Author's Notes: This serves both as a prologue and epilogue, I suppose, since there are time skips, buuut here's the ending to the Lann/Tya plotline plus a few glimpses into the lives of the Lannister kids during Jaime and Cersei's rule.

Tya is only six years old when she endures the first prolonged visit from another great house in the Red Keep. She learns the only part from her mother, as in, my daughter is only six years old, when Olenna Tyrell had suggested a union of some sort.

"My grandson isn't much older than any of your children," the woman had said, but Mother had been unmoved.

"If we would not agree to a match for our firstborn or our eldest daughter, what makes you think that I would ship my youngest off to Highgarden to be your charge? I'm sorry, Lady Olenna." Her tone had suggested no such thing. "The answer is the same as it has been for everyone else. The princess will decide her own fate when she is old enough to do so."

"Not a particularly wise approach for a royal family, is it?"

"You're welcome to come to court tomorrow and make your complaint, if you so wish." Father, an ever-present shadow behind his Queen's insistence, had joined in. "Or we may talk about this again in a decade."

"A decade is a long time."

"And my daughter is only six years old," Mother had said. "The matter's closed."

That had been the end of that. Tya had liked Margaery and her brother Loras well enough, but the rest of the visit had been tense, after the royal couple's refusal to make any kind of accommodation marriage-wise, and it had been far preferable to start avoiding the guests at all and spend her time in one of the many places in the Red Keep free of Tyrells available to her until they had been ready to leave.

Still, the Tyrell visit had not been without its positives. Late in the evening after Olenna and her kin had left, Tya's parents had evidently forgotten that one of their precious cubs had still been in the room and had made plans to visit the jewellers's guild tomorrow, as her mother wanted to 'look at something nice' because she'd been 'sick to bastard death of that old cunt and her endless demands'.

Tya had learnt two new words that day, much to her septa's dismay, and had therefore considered the meeting between great houses a shining success. The next day, compared to that, had been a little more confusing – after breakfast, she along with all her siblings had been sent to prepare for an outing in the city, and Tya had remembered the overheard conversation as she'd been laced into one of her favourite gowns and a circlet had been placed on her head. The jewellers's guild.

Myrcella, naturally, had been ecstatic. Her sister has a liking for shiny things that rivals their mother's and Tya had learnt from the best, so they both keep peeking through the litter's curtains to watch the streets outside as they're marched to their destination, impatient to continue on foot. Father and Joffrey are riding ahead, she can tell by the cheers that follow them as they pass by, and Mother's own curtains are pulled back to allow the common folk a glimpse of their Queen. Inside the litter, it's a little crowded even with her eldest brother on a horse outside given that the rest of her brothers can't seem to keep still, but Tya feels entirely content, looking outwards at the sea of smiling faces, stuck between Myrcella and Mother and breathing in the dubious spring air floating into their shared space.

Evidently, not everyone is feeling quite as peaceful.

"Mother," Tybolt starts, sounding positively tortured. He gets roadsick, Tya remembers, but had never imagined it happening at such a slow pace. Lann rubs his back, likely fussing enough to make things even worse, and Myrcella frantically looks through her purse for something to help alleviate it, but he looks green in the face all the same. "Are we almost there?"

"Yes, darling, we're almost there. Tya, look," Mother says, pulling her into her lap so that she can lean out of the window properly, and Tya gasps at the sight in front of her.

Up on the slope leading to Visenya's Hill, there's a long line of tents, and under them, even from afar, she can see all the treasures glistening below.

"Look! It's the princess!"

Tya twists in her mother's arms, waving at the little girl held up by her own mother on the side of the street, and that gets another wave of cheers. Soon enough, their litter fills with the smell of flowers as the Kingsguard passes them inside, and Tybolt's torment is forgotten even by Tybolt himself in the face of the distraction.

If her mother had wanted something nice for today, Tya thinks, then they'd certainly found it.

~.~

"Don't wander off," Father warns them all for what has to be the thousandth time as he steps down from his horse, helps Joffrey do the same, and they all exit their transport. "Stay by the Kingsguard at all times. Your mother and I will be checking."

A chorus of, "Yes, Father," meets him in answer, but he still looks unconvinced. The white cloaks have gathered around them, one man assigned to each of the children, and they're all gathered so closely together that Tya doesn't really think that anyone could penetrate that wall. To top that off, they're not in the part of the city where such things happen, she's certain. They're surrounded by gold and gems and the men who turn it all into jewellery; surely, no one who would harm them would be allowed in such a place. Everyone around them is well-dressed and smiling benevolently. The people love them, Tya knows. Their protection has to be enough, surely.

"We mean it," Mother stresses. She looks particularly radiant today, with two fine golden chains attached to the lioness on her crown extending from the edges and meeting in the middle; a novelty that she'd liked on a ship arriving somewhere from the Free Cities. Within the week, everyone in court will be equipped with a similar headpiece despite their lack of a crown, she knows as she sees the intrigued looks passersby give them. It's a queen's responsibility to decide on what is beautiful, Myrcella had told her not long ago. Mother seems to take that responsibility very seriously, and her older sister is following right in her footsteps. One day, when she's old enough to have a go at the same, she'll have to wear something especially elaborate in public to watch everyone else strain themselves to copy it, Tya thinks. "Be exceptionally careful, do as you're told, and do not give our knights a hard time."

"Yes, Mother," they all echo, and, as soon as their parents's backs are turned, Myrcella skips off after them and leaves her by herself to wander closer to the nearest stand, covered in all kinds of headpieces. One of the white cloaks falls into step behind her without a word and she smiles as she nods him closer – he's meant to follow her, after all.

The goldsmith is out of his seat the moment he sees her approach, and bows so low that their eyes are almost at the same height. "Good day, Princess."

"Hello." It's good to be waited on, Tya had discovered quite a while ago. There are many kinds of power, and some of them she can't completely understand yet – like Mother's power to make Father appear by her side even if he's at the other side of the room just by saying his name – and having people's undivided attention is the one she enjoys the most. She reaches for a tiara with a large sapphire on it. "May I—"

"Of course, of course." The man digs through his stock until he presents her with similar ones, but crowned with an emerald and a ruby respectively. "These may be a better fit, Your Majesty, to match your eyes and your house colours."

Tya considers them for a moment. He must be right – they're the colours Mother wears most often, red and gold and green, and she nods. "Let me see."

"Looking for a crown, sister?"

She turns around on her heel and sees another Kingsguard approach with her brother in toll. Lann's smile is as bright as always, and Tya motions him closer. "What if I am?"

He sorts through her picks, intrigued. "I like this." He picks up the one with the emerald and removes her circlet to place it on her head for consideration. "It matches your eyes."

"I know." Looking into his eyes is the same as looking into a mirror and his eyes are so, so green. "Maybe we'll get you a crown, too."

He sighs. "That's not how it works."

Tya scowls back at him. The twins are not even two years older than her, but one wouldn't know it by their behaviour – Tybolt tends to act like all the wisdom of the world is already in his hands, and Lann is amazingly informed in everything her parents describe as politics – but, she supposes, he would be, considering that he's either by Mother's side no matter where she goes, or at Joffrey's heels at every lesson he has. Her brother is a prince to a fault, but she's well-aware that he's not the heir to their father's crown. "I know how it works."

"Well, I suppose I could have it." He leans closer with a wicked smile, close enough that the white cloaks can't hear them. "I only have to kill about three people for it."

"Lann!" She protests, scandalised, and her frown only deepens when she sees him laugh.

"It's only a jest, sister." He goes through his pockets to hand the man a number of golden coins. "We'll take that, and the one with the ruby, too."

"Your Majesty," the man nods in acknowledgment as he starts wrapping up her treasures. Belatedly, Tya starts going through her own belongings for the golden dragons she herself had been given before they'd left.

"I have gold, too."

Lann shrugs, ever so carefree. "I wanted to make you a gift. I can't give you a real crown, but I can get you this one." He catches her by the hand and Tya smiles back. His joy is always infectious. "And when I'm old enough and Father lets me fight in a tourney, I can crown you Queen of Love and Beauty."

She feels herself flush, charmed by the prospect. She's only been to one tourney so far, and it had enchanted her with its traditions – Father had won, because apparently he always does, and she remembers the way their mother had leant in with a pleased laugh as he'd reached her and had stopped in front of the stand expectantly. She'd removed her crown and the King had replaced it with a wreath of fragrant flowers. The way he had looked at her than had stuck in Tya's mind for days after that – as if it's her mother's presence alone that makes anything in the world make sense.

"Yes," she decides, voice just as low. "I'd like that."

Lann's hold on her hand tightens, and his eyes flash with excitement. "Do you want to play the knight and the queen?"

She always wants to play the knight and the queen. From that first time when he'd got her on his pony and had shown her how to hold the reins and they'd pretended to be on some grand adventure, they had thought of a thousand scenarios along the same vein. He has no more desire to rule one day than she does, Tya knows, but it's fun to play at it.

Of course, not everyone understands, as she discovers as soon as Lann tries to pull her to the side and into the clearing where some of their fellow nobles wander about for food and drink while they browse the guild's newest creations. "I'm sorry, Princess," the Kingsguard says as he looks at his fellow sworn brother for consultation. "We must stay close to your parents. The King's commands."

Lann has only just opened his mouth to present some doubtlessly unbeatable argument when there's an altercation of some kind somewhere ahead of them and both knights turn towards the noise; a perfect moment of inattention.

"Let's go," her brother hisses and Tya shakes her head.

"We promised not to wander off."

"It's not wandering off if we know where we're going. It'll only be a moment."

That, along with the edge of bribery to his smile, is enough to convince her, and Tya lets herself be dragged towards the open space ahead of them, where they can play to their heart's content.

Eventually, that's precisely where they're found some half an hour later – in the thickest crowd, not a Kingsguard in sight, with Lann weaving flowers handed to him by endeared onlookers into her hair. Their father is nowhere near as delighted by the display, Tya notes at once – his expression is stuck somewhere between fury, fear and wild relief, actually – and he takes a single look at them before he drags her brother off by the arm, the typical kingly Lannister calm nowhere to be seen as he lectures his ear off, rather loudly, about responsibility and recklessness and the dangers of the world.

Tya ends up learning many, many new words that day.

~.~

Having anyone in his family angry with him, Lann thinks, is the worst feeling there is.

There's only one thing that's just slightly more unbearable, and it's the fact that Father isn't truly angry – he's just disappointed, and he'd made his displeasure known by telling him off during their walk and paying him very little attention after that. It makes him feel tense and miserable and although he knows that it can't last long – neither he nor Mother can stay angry with their children for long, as the entire court knows – it's still enough to make him furious at the injustice of it all. He hadn't been allowed to explain and there hadn't been any danger there; there's no reason for such a reaction.

He'll talk to him after dinner, Lann thinks. That should do it. Mother always says that anything can be fixed with the right words and he'd seen her do it a thousand times, and he is his mother's son, everyone always says that. There's nothing his father likes better than her.

Yes, he decides; he can use his words. Mother would be proud.

Unfortunately for him, when everyone is done with dinner, Father pushes his plate away and begins first. "About what happened today—"

"It was nothing!" Tya protests before he can say a word more, and Lann finds himself smiling despite his effort to appear both remorseful and convincing in his innocence. He should have known that his sister would beat him to it. "It was only a game. No one got hurt. Lann didn't mean—"

"It's all right, Tya." It's their mother that speaks now, voice as kind as it always is when it's them she's addressing. Her smile is one Lann can't quite interpret, but it's an encouraging sight in any case. "Your brother isn't in trouble. Let's take this to the drawing room, shall we?"

They do and Lann trails after his siblings, catching up to Mother when she sits by the large fireplace in everyone's favourite hall for indoor leisure, letting her tuck him into her side almost out of habit when he sits on the small daybed next to her. He's getting a little too tall for this, but he's not about to bring that up if she hadn't noticed it. She's warm and reassuring and never lies to him, so the question comes easily. "Am I really not in trouble?"

"You're not," she confirms. "Your father and I just wanted to clear something up."

That, on the other hand, is not the least bit reassuring.

When everyone has finally sat down, Father sighs as he apparently gathers his thoughts and when he speaks, it's not anything like what Lann had expected.

"You've all heard the story of the way our family rose to power, haven't you?"

There's a moment of confused silence. It must fall on him to speak, Lann thinks, since he'd been the one to provoke this, and so he does. "The Mad King was terrorising the city, but you outsmarted him and killed him and got crowned. And then you made Mother your queen."

"That's— one way of looking at it," he nods, running a hand through his hair the way Lann himself sometimes does when he feels overwhelmed. "But yes. I hadn't meant to become king, but it was the only way I could marry your mother. Do you know why that was?"

"Because she's your sister." Tybolt is the one to speak, to no one's surprise. "It was not allowed for anyone but Targaryens."

That had been a ridiculous law, Lann had thought ever since he'd been very little. Once, he'd asked Myrcella whether she'd marry Tommen or Joffrey when they were older – he would bet good money on Joffrey, as his older sister would be suited to being a queen – and when she'd laughed it off, it had only served to mystify him further. Tommen, by her side, had looked rather bothered at the prospect. Joffrey is my best friend, she had said, and Tommen is my little brother – well, one of my little brothers. She'd ruffled his hair, then, to his great indignation. I don't want to marry either of them.

He hadn't understood then and he doesn't quite understand now. Tya is his best friend, too, but he'd marry her in a heartbeat. Who else would he want? They always seem to be of the same mind and she laughs at the same things he finds funny, and she likes archery – strategically, he'd been told, when mixed with his skills in close combat, they'd make a good team – and picnics and had worn the gown he'd gifted her for her last nameday for every single one of their outings. She has the most beautiful singing voice he'd ever heard and she lights up the entire room whenever she smiles. How could he ever marry anyone else?

But then again, he knows he's not alone in this. Father had described Mother much the same. There was never anyone else; I just knew. Perhaps it's something about the Lannisters. They just know.

"It was not allowed for Targaryens either, at first. They had to make it into a law so that the faith would be on their side, but plenty of factions remained against them." His mother's voice is careful but determined, the way it is when she's about to deliver a rather painful blow to someone in court. "Alysanne, one of the first Targaryen queens, was almost killed because one of those factions believed that the child she was carrying was an abomination born of incest."

And a painful blow it is. Their parents let them consider this bit of information for a moment, and Lann feels himself go cold despite his mother's touch and the fireplace so close by. Usually, he'd jump at the chance to call any of his siblings an abomination in order to rile them up, but it doesn't seem to be a good time for a joke, and he's suddenly not in the mood for one, either. He couldn't be an abomination, he knows. Born of incest, certainly, but an abomination? No. He's been told a thousand times that he's brave and strong like his father and his mother calls him my little ray of sunshine when she tucks him to sleep and tells him how clever he is when he figures out some court intrigue before anyone else does. And what of his siblings? Joffrey can be intimidating sometimes, but he's not so bad, truly. Myrcella had never been anything but perfect in her entire life, and Tommen and Tybolt are the kindest people he knows, even if they're meek enough to make him angry sometimes. And Tya? As if. What does the Faith know, anyway?

Joffrey scoffs, displeased. "That's what that filthy commoner called me when he tried to grab me five years ago."

Lann knows of that, too – an attack, once again from some particularly difficult followers of the Seven, when the royal family had been on an outing in the city. The man had attacked his mother who'd been leading Joffrey by the hand and had been stopped at once by his father. He had been too young to be leaving the castle with them back then, but he'd heard the stories – the King had beheaded the man right where he'd stood, and when they'd searched through the crowd for anyone there for the same purpose, they'd found them all. All Lann truly remembers from that time is the fact that he hadn't seen Mother for some time after that, as she'd been in charge of handling the prisoners. If someone had attacked him and Tya today, he suspects, something similar might have happened, but what if the Kingsguard hadn't reached them on time? What if Father hadn't found them?

Despite the warmth all around him, Lann shudders. Perhaps he should have been in trouble, after all.

"But that's nonsense," Myrcella says, finding her words at last. "Isn't it?"

"Of course it is," Mother says, holding him a little closer still. "But there are people out in this world who would say anything to discredit us, and a lot of them would do anything to harm us, too. We must stick together." As if by instinct, she reaches for his father's hand on her other side. It doesn't seem like she realises she's even doing it, but he holds it tight anyway. "All of us. One day, each of you may go in a different corner of Westeros, or go explore Essos, if you wish, or remain in this castle if that's what you decide. Each of you will have adequate protection and you'll be old enough to handle yourself. For now, we must do what we can to protect each other. There are places where we are all safe, but out in the city is not one of them – it wouldn't have been for any ruler, no matter how beloved."

So that's the moral of the story they mean to tell, then. "I understand, Mother."

She rewards him with one of her proudest smiles. "I'm glad to hear that."

"I still think that it's nonsense," Joffrey says, though he seems to have accepted the lesson given easily enough. "What does it matter what the Faith says? How could they know for sure what the gods think?"

"It's implied that they're the gods's messengers in our world in The Seven-Pointed Star," Tybolt says, and receives several disbelieving looks for his trouble.

"No one here other than you has read The Seven-Pointed Star."

"You would have if you could read, Joff."

Lann does find it in himself to laugh this time – his twin, at least, is making the jokes on his behalf for the time being – but quietly, he has to agree with his older brother. There's no way a dusty old book would tell any of them what to do with their lives. It hadn't worked on their parents, after all. They're Lannisters. Gods have no real spokespeople among mortal men, but their family does.

"Plenty of our subjects rely on their faith in the Seven," Mother says, as patient as she always is with Joffrey. "You must keep them happy, too. It's one of a king's many duties – keeping the scales balanced so that everyone is content."

"And how do I do that?"

"It's a little late for lessons in kingship, isn't it?" Father says, stifling a yawn, but as always, his queen is undeterred.

"It's all right. Come along, Joffrey." She pats Lann on the shoulder and rises from her seat, her firstborn trailing after her along with almost everyone else following in their wake. Lann, for once, remains in place, as does his father, and he turns to him as soon as the door falls shut.

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Lann." Father takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, too. I was— harsher than I should have been."

"I didn't mean to put Tya in danger," he continues, shaking his head. He'd had a speech prepared; better say it. "She had a new tiara and we wanted to play and I didn't realise how far away we were." He had realised, but it hadn't occurred to him how long they would need to find them there, and then he'd lost track of time. "I would never—"

Despite his best efforts, the lump in his throat only grows more unbearable and soon enough, tears muddy his vision, to his horror. A look of panic passes over his father's features and before he knows it, he finds himself gathered into an embrace, both clumsy and comforting.

"It's all right," he says, sounding rather shaken, and Lann clings to him with all his might. There's something about the way his father holds him that makes him feel invincible; as if nothing could ever reach him in his arms, and he never wants to let go. "I know. I know you'd never hurt her. But I need you to be careful. She's your little sister; who could keep her safe better than you?"

"I will," he vows, settling in closer. His tears are leaving stains all over Father's shoulder, but he's unlikely to care, Lann knows. "I'll protect her like you protect Mother. I'll chop someone's head off if I have to."

His father laughs. "I really hope it doesn't have to get to that. You don't have to be her sworn protector. Your mother and I— it's different."

"But I want to be her sworn protector." He pulls back with a smile, the game from today back to the front of his mind. "I'll be a knight, like you. She doesn't have to be a queen. Knights can protect princesses, too."

"That might be a conversation for another time." But his father looks thoughtful, as if he had said something particularly surprising. "Let's get you to bed, shall we?"

They do head back to his chambers where Tybolt is already settled for the night – the topic of separating them in different bedrooms comes up every now and then, but Lann had never been fond of sleeping alone and his twin indulges him for now, and Father tells him the story of how he himself had been knighted and then leaves him to his thoughts.

It'll be no time at all until he's knighted, too, he's sure. No one would consider him too insignificant a protection then, and they would all see. He's already the best with a sword out of all of his brothers, apart from Joffrey, but he can allow that particular defeat for now – after all, Joffrey will be king one day. That should be enough to make him special, surely.

"Ty?" He ventures eventually, when sleep doesn't come. His twin is turned towards the window where the night sky is so clear that he can see every star he can't remember the name of twinkling back at him. "Are you awake?"

"Yes." A sight follows, rather reluctant. "What is it?"

His brother won't want to hear his theory on Joffrey's fighting skills, he can already tell; he's too busy with mapping out the distant suns that shine high above them. "It's nothing. Good night."

"Good night, Lann."

~.~

The heat wave had already been raging over King's Landing by the time Tya's parents had departed the capital, and it hadn't stopped in the time they'd been gone. Out of all the privileges afford to the royal family's eldest son, she thinks bitterly, the fact that he's prioritised when deciding which one child they can take on some rare but apparently important official visit might be the one she envies him the most – right now, Joffrey is somewhere in the Eyrie, having a grand old – and relatively cool, she supposes – time in the Mountains of the Moon while she's stuck here with Ynys Allyrion, playing some inane word game instead of throwing herself into the fountain to stave the warmth off, as she longs to do. She doesn't think Ynys has ever swam in a fountain – the girl hails from Godsgrace and is precisely as pious as her home's name suggests, and she had been rather scandalised by the ease with which she and Myrcella had discussed the soldiers challenging each other in the training fields, wondering which one of them would have the qualities to dare and try for one of the empty seats in the newly expanding Kingsguard.

"A lady should have eyes for her husband only," she had said, not chiding – she wouldn't allow herself such frivolity towards princesses, and especially not in front of their grandfather. He's their de facto guardian, Tya remembers, though it's a difficult thing to keep in mind. He doesn't particularly care for the role their parents had bestowed upon him. The remark had had him looking dangerously thoughtful, however, as if a part of him had agreed.

Myrcella had been genuinely confused. "How am I meant to find a husband if I'm not looking?"

Tya hadn't really understood either, but then again, she hadn't understood the girl's distaste for Mother's underlings distributing moon tea around the city's brothels, because that means that the royal family is encouraging the profession, as Ynys had said, so she'd given up on even trying. What she understands least of all is why her parents think that their children need the occasional highborn companion in the castle. Aren't five siblings enough company to have?

"Pride," the girl reads out now, still in the same game they'd started some time ago. Tya turns around to give her a contemplating look, but someone beats her to it.

"This garden right now." Lann offers his definition with an, ironically, wolfish grin. The little Lady Allyrion regards him with deep suspicion until he elaborates, "A pride, as in, a gathering of lions."

"No." She eyes them again, just as she had that day; just as she does the Queen when their mother's back is turned. Myrcella is still busy braiding her hair, and Tya had barely looked away from her own reflection in the water as she'd watched it all take shape. Her curls are wilder than her sister's, as Myrcella had settled into the same waves that their mother's golden strands seem to maintain at all times, but that hadn't stopped either of them from trying new things on each other, and doing all sorts of experiments to include their headpieces in whatever the end result is. "As in, pride goeth before destruction."

"And a haughty spirit before a fall," Myrcella finishes dutifully, and in the still water, Tya can see her smile. "I heard my septa say that there is a mortal sin for each of the princes and princesses. I don't think she meant me to hear, but I've been wondering which one was mine ever since. Pride is one of the better ones, isn't it?"

"I'd say so," Tybolt shrugs from where he's stretched out under the sun. "It fits. You're certainly bringing destruction to Tya's hair just now."

"I think it looks nice," Tommen offers diplomatically. He's even less invested in the game of definitions than Tya is. She hadn't thought it possible. "I quite like sloth."

Ynys looks thoroughly disturbed. "You are not meant to enjoy a mortal sin, Your Majesty."

"Why not? I like doing nothing. Who could bring themselves to do anything in a day like this?"

"Grandfather could," Lann chimes in. For someone who spends as much time outdoors as he does, he certainly doesn't seem to be enjoying the weather today, though perhaps that's precisely it – no one could endure a bout of swordplay, even if it's pretend, in this heat. Instead, he'd remained in the shade of a nearby tree, fanning himself ineffectually with a rather large leaf. "But Grandfather is somewhere inside the cold, cold castle walls, and I don't want to disturb him lest he decides to take one of his lectures out on me in Joffrey's absence."

Their grandfather being in King's Landing at all is somewhat of an occasion. In her twelve years, Tya had only seen him a handful of times, as he seems to prefer to leave his brother in charge, but he had never seemed like a particularly patient teacher. If there is a mortal sin for every Lannister, royal or not, then she'd certainly assign pride to him, if in a much different way than what Myrcella describes.

She wonders, briefly, which one of them Lann would represent. Vanity, perhaps, should that not be saved for Tya herself. Pride, come to think of it, is a rather broad indicator – lions are proud creatures, and they're all so like their sigil. Wrath would be saved for Joffrey and his thoroughly unpredictable temper, but she's short of ideas for the rest of them. Pride fits quite well despite its all-encompassing nature, and none of the other options fall into place.

Still thoughtful, she takes one last look at her hair as Myrcella finishes her work, and then stands up, heading in her brother's general direction. He runs hot on the coldest of days – not that they'd ever known true cold – and now, he seems to be genuinely suffering, his open shirt sticking to him, his golden curls looking even more unrestrained than usual in the humidity that reigns over everything. Still, he beckons her forward with a lazy smile and Tya drops on the grass next to him without an ounce of hesitation, arranging her skirts around her to make for an improvised blanket when she leans her head on his shoulder and his arm wraps around her with a satisfied sigh. It makes her ridiculously happy; the way she doesn't have to explain herself around him. She'd thought about him and had wanted him closer, and here they are now.

Somewhere in the distance, she hears Lady Ynys close her book with yet another hum of disapproval and then the shuffle of her skirts as she wanders off. Perhaps the sight of them had finally proved to be too much – the girl doesn't seem to particularly approve of their parents's marriage, either, not that she would ever dare say it, and this newest bit of – to her, unnatural – closeness had been the straw to break the camel's back. It's all for the best, anyway. Tya isn't in the mood to be judged by guests that she doesn't even want in the castle, up to and including her own grandfather, let alone the daughter of some minor southern house.

When she looks up, Lann's eyes are ready to meet hers, somehow even brighter than all the greenery around them. Tya strains up for a kiss – quick and playful, and very carefully never anything more, lest they're made to field their curious siblings's questions. Questions with answers that they'd never clarified to each other, too, because they'd never needed to. It's so easy to simply know.

"What are you thinking about?" Her brother asks and Tya shrugs. She feels far too open, too honest, to even think of evading the question.

"About mortal sins." She grimaces. "And about how much colder it must be in the Eyrie right now."

He laughs. "You needn't worry, sister. We only have to make Mother and Father take us along for their next adventure."

"Not a chance." They all travel together when it's possible, unless it's some place rather complicated to get to, or too small a stronghold to handle them all along with their entire court, and when they have to pick, it's always Joffrey – it's him that all the nobles of the realm want to see. "The crown prince will always be the main attraction."

"Then I'll just have to become the crown prince, won't I?" She laughs, well familiar with this age-old mock-fantasy. "I only have to kill three people, after all, and then you can be my crown princess."

She wants to kiss him properly more than she's ever wanted anything in her life. His sin will come to her eventually, she's sure; it's right on the tip of her tongue.

~.~

Seeing the sun dip its rays one by one into the water somewhere on the far off horizon, Lann thinks, is always worth the travel, and it explains the Sunset Sea's name rather perfectly – that does seem to be its most prominent quality when compared to its narrow counterpart on the other side of Westeros; the one he's best used to seeing.

It also opens up his world to a sort of entertainment that is possible but nowhere near as thrilling in the Crownlands – chasing the sunset. It's not quite the same over the Kingswood where the sun slowly vanishes behind the trees – here, he can see the sea sparkling in gold and red as far as the eye can see, as if the entire world is on fire, and can see the progression of it all the better; the thrill of the chase growing along with the realisation that it's all futile. First, they see the sunset over cliffs, but the further west they go, climbing higher and higher onto the Rock's outward growth, there comes a time when there's nothing but the sea, and there's nothing to do but watch the night come.

It's all right, though; he's used to it. Lann had spent his entire life chasing the sun.

He wonders if it's in the name his parents had given him – wonders, sometimes, if they'd known. They must have. Mother, at least, seems to understand that all too well. She's, after all, also a descendant of his namesake, and it's rarely as obvious in any Lannister as it is in her. The Queen is golden to the bone and Lann had spent the majority of his childhood on her knee on the Iron Throne, watching her shine her light on the world around them until it had all been bathed in her ambition and its consequences; how he'd learnt that there's always a little give to every situation, no matter how impossible, and how there's always something more to want. He spurs his horse to go faster as he sees his sister's mare approach the cliff's edge, the thought sending him flying ever closer to his goal. His father would not be pleased to know that he'd taken his most prized animal for some folly, but it is the most beautiful horse they have – fit for a knight. Tonight, he'll need to look the part.

Mother had told him not to be ridiculous, of course; that there's nothing to worry about, and no one to model himself after, when he'd told her that he means to offer Tya his hand before someone else beats him to it. She would want no one else, you know that, she'd said, as gentle as she always is with him and his siblings, and you don't need to be your father. You don't need to offer her the world. Trust me when I say that she wants you more than she wants a kingdom.

She must know, he supposes; after all, she had been offered a kingdom to go with the marriage.

When he finally catches up with Tya – she had started first and it hadn't been fair, but he's not about to point that out – any living creature that occupies Casterly Rock feels miles below them. There's only the cliff and the grass under his feet when he jumps off his horse, and his sister when she sits next to him by the edge, legs stretched out into the abyss. Her face is awash with the same heady rush that still holds him prisoner, and she's never as beautiful as she is when she's breathless with excitement – face flushed, hair being pushed this way and that by the wind that always plagues them this high up, her green, green eyes shining with the pleasure of it. Almost by instinct, he brings her into a half-embrace so that she can lean onto him and she obliges as they welcome the end of another day.

There's something going on. There's always something going on where his parents are concerned, as is natural, but there's an additional strain now – he can sense it. Lann had always had an eye for courtly intrigue, and something of the sort is fast approaching, he's sure. It's Myrcella's name day tomorrow and they'd travelled all the way to Winterfell to find Joffrey a bride, and yet it's the Martells that bother him most of all – them and their decision to stay and Mother's secretiveness around whatever their visit had been about, other than making uncle Tyrion Hand of the King. If something is about to disrupt their peace, he needs to be ahead of the curve – more importantly, he needs to assure Tya that they can weather whatever storm it is together, if it comes to that. Perhaps as man and wife, even, although Mother had said that it would take years for such a thing to happen.

"Mother and Father are plotting something."

As per usual, they're on the same page.

"Aren't they always?"

Tya clicks her tongue. "It's different this time. It's something bigger. I kept hearing them whisper to each other all night in the wheelhouse, and they're so protective of it— something is about to change."

Lann falters. "That's not always a bad thing."

"Of course not, but I like to be informed before it happens. But no; they're too involved in what each of them thinks of it that they don't really think to ask for anyone else's opinion." From the corner of his eye, he can see her turn to him. "Not that I blame them, really. I can sympathise with that."

He's still squinting against the fading sunlight, trying to think of a way to start the speech he'd never really prepared, when his sister's hand is on his cheek, turning him to her without a word as she draws him into a kiss.

Kissing, he'd discovered many years ago, is a curious thing – when it comes to Tya, it's interchangeable with talking, because he understands her just as well. She's the only woman he's ever kissed, so his frame of reference isn't particularly reliable, but as far as he's concerned, he knows all there is to know about the practice of it – he knows the way her hands tangle in his hair to keep him close by heart, and knows the warmth that spreads through him at the ridiculousness of it (as if he would ever leave!) just as well. His arms wrap around her and Tya breaks their kiss to laugh as she draws him down with her, falling onto her back – backwards, thankfully, before they topple over the edge. He doesn't have time to brace himself against the grounds and so they lay there intertwined for a time, her hair shining like freshly minted gold under the last rays of the sun, eyes shining with more love than he'd ever seen on anyone else's face.

He should have probably prepared that speech, it occurs to him, distantly. "Marry me."

She doesn't look the least bit surprised, and that might be the best part of it, Lann thinks – his sister nods, as if he'd stated a fact of life. He hadn't even asked. It would have been mortifying, if she hadn't known him quite so well.

"I will."

"Mother says it'll be a complicated affair."

"We always knew it would be."

He grins at her, drowning in the joy of her simple acceptance. "She's talking about a public courting and continent-wide law changes, and at least five years before we even get close to a wedding. All those headaches on my behalf? Are you sure?"

For once, she doesn't share his amusement – Tya is awfully serious when she responds.

"Oh, Lann." She tugs him closer by the hair and into another kiss. "I was always sure."

It's summer and the nights are warm and short, they soon decide – perhaps no one would think to look for them before first light. The sun disappears off the edge of the world, but for once, Lann isn't looking. That pure, unfiltered light is finally in his grasp, and now he knows what it feels like; to take the gold from the sun and make it his.

The nights are warm and short, and he feels a little like a god; drunk on his bliss, and capable of any feat the world throws at him, now that he knows she's here for good.

~.~

It's only when the bells start ringing that Tya realises how horribly late she is.

"Oh, fuck." The goldsmith flinches at the word, as if it had physically struck him coming from the mouth of a princess, but she pays him little mind. "I'm terribly sorry; I think I'll have to take this now."

"It's not quite done, Your Majesty," the man protests. The gold has cooled down to the point where she won't ruin its shape by touching it, Tya is almost sure – there's enough gold everywhere around her for her to be able to tell – but he's only just adding in the details. "You were clear in your instructions; it would be inappropriate to—"

"Not at all, my good man," she says. In the distance, the Sept of Baelor keeps singing its song, gathering the realm to watch the joyous occasion of the crown prince's wedding. She should have been there hours ago. She had promised Sansa the brooch she tends to wear on her shoulder so that she could keep her Stark cloak clipped on before Joffrey discards it for a Lannister one, and her future sister by law will be waiting for her. "My betrothed has never been particular about such small details."

"If you're sure, Your Majesty." The goldsmith busies himself with wrapping up her purchase, still painstakingly careful as he hands it to her. "I aim to serve."

"And you've served beautifully." She brings out more golden dragons than the worth of the gold she'd taken away, but it's well-deserved, and she's been feeling outstandingly generous recently. "The crown thanks you."

The crown, in reality, is halfway across Visenya's Hill, and likely cursing Tya's name by now for making sure that nothing runs smoothly, so she rushes out of the workshop and, flanked by the white cloaks that she'd brought along, rushes towards the Sept of Baelor. It's not an easy task uphill with her elaborate gown and the sheer weight of it, but she makes do, and soon enough, the temple and the crowd surrounding it come into view.

After three long years, Sansa Stark had finally arrived in the capital for her wedding. It's still a strange thing, in Tya's mind, that her eldest brother is marrying a woman he's seeing for only the second time, even if they'd exchanged countless ravens in-between their two meetings. But then again, it would be – Myrcella had spent over a month in Dorne before their parents and Trystane's father had even begun to speak of a possible union, and she'd promptly come back home, dragging her suitor along with herself for Joffrey's wedding. Since then, they'd been almost as inseparable as Tya and her own betrothed are – almost, but not quite. She can really only think of one couple that can compare.

It's only when she makes her way up the stairs and into the backrooms where the preparations take place that Tya allows herself time to breathe. Her father is wandering about, and the King of the Seven Kingdoms is not quite the sight he tends to be in the public eye – he's holding some sort of woven stuffed doll, surely a northern creation, and trying to both entertain his youngest daughter and try to stop her from putting her new toy into her mouth.

"Tya! Thank the gods." He must be truly desperate to reach out to them for help, but it's not difficult to imagine how he'd got to that state. "You promised the Stark girl some brooch you had? She's asking for it right about now. Take your sister with you; I'll need to be escorting Joffrey and your mother out in the main hall already."

Of course he must – what is a royal wedding without the King? – but Tya had had plans for today, and suddenly feels rather impatient to get on with them, even as she watches him straighten his crown and prepare to leave. Mother would have not done this to her, she's sure – if there had been any way at all to incorporate her in the ceremony, Lelia would have been out there with her right now.

"Father, I don't—" But it's too late, of course. Lelia spots her, overjoyed, a moment later, and Tya finds herself with an armful of Westeros's newest princess before she can blink. Her sister looks up at her with those clear green eyes so typical for everyone in their family, and she's dressed for the occasion, too – no one had been missed in the preparations, no matter how young, and she'd only turned two a fortnight ago. Tya, still relatively new to the business of being an older sister – that had always been Myrcella's speciality – takes her by the hand to lead her uncertain steps and together, they make their way down the corridor. "Let's go, shall we? Lady Stark is waiting for us."

~.~

It's later – after she'd handed her sister to her carer, after she'd dealt with Sansa Stark and her cloak, and after she'd almost ran on her way downstairs in order to not draw attention to herself and arrive before the ceremony had actually started – Tya finds her seat and drops into it rather unceremoniously, startling her brother out of his listless staring at some candle nearby. The royal family takes the entirety of the first row and she can see the Starks lining up on the other side, all eyes turned ahead and towards Joffrey where he stands with the crimson cloak thrown over his forearm, with their parents nearby.

All eyes, of course, with a predictable exception.

"I was wondering where you were." Lann leans in, just a little closer than is strictly appropriate, but it's all right – by now, almost everyone in court had been gradually eased into getting used to them.

"I brought you a gift."

His face lights up the way it always does at an unexpected surprise – almost boyish, in a sharp contrast with his knightly demeanour. His lust for life had enchanted her when she had still been too young to recognise it for what it is and since then, Tya had loved few things more than to contribute to it. "You did?"

Sansa Stark, of course, picks just that precise moment to swan in along with her father, and they all turn towards the entrance to watch her.

She's radiant, and Tya had told her so when she'd helped her prepare moments ago. She's a good match for her brother, she would have said if she'd been asked, and that particular assessment only solidifies when she sees her stand by his side. The High Septon starts droning on about the unity of man and wife as soon as she's cloaked under the crown prince's protection. It's the perfect moment to get back to the task at hand without being bothered when everyone is too busy being bored. She can see her parents at the bottom of the dais, focused on each other as per usual while the newlyweds say their vows, and then promptly turns her attention back to her own brother, pushing the package into his waiting hands. "I did."

"That's lovely of you, sister." But despite his airy tone, she can see the curiosity in his eyes; in his eager movements as he tugs the ribbon away. It's a good thing they're seated at the very edge of their section of the hall. "I'm afraid I can no longer promise to crown you, now that Joffrey will fill the Red Keep with heirs of his own. You shouldn't have."

"I've only ever wanted one crown out of you." And she'll get it, she's sure, tomorrow during the tourney celebrating the joyous occasion. "But I got you one of your own, too, for one of the first presents you made me." The headpiece that he untangles from its wrapping prison is a delicate thing, even though it had been made with a prince rather than a princess in mind, and the centrepiece is a half the emerald he'd given her all those years ago, the other half resting in her own tiara, adjusted for an adult rather than a child. "It matches your eyes."

In a secluded section of it or not, they're still in the line of sight of nearly everyone in the room who would think to look, and it would be terribly inappropriate for him to kiss her, so of course, he only almost does it – he presses their foreheads together, gold against gold as their crowns and hair tangle together. "I know."

I am his and he is mine, Sansa Stark dutifully recites somewhere, seemingly in a different world, and Tya clings to her brother as she mouths the words along with her. They'd waited so long that surely they can wait a little longer, but it still feels too good to be true on occasion – the idea that they could spend their lives like this, letting the world sway them this way and that but never away from each other. She opens her eyes to meet Lann's gaze and sees the same worshipful disbelief mixed with elation beyond words as she sees it all stretched out in front of her, as glorious and golden as their family's reign had been since the start. From this day until the end of my days.