve. Jaime gripped at loose coins and offered them to the dirty sellsword. Surely he hadn't expected to spar on the morning of his wedding day, but it would be enough for him to keep his mouth shut.
"All the time, he got used to it." Bronn welcomes the payment, his lips curling up in a crooked grin as he slipped each coin into the pouch that hung from his hip. For a time, the only sound between them was the collision of Gold Dragon and Silver Stag coins. Not even the payment could keep the smile on the leathery face of the sellsword, the crow's feet that frames his eyes falling as his lips turned inward. Even with a heavy pocket of the coin, and the chance abundance of lager he would be presented with at the wedding of Ser Jaime Lannister and his Lady-Whore could keep Bronn in good spirits. Not while his close friend wasted away in shackles.
Clearing his throat Jaime nodded towards the door and sent his squire out of his chambers. It was when the door was firmly shut and the echo of Peck's footsteps faded Jaime parted his lips to speak; "Do you think he did it?"
It. Such a meaningless word to describe a moment so tragic. The death of his son Joffrey. A tyrant King. Everyone knew Westeros would be better for it. He had slaughtered babes in their beds and was a cowered when it had come to the Battle of Blackwater. A battle his uncle, the accused, had won for him. While Jaime knew Tyrion and Joffrey were never on the best of terms, Tyrion was a man who lived by his words, not by a sword. Jaime couldn't help but stand in disbelief at the accusations against his brother.
"No," Bronn shook his head, his greasy strands falling into his face, "Oh, he hated that little twat, sure. But who didn't?" There was nothing more true ever spoken from the mouth of the sellsword. His own people had wanted him dead. It could have been anyone. "And poison's not his style. Or murder, for that matter. You want to know for sure, why don't you ask him?"
Vision dropping, Jaime's hand came to meet a vessel of wine. His fist gripped it firmly, tipping it with ease to fill each cup to the brim before offering one to Bronn. Jaime sipped from him silently, his guilt weighing over him heavily. Not once since the accusation had been made again Tyrion had Jaime been to see him. Not because he believed him to be guilty, but the demands of his wedding and Cersei's instant cries of her brother's crime weighing heavily on his shoulders. Jaime felt immense guilt of his own for rushing his wedding when it was so clear that his brother needed his aid. If it weren't for Tyrion, he would not have met his dear Julianna and now he was forced to celebrate without him.
"You haven't been to see him yet, eh?" Bronn spoke after a long sip of the sour wine. Jaime failed to respond. "Your brother ever tell you how I came into his service?" His tone was irritated now.
"You stood for him in his trial by combat at the Eyrie-"
"Aye, but only when Lady Arryn demanded the trial take place that day. You were his first choice. He named you for his champion because he knew you would ride day and night to come to fight for him? You gonna fight for him now?"
Bringing a hand up to his jaw, Jaime rubbed at the sharp angles slowly. If Jaime had received word to ride to the Eyrie he would have without a second thought, but things were different now. He was not the knight he once was. Instead, he was a single-handed Lord set to marry the love of his life. He had much more to lose than his own life now. Bringing the cup to his lips, he sipped the chalice dry before abandoning it on the desk by the door. With a final look towards the sellsword, Jaime took to the chambers of the Red Keep.
Ignoring each beckoning call of congratulations, Jaime pushed past each wedding guest who would be gathering in the Great Sept of Baelor in the coming hours. He did not stop to exchange pleasantries or accept condolences and only did his feet still when he stood toe to toe with the guards that stood at the exterior of his brother's cell. It took no convincing to gain entry, and his heart instantly sunk at the sight of his brother seated in the straw that blanketed the ground, his legs stretched out in front of him and his curls handing down into his eyes. Jaime's stomach curdled, his lips pressing into a firm line to hide the deep frown that threatened to take him. "To tell you the truth, this isn't so bad," he croaked, doing his best to force a smile for the sake of his brother, "four walls. A pot to piss in. I was chained to a wooden post covered in my own shit for months."
Carefully, Jaime lowered himself down on the ground across from his brother, his back leaning to find a semblance of comfort against the rough wooden support. He watched as his brother peered up at him through hair that shaded his eyes, his features worn and paling in the darkness of the cell.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Tyrion jeered, his beady mismatched eyes glaring through the shadows and towards his brother. The golden thread against the contrast of his dark red doublet made his stomach twist. Tyrion knew the very day it was. It should have been one full of ale and celebration. Instead, he continued to face persecution from the people he called family. Countless times his dear sister Cersei wished him dead, maybe now she would get her demand.
"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," the sincerity of Jamie's words brought a wince to Tyrion's tired features. It had been a long time since he had received any kind of compassion, even as minuscule as kind words. It was almost painful knowing Jaime felt remorse, it would have almost been better if he was cruel. Tyrion was as good as dead anyway.
"It's quite complicated, isn't it?" Tyrion's words came in a heavy sigh, "So, how is our sister?"
"How do you think?" Jaime's words were harsher than he had intended. The only person that had gone through more than Cersei was Lady Stark who was forced to watch the death of her son, his queen, and their unborn prince - and that was only to add to those she had lost already. Not even he had mange to upkeep her oath to her. The one that promised that the Stark girls would return to The North. Jaime had to bite his tongue, letting out a sigh as he continued to speak of the sister they shared and how she mourned. "Her son died in her arms-"
"Her son?" Tyrion's interjection came quickly, his thick brow coming to arch up eye on his forehead. For as long as Tyrion could remember, the relations between his siblings had been clear, and while many in the Kingdoms were blind to their longing gazes and golden-haired children Cersei bared. Tyrion was not as blind as their father, nor as stupid as Robert and yet he never could understand what Jaime had seen in their sister beyond his own reflection.
"Don't." Jaime cautioned, "You know what's coming."
"My trial for regicide. Yes, I know. I know the whole bloody country thinks I'm guilty. I know that one of the three judges has wished me dead more times that I can count, and that judge is m father." It was an agonizing thought. Tywin was one of the only people that was supposed to care for him unconditionally, but with the death of his dear Joanna Tywin seemed to be counting the days until Tyrion met his fate. "As for Cersei, well, she's probably working on ways to avoid a trial altogether by having me killed…" His words trailed slowly as his eyes met those of this brother. The light dimmed in Jaime's bright eyes if only for a moment, bringing an ache to Tyrion's chest. She had asked him. Tyrion could only hope that Jaime's allegiance to her had faded as his love for Julianna grew stronger. "So, I should turn around and close my eyes?"
"Depends," Jaime's words were slow, cautious, "did you do it?"
"The Kingslayer brothers. You like it?" Tyrion found himself laughing at the satire of it all. "I like it. You're really asking if I killed your son?"
"Are you really asking if I would kill my brother?" It seemed like the only logical counter to Tyrion's words. Jaime never wanted to believe that his brother had a hand in the death of Joffrey, pressing firmly for a fair trial when their sister only demanded death. His head hanging low on his shoulders, Jaime carded a hand over his head where his golden locks used to hang. His hand clenched into a fist at the nape of his neck, a sigh shaking his body. "Joffrey was as much my son as yours," he pointed out gently. It may have been him who planted the seed, but he did not reap it. While his heart ached for the loss of their kin, the boy had been a tyrant and Tommen was much more fit to rule - or at the very least was much more impressionable. "Since the day you were born, everyone saw you as a monster. You killed their mother. You killed their wife, their Lady - but you were nothing more than a baby. An innocent child. My brother. Growing up we couldn't have been more different-"
"The pretty one and the clever one," Tyrion interjected, lighting up Jaime's features with a smile.
"That's right," he nodded slowly, "you always backed me in tournaments, and had gifted me the woman I have come to love when you thought it would be nothing more than something to laugh at later. I could have lost her when I was taken captive by the Stark boy… could have come back to find her fucked by every man in King's Landing, but no. You didn't let that happen. You kept her safe, for me. I marry her today… You were supposed to be there to celebrate with me-"
"Well, you could set me free," Tyrion jested, his words hopefully. Even if Jaime could let him go, there would be no celebrating. Their father would have him killed on sight, and Tyrion would have to live a life on the run - and life on the run was no life for a dwarf.
"You know I can't," Jaime frowned deeply, pushing up off the ground to fall into a pace around the cell. He wanted nothing more than to help his brother, but there was little he could do for him. Acting against his father and sister brought great risk and would put more than himself in danger. He watched as his brother's face contorted with disappointment. Jaime's jaw slacked in disbelief, what exactly did Tyrion expect him to do? "What do you want me to do? Kill the guards? Sneak you out of the city in the back of a cart? I'm Lord of Casterly Rock!"
"I'm sorry, I'd forgotten. I'd hate for you to do something inappropriate." Tyrion's words were seeping with disappointment. When Jaime had honored his oath to the Kingsguard, Tyrion had asked for Casterly Rock only to be refused by his father. Then, he was promised Winterfell after taking Sansa Stark as his bride. Now, the only walls he would be seeing would be the four that confined him to his cell, the walls that framed the Iron Throne, and the exterior of the Red Keep before they took his head.
"Inappropriate?" Jaime's mouth was left agape, "You're accused of killing the king. Freeing you would be treason."
"Except, I didn't do it."
"Which is why we're having a trial."
"A trial." Tyrion scoffed, his head lulling back to gaze up at the grim ceiling. "If the killer thew himself before the Iron Throne, confessed to his crimes and gave irrefutable evidence of his guilt, it wouldn't matter to Cersei. She won't rest until my head's on a spike." This wouldn't be her first attempt on his life - Tyrion had the scars to prove it - and it wouldn't be the last if he somehow managed to survive.
"Not just yours," Jaime broke to him, "she's offering a knighthood to whoever finds Sansa Stark. Do you see why I cannot willingly intervene? If anyone is to find the Stark girl, it will be her head on a spike and I will do anything to assure that Julianna's head isn't resting alongside it."
Her dress wasn't one that would leave the ladies of the court envious of its beauty. No elegant bead-work decorated the gown, nor did it have a train of roses. The gown had no fancy cut-outs and was not too big nor too small. Julianna had fought to stay away from the virgin-white gown the dressmakers had tried to force her into, settling on a pale ivory fabric that rivaled the simplicity of a handmaiden's gown. Julianna knew better than anyone that she wasn't royalty, so why should she dress like it? Yet, she was to marry into the wealthiest and most powerful house in Westeros and she would have to learn to appease the Lannister's lavish tastes.
Bright eyes were lost in the reflection off of beaten silver. Her hands moved over the curves of her body, pressing the loose fabric of her gown against her body before letting it flutter away from her touch. Two delicate hands came to rest on her shoulders, the contact would have started Julianna if it weren't for the warped reflection of the petite figure behind her. Gazing back, she offered Rosamund a soft smile and welcomed the veil as its fastener was slipped into her hair. "It's beautiful," she whispered, a hand raising to trace over the rubies imported from the Summer Isles, and the gold was said to be mined from the rocky shores of Casterly Rock. The elegance of the fastener was a stark contrast to her simplistic gown and still managed to compliment the gold thread entwined in her wedding gown. She couldn't help but smile as the young handmaiden's eyes lingered on the glistening gemstones. "Would you like to keep it?" she offered gently, "when the day is done it's yours if you would like it."
Rosamund's eyes dropped to the ground in an instant, her face overcome with the guilt that followed greed. The young Lannister hadn't been in Julianna's service long and had known her first as a few handmaidens who would share secrets in the gardens between sips of stolen wine. Rosemund had devoted herself to fulfilling every simple request with a smile. Julianna wasn't like any other lady she had served. Instead, Julianna was humbled and treated Rosamund as more of a friend than a servant. That didn't make it any easier to ignore the envy that stirred deep in her gut. There was nothing more Rosamund wanted than to marry a Lord that would gift her beautiful things from across the Seven Kingdoms and the Lands beyond the Narrow Sea. She could only pray to the gods that her time would come after watching Myrcella sail to Dorne with the promise to wed Prince Trystane Martell. Her prayers seemed to fall on deaf ears as the betrothals continued to bless those around her with the promise of Julianna to Jaime Lannister.
"I couldn't," Rosamund assured, her voice weak as delicate fingers straightened out the wedding gown to perfection. Her head shook as she worked nervously, only to glance up at her lady when she felt her lingering gaze on the back of her head. "It was a wedding gift m'lady, I couldn't-"
"From who?" Julianna's eyes narrowed. She had no mother to dote upon her no heirlooms to pass on and Jaime had never been one to force his wealth upon her.
"The queen, m'lady."
Her stomach dropped in an instant and eyes threatened to rain tears down her cheeks. Just what was Cersei trying to achieve now? For the days before Jaime's return Cersei couldn't seem to get enough of her, and now as Julianna was set to marry her dear brother she couldn't have been colder. An extravagant gift such as the gemstone encrusted fastener was far from expected - Julianna hadn't expected any gifts at all.
Taking Rosamund by the hand, she guided her to the pedestal with careful strides before seating her down upon it. Julianna knelt down before her, taking both hands in her own as she knelt down on the floor in front of her.
"Your dress-"
Julianna shook her head, silencing the young handmaiden without a word. "Rosamund," her words were gentle, "since the day I set foot in the Red Keep you have been nothing but kind to me. You helped me to my room, introduced me to Myrcella and her service before she left to Dorne, and remained a loyal friend when I was asked to serve Queen Cersei. Now, as you are my handmaiden and you help me into this gown I couldn't imagine having anyone else here by my side…" Her lips pressed together in a gentle hum as she thought for a moment, "like the sister I have always dreamed of! That is why, when this day is done I want to gift the fastener to you. As a thank you."
The murmurs behind the door of the Great Sept of Baelor sent her stomach aflutter. Ever since she was a little girl, Julianna had wanted to find love. To marry that man and birth him many children. When she had dreamed of it, she had wed a merchant's son or a farmer under the light of the moon by the sea. Her dreams had been tarnished when she had been sold to Petyr Baelish. No love was lost on a whore, that was until Julianna met Jaime. If she had been told the day she set eyes on him that they would be wed before the Faith of the Seven, she would have taken the words as lies. Yet, she stood bathed in ivory and gold with her heart thundering nervously in her chest. Today, she would become Lady Lannister. The world was a mere echo around her. Each ornate detail of the building that encompassed her and their guests, and each servant of both the Red Keep and the Gods was a blur. Julianna did not hear the approach of the squire Josmyn Peckledon or the nervous squeak that escaped the lips of her handmaiden as he offered her his arm to escort her to her seat inside the hall. Rosamund was quick to accept, her feet ready to fall in stride with the clamor of his boots only for the blonde to freeze. "M'Lady," Rosamund's words echoed inside Julianna's mind, "who is to walk you down the aisle?"
Julianna swallowed hard. With the aid of Tyrion, the court had been led to believe that she was the last living member of her house. While in reality, her father was a distant ride to the west with no knowledge of her betrothal to the Lord that would rule over their lands. To the best of his knowledge, she was being fucked by every man in King's Landing that was willing to pay for her and maybe even those unwilling as well. Her pink lips fell agape, no answer slipping through them as she did not have one to give. She had always imagined it would be Tyrion to give her away to Jaime, in a silent joke only the three of them would understand. Her heart ached deep in her chest at the thought of the stifled laugh Tyrion would have had as he walked alongside her. Yet, she stood alone. "I-" he word was a whisper, bright eyes looking through thick lashes and over the concerned features of her handmaiden. As her lips parted again to simply state she would take the walk alone, the gentle clamor of a woman's steps took the corridor and came to a stop at her side.
"Lady Julianna," with the gentle greeting came rattling armor of those who protected the speaker. Julianna didn't have to pull her eyes away from Rosamund to know that Queen Cersei had come to linger by her side. "You look absolutely breathtaking," Cersei's touch extended from her side, reaching up to trace over the golden curls of Julianna's hair. She stroked it slowly, draping a tendril over a slender shoulder before letting her eyes travel down the length of her gown. Her nose wrinkled at the sight. Such a horrendous color, though it was a great improvement from the rags Margaery had dawned on the day she had wed Joffrey. There were no roses or ruffles, nor were there any whoreish cutouts that left her skin exposed. Julianna looked to be a proper lady if only the dress had been white. "We best not keep everyone waiting-"
"What?" Julianna had to bite her tongue, her eyes going wide at the Queen's words and he mouth becoming dry as she was offered her arm.
Cersei quirked a brow, the corners of her lips curling up into a coy grin at the girl's shock. "Seems quite fitting doesn't it, that I give you away. With your time in my service we were a kind of family, wouldn't you say?" It would have only been a matter of time before Cersei would have claimed her as her own. Such an impressionable girl, so naive and eager to please, she would have been a pleasure to devour. Jaime had to come crawling back a shell of the man he was before. The tortures of war taking more than just his hand, Cersei was furious. Not only was she losing her handmaiden, she was losing her brother. That was if she chose not to interfere. "I could only imagine what it must have felt like. Meeting my brother and so quickly having him ask for your hand. You must have made quite an impression on him that day to have him revoking his vows-"
"I did only as I was told, M'Queen," Julianna pressed her lips into a firm line, her eyes moving forward gaze out into the sept, the crowd, and her knight just out of view as Rosamund and the lanky squire to disappeared among them. Eyes shutting, Julianna hesitantly took Cersei's arm. This would be the last time she would have to endure Cersei. One final walk together across the Sept and into the arms of her knight.
"And it has made you Lady of Casterly Rock," Cersei chuckled to herself, drawing Julianna to her side with the gentle tug of her arm. Craning over, Cersei's lips dragged against the shell of Julianna's ear, "tonight, when it comes to consummate your joining and my brother it between your legs remember what I told you and if you find that your needs have yet to be fulfilled," or if her brother was left unsatisfied, "my chamber door will be open."
With her stomach twisting in knots, Julianna swallowed hard and fought back the words that tingled at the tip of her tongue. This was her day, and she refused to let Cersei ruin it for her. She refused to meet her gaze, or entertain her with the idea that anyone would be joining her during the hour of the wolf. Her hand flexed around Cersei's arm, her lips parting to let out a careful breath, "we best not keep everyone waiting."
With a careful stride, Julianna stepped through the stone archway and descended into the great sept. The crowd that had gathered for them was grand, though nowhere as big as those who were in attendance for the joining of Margaery of King Joffrey. With the murder of the king, some chose to take the weary travel home, others continued to mourn in their own ways - in taverns or brothels - the remainder gathered for the Kingslayer and his bride. Julianna didn't gaze out to see their faces, most were that of strangers keen on catching a glimpse of the Westerling girl they knew little of. Cersei seemed to disappear from her arm as he steps carried her down the aisle. Julianna seemed to float towards the altar with her eyes fixated on the knight that awaited her. Jaime was her golden lion, dressed in the colors of his house and his features set in what seemed to be a scowl. It reminded her of the night she met him. The stubborn knight who desperately wanted to refuse her, to uphold his honor, only to crumble under the temptations of lust. That was until their bright eyes met. She could see the smile in his eyes, even if the corner of his lips failed to raise.
Jaime had been adamant about wedding Julianna, but for years he had refused his father's pleading to leave the kingsguard and reign as Lord of Casterly Rock - while he was happy, he still had a role to play. There was nothing more that he wanted was to let his lips split into a grin for all to see, bought he fought it, though as his bride grew closer with each gentle stride he found himself in a losing battle. Impatience carried Jaime down the steps he had been elevated on, meeting his sister and his bride. It was when he stole Julianna from his sister's arm, that Jaime finally let the smile take his features. There was nothing more satisfying than taking his bride off her arm. With a quick glance at his father, he found that he mirrored his pride, Tywin standing tall with a ghost of a smile on his lips. Since the death of his mother, Jaime couldn't remember a time he had seen this father this close to smiling, but how could he not? With their joining, his legacy would live on through them.
They exchanged no words, only glances as Jaime guided Julianna up the steps to stand before the High Septon. "You man now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." For many years before had hung from his shoulders. The white cloak of the kingsguard had been a symbol of his loyalty to the crown would now be a declaration of his love. Before the Faith, he would swear on his honor to love and protect Julianna and the children she birthed him. He would do his duties as a lord and as her husband until the day he died. Jaime would lay with no other woman and father no bastard children. He would devote himself to his Julianna for now and forever. He draped the white cloak over her slender shoulders, the fabric consuming her petite frame and marking the beginning of their lives together.
"My Lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of the gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." The High Septon presented the couple with a gray ribbon and tied it loosely around their hands. "Let it be known that Julianna of the House Westerling and Ser Jaime of the House Lannister are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." With a single tug at the ribbon, it fell loose from their hands and tumbled into the book of faith in the hands of the High Septon. "Look upon each other and say the words."
Jaime turned from facing the High Septon, his hand guiding Julianna to do the same. He frowned inwardly as they joined hands, with one set their fingers intertwined, and the other her delicate tough simple rested over where his sword hand once was. Her smile matched his now, tears welling up in her innocent eyes. Together they spoke;
"Father."
"Smith."
"Warrior."
"Mother."
"Maiden."
"Crone."
"Stranger."
"I am hers and she is mine-" - "I am his and he is mine-"
"From this day, until the end of my days."
Their words were a proclamation to all those in attendance, but Jaime's final words dropped into what was almost a whisper. His words enduring, and reaching only those who stood in the first rows of the Sept. "With this kiss, I pledge my love." For the first time, there was no longer a reason to hide. There would be no more secret trysts in the garden to steal a kiss. She would no longer have to wear the heavy hood of a cloak to shadow her face as she snuck into White Sword Tower to lay in his bed. For she was now Julianna Lannister, and all would know it. Stealing the air between them, Jaime pressed his lips firmly upon that of his lover and could only hope that to all those who watched on that it appeared to be the first time.
