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Cersei

She had finally done it. It had taken her ten years, but she had finally given Robert two male heirs. She could still remember the day she had given birth to Lenora. Her brother had promised that she would live through the birth and go on to give Robert as many spares as she pleased. She had given him his heir, Joffrey, and his spare Tommen, and then two daughters Lenora and Myrcella. And despite the fact that six year old Lenora had once mentioned that Joffrey looked nothing like her or Robert the stupid man had never realized that only the first royal child was his.

The other three belonged to her and Jaime alone.

She was proud of them, even if Jaime could not look at them without a look of shame on his face. Over the past year she had tried to convince him to come to her bedchambers after Robert had left her, to be with her again as they used to be, but it felt as if he were pulling away from her. She wasn't sure what she had done to deserve it, they were supposed to be together, a team. But now, he was never alone with her. He never answered her requests. She felt as if he was ashamed of her, of what they had done.

But as she looked down at the young baby in her arms, her beautiful baby Tommen, about to celebrate his first name day, she couldn't see how he could be ashamed of the fact that they had created something so perfect together.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when the door to her and the children's chambers crashed open, her eldest daughter, eleven year old Lenora came stumbling into the main sitting room, without noticing her mother.

Cersei silently observed her daughter, looking for any sign of herself and her Lannister blood in the girl. She was still small, her younger brother, Joffrey at age six was already up to her shoulders, it wouldn't be long before he was taller than her. She had never lost those grey eyes that the Baratheons were so proud of. Right now they sparkled silver with happiness, but Cersei knew that within seconds those silver eyes could cloud over like a stormy day if something upset the girl. Her waist length brown hair was pulled back into a long braid down her back, but wisps of hair had come loose and curled around her face. At least Cersei had gotten he into the habit of at the very least braiding her hair when she came to live with them in Kings Landing after Joffrey's birth. When she had lived at the Rock with Jaime he had let the young girl run around, her hair flying wildly behind her like a little heathen child.

No, there was nothing of Cersei in her looks, Gods but she was beautiful. And maybe that was what she had gotten from Cersei. Robert's looks were handsome on a man, but maybe it was Cersei who had softened those looks into the beauty that was their daughter. And when she wasn't tripping over her feet in a rush she was graceful. Jaime had done right by her while they lived together at the Rock. She was well schooled in everything one would expect of a princess. She would make that Stark boy a fine wife, if she could only learn to hide that independent streak of hers.

For example, Cersei knew for a fact that her daughter was supposed to be at a dancing lesson right now with her younger sister, Myrcella. They would be learning a waltz, or a jig, or something. That's what she should have been doing rather than attempting to sneak her sword out of their chambers as she was doing at the moment. "Lenora," Cersei called out, finally catching her daughter's attention. "You are supposed to be at a dancing lesson right now, are you not?"

Lenora turned to face her mother and a deep red flush spread across her cheeks as she tried to hide her sword in the folds of the dark gown she wore. "Yes Mother," she answered, her grey eyes unable to meet her mother's, a sure sign that she was about to lie. "Only I forgot my slippers in my bedroom, so the dancing master sent me back up here to get them. I mustn't keep him waiting though."

She turned to leave the room, but stopped again when Cersei spoke. "You mean you forgot the slippers you were wearing when you entered the room?" She shook her head and clicked her tongue with disapproval. "I thought I taught you to lie better than that, Lenora." Lenora opened her mouth, no doubt to deny the lie, but Cersei was not finished yet. "And since when did the dancing master require you to bring your sword with you to your lessons?"

Lenora sighed, she knew when she was beat. "Uncle Jaime pulled me from the dancing lesson," she told her mother, staring down at her feet, a habit she had never lost from her childhood, whenever the princess realized that she had been caught and was going to get in trouble she would start glaring at her left foot, as if it were the reason her plan hadn't worked out the way she had wanted it to. "I understand that dancing is important, but this is the first nice day we have had this past fortnight, he thought it was a good time to practice with our swords."

She stopped there, but Cersei could practically hear her daughters unspoken words and I find sword play so much more interesting than dancing. She shook her head, staring at her daughter, "What am I to do with you?" she asked, almost playfully.

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, "Give me any punishment you see fit, Mother, but please let me practice first. It's been so long since I've gotten to practice with Uncle Jaime. I fear that I will lose my skills if I do not keep using them."

Cersei smiled at her eldest daughter and held her hand up, quickly silencing the young girl. "I will not punish you, Child," she told her daughter. After what she had done to Lenora when the girl was but a babe she was the one out of all of her children that Cersei had the hardest time saying no to. Lenora could have asked for almost anything and Cersei was sure that she would be unable to deny the young girl. "You have my permission and blessing to practice sword play with you uncle. But, could you please send him up to me before the two of you get started. I would have a word with him"

"I'll try," Lenora told her mother before she rushed forward to press a kiss against her mother's cheek and baby Tommen's head. "But you know how Uncle Jaime gets once he's made up his mind. There's no changing it. And today he has made up his mind to teach me to fight."

"I know what he's like," Cersei agreed thinking about how many months it had been since her brother had shared her bed with her, the last time had been when she had conceived Tommen. And that was close to two years ago. She missed him. And she had to try very hard not to resent her eldest daughter the time he spent with her. "But do tell him I wish to see him."

"I will," Lenora told her mother before running from the room and toward the tilt yard.

Cersei looked down at the babe in her arms, less content than she had been before Lenora had entered the room. "What are we to do with the two of them?" she asked her youngest son, her baby. If Jaime were to have his way Lenora would never be a fit wife for any man, she would be turned into the knight she had always wanted to be. She was eleven years old and already better than many of the Red Guard that Tywin had placed at the palace to protect the royal children. On more than one occasion Cersei had seen her daughter spar with the guard and beat them. And Jaime had said that they weren't even taking it easy on her.

...

He did come to her, but like Robert he waited until a time that was convenient to him. He did not come before he and Lenora practiced her sword fighting, he did not come once Lenora went back to her studies, he did not come until after supper had been served to the Queen and he children and the youngest of the royal children had been put to bed.

She knew why he picked that time. Lenora was still awake. She was in her room, reading a book one of the maesters had given her to practice her High Valerian. The royal chambers were large, but they were not so large that she wouldn't be able to hear them if they started to fight.

Jaime had chosen that time to come visit her because he did not want to have the same fight they always had now. She was seething when he came through the door. He might not want to have the fight, but she did. Even if it meant that it had to be in whispers instead of shouts. "I sent for you hours ago," she hissed at him the moment he had stepped through the door to her private sitting room.

"You did," Jaime said with a nod as he turned around and quietly shut the door behind him. "But I am not your husband, you do not have me at your beck and call," he paused. "Come to think of it I do not think you have even him there either. Does he even come see you anymore?"

Cersei felt her eyes tightening in anger. "Are you trying to hurt me out of spite?" she asked him.

"Spite, dear sister, why would I ever have a reason to spite you?" Jaime asked as he moved further into the room, taking a seat opposite her even though she had not invited him to sit down yet. Cersei tried not to let it hurt her. There was a time when he would have sat down right beside her. There was a time when he would have ripped her dress of and taken her against the very chair he was sitting in. But that time was long gone now, it would seem.

"What reason would you have?" Cersei asked, echoing her brother's question. "I've been asking myself that since the last time you and I were alone. You used to come to me all the time. I used to not have to send my daughter to beg for you to come see me. We were perfect once, you and I."

"I suppose we were," Jaime agreed, inspecting his fingernails as if he was already bored with this conversation. And perhaps he was, it was one they had had several times within the past year. "But then you married the King and, as they say, all good things must come to an end."

"But not us," Cersei whispered, getting up out of her seat and walking over to kneel in front of her brother's chair. "Never us. We are meant to be, Jaime. Two halves of a whole. The only perfect thing in this entire world." She reached out to grab his hand, she meant to have him touch her, to remember what it was like when they were together. To remember what she felt like. But he moved his hand away before she could touch him. Her gaze dropped to her lap, "Our children are perfect too," she told him. "If you would only look at them."

"I do look at them," Jaime told her, "Three perfect children. With three matching golden heads. And six beautiful green eyes. Three perfect examples of the Lannister blood. When you line them up next to Lenora it is a small wonder that there aren't more whispers about who their father is and who Robert's true-born heir is."

"Robert is stupid," Cersei told him with a wave of her hand, "he'll never guess."

"But Jon Arryn is not," Jaime told her. "And there are whispers that he has been asking some very pointed questions."

Cersei waved her hand again, "Men can be bought," she told her brother before she realized that he had changed the subject. "Don't distract me," she ordered him. "I did not ask you here to talk of Jon Arryn. I asked you here to talk of us."

"You did not ask me here at all, dear sister," Jaime told her as he stood up from his chair. "You ordered me here. And I don't think that there is an us. Not truly since the night with Lenny. And definitely not since you've finally given Robert both an heir and a spare. I don't think you need my services anymore."

Try as she might Cersei could not hide the hurt she felt at that statement. Jaime stopped when he reached the door and he turned around to face her. "I will always love you, Cersei," he told her. "Gods damn me to the Seven Hells, I will always love you. I don't know how to stop. But we cannot be as we were. We can never be that again."

-.-.-.-.-

Jaime

He found her in the Great Hall, sitting on the Iron Throne in the most unlady like manner possible. Her back was resting against one of the arms, her feet dangled over the other. She held a book in her hands, whatever she was reading must have been boring her, he could tell by the way she kicked her feet against the side of the throne, a habit she had had since she was a child. She did not look up when he entered, she did not seem to hear him. When he reached out and touched her shoulder she jumped. "Oh, Uncle Jaime," she exclaimed. "You scared me. I thought you were Joff."

"And what would you have done if I was?" Jaime asked her, raising his eyebrows.

"I would have told the little prick to leave me alone before I bloodied his nose for a second time today," Lenore responded, her tone light as she turned back to the book she had been reading.

Jaime chuckled as he lowered himself down to the steps in front of the throne, sitting with his back against it. "Your younger brother is the Crown Prince of Westeros," he reminded his niece, though he knew she needed no reminder from him; Joffrey, though but six years old, was well aware of his place in the world and enjoyed lording it over his older sister.

"A fact of which he never fails to remind me," Lenora told her uncle, looking away from her book for just a moment to smirk down at the older man. "Which is why I bloodied his nose already today."

"He'll tell your mother," Jaime warned.

"No he won't," Lenora answered back in a sing-song voice. "Not unless he wants me to tell Mother that he was trying to stab one of the stable boys with his sword, simply because he could."

"Now I may be an old man," Jaime told his niece with a smirk, "but if I do recall, there was a young girl at Casterly Rock who once tried to cut a squire's son down with my sword."

"That's different," Lenora answered, her smirk widening into a smile. "He mocked me, I had to defend my honor. Joffrey was simply stabbing the boy because he's the crown prince and he thinks that means he can do whatever he wants." She paused for a moment before she turned to look at her uncle. "Besides, I gave the squire's son armor, and I was far more likely to hurt myself with your sword than him."

"Semantics, I assure you," Jaime told the girl with a wave of his hand. He turned his head further to get a better look at the book his niece was reading. "That looks boring," he told her.

She nodded, "It is boring," she agreed, "but the Maester has set me to memorize all the great houses in the Seven Kingdoms, their sigils, their colors, their words, their seats. I am to pay particular attention to House Stark."

"Ah," Jaime nodded, "your betrothed." Lenora rolled her eyes at her uncle, she was quite good at it for a girl her age. Jaime reached over and took the book from her, "Well go on, what do you have so far?"

"In alphabetical order? Geographical order? Size? Or importance?" Lenora asked, her tone bored.

"Let's go with importance," Jaime suggested.

"House Baratheon: A stag, black and gold, Ours is the Fury, they rule the Seven Kingdoms," she gestured at the throne she was sitting in, "obviously. House Lannister: A lion, Red and gold, Hear me Roar," she paused, "or alternatively: A Lannister always pays his debts, Casterly Rock and Wardens of the West. House Stark: a direwolf, grey and white, Winter is Coming, Winterfell and Wardens of the North. House Arryn: a moon and falcon, white and light blue, As High as Honor, Vale and Warden of the East."

She stopped. "Done already?" Jaime asked her. "You only know four of the great houses? That simply will not do."

"I know all of them," his niece snapped at him, "I'm just bored." But Jaime knew that wasn't it, his niece was far too disciplined to stop something just because she was bored. He looked at her face, her eyes were dark like the stormy sea, her eyebrows furrowed. She was thinking about something, whatever it was made her unhappy. He waited. She sighed and looked down at the throne she was sitting on, her hands brushed over some of the swords that made up the seat. "They say that the Iron Throne is made up of one thousand swords, surrendered to Aegon the Conqueror during the war that united the Seven Kingdoms," she told her uncle quietly. "But when I was younger I counted them, over and over again. There's less than two hundred."

"Yes," Jaime told her with nod. "But one thousand sounds so much better."

Lenora bit her lip, "It's terribly uncomfortable," she told him. Jaime nodded silently, remembering the time that he had sat on the throne, after he had killed Aerys, it had been uncomfortable then too. Lenora was quiet again, her grey eyes sweeping over the great hall, "It was here wasn't it?" she asked him. Jaime looked up at her, not quite sure what she was asking him, but hoping it wasn't what he thought it was. "Where you earned your nickname, Kingslayer, it was here?"

Jaime nodded, "It was here," he agreed.

"Why did you do it?" Lenora asked, turning to meet her uncle's gaze. "I've heard the stories. Aerys was mad, insane, and he needed to die for the sake of the Seven Kingdoms. I understand that. But you were a member of the Kingsguard, you were sworn to protect him. Ned Stark was only a few hours away, he could have done it. Why did it have to be you?"

Jaime should have known that that question was coming. He should have known, Lenora was old enough to have heard the whispers. She was old enough to think for herself and to wonder. He looked up at her, preparing to see judgement and disgust on her face as he did whenever someone asked him about that afternoon. Instead what he saw was love, and curiosity. His niece was not judging him, and even if she were, she was predisposed to love him. She was simply curious. For the first time in the many years since that afternoon Jaime felt that he could actually answer the question.

"He ordered me to kill my father," he told her, his voice quiet to keep it from echoing through the Great Hall, just in case someone was spying from the gallery above. "Your grandfather had not declared for a side yet, and Aerys did not trust him. He ordered me to kill him. And when I could not do that. He gave a different order, to someone else."

"A worse order than to murder your own father?" Lenora asked, her voice just as low and hushed as Jaime's. "But what could be worse than that?"

"During his reign the Mad King had ordered the pyromancers to produce wildfire and to store it underneath the city. Rather than lose the war, Aerys ordered on of the pyromancers to set the wildfire ablaze. He would rather watch all of Kings Landing burn - every man, woman, and child die, before he would lose the war. I found out about his plan and I killed the pyromancer before he could follow through with the King's order. But there were more, some all too happy to do the Mad King's bidding. I could either kill them all, or I could kill the king."

Lenora was quiet for a moment, worrying her lip between her teeth before she turned to her uncle. "And so, you killed the king that you had sworn to protect." It wasn't a question. It wasn't a judgement. It was a statement.

"Just so," Jaime answered with a nod.

Lenora quietly, almost silently climbed off of the throne and moved to sit next to her uncle on the black stone steps beneath it. She took both of his hands in her small child sized ones and gave them a gentle squeeze. When she spoke though it was not with a child's voice, nor were they a child's words. "All these years you've fought against that name," she said, Jaime was glad that she did not use it again. "Everyone judges you for what you did, they say that you lost your honor that day." She shook her head and squeezed his hands a bit tighter, "But you, Uncle Jaime, are the most honorable man I know. This entire city and the Seven Kingdoms owes you for the lives they have lived since that day. And it's a debt they will never be able to pay. Just know, that I know who you are. Just know that I see you."

She fell silent then. And as Jaime looked down at his young niece he realized what a disservice it was to the Seven Kingdoms that she would never be able to inherit the throne. She would have made a wonderful Queen. He opened his mouth to tell her that, Lenora beat him to it. "House Tulley," she told him with a grin. "A leaping trout, silver and red and blue; Family, Duty, Honor, Riverrun."

And just like that, the spell was broken.

...

It was Tommen's first name day. And Cersei had gone all out for the celebration. There had been a joust in the afternoon, Jaime still could not bite back the smile when he remembered Cersei's face just before the joust. The royal family was to watch the jousting from the King's box. All except for Jaime who would be in the competition and, it would seem, Lenora who had come out of her chambers dressed in a pair of breeches and a shirt that she had borrowed from a stable boy.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Cersei had demanded angrily. She had carefully planned all of her children's outfits, the four royal children would be wearing matching red and gold clothes, Lannister colors. That was most definitely not what Lenora was wearing.

Her daughter had shrugged and moved closer to Jaime, "Squiring for Uncle Jaime, of course," she told her mother.

"If Lenora gets to squire than I want to joust!" Joffrey demanded in his young child's voice. "I'm the crown prince after all."

Cersei had been adamant about how improper it was for Lenora to squire for her uncle.

But Robert found it funny. He laughed heartily and kissed his daughter on her cheek before he wished both her and Jaime luck.

The knights and squires had loved it. Jaime supposed that for at least some of them it was the closest they had ever been to one of the royal children. Perhaps it would not be such a bad idea for Joffrey to join in during the tournaments once he was old enough. There was something good about have a prince, or in Lenora's case a princess, who was accessible to the people.

But now, after the jousting had finished she was dressed in the Lannister red and gold that her mother had picked for her, her usually unruly brown hair was piled on top of her head in the southern style and she was acting every bit the royal Princess that her mother wanted her to.

She was currently out on the floor dancing with Tyrion.

She was a small girl, but it was already comical how much she had to stoop to be at the same level as her uncle. Jaime chuckled as he moved in on the awkwardly sized pair on the floor, "Mind if I cut it?" he asked, bowing low to the princess.

"Please do," Tyrion told his older brother with a smile and a nod as he stepped away from his niece. "I told her I was no good as a dancing parter, but our girl is a rather stubborn one, she wanted to dance. I was not to say no to her."

"She gets that from her mother," Jaime agreed as he held his arms open for the young girl. She smiled at him before she stepped into his arms, easily finding the proper stance. Jaime laughed at her and pulled her in closer, until the young girl was standing on his feet. "You may have been willing to stoop for your uncle, but I am not willing to stoop."

"I am a princess," Lenora told him, lifting her chin defiantly, "You should be willing to do anything for me."

Jaime smiled down at the girl in his arms as they started to move to the music. "You know I would do anything for you, my fawn."

Lenora rolled her eyes, "When will I stop being a fawn, Uncle Jaime?" she asked. "I am eleven years old. Aren't I a doe yet?"

Jaime shook his head. "You will always be a fawn to me."

-.-.-.-.-

Lenora

After she danced with her uncle Jaime, she danced with some of the ladies in the court, and then one final dance with her father. This was her favorite part about celebrations in the Red Keep. The dancing. She especially loved it when her father came down from the Iron Throne to dance with her. She had never seen him dance with her mother, but she was sure they must have danced at one time. They were both lovely dancers.

Robert had laughed as he twirled his daughter around the dance floor to the delight of her and the ladies and lords who were watching them. "You are quite a lovely dancer, Lenora," he told her, his tone approving. "We'll have to ask your dance master to teach you some dances in the Northern style before you head up there to meet the Starks."

"Northern style?" Lenora had asked him, confused. No one had ever mentioned that the Northerners had a different style of dancing. The smile had dropped off her face, not out of confusion, but because her father had quite easily ruined her mood. It was easy on a daily basis to forget that she was already promised to someone. But when her father brought up her living in the North with such certainty as this it was difficult to ignore.

"Oh yes," her father told her with a nod. "It is quite different from what you are used to." He paused for a moment, the dance requiring them to separate and dance with a different partner for a moment. He continued once they were back together, "But you pick things up quickly, Len," he told her with a nod. "I imagine that you'll pick up living in the North just as easily."

"It will certainly be different from living here in Kings Landing with you and Mother," Lenora told me, more to simply have something to say than anything. She wanted so badly to please her father, but she could not pretend to happy or excited about this betrothal. She had met the Stark boy once, when she was five years old. She didn't know him, how was she supposed to be excited about marrying a stranger.

"I know you're worried about him," Robert told her, as if reading her mind. "But Robb Stark is a good boy, Ned sends me updates all the time. You will be happy with him, I am sure of it."

Lenora nodded, eager to please her father. "I just don't know him, Father," she told him, unable to hide her fear.

"Then you shall write to him," Robert told her, his tone leaving little room for argument. "Tomorrow, I'll have your maester end your studies early so that you can write him a letter. They way, you will know him." And then he smiled down at her, as if he had just solved all of her problems. Lenora forced a smile on her lips as she nodded up at her father, silently agreeing with him.

...

"He says I am to write him," Lenora told her two uncles over the clash of steel. Her uncle Tyrion had come down to the tilt yard to watch her and her uncle during her sword fighting lesson. "He says I'm supposed to write him. As if that will solve everything."

"No doubt he thinks it will," Jaime told her, as diplomatically as he could. "And tell me true, Len, what damage would writing the boy a letter do?"

"No damage," Lenora admitted, throwing her sword up in front of her face to block a strike from her uncle. He was always careful with her, he would never leave a scar or a scratch on her, but he did have a habit of hitting her with the flat side of his blade if she missed a guard. "It would only serve to make me look a fool. How do I set about writing a complete stranger?"

"I write to strangers all the time," Tyrion told her. "I have been called many things, but never a fool."

Lenora rolled her eyes, "Yes, Uncle Tyrion," she told him as she leapt forward, attempting to strike Jaime. "But you write official things. I have nothing official to write to Robb Stark. What if he thinks me boring? Or what if he thinks me stupid? Or spoiled? It's already too much to marry a stranger, I don't need that stranger thinking I'm a fool."

"No one could ever think our niece a fool." Jaime told her as he blocked her strike. She knew that her uncle was still being easy on her, but it felt good to know that she always met him guard for guard and strike for strike. "Why are you fighting this so?"

"What do I write to him?" Lenora asked him, stepping away so that she could circle around her uncle, looking for a different plan of attack. "What do I write about?" she asked her uncles, glancing away from Jaime to look at her uncle Tyrion. "The weather here in King's Landing?"

Her quick glance away from Jaime was all her uncle needed to strike. He moved closer to her and struck, hitting the top of her head with the flat side of her blade.

"And you're dead," he told her, stepping away from her. "What have I always told you, Len?"

"Never take your eyes off your enemy," Lenora recited, rolling her eyes at her uncle. "But really, Uncle Jaime, you will never be my enemy." She paused for a moment, thinking, "Will you?"

"Of course not, my fawn," Jaime told her, pulling her in so that he could press a kiss to the top of her head. "We're family after all. And as for what you will write to the boy. Write about anything. Write about your studies, your sword fighting, your family. Ask him about his. Ask him about the North. It will be your home soon, after all. Ask him anything, boys like to talk about themselves."

"And men?" Lenora asked, raising her eyebrows. "What do men like to talk about?"

"Women," Tyrion answered.

Lenora smiled at that before she glanced between her two uncles. "Can't I wait until tomorrow to write the letter?" she asked.

"No," Tyrion told her, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"Because your tomorrow will turn into the next day, or the next day, or the next day." Jaime told her. He put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around to face the castle. "Now go," he tapped her on her behind with the sword and sent her on the way.

It still felt strange, she realized, writing the letter. But with her Jaime's advice and Tyrion's joke she felt a little bit better about it. Besides, she was a princess of Westeros even if the Stark boy thought that she was an idiot, he was not allowed to say it.

Robb,
I don't know how to start this. I do not know you, we have not written, I cannot start this as a conversation. I can only start by saying hello.
Hello, Robb Stark. My name is Lenora Baratheon, my family calls me Lenny, or Len. I am eleven years old, and once we are both of age, I am to be your wife. I'm sorry about that.
I met you once, do you remember? It was shortly before my brother Joff was born. You and your father had traveled to Kings Landing for the celebrations. Our fathers announced the betrothal and you never said a word to me, the whole time you were in the city. Do you remember?
Please do not be silent again.
Please do not leave me alone in this.
I am not a craven, but I will admit that I am afraid.
I am afraid of the North. I have never been north of Casterly Rock.
I am afraid of marrying a man that I do not know. So do not be a stranger to me.
Write back. Quickly. Tell me all there is to know about you. Tell me all there is to know about the North. So that, when I finally head to Winterfell - I will know it, and I will know you.

Yours,
Lenora Baratheon

Author's Note:

So, my dears, multiple things.
First, I must apologize. This chapter has been done for like two weeks, but I was holding it hostage for at least five reviews. I didn't get those five reviews, but I really wanted to post the chapter and I decided that holding it hostage was unfair. So I'm sorry. I'll try not to do it again.
You guys can always review more though ... that might help!
Secondly, someone pointed out to me that the Baratheons are known for black hair and blue eyes not brown hair and grey eyes. There's this really fun thing called artistic liberty where someone is allowed to change something from cannon for their own purposes. This is one of them. When I picture Lenora in my head she has dark brown hair and grey eyes so that is what the Baratheons will have in this story. Boom.
Thirdly, reviews! Thank you to the four of you that did review on the previous chapters! You are saints!
Lilone1776: You were my first review! Thank you so much. I'm glad that you like Lenora because I love her. She's fiery and smart and sarcastic and playful. Basically she's everything I think Cersei would be if she hadn't been so disappointed in life. And she needed to be for what I have planned for her!
EdenEzraHiddleston: I'm glad that you're enjoying the story. Here's your update!
macrazy99: I'm glad you like the story so far. Full confession, I am in love with the idea of a paternal Jaime. We saw a bit of it with Myrcella last season I think which made it cannon. I took it and ran with it and here we are.
I'm also having a lot of fun playing with Cersei. I think it is really easy to paint her as a bitch and move on. But she's not. Even in the books you catch glimpses of what a good person she could have been. So I'm having fun with it.
Anne: I'm glad you liked the beginning! Here's the next chapter.
That's all I've got for you guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review!
Thank you, loves!
Hugs and kisses,
Chloe Jane.