Alys

She'd never been kissed before.

And, in truth, she'd never really thought about it either. In the past it had sat with the same resigned feelings she'd once had about marriage that it was something that would inevitably occur and that she felt neither here nor there about. It would happen and all she'd wondered or hoped for before was that it would be pleasant.

But when Jaime's hand rested on her cheek, when he'd leant in and she could feel the brush of his breath against her lips, she'd wanted to be kissed more than she'd ever wanted it before.

Lyanna had been kissed, well before Rhaegar or Robert even. Alys can remember the day easily, some lords had been visiting Winterfell and their father threw a feast that evening. Alys had spent most of the evening with either her father or alongside one of her siblings. Lyanna on the other hand had snuck off at some point with a bottle of wine and one of the lords youngest squires.

Alys had worried over her sister the latter half of the night. And after she'd retired to bed had fussed for some time over whether or not to get up and go look for her to be sure she was keeping out of trouble.

But then her sister had burst into their room, a near finished bottle of wine still in her hand, and jumped upon the bed with laughter bubbling up out of her. She'd flopped down beside Alys and smiled wide and bright at the ceiling, giggling every time Alys asked after what had gotten her mood so high. Eventually, Lyanna's giggling ceased and she delved into whispers telling Alys all about kissing the squire out in the stables.

Alys had smiled, and laughed, and enjoyed her sisters excitement. But she hadn't even in that moment wondered when she'd get the opportunity to feel so light from a kiss.

She felt it now though. As her words settled in the thin stretch of air between Jaime and her, she felt like the air itself and as light as her sisters laughter that night so many, many, nights ago. It made her long for her sister, deep within, long for the opportunity to jump into Lya's bed and curl up against her and whisper between laughter about the boy she had kissed.

That longing rings with grief, but it floats away light as air as Jaime's thumb traces her cheekbone and she's grounded by him in peace and warmth.

Jaime is looking at her, his eyes searching hers and a look of content understanding draped over his features. He's looking the most assured she's seen him since the day of the Sack, looking more like the confident man he was. He smiled at her, and she couldn't help the bit of a laugh that escaped her. He seems to consider his next words as his thumb continues tracing back and forth over her cheek.

"Can I…" he starts but is interrupted.

"Alys?" Ned's voice calls, and Alys blinks, turning her head and looking in the direction of it.

A small fraction of relief sits in her when she can't see him immediately, and she steps just a small step back from Jaime. He sighs with it, disappointment clear to its tone, and his hand drops to his side.

Ned appears then, coming down some steps not far from the balcony Jaime and her were on and he watches the pair of them with wariness and a thin stretch of stoney hostility. But that was not new, it was a familiar face from anytime that Ned saw Jaime and her together.

"I've come to walk you back to your room," Ned tells her, his gaze locked upon her and pointedly avoiding Jaime, "the festivities are all but done for the night, and I'm sure you're more than eager to check on Jon."

"If you were wishing to enjoy the last bit of the feast, Lord Stark," Jaime spoke up from beside Alys, "I'd be more than glad to escort Alys back."

Ned's gaze turned now to Jaime fully, and the glower to it deepened. "That will be unnecessary and unwanted Ser Jaime."

Jaime met Ned's glower with equal disdain, his jaw tightened and a sharp look to the green of his eyes. "Perhaps by you."

Ned started to step forward when Alys reached out and pressed a hand on Jaime's arm, his gaze flicked back to her and softened marginally. "Thank you, Jaime, for the offer," she says softly, not wanting any further arguing or posturing. "I should walk back with my brother. But I'll see you at the tourney in the morning."

Jaime looked at her, his eyes flicking to Ned and back before he sighed and straightened. He gave a light inclination of his head, "of course." He says, "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow." His voice, at least at the end, was softer and sweeter. And before he turned to leave he pressed a gentle hand over where Alys's still rested, and looked at her much the way he had when he'd kissed her.

And Alys wishes, more than slightly, that she'd disregarded her brother and let Jaime walk her back to her room.

They leave Jaime stood alone on the balcony, and walk slowly in the quiet of the late evening all they way back to the Maiden Vault. Ned doesn't look much at her, but she feels the weight of his attention all the same.

She wonders, faintly, if perhaps he had seen her and Jaime's kiss.

She hopes, for a few reasons, that he hadn't.

Evidently, as life has more than proved at this point if she were one to give into a fatalistic view, her hopes are for naught.

"You need to keep your distance from the Kingslayer." Ned says it bluntly and cold as they enter her room. Elia and Rhaenys have retired to their own rooms and the nursery door is shut indicating Jon is likely still asleep. Wylla could be in her room next door or perhaps in the nursery, but otherwise the two Stark siblings are alone.

"He's my friend." Alys says. And more perhaps.

"He is not a friend you need, nor you should want."

"You don't decide that for me," Alys says, feeling a flare of the same earlier anger she'd felt when she and Ned had been walking to the wedding that afternoon. "And incidentally I know him far better than you."

"I could see that," Ned remarks, harsh and hard and it makes Alys frown fiercely. "And you're lucky I was the only one to see it."

Alys steps away, turning and walking towards the hearth that was not even lit. "I won't apologize for it." Her words are softer than their meaning.

"It can't happen again." Ned states, stepping closer towards her.

"And why not?" She asks, glancing over her shoulder to him. His face is stone, but Alys knows her brother as she's always known all her siblings. He's angry, and confused, and determined. Not likely to bend.

"Besides who he is and what he's done?" Ned starts, "it's dangerous. Rumors already circulate regarding you and him."

"Rumors will circulate regardless," Alys groaned, "that's a factor of court, of the south."

"And this will only inflame them," Ned tells her, "it will prolong them, put focus on Jon and his parentage…"

"Jon will be fine," Alys says, though she feels a ball of worry fall into place in her stomach. "Rumors have been circulating regarding his potential fathers since we arrived. It will likely continue for the rest of his life, and the only thing we can hope for is that it wanes once he's out of sight of the majority of the lords and ladies and more interesting gossip surfaces for them to focus on."

Ned sighs, long and exasperated and reminding Alys of their father when his children were being difficult. "The gossip now is loose enough, with little basis to go off of. But if something more certain is brought to life like a relationship between you and Jaime Lannister then people will look deeper. And some may demand answers you can't give."

Alys quiets, and looks into the ashes of the hearth. The worry in her stomach twists, and Ned continues to twist it. "I doubt Lord Tywin would let such a rumor pass without inquiry. Especially if it offered him some route to relieving Jaime from his oath to the Kingsguard." Ned's hand rests on Alys's shoulder, tight and heavy and grounding her in an entirely less favorable way than Jaime had earlier. "That inquiry we can not have, not without consequences."

Alys shuts her eyes, letting a slow breath release and feeling the worry and weight settle through her. She hadn't thought of any of that, and as much as she wanted to tell Ned he was wrong, and that it wouldn't matter. She knew he was right, at least in his assessment of the risks.

She wasn't blind, or deaf for the matter of hearing what gossip was spreading most surrounding Jon. And she knew, especially from the looks and whispers that came every moment she spent time him, that Jaime was the front runner in those rumors. And Ned was right, those rumors were just rumors based on a known friendship between her and him since her time as a hostage. But if they were to have some more basis in romantic confirmation people would begin to believe it to be less fun gossip and more possible truth. The best thing would be to keep space between her and him, to at the least not entertain any romantic feelings that had formed, and at the most to avoid him entirely.

But she cared for him, more than she could say. The kiss had only proven that to her. And she couldn't help but think of that evening in Sunspear when Elia had asked her to consider what she'd be giving up by claiming Jon.

And Alys still believed in the answer she'd come to that night, in choosing Jon and being his mother when Lyanna can not.

But when she'd made that choice she hadn't truly believed that Jaime would ever be a possibility.

Now… now she was torn and feeling lost.

But she'd already made her choice, and like she could not regret kissing Jaime she will not regret choosing Jon.

"I know Ned," she finally says, her eyes opening and staring at the still empty hearth. "I will be careful, and not… and not feed anything into the rumors." It hurts, and she wishes for it to be another way.

Ned's hand squeezes, and he sighs with something near relief. "Perhaps," he says, "you should return North ahead of me. To avoid any risks."

"No," Alys shakes her head. "I will leave when you do."

Ned looks like he'll argue further, or perhaps put his foot down, but she looks at him then and her look is enough to quiet him for now. He nods, and sighs again with more exhaustion than relief.

And with quiet goodnights he departs, leaving her stood staring in an empty hearth and wrestling with the torn feelings warring within her.

Jaime

The last night he had a restful bit of sleep was the night before the Sack of Kings Landing.

Him and Alys had walked from the sandy beach that they'd spent the evening splashing about in with sand still on their legs and clothes, Alys's hair was wet on the ends and her dress had dragged water inside behind it. But even in the discomfort of water logged clothes Alys had smiled most of the way back to her room.

He'd waited with his back turned while she changed into her nightclothes and then once she'd told him he'd turned back around just as she was crawling into the bed.

He hadn't hesitated climbing in beside her.

And now he felt rather like an idiot for not realizing at that time what he felt for her.

Perhaps if he had kissed her that dusk by the water or that night in her bed she would have brought him with her south when she left. Perhaps she wouldn't be bound by a bastard now. Perhaps he'd be sharing her bed once again and getting nights of blissful rest that he's missed since that last night he laid beside her with the smell of salt water in the room.

He doesn't sleep entirely restful the night after the wedding, but it's certainly the best sleep he's gotten in months.

He wakes early enough that the sun has only just started to rise, and he lays in the bed for several more long moments. He's stirred eventually by the sound of the rest of the keep waking and setting forth on the day, and he glances out the window of his room to see clouds looming but ultimately no rain to stop the tourney from proceeding.

The tourney, where Cersei expects him to kneel before Robert and don a white cloak and secure his future in her company. A future watching her and Robert together, a future of stolen kisses and moments and useless vows he's already broken. A future he's not so certain he wants to swear himself into anymore.

You could find your own path. Alys had told him that, before she'd asked him what he wanted and he'd answered with his lips on hers.

Was that it? He sits up in bed, and runs a hand over his face. Alys. Was she his path?

The door opens and Jaime spots his brother making his way in without so much as a knock. "What are you still doing in bed?" Tyrion questions. "I would have expected you up and hitting straw-men with your sword by now."

"And so you come to my room to what, rifle through my letters and belongings?"

"As if you have any letters brother," Tyrion laughs, "you hate writing them. And even if you didn't all the people you'd bother writing are here with you." He moves and sits at the desk that is as Tyrion jokes devoid of any letters. "I came to question whether you were still intending on riding the joust today. I need to know whether to hedge my bets or not."

"Father is letting you make bets now?" Jaime asks, standing fully from bed now and moving to start dressing for the day.

"Well I won a fair amount in a bet I made at tourney in Lannisport thus I suppose father's decided it's a worthy enough allowance." Tyrion simply shrugs. Then his gaze focuses more upon Jaime, "so, will you be riding the joust?"

Jaime thinks upon it, and nods. "Wouldn't do to have the people of Kings Landing think I've lost my skill in my months of inactivity."

"The Kingslayer winning the joust of the new king would certainly be quite the talk." Tyrion jokes and Jaime keeps the scowl from his face at the title coming from his brothers mouth simply by imagining the victory itself.

"Any idea on who you'll crown when you win?" Tyrion asks, clearly fishing for an answer.

And Jaime learnt the answer the night before, and can still feel the warmth of her lips and even though it's been months can imagine the smell of salt from a dusk spent in the water together.

Despite the clouds hanging in the sky there wasn't much threat of rain, and the nobles of Kings Landing certainly didn't act as though it weren't a sunny and warm day. Jaime walks with Tyrion through the nobles milling about the tourney yard and finds his way to the tent where his armor and lance wait for him, searching amongst the faces for Alys the whole way along.

He finally finds her off a bit from the lists, stood with Rhaenys and Ser Barristan. The older knight and new commander of the Kingsguard kneels in front of the former princess of the Seven Kingdoms and talks with her as she shows off some ribbons she's got in her hands.

Jaime walks up to them all, watching as Rhaenys holds out the bit of ribbon to Barristan and he takes it lightly with a smile. He bows and makes his departure before Jaime fully reaches them, the new Lord Commander had been avoiding his former brother in arms since his return the the capital and Jaime wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or grateful.

Rhaenys catches sight of Jaime and her smile widens, "mama said knights ride with ribbons." She holds out another of the little ribbons in her grasp.

Jaime raises a brow and looks to Alys whose smiling warmly towards the little girl before looking to Jaime and explaining in more adult understanding way. "Elia told Rhaenys about the tradition of knights riding with a ladies favor in a tourney." Alys runs a gentle hand over Rhaenys's head, earning a quick turn of the little girls head as she looked up at Alys and then back to Jaime with the ribbon still extended. "She decided then that she wanted to hand out some favors."

"Uncle Oberyn took one, and Ser Barristan." Rhaenys says, "here!" She shakes the ribbon some more his way and after he glances at Alys who is smiling encouragingly he can't not take the bit of orange ribbon that is offered.

Jaime nods, and says "thank you," before fiddling with the end of the ribbon as Rhaenys quickly starts to look around to find another victim for her ribbon gifting.

She evidently spots someone, as she starts pulling upon Alys's skirts. "I want to give one to Lord Ned." She points off towards where Ned Stark was stood with Doran and Oberyn Martell, likely in some discussion of the girl anyways.

Alys nods, "okay." She watches after Rhaenys as the girl runs as fast as a four year is able towards the three men. Once Rhaenys is holding up ribbons towards Lord Stark Alys looks askance towards Jaime and he swears there is the slightest rosy hint to her cheeks that makes him smile.

"Lady Alys," He remarks, bowing his head lightly in teasing.

"Are you riding in the tourney, Ser Jaime?" She asks, following his far too formal suit too easily. "Or perhaps you intended to participate in the melee, I remember you mentioning you favored it."

"I do," He nods, but sighs. "But no, I'll be riding the lists today. Give the other melee participants, namely the king, a chance at winning."

"So generous of you," she jokes, a lightness to her voice that does not entirely reach the properness of her posture. "Well I wish you luck then."

Jaime fiddles with the bit of ribbon Rhaenys had given and then looks to Alys and says, "I would be even happier if you'd be so kind as to grant me your favor." She frowns, but he continues on in hope. He lifts the ribbon, "if one ladies favor is lucky I can only imagine what two would do for me."

"Technically Rhaenys's favor is that of a princess," Alys corrects in a deflection.

"I suppose." Now Jaime frowns, and he can't help but glance towards Oberyn and wonder. "If you've already given…"

"No," she shakes her head, and looks as well that way though he isn't sure who exactly she's glancing at. But she sighs, and looks again to Jaime with a torn look to her face before nodding an pulling a square of light grey fabric out and holding it for him to take.

He holds it far more delicately than the ribbon Rhaenys had given him, and glances at the bit of embroidery done upon it. What looked like ice was stitched along the edges of the fabric, and in one corner it formed into a head of the wolf not all too disimilar from that of the Stark banners.

Jaime folded it gently and gave a more genuine bow of the head towards Alys. "Thank you." He says, much softer than he'd been speaking before.

Alys nods, and as soft as him says. "Good luck again, Jaime." And she turns to join Rhaenys and Lord Stark while Jaime runs a thumb absently over the square of fabric in his hand while heading towards the tent he'll be readying himself in.

Jaime stood near enough to see but far enough from the crowds. His hand fiddling with the tied favors he'd wrapped about his other wrist, orange ribbon against grey fabric. Jon Arryn had announced the melee, and Jaime watched as various Knights and Lords ride about the tourney yard. Robert Baratheon was easy enough to spot, a crowned stag helm upon his head and just a general presence that screams to be looked upon.

When Jaime looks to Cersei where she sits upon the kings dais alone she was looking to Robert, her gaze trailing him as he rode and fought. But where the last weeks had seen her look to him with anticipation and lust, for power or just him Jaime didn't wish to know, they now looked with something bitter hidden behind the green. She hid it well, or at least well enough. But Jaime knew her, and even from here he could see it brewing.

Her gaze flicked to him and he could see the anticipation again, the waiting for him to secure the future she's planned. After the joust, once he's won and been crowned the champion, she expects him to drop the crown of flowers before her and fall to his knees before Robert. To swear his sword and don his cloak, stains and all.

Jaime looks at the bit of grey around his wrist and frowns.

His gaze drifts to Alys eventually. She was sat beside her brother, with Oberyn leisurely on the other side of her. The little princess Rhaenys was stood in front of them both, hands on the railing of the stands and looking with wide eyes as men rode past.

Another knight hit the dirt and Robert Baratheon's booming laugh of victory could be heard over the clashes of metal and the clapping of the nobles who watched. Jaime paid little mind to the event itself, knowing that if he did watch it he'd just end up feeling bitter the same way he had at the tourney a year ago beside Alys.

She'd teased him for it, for being in a sour mood despite having been the one to drag her to the event. For being overconfident, though was it overconfidence if he was truly that skilled?

He looks at her again, her gaze not on the combat but on the little girl before her whose head had turned back to listen to Alys as she spoke about something. He looks at her and wishes he was sat beside her listening to her talk. Perhaps then this whole melee would be less miserable to watch.

Instead, more out of wish to avoid Ned Stark and Oberyn Martell best he can, he walks away from the melee and finds his horse. Taking the time to look over his armor and lance, to retie the favors on his wrist so they sit better, to do anything but watch Robert Baratheon unseat opponent after opponent until he hears the victorious cheer twined with his booming cry of victory.

Then he waits, drinks a goblet of wine when the squire his father had given him from Crakehall for the event offers it, and when the joust starts he dons his helmet and sets out to win.

Cersei

Roberts booming laughter rang out as another knight fell from his horse in the lists. He called out encouraging words and boastful japes as the fallen knight stood and left the grounds. Drink sloshed in the goblet he held as he sipped at it and Cersei glanced to him with bitter disgust curling low in her gut.

Lyanna. He had grunted out in his thrusts, wine dazed eyes and lust enthralled as he was. And Cersei had shattered at it. Lyanna. A wolf girl dead and gone and having left him for a Dragon he loathed so much, and he called her name despite being deep within Cersei, a lion, a woman who had been raised to be a queen and was far more fittingly beautiful for the title. Far more suited as well.

Lyanna. The name had settled bitterly in Cersei's mind. Robert longed for a girl gone, and barely looked at the woman beside him who had been so ready to worship him as her king and husband.

Lyanna. Cersei stared at her husband and felt bitterness swirl as she sipped on her wine. There was some bit of consolidation in the fact he hadn't finished in her, he'd enjoyed far too much revelries at the feast and as such hadn't even noticed that he'd slipped from her and finished in her hand rather than within. The thought of it disgusted her, especially as she watched Jaime ride to one side of the lists and prepare and her mind turned to the previous morning.

Better him. She thinks, he loves her, worships her, would do anything for her. Is half of her.

And he would be with her, for the rest of their time, once he won this round and the event as a whole. Then he would go before Robert to don his cloak once more, and finally the future Cersei had so dreamed of would be secure. At least that part of it.

Robert called out more jests, the term Kingslayer laced through them. She could see Jaime stiffen even in his armor and helm, but it was shaken away quick as he focused on the task at hand. He rode wonderfully, as he did most things of combat. And it was far more than luck that granted his lance against his opponents shield, sending the Prince Oberyn Martell to the dirt and securing his final victory as the day tilted towards dusk.

It was destiny, Cersei figures. Her as queen, him as her Kingsguard.

Jaime rode forward as Jon Arryn crowned him the victor of the joust. Robert was laughing his booming laugh with the men around him and Cersei sipped her wine to clear the distaste from her at the grating sound.

She watched Jaime instead, watched as he stopped his horse and removed his helm, a squire taking it as Jon Arryn extended a crown of red roses to him to bestow as was his right as the champion. Watched as Robert eyed the man with jest and jape. Watched as Jaime glanced over the various lords and glanced at her.

Their eyes, the same eyes, locked and Jaime's brow furrowed the slightest bit for a moment in seeming thought.

His gaze left her, looking down at the roses and when it rose it was no longer her direction and something seemed to form in him before he spurred his horse forward.

And Cersei watched him ride past her and Robert towards where Lord Stark sat with his sister and the little Princess Rhaenys. Cersei watched him bring his horse to a stop before them, and watched him hold out the crown of roses towards the other damned Stark girl.

Cersei watched as he crowned Alys Stark the Queen of Love and Beauty and she felt bitterness burn within her.

As always thank you so much for reading and for all the lovely comments and favorites!

The reception for the last chapter was so amazing and everything I could have hoped for, so again thank you so so much!