Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)
I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more.

My name is Chloe Jane and ... chapter sixty guys. SIXTY. Damn.

Chapter Sixty: Oathkeeper

Jaime

Leave it to a sellsword to make him feel guilty. He had known since the gold cloaks had brought Tyrion to his tower cell that he needed to go see his brother. He knew that Tyrion would be waiting for him and that he would be more hurt each day that Jaime stayed away. He knew all of it, but he had been able to keep the guilt at bay by reminding himself that Tyrion was on trial for murdering not only the king of the Seven Kingdoms, but Jaime's own son.

And then Bronn had ruined all of that when they had practiced swordplay that morning. He would never forgive the man for that. The guilt had been eating away at him ever since.

He was getting better with his sword, still not where he had once been, but better. He had almost holding his own against the man. He had allowed himself a grin. And it was then, when he was comfortable and unaware, that Bronn had grabbed his golden hand and hit him across the face with it.

"What the hell was that?" Jaime asked, as he scrambled on the ground, forcing himself to turn and look up at the sellsword.

"That was me knocking your ass to the dirt with your own hand," Bronn told him dismissively as he dropped the golden hand to the ground near Jaime's feet and walked away. Jaime's left fist clenched in anger, there had been a time when a man, even one as stupid as Bronn, would have never dreamed of turning his back on Jaime Lannister.

But that time was past. He was getting better with a sword in his left hand, but he still not a threat.

He grabbed his hand and quickly stood up, placing it back on his stump without looking at the injury. "You're a rare talent," he told him bitterly. "When you're fighting cripples anyway."

Bronn was not insulted. "You learned to fight like a good little boy. I bet that thrust through the Mad King's back was pretty as a picture. You want to fight pretty or do you want to win?"

"Do you talk to my brother this way?" Jaime asked him.

"All the time," Bronn answered. Something told him that the man was telling him the truth. Tyrion had always valued honesty over manners. And one thing Jaime could say about Bronn was that he was honest.

Brutally so.

"He got used to it," Bronn continued as he handed Jaime a wine sack to drink out of.

Jaime waited until he had swallowed a rather large sip of wine before he spoke next. "Do you think he did it?" he asked as the sun rose behind them.

"No," Bronn told him, almost immediately. "Sure, he hated the little twat, but who didn't?" Jaime didn't answer, he didn't need to. Everyone had hated Joffrey. Everyone but his sister and they both knew it. "Besides," Bronn continued with a shrug. "Poison's not his style. Or murder for that matter." He glanced at Jaime, "If you want to know for sure, why don't you ask him? Or have you still not been to see him?"

His voice when he asked the question was flippant enough, but the sellsword's pale blue eyes focused on Jaime's face with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. Yes, Tyrion's pet sellsword was honest. He was also loyal.

More loyal to his brother than Jaime was.

He threw the wine sack back to Bronn and moved away from him. "We're done for today," he told the man.

Bronn let him walk five steps away from him before he spoke. "Your brother ever tell you how I came to be in his service?" he asked.

"You stood for him in his trial by combat at the Eyrie," Jaime supplied, purposefully sounding bored.

"Aye," Bronn agreed nonchalantly. "But only when Lady Arryn demanded that the trial take place that day. You were his first choice." He was speaking to Jaime's back, so he must have seen the way his shoulders tensed. He had caught Jaime's attention. And harder yet, he had caught Jaime by surprise. "He picked you for his champion because he knew that you would ride day and night to come fight for him."

Jaime turned to look at the sellsword, Tyrion had never told him that. Did his little brother really have that much faith in Jaime? The man who broke everything he touched, the man who had never met an oath he could keep? Had Tyrion really believed in him that much?

"You gonna fight for him now?" Bronn asked him.

Jaime could not meet his eye.

...

The surprise on his brother's face was all he needed to know that staying away had been the wrong thing to do. Tyrion would never say it to him, for a man who valued honesty his younger brother had always had a way of keeping the most painful observations from Jaime, but he had been hurt by Jaime's absence. Betrayed even.

"You're here," Tyrion murmured, almost a gasp, as he scrambled off his bed and rushed toward Jaime. For a moment it looked as if the younger man was going to wrap his arms around Jaime's legs and hug him. But he stopped just short of his brother's personal space. "I thought it was Podrick coming to see me."

Jaime smirked at the memory of his brother's strange, bumbling squire. "I met him in the corridor," he explained. "He was coming to bring you bread and very watered down wine."

"And you decided to stop him?" Tyrion asked.

Jaime smiled as he threw his wine sack to his younger brother, "I figured you would prefer a non-watered Dornish red," he told him. "And the Tyrion Lannister I used to know never wanted to pad his stomach with bread before he drank."

"The Tyrion Lannister you used to know wasn't also about to be on trial for the murder of his nephew," Tyrion supplied as he uncorked the wine sack and took a long sip. He was testing Jaime, he wanted to see what his older brother would say in response to the allegations against him. He wanted to know Jaime's honest opinion before he tried to either reinforce it or change it.

"Bronn says that you didn't kill him," Jaime supplied with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

"I didn't," Tyrion assured him. "Surely you know that, Jaime. I hated him. I thought he was a cruel, sadistic little shit. But I never would have murdered him. You must know that."

Jaime looked at his brother and he realized that Tyrion was right. He did know that. He did know that Tyrion would have never killed a member of his own family. This was his little brother. He was angry at himself for allowing Cersei to make him doubt that. "I know you didn't," he assured him.

The bright smile Tyrion gave him made him feel even worse for staying away for so long. How he must have hurt him. He vowed to make it up to him somehow. Tyrion looked around his nearly empty cell, "I would offer you a chair," he started. "But I don't have any. Would the floor suit you?"

Jaime chuckled and easily lowered himself down to the floor, "I'm no stranger to sitting on the floor," he assured his brother, thinking of the months he had spent as Robb Stark's prisoner. No, he was no stranger to the floor, or chains, or sitting in his own shit. He knew that Tyrion must hate his cell, but as he looked around them he knew that his brother was in much better shape than Jaime had ever been. "You must thank Father for your current accommodations." Tyrion scoffed. "I'm serious," Jaime told him. "This looks like a palace compared to where Robb Stark kept me."

"Yes," Tyrion agreed, though he had never seen Jaime's cell. "Though I think you rather deserved it, didn't you?"

Jaime reeled back, his left hand coming to his heart as if Tyrion's words had wounded him, "And this is what I get for coming to see you?" he joked.

"Perhaps I would have been friendlier if you had come sooner," Tyrion told him, a bit of pain bleeding through his joking tone. He took another swig of the wine before he held the sack out to Jaime. "I only mean that you were at war with him, you were his prisoner, you had attacked his father, and attempted to escape. However horrible your cell was, I'm sure he thought you deserved it."

"I did," Jaime admitted. There was no anger to his admission, it would have been a waste to be angry at the dead. "I did deserve it."

"But me?" Tyrion continued, smiling when Jaime passed the wine back to him. "I don't deserve this. I did not kill Joffrey."

Jaime sighed, hating himself for it. "You have to admit that it looks bad though," he told Tyrion. "You were his cupbearer. The poison was in his cup. He pointed to you with his last breath. And your wife just conveniently disappears after his death." He shook his head, "Can you blame Cersei for blaming you?"

"If she hadn't spent my entire life hating me," Tyrion told him in his casually honest way. "I wouldn't blame her if I thought for one second that she would look at this objectively. But she won't. She's hated me my whole life. She's wanted me dead since the day I was born. She's using this as an excuse. I was Joffrey's cupbearer because he made me. I barely touched his cup, only to hand it to him. Perhaps he pointed at me because he wanted something to drink, he was choking after all."

"And Sansa?" Jaime asked, his voice quiet. "What do you make of her disappearance?"

"Sansa Stark did not kill him either if that's what you're hinting at," Tyrion groaned. "She was no where near him, for the Stranger's sake."

"But she did handle his cup," Jamie remembered. "When Joffrey kicked it under the table."

"To help me!" Tyrion defended her. "To save me from any further embarrassment. Not to kill the king."

"How are you so sure?" Jaime asked him. "Your marriage was a sham. You barely knew the girl."

Tyrion took a long draw from the wine sack, Jaime wouldn't have been surprised if he finished the thing. But a moment later Tyrion pulled it away from his lips and passed it to him. "Our marriage was a sham," he admitted. "I will agree to that. But I will not agree that I did not know the girl. I spent my days with her. I knew the few things that made her smile, I knew the many things that made her frown. I knew what she looked like when she was angry, I knew what she looked like when she cried. I knew what she looked like when she was trying to hide something. I knew that she loved lemon cakes and on the day she learned that Father had orchestrated the murders of her mother and brother she couldn't have a single one. I knew her. I knew Sansa Stark. And she would never have done this."

"Then where is she?" Jaime asked.

"Gone," Tyrion gave the obvious answer. "Perhaps you should be asking where Littlefinger went. Everyone knew about his love for her mother. Seven Hells, he never shut up about Catelyn Tully. Perhaps he took her in some strange attempt to earn forgiveness from the dead."

Jaime thought about that. It was plausible. Unbidden his mind drifted to Brienne, the blonde knight had not left King's Landing yet, though she was distraught that Sansa Stark was missing. She had come all the way to King's Landing to fulfill her vow to the dead mother and she had lost the daughter. "Brienne of Tarth meant to take Sansa Stark home," he murmured without thinking.

Tyrion snorted, "Some homecoming that would be," he told his brother bitterly. "The Ironborn set Winterfell to the torch. I don't know how much is left."

"It does not matter," Jaime told him. "She will not be satisfied, she will not rest until she fulfills her oath to Catelyn Stark."

Tyrion took a long sip of wine, finishing the sack, then he corked it, and tossed it back to him. "When will she leave to search for the Stark girl?" he asked.

"I suppose when I tell her to," Jaime answered after a long moment of silence. "She's staying in King's Landing for me. She seems to think that I am a better man than I really am. More honorable than I truly am. Stronger than I pretend to be."

"She's a fool," Tyrion joked with a smirk.

Jaime nodded in silent agreement. "She reminds me a bit of Len," he added after a moment.

"Len did always see the best in people," Tyrion agreed. He watched his brother for a moment under furrowed brows. "Jaime, can I ask you a favor?"

"Anything," Jaime promised him, eager to pay his brother back for staying away for so long.

"When you send Brienne of Tarth away, to look for Sansa Stark, can you send my squire with her? King's Landing will not be safe for him much longer. And a squire so desperately needs a knight to serve."

"Then what was he doing with you?" Jaime teased.

"Seeing the best in me," Tyrion answered. "Like Brienne sees in you."

"And Lenora sees in everyone."

...

It was not going to be easy to say goodbye to Brienne. That surprised Jaime more than anything. There had been a time in the riverlands when Lady Catelyn had first set him free that he would have given anything to be free of the woman. But now; now that she had saved his life and he had saved hers, now that she had brought him home to King's Landing, now that he had begun to see himself the way she saw him, now it was harder.

He would miss her. He would worry about her. He would always wonder if she was able to fulfill her oath to Lady Catelyn. It would be easier to keep her in King's Landing, to tell her that he needed her, she would stay for him, he knew that now. But this was for her safety. She was no safer from Cersei than Tyrion's boy Podrick. They both needed to leave.

And if Jaime was half the man that Brienne thought he was, he would have sent her away long before now. But he was selfish. And he had kept her in the capitol for too long.

He asked her to meet him in the Lord Commander's solar so that he could give her his gifts and say goodbye to her far from the spying eyes of Cersei's servants. He was sure that she wouldn't want any gifts from him, that she wouldn't need any. But he was sending her on a suicide mission, he was sure that she would never find Sansa Stark. The best he could do was give her the best sword and armor Lannister gold could buy.

She beat him to his solar and when he walked in she was sitting behind the desk reading from the Book of Brothers. It was so forward, so cheeky, so like her that he could not help but smile. "Find anything interesting in there?" he asked her, hoping that she was not reading about him.

"Ser Jaime Lannister," she read from his page, he sighed, as Joffrey had once pointed his page was practically empty, he done so few knightly deeds. "Knighted and named to the King's Guard in his sixteenth year. At the sacking of King's Landing, murdered his king, Aerys the second. Pardoned by Robert Baratheon."

Jaime flinched. That was all that was written on his page. He supposed that he should write that he was taken captive in the Battle of the Whispering Wood, that he had failed to protect his nephew from being poisoned, and any number of other failures. It was now his job, after all, to fill the pages.

Brienne glanced up at him, flinching herself as she read, "Thereafter known as the Kingslayer."

She opened her mouth, no doubt to tell him that it did not matter. That he had killed Aerys to save the people of King's Landing. She would try to make him feel better about his failures, try to paint them as honorable. And there was a part of him that loved her for it. But he had not brought her here to make him feel better about his own shortcomings. He had not always been an honorable man, but he could be one now.

And he would start by sending her away to fulfill their oath to Catelyn Stark.

"It is the duty of the Lord Commander to fill those pages," he told her, cutting off any argument she might have made. "And there's still room left on mine." He hoped that she would understand that he was trusting her with his honor. That anything added to his page would be because of her.

He lifted his Valyrian sword from its stand and with his gold hand handed it to her, hilt first. He watched her as she inspected the sword, testing the balance and the weight. Her light blue eyes widened when she noticed how light it was. "Valyrian steel," she murmured, turning the blade in her hand to watch the light dance off of its dark surface.

"It's yours," Jaime told her.

Those two words were the only words that could have brought her gaze from the steel in her hands to his face. "I can't accept it," she tried to argue, meaning to hand it back to him.

"It's reforged from Ned Stark's sword," Jaime told her, hoping that she would understand why he could not have it. "You'll use it to protect Ned Stark's daughter. You swore an oath to return the girls to their mother. Catelyn Stark is dead, Arya is probably dead, but there is still a chance for Sansa."

When Brienne glanced up at him he thought for a moment that there were tears in her eyes. But she blinked and they were gone. "I'll find her," she told him. "For Lady Catelyn." He nodded, he expected nothing less of her. "And for you," she added.

She understood.

He smiled at her, for just a moment before he looked away. Her eyes were too intense, he could not meet her gaze. He dropped his gaze to the sword in her hand, "They say the best swords have names," he told her thinking of his old sword, Oathbreaker. "Any ideas?"

She looked at him for a moment, her gaze still intense, her brow furrowed, "Oathkeeper," she told him after a long moment.

And she was.

-.-.-.-.-

Sansa

They were sailing north. She could feel it in the air the few times Lord Baelish allowed her on the deck of the ship. Always at night, when it was darkest and none of the crew would be able to recognize her. He told her it was of the upmost importance that she stay hidden from the crew. He told her that he had paid them well enough to do their job, but that once they had disembarked his gold would do very little to keep the men from whispering. He told her that she wanted to be careful that no whispers of the redheaded girl on the ship made their way back to King's Landing and the queen.

She wanted to argue with him. She wanted to tell him that she had no reason to fear the queen. That she had played no part in Joffrey's death. But the words always died on her lips. She may not have killed Joffrey herself, but she had prayed for it. And the queen knew that. If no one else could be found to blame the murder on Cersei would have been too pleased to behead Sansa for it.

And so she kept quiet. She went out on deck only when Lord Baelish told her it was safe. She did not argue when he shut her in a cabin below deck. She did not complain when he was her only visitor during the day. She pretended not to be embarrassed when the lord brought her meals instead of sending a servant to do it. It was all for her safety, though she was unsure of why that mattered so much to Littlefinger.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked him one day. When she had first been brought on the ship he had told her that he was taking her home, but she didn't believe that. Winterfell belonged to the Ironborn now, or perhaps Roose Bolton and his men. She had been so broken after the news of her brother and mother's deaths that she hadn't even thought to ask what had happened to her home. As much as she wanted to go home, it was impossible. And Petyr Baelish, the intelligent, scheming man that he was would know that.

"I'm getting married to your aunt Lysa," he told her. "She's waiting for us at the Eyrie. You'll be safe there."

Safe? she thought to herself. She couldn't even remember what it was like to feel safe. But she was sure that she wouldn't be safe at the Eyrie. She had never met her aunt Lysa, never spoken to her. All she knew was what she had heard from her mother. That Lysa had gone a bit insane after Jon Arryn's death, that she had taken her son and fled to the Eyrie and called up her banners as if they were at war. Robb had no doubt sent her ravens when he was still alive, asking for help and support in his war. But Lysa had helped no one.

And Tyrion, the voice at the back of her head reminded her. She knew about her aunt Lysa from Tyrion. She knew that the woman had locked him up in a cell high on a cliff, an open-ended one, nothing protecting him from falling. She knew that her aunt had meant to throw Tyrion from her castle through a hole in the floor called the moon door. She knew that Lysa still coddled her cousin Robin as if he were a baby.

Lysa is insane, she almost told Petyr, but she bit her tongue. For whatever reason this man was helping her and she would not speak out against his betrothed. That would be stupid. And no matter what she was sure Lord Baelish thought of her, she was not stupid.

So instead she nodded and walked away from the older man, gaining as much space as the small cabin would allow her. She wanted to be able to watch him when she asked her next question. And she wanted to be as far away from him as she could in case he was angered by it. "Did you kill Joffrey?" she asked him, ashamed that her voice wobbled a bit when she said his name, as if she were going to cry.

"Did I kill Joffrey?" he asked, moving closer to her. He smirked, as if enjoying some private joke of his. "I've been in the Vale for weeks."

"I know it was you," she told him, sounding more sure of herself than she truly was.

"And who helped me with this conspiracy?" Littlefinger asked her.

She had to think about that for a moment. For days she had been working up the nerve to ask him this question, she had imagined and rehearsed the moment over and over in her head. But she had never imagined what would happen after she asked him. She had no plan now. And so she thought. "Well, there was Ser Dontos," she started, speaking slowly and hoping that her brain would work faster. For whatever reason she wanted Petyr Baelish to understand that she was not a stupid little girl, she wanted him to think that she was clever. Clever girls survive. "You used him to help you get me out of King's Landing, but you would never have trusted him to kill the king."

Her last thought had started out as a question, but she had been careful to end it as a statement. She wanted to sound sure of herself. And for a moment after she said the words she thought she saw a glint in Petyr's eyes. He was impressed, though he would never tell her that. "Why not?" he asked her, testing her.

"Because you're too smart to trust a drunk."

This time there was more than just a glint in his eyes. He smiled at her as he took a step closer to her. "Then perhaps it was your husband," he suggested.

"No," Sansa told him immediately. There had been a moment, just as the king started choking that she had thought perhaps Tyrion had done something to harm Joffrey, but the thought quickly vanished. Tyrion would never have done something so stupid, so obvious as to poison the king when he was acting as his cupbearer. And even if he had, he wouldn't have done it in a way that put Sansa in danger as well.

They had never been a true husband and wife, but she knew that Tyrion cared for her. She knew that he would do whatever he had to to protect her. And if he were going to kill the king he would have found a way to get her out of King's Landing before he did so, not during. Lord Baelish wanted her to doubt everyone but him. But Tyrion, he was one person that she could not doubt. He was one person, perhaps the only person in the Seven Kingdoms that she could completely trust.

"How do you know?" Lord Baelish asked her, his eyes narrowed.

"I just do," she told him.

He was silent for a long moment before he answered her, "You're right," he finally told her. "Tyrion wasn't involved in Joffrey's death, though he will certainly be blamed for it."

That hurt her more than she wanted to admit, even to herself. She had not loved Tyrion, she never would have. But she had started to like him, they were almost friends. She could trust him and he cared for her. He was kinder than anyone had been since her father had died and he was the only person in King's Landing that did not seem to have an ulterior motive where she was concerned. She did not want him to be blamed and beheaded for Joffrey's death. Especially since it was Petyr Baelish who had orchestrated the entire affair.

"But you were," he continued, surprising her. Sansa glanced up, surprised. Littlefinger smiled at her, and once again she realized that she was not clever, she was stupid. "Do you remember that beautiful necklace Ser Dontos gave you?" he asked her, waiting for her to nod before he continued. "I don't suppose you realized that a stone was missing after the feast?"

She shook her head, after the feast she had been too busy running through the alleys with Ser Dontos and hiding from the gold cloaks to notice anything, let alone that a stone was missing from her necklace. She took a step away from him, shaking her head again, "The poison," she whispered.

She would never be able to go back to King's Landing, she realized. Unbeknownst to herself she had played a very large, very important role in the murder of a king. It would not matter to Cersei that Sansa had not known her part in the king's death, all that would matter to the queen was that the poison had come from Sansa's necklace.

Littlefinger nodded.

"I don't understand," Sansa told him, wanting desperately to beg him to explain it to her. To tell her why, and what he planned to do now. "The Lannisters gave you wealth, power, Joffrey made you Lord of Harrenhal."

"A man with no motive is a man no one suspects," Petyr told her, calmly, patiently, as if he were teaching her an important lesson. "Always keep your foes confused. If they don't know who you are, and what you want, they can't know what you plan to do next."

And who are you, Lord Baelish, she wanted to ask him. What do you want? If he wanted to keep her confused he was certainly succeeding. She had started this conversation because she had wanted answers, but now she was only left with more questions. It wasn't fair. "I don't believe you," she told him, only truly realizing the honesty in her words after she had said them. "If they catch you they will put your head on a spike, just like my father's. You would risk that just to confuse them?"

"So many men, they risk so little, they spend their lives avoiding danger. And then they die." Father, Sansa thought as he spoke, he's talking about Father. "I would risk anything to get what I want."

"And what do you want?" she asked him, unable to keep her question in this time.

His hand was on her shoulder, it sat there for too long. And in his silence she thought she could hear his answer you. But then he spoke, "Everything," he told her. "My friendship with the Lannisters was productive. But Joffrey, a vicious boy with a crown on his head, was not a reliable ally. Who could trust someone like that?"

"Who could trust you?" Sansa asked him. She couldn't, she knew that now. He might have saved her from King's Landing, but it was because he wanted something from her. And once he got it, whatever it was, he would betray her too. She knew that.

"I don't want friends like me," he told her. "My new friends? They're very predictable, very reasonable people. As for what happened to Joffrey," he paused, "well, that was something my new friends wanted very much. Nothing like a thoughtful gift to make a new friendship grow strong."

Grow strong? Sansa thought. Where have I heard that before?

And then, under Littlefinger's intense gaze, she realized where she had heard it.

The Tyrells.

-.-.-.-.-

Cersei

Gold shall be their crowns. And gold their shrouds.

The words had been echoing in her head all morning. Try as she might she could not forget them, she could not think of anything else. She could not distract herself.

As she got dressed in her gown of dark fabric, with hints of red and gold the old witch's words echoed in her head. As she ate her breakfast she could hear the woman's laughter after she had finished her prophecy. As she visited Tommen in his chambers to make sure that he was ready for the day's celebrations she pictured Joffrey in his funeral shroud.

Gold shall be their crowns. And gold their shrouds.

She wanted to write the words off as false, as a lie. What did the old hag know to begin with? Nothing. And for short moment s she might have succeeded. But then she thought of her children.

She had asked the witch if she and the king would have children. The woman had told her that the king would have six and ten, Cersei would have three, and there would be one for the two. As a child that answer had made almost no sense to her. Cersei could not understand who a man could have sixteen children, his wife three, and one for the two. But now that she was a woman grown, and a mother she could see it all too clearly.

Bastards. She could not know for sure how many bastard children Robert had fathered, she only knew of a few. But she would hazard a guess that there were sixteen of them. Then there were her own three children, perfect Lannister children that belonged to her and her brother. Or her alone as Jaime had never been able to claim them. Six and ten for Robert, three for her.

And one for the two. Lenora. The one child she gave birth to who belonged to both her and Robert. The one trueborn child. The one she had tried to kill as an infant. And, perhaps, the only one that she had not ruined.

Gold shall be their crowns. And gold their shrouds.

And so the old witch had been right about the number of children she and Robert had each had. If she was right about that, Cersei thought that she could be right about everything else. She had said that one of her children would have a crown of steel, bronze, and iron. She had never seen the crowns of the North, but she could imagine them. The North was hard and cold, they would want their crowns to reflect that. There would be no gold, no jewels - those were for the soft, southern kings and queens. Lenora's crown would be as hard and cold as the men that had crowned her. It would be made of darker metals, stronger ones. It would be made of steel, bronze, and iron.

As for the other three ...

Gold shall be their crowns. And gold their shrouds.

Joffrey. Myrcella. Tommen. Their hair was the same, soft spun gold as her own. When they were babies she had thought that their hair looked like crowns on their heads. Golden crowns.

Joffrey had been given a gold crown and within a few months, he had died. Only three days earlier she had stood as they buried her son in the Sept of Baelor. He had been wrapped in cloth of gold when they buried him.

Gold shall be their crowns. And gold their shrouds.

And now, this very day, she would stand in the Great Sept and watch, pretending to be proud, pretending to celebrate as yet another of her children was given a golden crown. She wondered, how long it would be before she watched him, wrapped in cloth of gold, be buried beneath the Sept as well.

Gold shall be their crowns. And gold their shrouds.

...

He looked so small, her youngest child. Now her only son. He was kneeling in front of the High Septon, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he waited for the old man to finish his prayers and name him King of the Seven Kingdoms. His green eyes kept darting toward where she stood, desperate to please. There would have been a time when that would have touched Cersei's heart, when she would have thought that her son wanted nothing more than to please her. But that time was over now.

She was not touched because the last thing she wanted was for that crown to be placed on Tommen's head. Joffrey had died with that crown on his head, just as the old hag had predicted and Cersei thought, at her most desperate moments, that she might be able to save Tommen from the same fate if only she could keep him from being crowned. But it was a vain hope and a stupid thought. One her father would have laughed at if she had shared with him.

She was not touched because when her son's eyes glanced in her direction they only landed on her for a short time before they darted to her father on her right. It was not his mother that he wanted to please, but his grandfather. Her days of influence over the young boy were gone. Now, it was Tywin Lannister that he looked to for guidance and praise. Not Cersei.

She was not touched because just as often, if not more, his green eyes darted through the crowd of lords and ladies only to land on her. The little slut from Highgarden, the beautiful young woman who still wore black. The woman who would have the court believe that she was still mourning Joffrey's death all while plotting how to get her claws in Tommen. There was very little that Cersei was sure of these days, but she was certain of this. Margaery Tyrell wanted to steal Tommen from her, just as she had attempted to steal Joffrey. And if her son's glances were anything to go by, the young woman would succeed.

"May the Father give him the strength to seek justice and the wisdom to recognize it!" The High Septon proclaimed as he held the golden crown high above Tommen's head. "May the Mother teach him mercy. May the Maiden protect his innocence and show him forgiveness. May the Warrior grant him courage and protect him during these perilous times. May the Smith grant him strength, that he may bear this heavy burden. May the Crone, she who knows the fate of all men, show him the path he must walk and guide him through the dark places that lie ahead. May the -"

His prayer was cut short by Cersei shaking her head. Before the coronation she had made it explicitly clear that she did not want any prayers offered up to the Stranger. It was the Stranger who had taken Joffrey from her. It was the Stranger that would take her other children too. She would not pray to him, not today. Not ever.

The High Septon sighed, as if disappointed, but then he straightened up and quickly continued, as hoping that no one would notice his mistake. "In the light of the Seven, I now proclaim Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms!"

Cersei closed her eyes as he lowered the antlered golden crown onto Tommen's head. She could still remember the day they had crowned Joffrey. She could still picture the triumphant smile on his lips when the High Septon had named him King of the Seven Kingdoms. And now, Joffrey was dead and Tommen was the king in his place. She hoped that he would rule much longer than his older brother.

When she opened her eyes Tommen was doing his best to seem solemn, but she was his mother. She had known him since his first breath. She could see the corners of his lips fighting to turn up, to smile when he glanced toward Margaery in the crowd before him. Her youngest son was now King, and he had chosen his Queen.

He no longer belonged to Cersei.

"Long may he reign!" The High Septon called out as he moved away from the new king.

"Long may he reign!" The lords and ladies called back. Her father sounded triumphant, the audience cheered and clapped, but Cersei's whispered response was more of a prayer than a celebration.

Please Gods, she thought, glancing at the statues of the Seven that stood at their alters. Long may he reign.

...

After the coronation at the Great Sept the court had traveled back to the Red Keep where there would be a feast after all the lords had bent the knee and pledged their loyalty and fealty to Tommen.

This Cersei knew well, she had seen it many times in her life. She had seen all the Lords and Ladies bend and scrape to King Aerys, after the rebellion she had watched as they knelt in front of her and Robert and made the same vows and promises. Not long ago they had been smiling their simpering smiles to Joffrey. And now, here they were for Tommen. It would be a race, a competition. Everyone would try to be the first to kneel before their new king, to seem the most useful, the most loyal, the most ardent.

Everyone wanted something from their new king. And none of them did well to hide their impatience.

The only one who surprised Cersei was Margaery. She would have thought that the little slut would have been tripping over herself to kneel in front of Tommen, to give him a good view of her tightly laced breasts, to tempt him into announcing that he meant to take her for his wife, just as his older brother had done. But the young woman held back, watching from afar, as if she were afraid to approach the throne and boy who sat on it. But as the lords of the Small Council stepped forward to pay their respects Cersei watched as Tommen glanced toward the young woman and she understood.

Margaery separated herself from the rest so that Tommen would be able to find her. So that he would be able to watch her. And so that the rest of the court would see it. She was smart, the Highgarden girl, Cersei would give her that.

When Cersei approached her she pretended that she had not been watching Tommen so closely. She pretended that she had not been smiling so invitingly. She pretended that she had been looking out over the entire court, instead of just watching one boy. But Cersei was not stupid. And she had played this game before, first with her brother when they were young. Then with Prince Rhaegar at court when she hoped to draw him away from his wife. And finally with Robert when they were first betrothed and she cared if he thought she loved him.

Tommen might have been blind to the girl's game. But Cersei was not.

Her shoulders were tense when she approached Margaery. Her jaw was clenched. She did not want this woman anywhere near her son. But her father had already decided that they would marry. And it would not do to be enemies with the woman who would marry her son. Tommen was not Joffrey, he would easily be led by a pretty smile and a young woman's body. If he sensed that Cersei and Margaery did not get along, he would choose Margaery without a moment's hesitation. As much as Cersei hated the girl, she must pretend to stand her.

"Your Grace," the Tyrell greeted her when she approached.

Cersei did not return the greeting, they were not kin. Not yet. "There he is," she said instead, knowing that Margaery was watching Tommen just as closely as she was.

"Long may he reign," Margaery supplied.

"Long may he reign," she agreed. Longer than his brother, she prayed.

"He sits the throne as if he was born to it," the younger woman observed after a long moment.

"Yes," Cersei agreed. And the woman was right, she had seen many kings sit on the throne, but none had done so as comfortably as Tommen. The Mad King had always cut himself on the barbs, Robert would rather hunt or whore than sit on the throne, Joffrey had spent so little time on it and had been unhappy for most of it. But Tommen, he looked comfortable. She hoped that it was a good omen as to what his reign would be like. "But he wasn't, was he?" she added, reminding the young woman of Joffrey, the man she had married not even a fortnight ago.

"No," the young woman agreed. "He wasn't."

She sounded sad. It was an act though, Cersei knew that. An act, just like her dark colored dresses were an act. She reached out and touched the heavy black fabric that made up the girl's sleeve. She had never seen Margaery Tyrell wear a dress with sleeves until Joffrey had died. "You still mourn for Joffrey?" she asked. She knew that the girl didn't mourn for Joffrey, no one did except for her. But the girl would play her part, her words would be pretty, and for a moment Cersei wanted to hear them. She wanted to pretend that she was not the only one who yearned for her son.

"He was my husband," Margaery told her. "And my King -"

"He would have been your nightmare," Cersei cut in. She had wanted to hear the girl mourn for Joffrey, but as she whispered the words Cersei found that she could not stand to hear them. "You knew exactly what he was," she accused Margaery. "I did too. You never love anything in the world the way you love your children, you'll learn that one day. Doesn't matter what they do. But what he did ... it shocked me. Do you think I'm easily shocked?"

"No," Margaery told her.

Cersei nodded, "And yet the things he did shocked me." She glanced toward Tommen, and suddenly she was begging though she did not know why. "He's only a boy," she pleaded, unsure if she was talking to the Gods or the girl beside her. "A good boy, a decent boy. He always has been. Who was the last decent king, I wonder. He could be the first man to sit on that throne in fifty years and actually deserve it."

"It would be some consolation, wouldn't it?" Margaery asked. "For all the horror that put him there."

She was still playing the game, Cersei knew that, but there was truth to those words. Tommen would be a decent king, a good king. And perhaps that would be the consolation, perhaps the old witch would be wrong about her youngest child. Perhaps he would be safe. But with a glance at the too innocent face of Margaery Tyrell Cersei thought her hopes were once again in vain.

Gold will be their crowns. And gold their shrouds.

Author's Note:

Guys! I'm still freaking out about last night's episode. I went to bed freaking out about it and I woke up freaking out about it. Ahhhh! It was somewhat predictable, but SO good. And now I'm watching it again as I edit this chapter and wait on the eclipse.
No Lenora in this chapter. And no Robb. But I hope I made it up to you with everything else. You got some Jaime and Bronn, Lannister brother bonding, Jaime and Brienne, Littlefinger scheming, and Cersei's quickening spiral into madness. I loved all of it and I hope that you guys did too.
Thank you guys so much for all of your support. Without you guys this story might never have gotten past chapter three or four and we're now on chapter sixty. That's huge!
And so much love, so much love to all of my wonderful reviewers. You are more fantastic then I will ever be able to say.

Tsume Yuki: Thank you so much for your review! I'm so glad that you saved this story to your favorites and that you've enjoyed it so far! And I really appreciate that you think it's the best GoT original character fic you've ever read. That's so wonderful to read! So thank you!

bookangel1624: Haha. I love leaving you guys hanging. It's one of my favorite things. And I am so glad that you enjoyed Robb's point of view in the last chapter. There's going to be a lot more of it in upcoming chapters. It won't be too long before he remembers Lenora again.

DatMatt: All fifty-eight chapters in three days? Welcome to the binge reader club, my friend! Well, I am so glad that I trapped you with my OC and this story. Thank you for sticking around! Also, there's going to be a lot of Robb/Grey Wind points of view in the future. Even though it's going to be a long time before Robb and Lenora reunite, I don't want them to be completely separated, you know?

Guest: I'm glad that you loved the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! Thank you so much for your review!

rottingmermaid: Thank you friend for your review! I was so nervous about the Robb point of view and it is so nice to see that I didn't need to be.

RHatch89: Don't worry. Robb will start to remember her soon. (I wrote the chapter yesterday afternoon.)

Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed it!

darkwolf76: You know what I love about you? When you miss an update and you come back and there are two new chapters you leave me two reviews! Most people wouldn't do that and it makes me really happy that you do. Anyway ... I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last two chapters!
There was a lot of sadness and suffering in the last two chapters. That's why you guys got Lannister brother love in this one. I figured people would need it. I won't say that I'm sorry that Ramsay is freaking you out (he's going to be around for a while) or that you feel a bit bad for Cersei (I love making people feel bad for that bitch).
As for chapter fifty-nine. I don't necessarily want you guys to cry, though I wouldn't count it as a loss if it happens.
I'm glad that you enjoyed the Robb part. The wolf dreams are quickly becoming my favorite parts to write, even if the emptiness that he felt in the last chapter was really hard to write. I'm glad you guys are enjoying it!

Guest1995: I knew Robb was going to come back with no memories when I wrote the first chapter. They don't really address it in the show with Beric, but they talk about it a bit in the book. He forgets things. Beric had a woman he loved, he was betrothed to her, but he after he died a few times he pretty much forgot about her. So I took that bit of cannon and I bent it to my will. Robb's death was unexpected, it was full of fear, worry, anger, betrayal. And then he was gone for almost a week. It's not hard to imagine that all of that would take a toll on him.
Unfortunately for Rickon (and perhaps Bran because I'm leaving out the Three-eyed Raven storyline for this story) unless I have a major change of heart in the next ten or so chapters Robb will be the only Stark I save.
And the Iron Throne? You'll just have to wait and see!

HPuni101: Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoyed it! I think I'm going to be updating every other day this week as I build up my post writer's block chapter reserve. So keep looking out!

LokiLova: Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed Robb's point of view! There's more of that in the future! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

Wallflower: You want to know what's really cruel? Their reunion is about twenty chapters away and the end of this story is exactly twenty-three chapters away. According to my story outline the last chapter will be chapter eighty-three. We're getting close now.

FairyFelicity: You're welcome for the long Robb POV! I'm so happy that you enjoyed it!

Ishouldprobablybedoinghomework: Thank you so much for your review! When I was worried about the Robb point of view I was worried that I would mess it up or disappoint you guys because he's a bit darker and more empty then anyone would want him to be. That's going to come into play a lot in later chapters too, even as his memories start to come back. There's going to be a darkness that I don't know if he's ever really going to shake. And that's going to be something that both he and Lenora will have to deal with.
As for Lenora there was none of her in this chapter, but you guys will get a lot of her in the next chapter. And then there's going to be a snowball effect of reunions in the next ten or so chapters.
All the same, I hope you enjoyed this one.

And that's all I've got for now friends! Thank you so much!
Sixty chapters. Damn.
Until next time,
Chloe Jane.