The first thing that had occurred to her when she had drowned, Cersei is quite sure despite how fuzzy and distant the memory is even so soon after, had been that Euron had lied to her. Death had been anything but peaceful.

Perhaps it had been something else, too; the Drowned God choosing to punish her for murdering the one he'd chosen last. It had been a fair punishment, too, drawing it out – she had felt like a weightless, bodiless being, floating and raging and trashing against the nothingness that had surrounded her, all the while she'd sensed it swallowing her bit by bit. The mere notion of being stuck between this world and the next had always terrified her far more than any of the seven hells and there's nothing to keep her from falling now – not her family, not her own will, nothing – and it had been a far bigger threat than any faith she'd ever been coerced into following had posed before. She had been able to feel every moment of it, her body and heart and mind struggling against the abyss, and had let it all pass her by as she'd sunk deeper.

That part had been easy – letting the sea in. The water had long since filled her lungs, brushed against every inch of her, inside and out, and even the Drowned Man's grip on the back of her neck had disappeared. She hadn't fallen apart so far, but even that hadn't seemed particularly distant now – there had been nothing left but the sea, no matter how hard she had tried to fight it. In the end, Cersei had stopped trying. It had been better than the fire, better than her crumbling castle, better than never having tried at all. She has Loren to show for it, at least, and they can tell him that she'd tried. He wouldn't remember, but it has to count for something.

Jaime, she'd reached out one last time as death had wrapped its tentacles around her, one by one. Unlike Loren, she hadn't hoped that he would ever quite understand, and if she could have just explained— It would have made all the difference in the world, truly, despite the knowledge of how furious she would have made him. His presence wouldn't have been enough to stop her from proceeding with the coronation given that earning the Ironborn's complete devotion is the only way to ever feel safe on her own here, but he could have known. After so much time spent being angry and spiteful and so hopeful that she'd been choking on it, it's fair, she thinks, to expect him to come at the have a sense for the right time for once in his life. Jaime, if you've ever loved me—

The darkness had retracted so quickly that it had hurt, blinding light racing in in its stead, and when Cersei had opened her eyes, the world had been on fire.

It had been difficult to make sense of it all, at first. She'd gasped for breath, clawing at the earth beneath her fingers for purchase until she'd found her footing, and the reality of it – the sun, the sea, the life around her – had been overwhelming enough that for a few moments, all of it had ceased to exist. The air wheezing through her throat, the rush of her desperate heartbeat, the cheers filling her ears, had all been a relief so sweet that she had almost collapsed back under her own weight, but she'd waited patiently for her crown to be placed on her head again instead, weighing far more than it had when she had first worn it.

It's mine now. The thought alone had been heady, now that she'd been chosen for good. The crown and the kingdom and all its power; the blessing she had asked for despite everything she'd done. Perhaps the Drowned God hadn't cared all that much after all, or perhaps he'd approved of her sacrifice. No matter, one way or another – she had lived. She'd paid the price and faced the threat it had posed and, at long last, a god had paid her back.

And had done so tenfold, it had appeared a moment later, when she had turned back towards the water and Jaime had stood in front of her instead, eyes fixed on her and disbelief written over every inch of him, as stark as her own, it had seemed.

Jaime. After everything she had done to keep him alive – all the blood spilled, the lies that had followed, the sudden, violent thrust out of the dubiously comfortable life that she'd kept trying to mute out in the hopes of preserving her sanity – it feels like too much all at once. Regaining her life a piece at a time had been the best she'd been hoping for and instead, she'd received him, intact and breathing and as desperate as her, if his iron grip on her is to be believed.

It had become less obvious through the months, but it'd never disappeared fully; how much she'd missed this. All of him, every single inch, but this most of all – his arms around her, keeping her still, keeping her safe. If this is what was waiting for me on the other side, she'd thought, face pressed against his chest as he'd berated her, voice shaking as much as her body had, no god could have held me back. Her twin's warmth had washed over her along with the familiar flutter of his heartbeat under her skin when she had clung to him harder and she'd been whole.

Despite his best efforts to keep her in that state of mind and get her to think of her own safety at the same time, Jaime had managed to both irritate her anew and endear himself to her and dragging him down with her when she falls onto her back on her own bed seems like the only possible option, even if it only makes him fuss further.

It hurts; that much is true. She had rather hoped that dying and being reborn would bring her body back to its healthiest state, but the wound in her stomach still burns – bleeds on occasion, too, if she pressures it, though she'd done her best to avoid it so far – and Cersei minds less than she'd readily admit. She appreciates it for the reminder that it is of how far she'd had to go to get here and the thought alone is enough to make her claw at Jaime's shoulder as she tries to rid him of his shirt. He doesn't know, won't ever know if she gets her way (she won't, not in this – he'd already tried to ask and it's all she can do to keep the questions at bay for now), but she wants him to feel her spite for what it is all the same. This is why, she nearly screams when he hisses and buries his hand in her hair; tugs in retaliation until it stings, this is why I did it. In the end, this is what it boils down to, no matter what else this gamble could have cost her. You. Always you.

After the emptiness that she'd faced, that terrible state of not-being, every sensation feels like an assault on her senses and Cersei relishes in it all – the softness of the sheets under her, the wind whispering its way through the room, the sea crashing against the rocks below and Jaime, Jaime most of all; the sunlight in his hair, his bare skin pressed against hers, the familiar scent of him, the burn of his stubble when he stops kissing her for long enough to press his mouth against her throat instead, hand sliding down her body. She's so wet that it wrings a groan out of them both when he brushes his fingertips over her core. The desperation in her twin's kisses sharpens further, then, and Cersei finds herself smiling, one hand curling in his hair as her entire body clenches around him.

It's a strange kind of relief, knowing that she's wanted as much as she wants, and it's not at all surprising when Jaime breaks away and looks up, the urgent glint in his eyes melting into something gentler, though the fire in them burns just as bright. He presses further into her hold like a cat when she tugs on the strands in her grasp, but doesn't move; touch skirting around where she needs it most. When she makes to speak, he merely slips out of sight again, his hot, wet mouth trailing over her chest, briefly making its presence known on the sides of her breasts (he's toying with her, plain and simple, and it's so like him that she could cry), and down her stomach until he's comfortably shouldered his way between her thighs, withdrawing his hand only to replace them with his lips.

"Jaime." His name leaves her on a sigh, but it's no use – his tongue spears her open, the tip of it flicking over her clit like a promise he has no intention of keeping, hard enough to make her yelp and buck into his face as pleasure shoots through her, sharp and intoxicating. "Jaime, please."

He likes to hear it, she knows, more than he'd admit to, but all it does is make him pinch her inner thigh in reproach. "I thought we were meant to be careful."

The vibration of his warning against her cunt brings a shiver out of her, the feel of his grin against her skin as infuriating as it is enticing. "If you mean to keep me quiet, you've somewhat lost your way."

"No," he concedes, "I don't think I want you quiet." It's strangely blunt, as far as admissions go, and she squirms; makes yet another attempt to pull him up by his hair, to mixed results. It makes him tremble, his forehead resting against her lower stomach as he finally crawls back up her body and braces himself over her. "Fuck, Cersei, I've missed this."

It sounds so fervent that it leaves her breathless and she brings him down so that their lips meet again, biting her own taste clean from his mouth. He can make her wait if he truly wants to – on several memorable occasions, he'd drawn it out enough to bring her to tears – but it's been far too long for him to try it now. In the back of her mind, there are a thousand things that should be taking precedence over this, but she can't bring herself to care when he's right here. Some of that anger and resentment she'd stored for so long still simmer under the surface now, but it's not at all difficult to push them to the side when there are so many ways for the emotion to pour out of her without indulging it in the slightest.

"Cersei," he hisses again, and she's not entirely sure if he's begging or admonishing her. He should have known better than to tease her, really – he's too preoccupied with her kiss to notice when she takes her hand off of his waist and wraps it around his cock instead, far too rough given how hard he already is. For all of a moment, she thinks wistfully of flipping them over and sucking him off, but Jaime puts an end to that particular line of thought soon enough, a half-muffled whimper forcing its way past his lips as she ends one of her strokes with a twist that makes him curl in on himself and freeze to the spot. "You— This isn't what—" She waits, unmoving, as he nuzzles against her collarbone and finds his words again through his ragged breathing. She's yet to actually remove her hand, but they're not in a hurry – she lets his fingers dance over hers, basking in the warmth that he seems to emanate. "Cersei."

"Have something in mind already, do you, brother?" It's been a while – years, really – since she's talked him through an orgasm with no other stimulation to speak of, but if this is what he wants, she's more than willing to oblige. It makes sense, too; she can't quite get enough of the sound of his voice, either.

"Stay still," he grits out, trusting back into her touch lightly enough that she knows it's for his own relief more than an encouragement for her. It still makes her grin when he groans and does it again, the mindless rhythm of it more entrancing than she'd anticipated. It frustrates him, that much is clear, and that, in turn, is enough to tell her that he'd thought of this before. When she makes another attempt at throwing him off, his hand shoots up to hold her by the wrist and pin it to the headboard, expression growing satisfied as she finally settles down. "Stay still."

It should have annoyed her. It had been so long – the morning before the summit, if she's honest – since the last time she'd had the chance to do anything of her own volition and the majority of fantasies she'd entertained over the months had involved her taking all the control she possibly can to make up for it, but she should have known better than to expect anything different. She'd never been too good at resisting Jaime when he truly wants something and he seems so determined now that it makes her go breathlessly quiet.

"There you are." It sounds too reverent to be patronising and that's the only thing that saves him from her ire; Jaime's fingers, where they're intertwined with her own, loosen their grip enough to turn into a caress until she lets go and he moves incrementally closer. It's just enough for him to be able to thrust inside her and Cersei masks her moan as well as she can when she surges up to kiss him, but there's not much else to be done about it – it feels so unbelievably good, to finally be whole again, that as soon as he breaks away in order to watch her and picks up his pace, there's no hiding the way her breath catches on every gasp he forces out of her; the way every new touch makes her burn all over again.

There's nothing like this. She arches up in yet another fruitless effort to get impossibly closer, one of her hands clawing at his shoulder blade while the other roams between their bodies without much input from her; exploring places she knows better than she knows herself. It's intoxicating, this freedom, and each reaction she induces from her twin makes it even more so. She's greedier than she's ever been with him and thankfully, she's not alone.

"Cersei." He can't seem to tire from saying it and she can't remember her name ever sounding quite as sweet as it does on his tongue now. His eyes flutter shut and she reaches up to map her way over his features with her hand as she watches him relish the touch. Pleasure tends to overwhelm him rather easily, had done so since their first tentative attempts to explore each other's bodies, and watching it happen nearly every time had always filled her with an indescribable sort of tenderness; the dedication it shows taking her breath away more effectively than any conscious attempt to arouse her possibly could.

"Jaime." For all single-minded his focus, he's far too smug to not notice what he's doing to her, not with the way her fingers dig into his sides, urging him on. It's not enough, it's never enough and all the while it's too much – for the first time in months, her body feels alight and it's almost painful; this bliss that only takes her higher and higher. Every push of his hips seems to drive him impossibly deeper and it's a good thing, really, that she'd gone through the trouble to drive everyone out of the tower before coming in. They'll all know either way and she can't really hide an already public secret for long, but she can't let anyone hear her either. This is theirs. The thought of any of it reaching anyone else in the castle feels almost like a betrayal.

He braces himself on one elbow and leans even closer with a grunt, reaching down until he can match his hand's strokes with his thrusts, brief and careless enough to nearly drive her out of her mind. Cersei pushes back at him with everything she has, each thrust bringing her closer and closer to the edge. She's still distracted enough by all the sensations to be caught by surprise, in the end, and Jaime winces as she bites down on his shoulder to keep herself from screaming, but doesn't let up; fucks her through it until it feels like she won't be able to take it for a moment longer.

Her entire body feels oversensitive now, every nerve set ablaze, and all she can do is cling to him all the harder as Jaime takes his pleasure. Now that she's not quite as desperate with the chase of her own release, it's all the more pleasurable to see him unravel; to watch his own urgency as it reaches its peak. She keeps up her strokes through his hair, kisses a line over his jawline just to watch him tremble with the onslaught of sensation. It doesn't take long for her to be ready all over again and he knows; can recognise her body's needs as well as he can recognise his own, so it's truly no surprise when he reaches for her again, this time even more unceremonious than before. There you are, she echoes wordlessly, just a little more.

"Cersei," he warns, voice so breathless that it makes the frantic racing of her heart pick up its pace even further. His fingertips tease her almost as lightly as before, in direct counterpoint to the rough rhythm of his trusts and she whimpers, the sound just helpless enough to make her anger flare up before her pleasure burns it all away. "Come for me." From the sound of it, he might need it more than she does and the thought makes her clench around him desperately. Jaime's breath hitches at the feeling, the effect of his words etched onto his own body. "Now, now, I'm—"

With a final thrust and his fingers pushing so deep inside her that it almost hurts, Jaime spills his seed inside her, a long, drawn-out groan following in his orgasm's wake as she tightens her hold around him and follows him over the edge. She feels too exhausted to do much but keep her arms wrung around his back to keep him near as his body is wracked with the remnants of his release, but just that is enough for now, it seems. She can feel him still twitching inside her and it's enough to bring a lazy smile to her lips when she feels his lips on the side of her throat, mouthing aimlessly at her skin as he catches his breath.

The discomfort of being separated can't be postponed forever, but Cersei's still quietly grateful when Jaime pulls away only to crawl up next to her and throw the covers over them both. It's nearly hot enough to be entirely comfortable without them, but it's a habit that had followed them all the way from childhood – it's easier to imagine that they're all alone in the world when there's something separating them from the rest of it. Jaime watches her with content, sleep-heavy eyes and for just an instant, she feels as if she could spend the rest of forever like this.

"There's still some time until nightfall," he says and Cersei raises an eyebrow, puzzled, until she remembers her own orders to her guards. "I want to see him too."

"You will." Truth be told, she can't wait either. Over the last two months, she'd walked a precarious line when it had come to Loren and the idea of his father. She'd forbade the rest of the Lords as well as her house staff from mentioning the issue unless he'd brought it up himself – he's too young to understand death yet and it's better to spare him the pain, she'd reasoned and even the most stubborn among them had listened for once – and slowly, she'd readied him for the idea of accepting someone new. His memory isn't strong enough yet to truly provide any support for anything more than the shortest time spans possible and for once, it had worked out in her favour. He had been angry at first, demanding to see his father when no one had been able to answer his questions about where he had gone, but had gradually mellowed out as it had all started fading from view. The thought of it alone makes everything just a little sourer than it had been moments ago – she'd been the one to do this, to cause him all this pain, even if it had been for the best in the long run – and Jaime looks up in alarm when her silence stretches on, right before she sends a placating smile his way. "You've got plenty of time." That, at least, she'd managed to secure for them all. Time.

"I know." His eyes are closing on their own volition already – the travel must have been exhausting, as weeks upon weeks on horseback and ships tend to be, and she's rather exhausted as well, given the day's events and the worry that had plagued her ever since she'd made the choice to try. It all vanishes away between them now and Cersei lets her own eyes fall shut as well. The world can wait a little while longer.

For now, they sleep.

~.~

The island, Cersei finds as she's once again forced to roam around it later the same day, looks entirely different through Jaime's eyes. New, rather, and significantly more hostile than she'd come to see it.

"Do you always spend this much time without guards? Does Loren?"

"Not always, no." But the castle is safe; it's almost a home to her now. None of the people who have been allowed to stay would dare to lift a finger against any of them. She's made sure of that much. "He's safe no matter what. Do you think I would ever leave him unprotected?"

"Of course not." A moment of hesitation, followed by Jaime's hand in hers, and Cersei comes to an abrupt stop. It should be such a simple, ordinary gesture and her heart aches at the fact that it's not. Her twin sighs; looks away, as if he suddenly can't stand to face her. "But you were betrayed. He was in danger by the time the possibility of him existed. I should have known. I wish I'd been here since the start."

She could have screamed. Why weren't you?

"Me too." It's as much of a truce as she's willing to settle for and her twin laps it up without hesitation. "Not much to be done about it now."

His smile, when it comes, is just as unsure. "We could always try again. You did mention he was sometimes lonely here—"

His voice dies mid-sentence when she wrenches her hand free as if his touch had burnt her. "No." It's just like Jaime, she can't help but think; to have yet to see the child they do have and already be in the middle of planning one that he would find more convenient. She had known, ever since she'd realised that she'd be going back to the Westerlands with her brother by her side, that the subject of Loren's heritage would be a problem, but she'd never imagined the kind of solution that he would have. "I can't."

"You're lying." It's the truth, but the audacity to be angry is startling all the same, coming from him.

"Perhaps I am." Lies are rather easy to admit to when they're protection more than anything else. "I don't know. I've gone to great lengths to make sure that I wouldn't find out." It's a careful dance, navigating her own body's whims to make it do what she wants, but she's been perfecting it for a lifetime. It had started the first time her septa had talked her through the changes in her body when she'd first bled and, despite her ardent hopes, it's yet to stop for good. "I don't plan on changing that now."

"Because it's me?"

"Because all you want to do is prove a point." He's never cared as much as she has and she hadn't expected him to – few people do and she's been told often enough that she's the exception rather than the rule – but it's a relief to voice it all the same. "It's not my fault I've had to lie to him about his own father – a father I've been hoping he'd forget in the event that you ended up here." What she had truly done had been to forbid everyone from referring to his father in front of him as anything but the King. He'd been angry at first, furious, even, as children tend to be when something they love is taken away quite so abruptly, and it would only be harder once the memory fades away fully and he grows up alongside stories that never quite match up to the reality she's trying to build for him. "By law, he's as much a Greyjoy as he's a Lannister. If you had something to say about that, you should have made your intentions clear months ago. We can't keep starting anew over and over in the hopes that we'll eventually get something right. Jaime, I can't."

"All right." The matter isn't closed, she can see that much, but he'll let it go for now. It's a small mercy, but she welcomes it, as easily as she does her brother's embrace a moment later, more tender than she'd expected. "All right. I just— People will ask questions, you know that, right? About him. About us. And I'll have to lie to him for the rest of our lives." It would be better if they're at least upfront about it. He doesn't say it, but it's what he wants. For once, it's something Cersei has no clue how to give him without sparking another endless conflict.

"People have been asking questions for years. We'll manage. He's safe here. Now that I'm the queen they chose themselves, it would be sacrilege to try and hurt him."

"That didn't seem to help when his father was king, did it? I keep telling you," he says as they get a move on again, tension dissipating in favour of fear. They're nearing the main entrance by now, all the way into the castle proper. She'd meant to make a short work of it at first, lest he works up the strength for a continuation of their argument earlier today (he hadn't seemed at all inclined to stop back then, not even with her reassurances), but lets herself linger instead as they near the King's apartments. Loren is, as far as she's been informed, in the gardens with one of his carers, and there's really no better time for her twin to see Pyke in full before they depart. The chances of them being left as alone as they are now for long are rather slim, too, and it's not an opportunity she wants to miss. "We can't stay here for long. Just because you had one man killed for treason doesn't mean you're safe. This isn't the Red Keep. Even back there, you had your personal guard and every other soldier in the city at your expense. I've yet to see one of the members of your Queensguard."

"I wouldn't expect you to, given that I dismissed them for the day." For the week, as is the case with Damion – he wouldn't have stood to see her drowned and she'd sent him back to the mainland instead in an effort to make sure that it would all be over by the time of his return.

"Dismissed them?" He must have been terrified to hear the news of the attack to be this scandalised, she thinks, and then, with the slightest hint of guilt, good. "Can your new god bring you back from any death you decide to walk into?" He follows without question when she sinks into the rooms she'd had in mind, only chancing a fleeting look at the place as she leads him towards the balcony. "Just how safe do you think you are here?" When he doesn't receive a response, he finally deigns to take in his surroundings. "Where are we?"

"Right in the place of the attack." She sees him falter and, a moment later, make sense of the scene she's setting up. Everything had been cleaned up well enough for all of Pyke to try and pretend that nothing had ever happened, but she can still see. Anyone would if they had stared at the place as much as she had, Cersei's sure, but after all those weeks, the pink tint left behind from the blood stains appears in stark contrast to the grey stones under her feet; the entire room, although it still holds the relative chaos of a shared space, feeling colder and harsher than it ever had. She hadn't lit the fire since that night, afraid of what the heat would bring out, but she almost feels tempted to do it now, if only to make Jaime take in the scene in its entirety. "There was a guard at the door and three more at the main entrance. These are the King's chambers. No place in the castle is better protected. I was standing right here; he was where you are. By all means, it should have been him standing here now, and we should have both been unharmed. Had the guards been more effective, what do you think would have happened? Would the castle have been safe then?"

"Not when it's Euron Greyjoy we're talking about," Jaime scoffs, though she can see him falter. He's assessing everything in the room, applying the information that she'd given him as best as he can, and frowns at the result it gets him, but soldiers on regardless. "He couldn't have been safe no matter what. Once you anger the wrong person, and he must have, no guards can save you."

"He did anger the wrong person," she concedes. In front of her, Jaime seems to be putting the pieces together. Even with some of them still missing, the picture is clear – none of this should have happened. It only makes sense that no one else had caught on, with how much chaos she had made sure to cause in order to distract them all with the fine details, but it still pleases her; seeing the truth down on him. "Me. No one among his men would have ever dared turning on him outright." She gives it a moment to sink in; adds, elaborates when the confession seems to fly past him. "There was never an attack, Jaime."

If anything, he looks even more concerned now. "Yes, there was." His voice is slow, deliberate, as he reaches over the thin material of her dress, fingers ghosting over her stomach. "You were bleeding just this morning—"

"I had to. Who would have believed it otherwise?" She'd been avoiding looking him in the eye, Cersei realises, but gathers the strength now that it's time to voice the truth. She hadn't had to, during her first and last confession – she'd been far too feverish from the wound and her Lord Commander had been the only one allowed in the room. He'd looked just like her twin to her pain-riddled mind, back then, and she must have tried to make her peace with him a thousand times before he'd managed to get her to sleep. "Strange enough that the prince was left unharmed. And he was left unharmed, because he was never in danger. There was no treason, no danger, no guard that Lord Harlaw could have bribed into submission. It was always just me."

It's rare for Jaime to be left speechless and when he is, it's rarer still for it to be good news. When he gathers the strength once again, she's not quite sure what the case is this time. "You." It's not the accusation still ringing in her ears, but it's close. Cersei bites back her response. "You killed him."

He hadn't been there to see, of course, so it's not as difficult to bear the disbelief as it might have been otherwise. "Him, and the guard at the door after that, once I'd managed to turn the blade on myself. I caught them both unprepared, I suppose." Her weapon had never been meant to do any damage. How could anyone have guessed? It had been all been overly messy and, to her relief, the next matter had needed a little more grace on her part. It had taken a while before she'd been well enough to go through with it. The shock of the wound – all that blood, the strain of pushing through the pain for the rest of the night and the better part of the next day, the fear pumping through her veins – had been more exhausting than she'd anticipated. "He was one of Harlaw's men, so I pinned it on him. He would have turned on me sooner or later either way. Everyone knew it. They're all so easy, those local words; it would have been a crime to waste such transparent hatred."

"And you still had no guarantee that it would have worked." She shakes her head wordlessly and Jaime's confusion only deepens further. It's almost as if he's seeing her for the first time, discovering things he's not sure how he's supposed to take. "Why?"

"It would have always happened, eventually." Nearly two years and all she'd done had been wait and talk and endure; two years tacked onto a lifetime of more of the same. "But the next raid— it would have taken us to Winterfell. The excuse was conquering the North, no matter how many times I argued that it would be pointless. It made no difference. It was always about you. I had to do something, despite the risk, despite what it could do. This is where it brought me. So tell me," and she hadn't meant to let her anger take the better of her now, but it's never done any good, trying to keep it behind closed doors, "how safe am I? I can't trust myself and I can't trust you; how safe could we possibly be?"

It would have hurt less if she'd slapped him, she knows, and the astonishment on her twin's face is a small reward for her mounting frustration. She hadn't given herself a day before she'd let the threat of his death wreck her life to pieces. The thought of it ending up as nothing but fuel for more of his precious advice is nearly unbearable.

"You can." Jaime sounds shaken; his hand strays up to cup her face, his eyes earnest enough to make her eat up every word, regardless of how much of a lie it's proven to be. "You can always trust me."

"You left me to die. For months and months on end I had to listen to what Ser Jaime was up to now while I lost everything and built it all back from the start. You weren't here for any of it. How much of a fool do you take me for?"

"Do you think I was trying to save my own skin? You would have died if I'd come near you." He closes his eyes with a sigh, as if resigning himself to the fact that he would only be giving her additional fodder once he speaks again. "The day I heard of the ambush on Dragonstone, I was ready to leave for King's Landing. I knew that the war was lost, and I wanted— I don't know what I wanted. To try and get to you before that, I suppose. I hadn't managed to get very far, plans-wise, before the future caught up with me. You wouldn't believe me if I tried to explain it, but I have it on good authority that staying away was the only solution for either of us. I don't know what you went through," he admits at last, thumb stroking over her cheek, doubtlessly in an effort to pacify the oncoming storm. It's more effective than she'd ever like to admit. "I should have been here. I wanted to be here. It was only a matter of when and how. When Tyrion proposed a diplomatic mission, I left as soon as I could. Had I tried anything before that, it would have all been for nothing. If you trust me for nothing else, trust me on this."

It's difficult, trying to recall the details of her last day in the Red Keep and looking past the terror and destruction it had brought, but Cersei manages it all the same. It had always felt like such a close thing, her survival; a handful of moments later, she would have been gone. Whoever Jaime's good authority is, chances are, they'd been right.

It's nearly a mirror of his own gesture when she finally moves again, her fingers trailing up his chest and curling around the edge of his face until he leans into the caress. It's a better peace offering than her words could have ever managed. "That I can do. For now."

She stands frozen in place when he lets go of her and engulfs her in his arms instead, kissing her with enough ferocity to make her laugh against his lips, as surprised as she's delighted. It gives him enough of an opportunity to deepen it and he groans, exasperated, when she pulls away.

"Not the place." The thought alone sends shivers down her spine, as if she hadn't crossed every line imaginable already. Jaime doesn't seem to mind an awful lot, even when she carefully tries to disentangle herself from his hold. "Let me go get Loren. We can talk more then."

"Talk about what? How to best hover at a respectful distance as I'm introduced to my own son?" He's being unnecessarily loud, but she's past trying to talk sense into him for it. If what he wants is to provoke her, she might as well rise to the bait, Cersei thinks.

"What would you have me do instead?"

"Marry me." It's such a quick response that it might have been lurking around ever since he'd met her this morning; ever since they'd drawn their first breath. "Here or at Casterly Rock; it doesn't matter. It can be in the name of any god you like, or none of them. I'm tired of pretending. What's the point, if they all know already?"

"You don't have to prove anything to me," she begins, though it's half-hearted at best. It's the truth he's asking for, unfurled for everyone to see at long last, and she can count on the fingers of one hand the things she'd wanted as much as she craves this. Still, "If you're still as prone to changing your mind, I'd rather wait and see."

He doesn't seem to take it to heart. "There's not much you can do to change my mind."

"You were quite sure of yourself the last time." She's honest enough with herself to know how angry she makes people, if not enough to admit that it wouldn't stop her from giving it a try.

"The world was at stake the last time." He parrots, the pretence melting away as soon as he fixes his gaze on her. "I've had a long time to decide what I want. This is what we were meant for. I could see it back at the Red Keep." Her coronation had been a shock, she recalls, but it had worn off remarkably quickly, because it's true – despite the war and the loss and the endless tension hanging over their heads, it had been the easiest time of her life since the day she'd set foot in the capital for the first time. "I can see it now, too."

"There are easier ways to do this." She has several, each shakier than the last, and he's right: it's exhausting to even make the effort once they've gone this far. "We have to think—"

"I don't want to think." He's still holding her close; close enough to overwhelm all her senses with his presence, and finally, finally, she's home. There's just one piece still missing and she intends to add it as soon as Jaime gets to take Loren in his arms. For that alone, it would be worth the risk. "I want you to say yes."

This time, she doesn't hesitate.

"Yes."