Having no further interest in the tournament or the melee and archery which followed the jousting, Rhaena gracefully declined the invitation to return to the tourney grounds and instead chose to enjoy a rather empty and quiet castle. The king loved the melee even more than the jousting, though according to rumour it was suggested that Robert wished to participate in the melee himself. The thought caused Rhaena to snort, attempting to imagine how Robert would ever fit his oversized belly into his old armour. Perhaps once he had been handsome and brutishly strong, built like an aurochs, but no longer. Even in her sharp memory she recalled a little of what Robert had looked like before kingship had overtaken his body and he no longer kept himself in good shape. Wine and whoring had done him in, and it satisfied Rhaena's pettiness that he should suffer humiliation to be so ruined. It was just as he deserved, in her view.

But none of that was her concern for now. At this present moment, Rhaena basked in the quiet and peace. Although noise drifted from the tourney fields, she could pay them no heed as she walked with a book in hand to find a pretty place in order to sit and read quietly in one of the many hiding places she had found over the years. The queen was keeping to her own chambers, the servants told her, so she did not need to worry of crossing paths with her, and everyone else was watching the final tournaments. Rhaena was almost entirely alone for the first time in years, and so she intended to lavish in the feeling. Having decided upon which spot she would go to in order to read, where she had a good view of the gardens from a tall alcove in one of the smaller tower rooms, Rhaena set out in order to make her way there. What she did not expect to find, however, was Ser Jaime Lannister drinking deeply into his wine cups. At first she had not known him to be there, opening the door and freely walking inside with her head bowed already into her book, however upon looking up, her eyes had settled upon his golden hair as he drank, white enamel armour bright from a fresh polish. She froze in place as deep emerald eyes settled upon her.

For a moment the Kingslayer said nothing, merely watched the scrap of a girl stare at him with an expression caught between fear and annoyance. It amused him. Most things amused him, however, he was not a serious person by any means, so it should not have come as a surprise that the little dragon was often a source of amusement for him, pitiful as she was. "I see I am not the only one who comes here to escape." He finally spoke, curious to see how the girl would react. More often than not, whenever their paths had crossed before, the little dragon would squeak like a mouse and run away from him. He did not blame her, after all his sister was one of the sources of her suffering. "Care to join me for a drink?" Extending the goblet of wine to her, Rhaena remained frozen in place, still clutching at the book in her hand. At least she was not running away, Jaime mused to himself, remaining still for a moment longer before withdrawing his offer and draining the wine himself. "Suit yourself. It is most likely too strong for a little child such as yourself." Now her brow quirked in further irritation at being called a child. Jaime smirked further. It was always too easy to discover what would irk a person, and too tempting not to pick at it. "Lost your tongue, did you? Ser Ilyn must have finally gotten hold of you, in that case."

"My tongue remains my own, ser." She finally spoke with her sharp eyes glaring at him, flickering between him and the high alcove of the window which made a fine perch for someone as small as her. Jaime glanced to it and realised she had come here to read in that very spot, but since he had arrived first he had no intention of moving. "Forgive my intrusion, I shall leave you now. By your leave." Inclining her head gracefully, Rhaena began to retreat backwards towards the door. He could have let her leave, but Jaime was bored and still sore from his latest argument with his beloved sister. They argued a great deal of late, and it had soured his temper a great deal. Now that the little dragon had presented herself like a tempting morsel upon a plate, Jaime found he could not resist the temptation to pick at her.

"I do not give my leave, stay if you must. Perhaps we might keep one another company," he suggested though Rhaena immediately made a sour face in response, earning a light laugh from the knight who could not resist mocking her. "Or do you perhaps have pressing matters that must be attended to? I cannot think what they might be, seeing as you are here and everyone else attends the tourney. Unless you intend to use this time to plot treason and rebellion?" His eyes flashed mischievously as Rhaena shifted uncomfortably, considering simply bolting for the door. "What shall I tell my dear sister of such wicked thoughts? If you desire my silence on the matter, then perhaps you had best do as you are told."

"I have no such thoughts, ser."

"Ah, but who will my sister believe? Her beloved twin brother…or a little gutter rat who has no place in the world?" Knowing that this was true, Rhaena remained rooted to the floor. She did not think it beyond the Kingslayer's capability to lie to his sister and paint a picture of plots and treason to Cersei who would gladly take it as an opportunity to have Rhaena flogged or even beheaded directly, with or without Lord Eddard's protection. "Come, sit with me for a while and perhaps I shall not mention such treacherous intentions to my dear sister." Seeing no other option but to humour him for a little while, Rhaena cautiously approached but did not put herself within arm's reach of the disgraced knight, perching herself delicately upon one of the seats as she watched him closely. Tossing her a grin, Jaime poured himself another full cup of wine, aware of her eyes watching him. Rhaena had known the Kingslayer long enough to know that when he drank in this manner, it was because he had argued with the queen over something. This time, she expected it was because he had lost the Hand's tourney, having been unhorsed by the Hound. Since the queen always bet upon her brother, Rhaena imagined their argument stemmed from the loss she had suffered after he had been defeated by the Hound.

Uncertain of his intentions, Rhaena removed her gaze from him but ensured to keep his movements in her periphery even as she opened her book in order to read, though she could not entirely focus upon the words whilst in the same room as Jaime Lannister. She never knew what to make of him, as he could be as unpredictable as a wild boar. It was yet unclear to Rhaena whether or not the man ever intended her harm. Thus far, he had done nothing directly to her. The most hurt he had ever inflicted had been merely through the use of his words, and it had been a long while since verbal insults had affected her. Unbeknown to Rhaena, Jaime Lannister was part of the reason Rhaena was still breathing. Many a time had he soothed his sister's temper when she wanted nothing more than to slit the girl's throat in her sleep, convinced that she remained a threat to her children's throne, wanting to remove her from the game. Jaime would whisper sweet things into his sister's ear and distract her by some means, assuring her that Rhaena Targaryen was about as threatening as a mouse with no power, no following and no wealth of her own to ever amount to anything more than a servant. He would then take his sister's mind away from the girl in some manner, often leading to a session of rather heated and passionate fucking, but that was nothing to complain about.

For some time Jaime had watched over the little dragon in his own way, reasoning to himself that it was simply because he owed the girl at least a little seeing as he had murdered her father. The least he could do was try to ensure that she survived at least a while longer. He could do nothing for her directly or outwardly, but sometimes Jaime was good with subtlety and could either manoeuvre others to shield her in his stead or remove a threat before it had found the unwitting girl. She had a good head on her shoulders at the least so she was not stupid. She knew when to run and hide, and who to run to. Whenever his sister's temper had ridden high, or even that of the king's, Rhaena would vanish and be gone for hours, sometimes even days at a time. Jaime would look, but never very hard. It was better the longer she stayed out of sight. Looking at her now, though, Jaime felt a near constant twinge of guilt strike against him. Small as she was for her age, he was glad to at least see the little dragon was beginning to fill out her form. Her cheeks were no longer hollow and her jawline not as sharp. Although her gowns were hitched in, it did not seem that her arms were as bony or her ribs as protruding. There was some meat on her now and gradually it was continuing to plump her figure so that she no longer walked around like a skeleton. Truth be told, Jaime hated the way she had been treated. No one deserved what she had been put through and some of the horrors had torn desperately at his conscience, especially the time the king had hunted her for sport. Had Ser Aerys not taken her away after the horrific affair, Jaime thought he might have done something there and then. He had killed one king, what difference would one more make? Perhaps worse still was how his sister had treated her.

Dear, sweet Cersei. Not as sweet as she would have everyone believe. It had been cruel what she had done to the child, taking her in and acting like a mother to the desperate child all for the sake of irking the king until he no longer cared, whereby she had then tossed the child aside like useless waste. He recalled finding the girl sobbing sometime after on the nameday her sister had made a gift of the girl's wetnurse to her, the cruellest act by far. His heart had been wrought with pity, but still he could not bring himself to show her kindness. Better she learned not to love or trust anyone, and so harsh as his words had been, Jaime had told her of his sister's plot so that she would at least know the truth, that Cersei had never loved her and never would. Seeing the pure desperation and grief in the child's eyes, Jaime had almost broken his defences in order to take the little creature into his arms to console her, but had somehow managed to retain his composure. From that moment forward, he could tell that Rhaena had sworn hatred for his sister for all time and eternity. He could not blame her. She most likely hated him too. It would not be unexpected. The little dragon had no reason to love him after all he had done. In some ways, she was in this position because he had betrayed his oath to protect his king. Guilt caused him to be cruel, and still he could not stop his tongue from its sardonic japes. "What a sad little creature you are. How long do you think it will be until Lord Eddard turns on you? More or less time than it took for you to realise my sister's true colours?"

"I will not compare Lord Eddard Stark to the likes of the queen, Ser Jaime," she returned coldly, not once lifting her eyes from her book though Jaime could tell she was not reading it. "If you intend to do nothing other than mock me, then I shall take my leave."

"But you forget, I have not permitted you to go." Slamming her book closed, Rhaena turned a look upon Jaime which sent a thrill through him whenever he succeeded in pushing someone to the brink of their rage. For Rhaena it was far too easy. Despite her cautiousness and aloofness, she was exceedingly sensitive to certain things. Jaime argued to himself that this was for her own benefit. If she could control her temper with one as irritating as himself then she would do well against anyone else. In any case, he always enjoyed whenever Rhaena summoned the courage to snap at him. She always gave a rather vigorous scolding whenever he vexed her to such a degree to warrant the lashing of her tongue. In some twisted manner, Jaime rather enjoyed it.

"And what, pray tell, indicates that I require your leave to do as I will?" Rising to her feet, Rhaena began to take her leave with several long strides across the room, aiming for the door. Jaime was on his feet before he realised what he was doing, the wine having gone straight to his head. He was behind her in an instant, his own legs carrying him swifter than her own so that as she pulled upon the door his palm crashed against it so that it shut sharply with a loud clang, causing Rhaena to jump and immediately retreat back from him with a spark of panic in her eyes. Her lovely violet eyes. Only then did his actions become apparent to Jaime as he swayed slightly, blinking heavily against the drink as Rhaena all but shrank away from him. She was afraid. Perhaps he should be. After all, he was the reason she had no father, and he wore the same cloak and armour as those who had beaten her before, sometimes to the point of drawing blood. On that count, Jaime could at least claim he had never soiled his cloak with her pain. Only he and Ser Barristan could claim that honour, for both the king and queen knew better than to command Ser Barristan to do harm to the girl, and Jaime had flatly refused when his sister had once demanded he break her fingers for a theft she did not commit. A heated argument had followed, one that had not been remedied with a tumble. Cersei had refused to speak to him for weeks thereafter. He had suffered his beloved sister's silence for this girl, yet still she cowered before him. What right had she to be afraid? What right? "Do you fear me, girl?" He demanded of her as his own voice slurred and her image blurred a little until he was able to clear his head a little. Rhaena continued to stare at him. "I asked you a question, or have you suddenly become mute? I asked whether or not you feared me?"

"Y-yes…a little." Admitting the truth quietly, Rhaena continued to stare at him warily. "But not as much as others." Hearing her words, Jaime gave a dry laugh.

"You should be thanking me, you know. I am not my dear brothers who wear the same cloak as I. Have I ever hurt you? Have I ever held you down as you were whipped? Have I ever dragged you to the black cells to leave you to rot for days on end? Was I ever the one to hunt you down and drag you before the king or queen when their tempers raged?" Mad, completely mad. Rhaena could see that all sense had vanished from Ser Jaime Lannister, and now all he spoke was nonsense. Yet still, there was an element of truth in his words. He had not ever been the one to harm her physically, had even refused several times to obey a command to do so, but still, she could not trust him. He was a Lannister. He was her brother. Together they were as thick as thieves, and Rhaena was not yet convinced that he was not part of some elaborate plot to ensnare her in some heinous falsehood that would end with her head upon the chopping block. "I recall…once you ran to me. You ran to me for safety…for protection. You were so little; your hair did not even fall past your ears…yet you ran to me with tears in your eyes and clung to me whilst begging for my help. Some kitchen whelps had cornered you; I think. You were covered in slops, quite stinking, but they were hounding you and would not let you alone. Do you remember? Do you remember what I did?" Remaining still and silent, Rhaena refused to validate Ser Jaime's words, but the drink had long since overcome his senses and he told her regardless of her silence. "I lifted you up into my arms and wrapped you in my cloak, and I carried you away from those whelps after I had scared them off with my sword, telling them to scurry back to their pots and their pans." Rhaena did remember. She recalled the feel of Ser Jaime's cloak wrapped around her, the coldness of his breastplate against her cheek and the secureness of his arm around her. "So tell me, little dragon, what right have you to fear me?"

"Do you think one or two acts of chivalry excuse you from all other times I required your knight's honour?" Speaking slowly and clearly, Rhaena held herself upright whilst looking Ser Jaime directly in the eye, growing bold and courageous as he blinked at her a little stupidly. "Where were you when they lashed me? Where were you when they threw me to their hunting dogs? Where were you when I was starved and thrown into prison cells for no reason other than being born with my own blood? Where were you when I was forced to play the part of a fool at feasts, to be made a mockery of and endure the brunt of cruel jokes and pranks? Where were you when they used me for sport or entertainment? Where was your knight's honour then, ser?" Bitterness laced her tongue as she glowered at him and once more Jaime felt the shame of his incompetence and inadequacy slash at his own heartstrings. She spoke true, and he knew it, but still, it did not curb his anger. As his temper spiked, he reached out to her in order to grasp her arms, holding her tightly and thinking to shake her, perhaps to knock her head against something to see if it might strike some better sense into her, but even as his fingers closed around the frail arms which were still underdeveloped, he froze. Her eyes remained fixated upon him, and this time, she had not flinched. Wine permeated his breath as it blew against Rhaena's face, hot and heavy as he seethed, but where she should have found anger and rage in his eyes, she saw only pain. It was always part of the reason Rhaena always felt conflicted in her attitude towards Ser Jaime. Where in others she saw their hatred and loathing of her, as well as the pleasure they took in her suffering, it was never present in Jaime Lannister. If anything, she only ever saw pity, and sometimes such as now, the internal struggle he carried within him. He carried his own hurts upon his heart, though Rhaena did not know what they were. They were Ser Jaime's closest guarded secret, revealed only in moments such as this, and even then, only fleetingly.

Almost as soon as he had grasped hold of her his grasp slackened and he exhaled heavily, perhaps even feeling ashamed of himself as his hands slid weakly down her arms before falling away completely, leaning against the door heavily as he pressed his eyes closed, hunched and looking a great deal smaller than usual. Although Rhaena could not forgive Ser Jaime for being an oath-breaker, she could not bring herself to hate him entirely. In fact, in some ways she pitied him as he did her. It was a queer situation they found themselves in, and so Rhaena accepted that perhaps life was not easy for even the firstborn son of the richest man in all of Westeros. Lifting her hand upwards, Rhaena touched her palm lightly against Ser Jaime's cheek and gradually allowed her fingers to rest against him. For a moment Ser Jaime did not move other than to lean slightly into the touch before his eyes opened and, seemingly quite unfocused, looked upon her. He had not expected her touch, nor could he determine what it meant. His head was too full of wine to think properly now, and thinking had never been his strong suit. That was his brother's area of expertise, yet Jaime could not deny that he felt a little satisfied to receive an almost tender touch from the little dragon. It was almost kindness. Perhaps it was simply understanding. "I fear you because I must, Ser Jaime. You are my enemy, nothing can help that, but I do not hate you, if it eases your conscience any to know this." Her words were gently spoken, rich and smooth like the finest wine which went straight to the head. Perhaps it was a good thing the girl was so scrawny and unappealing to look at presently. Were she healthy and fully flowered, his sister would want her dead all the more, for her voice alone would be enough to seduce a man.

In truth, her words did alleviate a little of the guilt within him, strange as it might be to say so. He did not admit this aloud, but accepted the effect of her words with even a little gratitude. Nodding his head once with understanding, Jaime delicately removed her hand from his face then stepped aside so that he might pull the door open for her, curtly telling her to go. He wanted to be alone with his wine now, and Rhaena did not hesitate to scurry away like the little mouse she was. Once she was gone, Jaime closed the door firmly behind her then sank back against it, exhaling deeply as he closed his eyes once more. Too much wine…and yet not enough. Life was unfairly complicated and far too harsh to contend with entirely sober. Perhaps Robert had the right idea of it. Drink until one could no longer remember their own burdens and woes. Breathing deeply once again, Jaime returned to his wine and drank deeply, praying that he would soon forget the guilt which burdened his own mind, long as it had plagued him.