Cersea I
"Remember, keep this up and we will have achieved what should have been with your mother. You will be the Queen. No matter the cost."
Those words from her grandfather had stayed with her even now, as the crowd, even on it's fourth day, the tourney had still drawn the mass of excitement that not even the tourney's in Lannisport had come close to.
For her family, or at least her mother's side, gaining the attention and affection of prince Rickard was of paramount importance.
When she and her mother had emerged, tired and groggy from their long time in the wheelhouse, the last thing she had expected was to have the prince kneel and offer his sword to her. He had looked at her with such adulation, such passion, her cheeks had burned, even more so when she had told her cousins, Myrielle and Lanna later.
"You could be Queen, Cer, I can't believe it!"
"He was taken with you. You truly are a lucky girl. He's so handsome!"
She left out that her mother and Grandfather, only a few weeks before they were to depart for King's Landing, had laid out what they were truly there for: earn the affection of the prince. From there, they would work to gain her a betrothal with Rickard.
She had been excused from her harp lessons; she knew something was important as she was never allowed to leave any lessons on a normal occasion, of course, Lord Tywin had arrived to Castle Creakhall a few days prior, and Tywin Lannister never came to visit unless it was important, catching up with her and mother at Crakehall was not something that was essential.
She passed by the servants, eventually arriving to where her grandfather's household guard were. Black armour and helms, with the proud golden lion and red background blazed on their surcoats. They stood outside the huge room her grandfather had commandeered for his bedroom and office for the next few days.
"My lord grandfather called for me." She spoke.
They bowed before her.
"Yes, my lady."
They opened the heavy case door, her mother, still beautiful and regal despite her age. She wore a red dress with a glass of wine in her hand, sitting on the far side of the huge, heavy-set desk that her grandfather sat at. His gaze was as piercing and commanding as ever. She stood, knowing Lord Tywin disapproved of anyone making themselves comfortable at his expense – even if this happened to be her home. He did not smile, nor did he say anything for what felt like a long time, she turned to her mother's comforting and kind smile and was reassured by her presence.
"You look well." Was all her grandfather said. Neither kindly nor disapprovingly.
She gave a smile.
"Thank you, grandfather. You too."
He only gave a nod to that. Better than nothing she thought.
"Sit." He ordered.
She took to the seat that had been placed in the centre in front of the desk.
"How are you, sweetling?" asked her mother.
"I'm well Mother, Septa Kyra says my harp skills are amongst the best she has seen. I still think I can improve though." She gave a proud smile, which her mother returned in kind.
"I'm glad to hear that my dear, you are such a talented and beautiful girl."
She perked at the praise. She always had loved her mother's approval, as her eldest child and her only girl.
"We will be arriving to the tourney within three weeks. I hope you have begun to pack." Her Grandfather's voice brought her back to what seemed to be the subject at hand.
Her mother also changed, serious and distant.
"When we arrive, it will be your task to make sure the crown prince falls for you, then, you will be his Queen."
That had taken her aback.
"The prince?" she repeated.
Her grandfather raised an annoyed and confused eyebrow.
"Yes, you are to marry prince Rickard, you are more worthy than any other girl who will be dragged before him. You are the most beautiful maiden in the kingdom, and you are a Lannister."
"A Crakehall too." She piped up. That did not impress either her grandfather or mother.
"Yes… but it will be the gold and status as a Lannister that you will earn you your rightful place as Queen. Not the sigil of an over-sized pig." Said her mother, an iciness to her tone she had used more than on one occasion, but rarely with her.
"Of course, mother."
The answer seemed to satisfy her mother.
Tywin took over.
"This name-day for the princess will be large. Maidens from across the kingdoms will come and be presented by their fathers or brothers, hoping to gain a betrothal from the King. Failing so, present themselves as suitors for the princess. We will not come all the way to King's Landing for a secondary prize though, Rickard is our only priority. The lion seeks its prey and takes it, the prince will be yours to take."
She took a moment to absorb it all. The hopes and ambitions of her House lay upon her. Failure was not something her grandfather took lightly. It made her anxious but determined.
Her mother spoke next.
"Don't be foolish to think that our name and gold will win the prince alone. He is a young man, driven by looks and desires. No doubt any of these little whores will use any methods, low as they may be, to earn his attention. You cannot do so, you cannot dishonour yourself, nor can you be some passive pansy. You must be fierce and strong and brave. Be the woman you are. Make him want you."
Her mother took her hand, stroking it gently. And speaking more softly this time.
"Whatever they may say, whatever they claim. You are a lioness. They will not tread on you, or they will suffer."
"Then what am I to do, how can I remain…" she thought awkwardly of the right word to use, not wanting to say such things in front of her family, "with my honour intact, with his interest" she cringed as she said the words. But she could not think on how else to put them.
Her mother gave her a warm smile.
"Give him only a hint, a tease. Let him know that to gain your attention, your admiration. He will have to commit himself fully to you."
It was reasonable advice, Ceresa thought, but she was not certain just how easy it would be in practice.
She gulped but maintained her eye-contact and posture.
"Who can I trust when there?"
Tywin answered.
"Few. My people at King's Landing are limited. House Hightower controls most of the city, only the Grand Maester Pycelle remains an ally, go to him and he will offer assistance however he can." Her grandfather warned.
"A lion fears nothing." Ceresa spoke.
Her mother smiled, while her grandfather nodded.
"No, it does not; towers can collapse, roses torn up, wine spilled and bronze shattered."
Those first few days of her attempts to seduce prince Rickard that had gone easier than expected were gone now.
With so many new ladies from across the kingdoms, even some outside, from the Free Cities, it was much harder to gain any alone time with Rickard. And she was beginning to fear that his eyes were starting to wonder elsewhere. She had asked him to take her for a walk in the God's wood tonight. She had told small escort of Crakehall and Lannister men-at-arms to wait at a distance.
"The prince loses interest quite easily." Was the revelation she had heard from two of his friends, just third day of the tourney, she was walking to the Heart Tree just outside Maegor's Holdfast where she was to meet with Rickard.
She heard the two men whom she recognised as two of the prince's companions. Denys Redwyne and Alyn Ambrose.
As she hid behind the corner, she listened intently. The voice of Denys came first.
"You know he'll grow bored of her, right?"
"Probably, I mean, she looks fine, but I've seen fairer girls and he still forgets them in a month. She's nothing special anyway, remember half those ladies? He goes through so many I can't keep count." He said with a laugh.
"Hey, I'll have her if Rickard is done with her later."
Denys seemed taken aback.
"That's Tywin's granddaughter, you stupid fool. Make a move on her and House Ambrose will be put to rest presently." Adding the House's own words at the end.
The entire exchange had made her heart sink to the ground. Even as they walked by, it had led to a tense and much more awkward night with Rickard.
"How am I to keep a prince's attention when so many others have failed?" she had asked herself that night and the whole of the day later.
"I am a Lioness and a Boar. The lioness takes and dominates" she also took time to remember the last words her uncle Lyle had told her, "The boar stubbornly fights on and never gives in. Remember, my little lioness, None so Fierce."
"Is something the matter, Cer, you seem upset?" Rickard had finally arrived some time later. His sworn sword, Ser Rolland, keeping a distance, sat upon a nearby stone, sharpening his blade with a whetstone.
The prince's concern alleviated her mood from his friends' words, but it had still shaken her, and the butterflies in her stomach were only dormant instead of erased. He looked as good as ever, a sleeveless dark doublet over a white shirt, riding boots and dark trousers. His clean-shaven face was as handsome as ever, his blue eyes were her favourite, they seemed like the warm sea she had seen many times from the highest points of Casterly Rock and Lannisport.
"Oh… yes my prince. I was just thinking about Lyonel's participation in the melee. He's still just a boy, and it's his first time." Indeed, it was true that her concerns for her younger brother was genuine, blue eyes, darkened hair, a smile that had always endured him to her, even when he played his many jibes on her when they were children.
He seemed to have bought her line.
"Of course, the melee can be dangerous, but a man must experience some danger in his life. He won't be a boy forever."
They walked arm in arm across the wood. The massive heart tree was bigger than any she had seen anywhere else, but it did not compare to the ones still rooted in the North. She felt a presence watching them, but she kept it from her mind.
"As you say my prince… I must ask, have you asked the King to allow me to stay at court after the tourney concludes yet? The thought of leaving so soon wounds me."
His eyes widened at that.
"I… I have not, but there should be no problem. There is no reason I can think of that my father would take issue with your presence. You are a beauty with a proud family, you belong at court. Why do you sound so unsure?"
She made a face, sorrowful and distant, as she had practiced for this moment.
"Well I… it is just, I hear terrible things that have been said about my family, my grandfather and my uncle specifically. They say that my grandfather deserves no place at court or King's Landing. They even extend this to me"
Her prince seemed aghast and enraged at this. His arm leaving hers and his hands grabbing her shoulders so roughly that she knew she may have some slight bruises later. The intensity in his eyes scared her, but she did not show it.
"Who has said these things?"
"No one that I have seen, your grace, but it is usually the ambitious or the treasonous who spout such nonsense. I implore you to bring such a matter and an insurance to the king."
She brought her hand to face clean-shaven face.
"There are those who resent me, because you favour me, they will try to have me sent away from here."
"Never" he said, a cold chill to his voice.
In the pale moonlight, they shared their first true kiss. Happiness, visions and yellow and green eyes burned through her mind like wildfire.
"The prince is handsome, no doubt, but I would prefer Waymar. just look at him." her cousin pointed to the dark-haired man, slender and graceful, adorned in the bronze colours of his house. An easy and confident smile seemingly a permanent feature on his face. "I was passing by him, and he gave me such a smile. Oh Gods, I will marry him." Lanna spoke in a tone as childishly romantic as it was secretly endearing. A brief smile went to Ceresa's face before it left. They all sat at the tourney stand; it was now mid-day.
"Don't be silly. He's not even heir to Runestone." Cersea reminded her cousin, Lanna the dreamer.
"But look at him." Her cousin nodded to the tents where the knights and lords prepared themselves. Waymar stood, talking with Denys Redwyne and Harry Fell, all were half stripped of their armour, having participated in the earlier Melee and Joust. Ser Rolland Storm, Rickard's sworn shield had defeated a Frey, Ser Forely Prester of Feastfires and a Valesman, Ser Albar Royce in a four-way duel.
As the Frey was first eliminated and then the broad Albar after that, it came down to the knight of Feastfires and the Bastard of Nightsong, who's personal shield was the inverted colours of his house, the background completely dark, with the nightingale birds coloured in yellow. The words of "I yield" had only just left Ser Forely's mouth as Ser Rolland immediately went to his knees, sword stabbed into the dirt ground as he went to his knee and prayed his thanks and praise to the Warrior above.
Ser Lyn Corbray wielded his Valyrian steel sword, Lady Forlorn in shattering the shield of his opponent, Lord Jason Mallister, the old Lord of Seaguard did not give in, only removing the broken remnants from his arm and went on the offensive, pushing the Corbray back for a brief time until a well-placed kick to the shin brought the River Lord to his knee, allowing Ser Lyn to place the tip of his blade right to the exposed neck of Lord Jason, even within an inch, the sharpness drew some blood. The grey-haired Lord yielded, Ser Lyn taking the day.
The rest of the day went by, they looked to the archery, where Dickon Tarly, son of Lord Randyll, had beaten many out. The Lord of Horn Hill in the Reach was an intense-looking man. He reminded her of grandfather. It would soon come down to him and two others:
The heir to the Iron Isles and Stark ward, Theon Greyjoy, a tall and handsome boy whose arrogance and status as an Ironborn had won him few friends and admirers. Having seen the destruction his savage people had brought to the city of Lannisport, she found herself disgusted and hoping that anyone else would win but him.
The other was the mystery archer, small in size, who had been beating many competitors out with ease. They wore a hood over their head that had obstructed a view on who they were, they wore surprisingly costly threads, and boots for hunting. They had said very little and had always disappeared before anyone could see whom they were. Many had begun to support the mystery opponent simply to see who they were.
Later that night at the feast, she found herself seated with the Princess and several other Ladies.
The hall seemed only slightly less packed than it had been on the first night. Since the number of losers in all three of the tourney competitions had started to pile up, a number of lords and knights had begun to trickle out back to their lands, something that she had seen encouraged, as the population of the city, doubled in size, was starting to put a strain on the amount of food that could be provided. Though one would not know by the countless plates and desserts across the endless hall.
Music played, she knew many of the songs off by heart, and would be singing so herself later. Her grandfather had made it possible that she would play her harp for the crowd – she had to put in a good show, for Alla Tyrell would be singing herself, and she could not be allowed to outperform her. She maintained her posture and tried her best to hide her fear. She had never played in front of so many before, so many strangers, unfriendly faces, who would not be so inclined to be polite to her or her family.
Tonight had been tiring, not just the repetition of seeing the tourney competitions that had lost their initial excitement, but the rest of the night's events right after. She had danced and danced earlier for what seemed to be never-ending. She danced with the King himself, lord Eddard Stark, Rickard's uncle Garth Hightower, Ser Loras Tyrell, Lord Leo Lefford, Lord Baelor Hightower and her uncle Kevan and then her three brothers, to her reluctance, she was forced to dance with some of her prince's friends, Harry Fell, Ser Robar Royce and to her reluctance, Alyn Ambrose who's courtesy and manners had internally galled her.
"You seek to demean me as a whore and try to act charming? I hope you get eaten by those ants on your shield."
"Better yet", she thought, "I hope you turn into an ant, I could squash under foot, then".
"Such lovely flowers, princess. We don't have them in Winterfell." The female voice bringing her back to the present.
The source of the sweet voice was from Lady Sansa Stark. A beauty only a year her elder.
Princess Layla smiled to the Northern girl, along with the other gaggle of ladies that were forced on her, herself, Lanna and Myrielle included, Lady Yisilla Royce, her two sisters and her cousin, Lady Myranda of the junior branch, Lady Desmera Redwyne, Lady Margaery, who was accompanied with her cousins, Elinor, Alla and Megga and always seemed to be interested in her comings and goings to meet up with Rickard, as well as Lady Sansa, with Lady Jeyne Poole and the golden pale princess herself, accompanied by Lady Allyria Dayne. The Princess was polite and answered when spoken to, but otherwise remained unengaged and more interested in speaking to Lady Dayne, her long-standing lady-in-waiting.
The voice of the Lady Margaery cut in. Curled brown hair that she had decided to wear without a headdress, wearing a lowcut dress that was light green, with a dark cloak of gold roses. Her big blue eyes standing out.
"Sansa, you must come to Highgarden one day. The gardens there are the most beautiful in the world. Rows and rows of all colours, shapes and sizes. We have a maze; we have a river that sales along the Mander and one can go pleasure boats with. It truly is like a maiden's dream.
"I can only imagine Lady Margaery. I have heard so many tales of Highgarden, it sounds truly like a paradise. I and Jeyne would love nothing but to visit one day." The Stark said with a whimsical smile. Jeyne Poole nodding along eagerly.
A voice joined in.
"My maiden's dream is standing right there." Was the Lady Myranda Royce, plump but still pretty, with a mischievous smirk and brown eyes, she nodded towards the young handsome lord. He wore his golden sandy hair short, deep blue eyes and a dimpled smile. His doublet was white, with a red and white diamond patterned jacket, with a blue cloak. He truly looked every inch a young lord.
"Who is he?" asked the blushing Jeyne Poole, Sansa's companion and the daughter of Winterfell's steward. Usually, she would complain upon being seated with such low company, but the Lady Margaery and Princess Layla did not seem to complain, so neither would she.
"Harold Hardying, Lady Waynwood's ward and Lord Robert's cousin."
If this were true, Cersea could not believe it. The young man was the opposite of his cousin. The little sickly boy, currently heir to the Vale had gone to bed hours earlier. A poorly placed jibe from a nearby table had resulted in a hissy fit for all the kingdom to see, his mother had cursed and yelled all the way while personally carrying the boy to his chambers. Old lord Arryn simply looked on, defeated and humiliated.
Harold was currently conversing and laughing with the prince and his usual entourage at the table they had occupied. Along with Harold, she spotted the Redfort boys, lord Roose Bolton's son, a younger man of House Estermont, Dickon Tarly and the sons of Lady Waynwood and some others. Robb Stark had been around, a sour look on his face throughout, only laughing faintly and joining the conversation occasionally, his betrothed, lady Wylla had come over and had offered Robb to walk with her. She had spotted them walking with the Stark's giant grey-furred direwolf, bigger than any wolf she had ever seen or heard described. Their size and sheer ability to kill had meant that the three wolves that had arrived with the Starks had largely been confined to a patch of land outside the city near the Stark encampment. A direwolf loose in the capital was the last thing anyone needed. Gradually as the tourney was nearing it's end, the King had permitted the wolves to be allowed to roam more freely as long as they were accompanied by their respective owners.
The young handsome prince was surrounded by flatterers and friends.
"And not a Westerman among them" she thought.
None of her cousins or brothers had been able to integrate themselves with Rickard during their time here, in truth, all the Lannister and Crakehall boys had been mocked and teased – especially Tyrek for his marriage to Fat Walda Frey, who's face had rarely left her plate these last few nights, devouring whole cakes and pies. Lord Walter Frey had offered his daughter's weight in silver to gain another link to House Lannister as he already had with Aunt Genna. As a result, Uncle Kevan had returned from the Twins to Lannisport with Lady Walda, granddaughter of Lord Walder, and one of the fattest girls Cersea had ever seen. A sweet girl though, and one who seemed to have won over her cousin's favour with her personality alone, but to be mocked for his marriage was a sensitive spot, and yet he had done nothing at the jibes, which had put him in her grandfather's bad graces - allowing himself to be humiliated in such a fashion was an insult to the family name, for grandfather, that was an unforgivable sin.
"He looks so dashing" Jeyne Poole admitted. "I don't think I have seen him in the joust though?" the young Steward's daughter inquired. It was Yisilla who answered.
"He is Lord Robert's heir until sons are born to him. Lord Arryn and Lady Waynwood thought it safer if Harold not risk getting hurt himself, or at worst, risk dying." She said it so casually, Cersea could not help but raise an eyebrow.
"Oh…" Jeyne replied.
Myranda spoke up.
"Either way, a man like that needs a wife, I would not mind the duty myself, I don't know about you, beloved cousin." Drinking a sip of her wine as she said so, her comment aimed at lady Yisilla.
The eldest Royce girl only giggled. "I have my eyes set elsewhere."
"Who would this be Lady Yisilla? I have no doubt he is handsome." Asked lady Elinor.
Before Yisilla could continue, it was her sister, Rosery who spoke up, who hadn't said much before now. "Harry is handsome, and it'll be me who'll marry him, not you, Myranda."
Rosery was two years younger than Yisilla, but much louder and more opinionated.
Myranda only laughed, "You are a child. Harry wants a woman, not some little girl who's only begun growing tits." The buxom beauty gesturing to her body as a result.
Laughter emanated from the table, even the princess cracking an amused giggle. Sansa and Jeyne looked scandalised while the younger Royce girl blushed red.
The two argued back and forth for the next hour.
They looked on at the boy's table, they had stolen the hat from one of the male servants and were throwing it around while challenging the poor boy to try and get it back. It was Mychel Redfort who had gotten possession of the black cap, he offered back the hat, but just as the boy leaned over to the other side to get it, Harold Hardying kicked him in the back, face landing on the table as the boys laughed, emerging, his nose had completely broken as he walked away, blood dripping everywhere as someone threw him back his hat. The Prince demanding someone to clean the mess.
"Who will win the joust, princess?" asked Myrielle. She had been panicking and non-stop in her anxiety when they had been informed by her mother that they were to be seated with princess, the feeling with mutual with her mother, Lady Myranda, who had spent hours personally overseeing that she was as perfectly groomed as possible.
Princess Layla, who was wearing a green silk dress, took some time to think.
"I would like to think my brother would. He has soundly defeated all before him so far."
It was true, from his first match in Lord Peake, to his last opponent today, a knight of House Farring.
"Most certainly princess" Sansa quipped.
"The prince is gallant… but I also think my brother could prevail." Said Margaery, her cousins nodding along.
"I still have two of my brothers. They will win." Yisilla spoke, high and proud. She was a pretty girl, dark hair that went down in curls, with brown eyes and bright red lips that curled into a proud smile. A bright orange dress with earring of the same brownish orange, as well as a necklace of encrusted bronze in the shape of her family's sigil.
"Be aware of the Royces. Lord Yohn is an ambitious and dangerous man."
The words of her grandfather echoed in her head. It was easy to see as she looked around.
Lord Yohn sat near the high table of the king, next to lords Stark, Arryn, Baelor Hightower, Lannister, Tyrell, Redwyne and Stannis Baratheon. He spoke with all – minus the brooding lord Stannis and her grandfather – as friends. The young lord of Riverrun, Lord Edmure had wondered off much earlier, she assumed he had went to bed.
Lord Royce's sons sat with the prince himself. Some of his closest friends and companions who held his ear and were in positions to influence his perceptions and opinions.
She sat here, with the Royce daughters trying to earn to same level of attention with the princess as their brothers had with the prince.
"A Royce in every corner." She thought.
The Lord of Runestone was probably the biggest threat to any chance of a future betrothal with Rickard. He had fostered the prince as his ward, where he had trained and watched over him until the age of two and one. It was here where the prince had befriended Robar and Waymar, with the two traveling with him to King's Landing as his companions. This gave the Vale lord an undeniable edge. Her grandfather's spy had revealed that Lord Royce had hosted prince Rickard for dinner some days earlier. He was further trying to sow the seeds of a betrothal between him and Yisilla, deliberately seating the two together and subtly influencing the two to further talk.
So far, it seemed that Rickard had yet to show too much interest, but that could easily change. The girl was beautiful, she begrudgingly admitted, even if her skin was sallow and her dresses not as expensive as her own.
"He'll lose interest in her like the rest." Denys Redywne's voice spoke again. She blocked it out, refusing to entertain those words for even a moment.
It all suddenly came to her: the needs and desires of her house, her upcoming harp rendition in front of the whole realm, the suffocating heat from all these people. She excused herself from the table, the princess nodding her permission, her cousins had also rose to join but she ordered them to stay, and she felt as though she was gliding to the door by then.
Cersea needed fresh air, that much was clear, the mummers were finishing their last few songs. She excused herself from the table and made it through the people. Politely apologizing as she walked past the numerous lords and ladies. She took her harp with her.
Making her way outside, past the huge dining hall doors with the Baratheon guard. She made her way to a quiet place some empty pavilions. Fireflies drifted all around in the lit lanterns around the camp that seemed almost endless.
She spotted a small corner near a small hilly area. She picked up her dress in her left hand and held her harp in the right. Pieces of armour and ripped clothing all around the area. The moonlight was shinning bright, it seemed to look much larger than she had ever seen it, she was so absorbed in the pretty view that she did not notice the clanking footsteps behind her.
"Enjoying the view, my lady?" she broke from her haze to look at the man behind her.
He was infamous and handsome. He was her uncle, Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. His hand on the lion incrusted pommel of his sword.
"Ser Jaime" she hastily attempted to rise to her feet, but the wine she had consumed, combined with her dress getting caught made her trip over. Her uncle not so suitably hiding his amusement.
"Brilliant." She thought embarrassed.
He gave a flashy white smile, "Don't worry about rising." He took one of the wooden chairs and took his place.
He still wore his white king's guard armour. He looked the mirror image of mother, golden hair, perfect skin and green eyes and a smile that could cut like a hot blade through butter.
She was at a loss of what to say, the last time she could recall his visit was vague memories of the King and Queen's stay in Lannisport during a royal progress. He was her family, the man whom her mother spoke of often as the perfect knight, strong, powerful, beautiful and skilled, and yet she had no memories of him. Just looking at him now made her realise the true extent of how alike he and mother looked like.
"You look just like your mother." Jaime observed. His smile was there. But it was strange, there was happiness, warmness… but a certain sadness as he looked at her that she could not put her eyes on.
Truly it must be hard to be a King's Guard" she thought. For all the tales of glory, valour and of how one's name would always be echoed through hundreds, if not thousands of years, a family and children of their own would never be permitted.
"He sees me and is reminded what he can not ever have; a wife, children…" It made her sad, and she resolved to be kind to him.
She gave a kind smile in response.
"Thank you, Ser Jaime. My mother has always spoken highly of you."
He chuckled at that, "That's good to know… call me Jaime, please, Uncle if you'd like."
She smiled at that.
"Okay, Uncle Jaime."
He made himself comfortable on the seat alongside her, who still remained sitting on the hard ground. Had her mother, septa or Gods forbid, her grandfather, seen her like this, she would face severe consequences. Luckily her Uncle raised no objection.
"What has made my dear niece prefer her own company, are you well"?
"I will play soon" she gestured to the harp in her lap, her fingers lightly brushing the strings, inducing a light sound. "I have never played for so many before, I just needed some time to breath, to focus."
"Hard to argue with that." He said with a sigh.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, in reference to his loss in the joust that had placed him under the care of Grand Maester Pycelle for a day. It had not stopped him in preforming his duty.
"As fine as I can be, I can still swing my sword and protect the King and his family. That's all I need."
"Should you not be protecting them now?" she asked curiously.
He shrugged.
"I've been relieved of my shift; the others will take watch the rest of the night. I'll resume in the morning."
She looked out to the vast sea of pavilions and the distant noise from the city.
"It seems you haven't had an easy job." She pointed out.
He gave a tired chuckle.
"Indeed, so many houses in one location, old hatreds flare easy. The Stormlords hate the Reachers, the Westerlanders hate them both and the feeling is mutual. Nobody likes the Dornish, and the Dornish don't like anyone."
"That can't be easy to manage."
"Oh yes, its been kept quiet, but we've already had plenty of brawls, at least thirty three deaths and more injuries than we can handle. Mostly involving the Dornish."
The casual way he rattled it all off made slight chill run down her spine.
He gave a deep sigh.
"As soon as this bloody tourney ends, everyone can go home, and the city will go back to normal." They gave a brief laugh at that.
A comfortable silence overtook them. This was nice, to simply be with someone and talk about things, not what was expected of them, of what future scheming and ambition.
"Prince Rickard has told me that I he would speak to the king on me joining the court after the tourney. I would enjoy time to get to know you then, uncle." She gave a kind smile and placed her hand his.
Instead of the looks she expected, she saw anger and trepidation in his green eyes.
"Your mother and grandfather will see to that no doubt."
He seemed to be talking to himself.
"Yes and-"
"I expected more than that." His tone was angry. His handsome face contorted and his other hand clenched.
She had no idea what had come over her uncle. The mere mention of her spending more time here seemed to have brought about something.
She would have inquired further, but it was a seneschal who arrived next.
"Lady Cersea, your time has come to play. My you have the best of luck." He spoke.
The previous anger that had overtaken Jaime had now left, instead, he seemed sadder than before, but as she looked on, picking herself up, he gave a smile.
"My dear niece... please forgive me. You will play wonderfully, I have no doubt."
For some reason, that filled her with more confidence than she could need.
Author's notes
As much as I'm enjoying writing this tourney. It's hard to keep track and not forget about anyone, especially since there are so many main characters at one location. I'm starting to understand why George and writers in general tend to separate their cast of characters. Much easier to write.
Uni is out and with that, I should have much more free time to write.
Please don't forget to review! They truly help.
P.S I feel dumb for asking, but I guess I'm obligated to say I obviously do not own anything from A Song of Ice and Fire or any of George RR Martin's works? Yeah.