Three was enough. After Cersei returned from Dorne, they decided they could be happy with three. "Even your father couldn't complain," Rhaegar assured her, but Cersei couldn't help but feel a sinking in her stomach with each cup of moon tea she forced herself to drink. The drink was bitter enough without her hatred.

Her own children were more interested in the dragons than in their mother, and though the princess, eerily perceptive as she was, saw it her duty to take Deana's place at the Queen's side, it wasn't what she wanted. When the news reached them that Ned Stark had gotten a fourth child on his fishwife, Cersei had gone white faced and only managed to contain her emotions to the door of her own bedchamber. Jaime had to carry her to bed.

"I just…" The Queen couldn't quite find the words, her tongue thick and heavy with anguish. "Oh I want more, Jaime. I want another babe… one that…" One that was hers, that didn't place beasts over the love she had to give, that listened to her.

"I could give you another babe, Cersei." He reminded her, his lips falling to her neck as if there weren't two long winters between them and the last time she'd had him inside her. She should have known he would see her anguish as desire, somehow. Her brother still loved her, that much she knew, and she'd been so rude, pushing him away…

Her hands pushed against his chest. "Jaime, Jaime…" he pulled back, and it had to be the grief, the desperation, all that sadness she'd locked away inside, that Rhaegar wouldn't listen to, that she couldn't stand to hear pity for, that made her kiss him then. His lips were different than Rhaegar's, but familiar. Kissing Jaime had always been like kissing her mirror image, and her hands curled into his hair as they would her own, gold spilling between her fingers. He mirrored her, tilting her head back to welcome his lips, guiding her onto the bed, easing the red and black of her gown off her. Shedding her new colors.

It didn't feel like coming home, with him inside of her again. But did she truly expect it to feel the same? She wasn't a blushing girl anymore, or he an eager boy. Her moans were not as wanton, his fingers out of practice and his thrusts all to eager. Still, it was Jaime, resplendent above her and below her, around her. Cersei felt her head spin. It had to be the wrongness of it all making her heady, causing her body to buzz and buck up into his, to ride him with such abandon.

The tapestry mocked her when she came apart, sobbing into her brother's shoulder.

She nearly threw him from her rooms in the aftermath, his seed still sticky on her thighs as she wept. Her handmaidens were exiled from her chambers, and she bathed herself, the water tepid and not enough to remove the guilt she now felt.

When Rhaegar came to her that night she did nothing to push him away, and if he noticed something amiss with his wife, he kept quiet. She curled into his arms and felt her tears pool at her eyes, but did not release them. He would only question it, and then she would be forced to admit… no. What she and Jaime had was between them, and no one else. She could bury it inside herself and forget, she would.

The moon tea was forgotten in the morning, and Cersei resumed playing Queen, entertained and danced. At the back of her mind was Jaime, and before her eyes and in her muscle memory.

She didn't tell Rhaegar when she knew. She didn't tell anyone. Her handmaidens would give her looks when she refused her tea, and so she poured it into the flowers potted outside her window, blaming the way they withered on the winter's early frosts. Her stomach began to swell, and she turned away all but the two girls that had been with her since she first came to King's Landing after Harrenhall. At least with the cold no one questioned the thicker dresses she commissioned. Not that she gained much weight.

"You should see the Maester, Your Grace,' one of the girls told her after it had been months, concerned over the small curve of her mistresses stomach. More than Cersei appeared anyway.

But she was concerned. Sitting in her rooms as she avoided the cold, her hands pressed through the wool. At first, it was hard to do much more than silently cherish the babe, but later she began to speak to it.

"Be strong, little one," she breathed, glancing up at the quiet grey of the city in the thick of winter. "Don't let the cold get to you."

"I was wondering if you were ever going to admit it." She jolted, Rhaegar's voice startling her to her feet. For a moment it was fear in her eyes, fear he'd be angry, he'd be hurt, fear that he would somehow know of her lies, that she was caught. But she pushed it back.

Swallowing, the Queen offered him a careful smile. "I worried the mere fact of telling someone would take the babe from me."

Though his gaze had never been accusing, it softened immensely now. "Cersei…" He breathed, stepping closer. His hand hovered over her stomach and she felt momentarily caged, her heart hammering in her chest.

She looked up, throat thick with words that couldn't be said. "I'm afraid, Rhaegar." her voice shook with the truth, the force of holding back other truths. "Another babe in the winter… and with what happened."

"The gods would not be so cruel to take another child from you," he promised, "And we'll keep the fires roaring in the keep. You won't have a moment to be cold."

Her fingers gripped his and she nodded, letting him lead her to the solar, moving into his arms and under the thick furs. She fell asleep with a heavy heart, swathed in secrets to the point of struggle. Jaime was still on her mind, and he seemed to watch her wherever she went, waiting for her signal. But they were not children anymore, and the stakes were so much higher. The babe could be his, or her King's. She only hoped no one would be able to tell the difference.

It could draw Daena into question as well, if not the twins. The boys looked too fiercely like their father to be Jaime's, but Daena… Targaryen blood beat through her veins, but with her mother's emerald eyes and pale golden hair, assumptions would be made.

The worry seeped into her dreams, but she stayed quiet. Tense and sleepless that night, but quiet. Rhaegar, her confidant he may be, but she couldn't tell him this. The secret choked her lungs, pressed against her chest and felt heavy over her heart.

When she was a girl, Cersei would have given all to be with Jaime forever. Until the Prince walked into her life and the moon eclipsed the sun. All she could see was him. In the background had been her brother and his love, and she did love him back. A lifetime of love simply didn't fade away, and it was there, underneath her love for Rhaegar. Avoiding Jaime wore at her, and eventually she was bound to give in, wasn't she? Was it so wrong? He was her other half. They belonged together.

"Cersei," Jaime bent into her vision and she was suddenly slipping out of Rhaegar's arms, the heat of the furs lost as she left the chaise. Her brother wasn't as warm, the hard plate of his armor unyielding and somehow foreign.

"I can't." The Queen whispered, "I can't. I won't do this to him, Jaime. You…" she stared at the fire, and then her hand slid to her stomach. "I'm with child, Jaime." it could be yours, she thought, but her tongue was caught, and she walked away.

He remembered those screams. Some things lingered in the mind when one wanted nothing more than to forget them, and his mother had screamed the very same. Jaime could recall earlier memories, fishing off the Rock with his uncle, running into the horse fields with Cersei, jumping off the rocks and father's scoldings, but none such as this.

The maesters had ordered even the King out, and the two of them paced outside the heavy oaken door.

Rhaegar looked ill, ashen faced with his hands gripping the silk of his doublet. Each time Cersei screamed he would turn to the door as if expecting a change, only to be disappointed. It dragged on for hours.

"Was it like this with your mother, Ser Jaime?" He finally asked.

Under those violet eyes he had tried so long to despise, but found he could not, Jaime could do little but nod. "Our father sent us away," he breathed, "But Cersei led us back out, and we hid in an alcove in the stone, just opposite the door. Father must have seen us, but he never said… She screamed till I felt my ears could take no more. But then her screams cut off, and it was so silent. Too silent. I remember one of the midwives opened the door, and she was crying.

There was another scream then, Tyrion's first scream. And then father opened the door. His palms were red with blood. He left, and I don't know where to, but the door was open behind him. I had never seen so much blood in my life."

Rhaegar looked faint, and Jaime didn't feel much better, but he couldn't hold his tongue.

"Tyrion looked normal enough. His head was big, and his body small, but he was just a baby. Cersei saw a monster when she looked at him. Nothing but a monster that killed our mother." It had gotten quiet, the same eerie quiet he remembered, and it was all he could take not to push through the door and see if it was as he feared. But Rhaegar beat him to it.

They both went to Cersei, pale and looking like the Stranger had already come for her.

"It was a battle, but her Grace is a strong woman, if she makes it through tonight she will be fine." Pycelle assured them halfheartedly. "The babe, on the other hand… your grace, you…"

Jaime didn't need to see Rhaegar's face when he looked at the babe to know the King despised the child.

Cersei couldn't bring herself to look at the babe. Instead she searched Rhaegar's face as they sat alone in the birthing chambers. For once she saw herself reflected back at her as clearly as if she had been looking at Jaime.

With the little monster safely tucked away under the care of a nurse who knew her throat would be slit should she say anything, they still had yet to decide what course of action to take.

"I will not have it be known I birthed that thing." Cersei repeated. The King gave her a blank look. "Get rid of it."

"He's our son-"

She nearly snarled, the shame bubbling up and making her voice curdle like spoilt milk. "It is a monster. An imp. I won't have it."

His jaw worked, his tongue pushing against the edge of his teeth in the way that always betrayed his thinking. "What would you have me do? Leave it in the woods to die?" The small folk would, he knew, but they were King and Queen… not commoners. Her own brother was a dwarf, and clever and successful in his own right. But Cersei hated Tyrion too, and nothing Rhaegar did would change that.

"If you must," She snapped, turning away from him. "Kill it. Give it away. I don't care, but I will not have that thing in my castle. It is not my child."

Staring at her back for a minute, he turned on his heel and left. Stepping out the door he came face to face with the Queen's brother.

"Tyrion will take the child," The Kingslayer was saying, the sound more like rushing water in Rhaegar's ears than speech. "He'll claim he's the son of a whore and legitimize him."

It took a stiff moment, but he shook himself. "Ser Jaime, what are you talking about?" Of course he knew. But why would he be talking about Tyrion?

White armor glinted in the winter sun as Jaime stepped closer, his voice a whisper. "The babe. Cersei would have it killed, but give it to Tyrion. He'll be heir to the Rock, if a bastard. It's preferable to death…" They both knew that's what would become of the child if it remained in King's Landing.

"Why go to this trouble, Ser Jaime?"

He paused, and for a moment thought to reveal it. What would Cersei say to that? Finally, they could love one another in the light of day, for all to see. Until their heads were felled from their shoulders and placed at the city gates. Or worse. He could only begin to imagine the horrors that would befall them, and Cersei's trueborn children. Jaime had just enough sense to hold his tongue. "I love my brother," he replied instead, "And if my father had made the decision you and my sweet sister have, your grace, he would not still be here. Spare the child. Someday he may grow to be a great scholar like yourself, or Tyrion. Regardless, it would be inhumane to send the babe to his death."

Rhaegar was silent. "No one could know," he muttered finally. "If your brother could not keep silent, if anyone suspects…"

"Tyrion is clever, your grace. Clever and with a reputation for frequenting whorehouses. Surely one bastard will not go amiss." He hoped.

The King nodded, taking a deep breath. "I will not approach Cersei with this. But she will know, and you must tell her."

Jaime would not have had it any other way. The boy was his, he was certain. Not one lick of the silver hair or violet eyes. All of Cersei's other children took after their father in some way, and yet this small boy… He nodded, taking his leave of the King and returning to the birthing chambers.

"Jaime?" His sister sounded confused, still delirious from the birth she barely survived and the milk of the poppy the Maester had given her. It would be far easier to get her to agree in this state. With her head swimming and fogged, Jaime could spin his words to ply her. Not always so when she was fully awake. But Cersei had always been the clever one, the brains to his brawn. His tongue would never be as quick, nor his mind, but his sword spoke for him, and he'd never needed to think much. Cersei did all of the thinking, too.

He nodded, and stepped to her bedside. "You look ill, sweet sister," He hummed, wanting to cheer her. Cersei only grimaced. "Tyrion is coming to take the babe."

That got her attention, and Cersei shook her head weakly. "What?"

Sighing, Jaime took her hand. "I won't allow you to kill him, Cersei. Our boy." He lowered his voice, afraid someone would overhear. "You can't send him away to die." That got her to look, and the look in her eyes was pure terror. Of course, she would have suspected as well, Cersei was the bright one. And the one who had more to lose should the secret come out.

"Our boy?" She shook her head. "That child is a monster. It doesn't deserve to survive."

He didn't understand this, how Cersei could be like this. "That child is your son." He reminded her, his voice bitter, "my son."

She shook her head again. "Jaime stop. Just stop this, this is madness."

"Tyrion will keep it quiet. As will father-"

"You cannot tell father. I forbid it, Jaime. Send the boy to Tyrion or send him to die but father must never know. Do you understand, Jaime."

He sighed heavily, giving her hand a squeeze and bending closer. She pushed him back. "Never again," she whispered, but he snarl was there in her voice, .

"Cersei…"

"No. Jaime."

He felt cold as he stood, eyes averted from the bed, from Cersei. The armor felt heavy, but the weight came from someone else entirely. He stopped before Rhaegar to simply nod. "Tyrion should be here within a fortnight."

The Imp arrive after twelve days, accompanied by a number of Lannister guardsmen. Fresh faced at eighteen, it had taken more persuading than Jaime had expected to summon the young Lord. Keeping father out of it only made it more difficult.

"Claim Cersei's bastard as my own?" He'd laughed upon reading the message, "and my brother's, no doubt. A fitting punishment for those fools, a monster of their own." He shook his head, but in the end he made the trip. After all, anything he could lord over his vicious sister was worth making the most of, and he did have a soft spot for bastards. Particularly any bastard with the misfortune to be a bastard and a dwarf.

His sweet sister didn't come to greet him, but his niece and nephews did. The children had somehow ended up sweet, and god knows how with their parents, between Rhaegar's calculating studiousness and Cersei's harsh fire. And they seemed to enjoy being at a level height with their uncle.

Tyrion was lead to the white tower, where he found Jamie sitting in his room at a small wooden dress, writing. He slammed the door loudly getting his brothers attention. Jamie jumped and to look at his little brother.

"Hello little brother," said Jamie with a smile.

Tyrion smirked at his older brother, "Coming to get me to clean up all your messes again, dear brother?"

Jaime sighed, setting down the quill he'd been struggling with. "Messes? When else have I asked you to clean up anything of mine?" He spoke kindly though, and with a light smirk.

Tyrion laughed, "Why the mess I kept secret all through my childhood, the one that landed us right where we are now."

"You would rather I let the child die? I thought you had a 'soft spot for bastards. You should for your own family at least."

"And tell me Jamie, when has our dear sister ever thought of me as family? I was under the impression I was just the horrid little monster."

He frowned, standing up and running his hand through his hair. "I'm not asking you to do this for Cersei. Cersei would have the child left in the woods to die. She won't even look at him. But I… I never thought of you that way, you know that. And this is my child," He lowered his voice. "Please, Tyrion."

Tyrion sighed, he knew that Cersei would willingly kill the child, that she would most likely drown it in the river as soon as she could, she had already told everyone that the babe had been a still born. He was the child's only chance; still he did have some concerns about harboring a royal bastard. "I assume the child is never supposed to know its true heritage?" he asked.

"You're smarter than to ask that," Jaime shook his head, "I doubt Cersei would even allow you to bring it into the city."

Tyrion smirked, "Another reason not to visit, I'll add that to the list of positives I am getting out of this. But tell me brother, what am i to tell my lady wife?"

Frowning, the Kingslayer shrugged. "That you got a child on a passing whore?" He offered lamely. "Or maiden, if you prefer. Say whatever you need to say, the girl will hardly argue. Besides, her family won't turn father down."

Tyrion shrugged, "I hope you have found me a whore to make this tale convincing brother."

Jaime frowned. "I could, if you wish. It can hardly be hard to pay a wench to lie. You do it all the time."

"Yes, but to claim an imp as their own, that's a different story entirely." Tyrion sighed, "Give me the night and I will have a mother for the child. Have the babe at the postern gate at dawn, brother. I will take great pleasure in announcing the babe to the court."

"As yours, I hope?"

"Yes dear brother. My baby... tell me, does it have a name yet?"

He shook his head. "Cersei and His Grace hardly saw the point in naming a child already dead."

"Have you thought of a name Jamie?"

Jaime frowned, looking at the wall above his brother's head and sighing heavily. He shifted as if suddenly much more uncomfortable. "Why?"

"There is no doubt in my mind that the babe is yours, it is only fitting that one parent should name the child."

Sighing again, he nodded. "I had thought…" He faltered. "Tyland. Tyland Lannister."

"Tyland Waters for now dear brother. But I like it, very Lannister for a doubly Lannister child." With a smirk he turned and left the room.

An hour before dawn, Jaime crept into the room where the babe slept with his wet-nurse. The woman was as good as his mother, a commoner from the Westerlands who could be trusted to keep her silence. She would leave the keep with the boy and none would be the wiser. At least only a handful knew that the child was still alive. He told the woman to head to Casterly Rock with one of Tyrion's guards, who she would find at the gate. Dressed as a commoner, he hid the tiny infant beneath his robe, hoping the cover of darkness would be enough.

Relived, he reached the gate, the child fussing against his chest. Dawn had not yet broke, so he held the boy, attempting to soothe him with the little practice he had from Cersei's children. At least this one never screamed as the twins had.

Tyrion was waiting for him just outside the gate with two of his Lannister guards on either side of him. He reached his arms out to the bundle, which twisted away from him. Tyrion soothed the babe and it relaxed into his arms.

"Looks like he's ready to meet his mother." said Tyrion with a sad smile.

Jaime frowned when the child was taken from him, and only more so at the mention of presenting him to Cersei. She would throw a fit, and Tyrion would enjoy it. If there were another way, he would never sit through this farce. "The only time he ever will," He muttered.

Tyrion sighed, "I never even met my mother Jamie, and look at how well I turned out."

"At least you lived knowing who she was, and knowing your father." Although, it was probably better that Tyrion raise the boy, spare him from the life he would live even if Cersei and Rhaegar would keep him. Maybe he could find at least tolerance, if not love.

Tyrion's words echoed his thoughts; "The child will be better off with myself as the father and the whore I have found for the mother. Don't worry, he will know nothing but love from me, i promise."

Jaime frowned, but nodded. "I know, Tyrion," He sighed, but his eyes were drawn to the boy again. This was his fault, wasn't it? "Promise you'll never tell him."

"The babe will know only that I am its father and Marei as the mother. When you meet her, you'll like her, and she could convincingly be the mother."

"I don't want to meet her," He shook his head, voice flat and restraining a snarl."Thank you for doing this, brother. But you cannot make me do that."

Tyrion shrugged, "Then don't be there this afternoon. The girl will come with the babe, and i intend on bringing her to the Westerlands with me."

"I hardly have a choice in the matter." He would don the white cloak and the gold armor and remain stoic as expected. Through the farce and Cersei's inevitable fury, through Rhaegar's cold glares. The babe was a pariah, and for nothing.

Tyrion nodded, "Then we had best be on our way dear brother. I will see you later." With that he turned and left carrying the little babe in his arms.

She had not wanted to be here. Rhaegar had all but dragged her by the hair to the throne room, and it was only her pride that kept her head high and her expression one of polite indifference, though her eyes were green fury in a sunken face, drawn pale and worn by the ordeal. Wildfire in the eyes of death. And her lovely husband and brothers decided to play with it.

The chair was uncomfortable, though less so than she imagined the throne must be. Rhaegar didn't want to be here either, she knew, but they had a duty to the realm, and an image to protect. A part of that was ensuring Tyrion's bastard was only that, and never suspected of more. Though such a public farce was hardly necessary in her mind. But still, she waiting, hands curled demurely in her lap over the charcoal grey of her gown. Her eyes remained cold as her brother was announced.

Tyrion stepped forward accompanied by two guardsmen and a tall women. Cersei noted how pale she was, her skin looked like it may crack at the slightest pressure, she wondered how this woman could ever live as a whore. Her hair was straight and a fine white gold, far to close to Deana's own shade for her liking. She instantly felt hostile to the woman. At least, if the boy was not Jaime's, Tyrion was clever enough to cast his net for a whore who bared a passing resemblance to her husband.

But of course he was Jaime's.

Any ice she would have spoken to him thawed in the presence of the few members of court about this early, always lingering to fetch gossip, even from the early morning grievances of the public. And weren't they in for a treat today.

"King Rhaegar, Queen Cersei I have come to make a request of you," Tyrion called, his voice echoing off the walls of the room.

"That is what these hearings are for, Lord Tyrion," Rhaegar hummed, as droll and polite as ever, and the sound grated on Cersei's nerves. "Make your request and see it granted."

"I have come about a request that is not mainly for myself, but for a relation of mine," said Tyrion smiling. He waved forward the girl who came forward with a tiny bundle in her arms. "This is Marei," declared Tyrion, "and in her arms is her newborn babe, Tyland. The boy is my son." Tyrion paused allowing for the gossips to react to this news, "I have come to ask that he be legitimized as my son and heir."

The crowd grew from barely there whispers to a chorus of spoken breaths, and Cersei felt her nails bite into her skin through the layers of her dress as bile rose in her throat. Jaime had said take the boy, not make a mockery of this. She dared glance at Rhaegar, met with the cold indifference she despised. He was a far better actor than she, or so it seemed.

"An honorable request," The King drawled, watching his queen tenser with each passing second. "But you are to be married soon, Lord Tyrion, and you would do this?"

Tyrion sighed, "My future wife is only ten, hardly ready to be wed. Not only that, but I feel responsible for the babe. I brought it into this world and I should at least keep it safe. I have a soft spot for cripples and bastards, this child just appears to be both."

The words spurned both King and Queen, and Cersei rose and strode off the dais as Rhaegar spoke. "Consider him your son and heir then, at your request and to care for as you may." She swallowed, trying to block out her husband's voice, but pausing to hear the Imp reply.

"I think I can care for him very well Your Grace, I can give him a name and life, something an imp child would not get otherwise."

She could not walk fast enough, throat thick with rage and the force of holding back. Tyrion would rue this day.