Author's Notes: Hey everyone, welcome back to the story! I hope you're having a wonderful summer (or winter)! The weather has been kinda iffy here, but the sun finally came out today and warmed it up.

As always, thanks for reading! It's always a pleasure to see all of the reponses, kudos, bookmarks, and faves! You're the best readers a writer could ask for.

Just so you're aware, my desktop has been on the fritz lately. It's working, for now, but it intermittently stops sending signals to my monitors after it goes to sleep. No need to fret about this story being backed up. That is well taken care of. It's just possible that my writing may come to a stand still if I continue to have problems.

I would like to thank catzrko0l for beta-ing once more. This chapter was especially tricky and provided a lot of solid feedback. I hope our combined work makes this a more pleasurable read.

TRIGGER WARNING: Cersei raping Jaime comes up again. Read with caution.

Chapter 52

Arya II

Arya clutched the edge of her window as she looked out of it longingly. She could hear the telltale clang of swords, but the training yard was not within sight of the Maidenvault. She itched to go to the yards, but she dared not leave.

Her father had sent her to bed without dinner last night and she was expected to remain in her room until he retrieved her.

"I am angry and embarrassed. You are a daughter of House Stark and I will not tolerate this disrespectful attitude towards your king! And to do so blatantly in front of another lord paramount's house is unacceptable," her father glowered at her once they returned to their rooms.

"I don't want to be a lady! I don't want to marry! That's not who I am and Jon knows that!"

He slammed his fist down on the table. "His name is Aemon! You will refer to him by his proper name!"

Sansa was sitting at the table with her hands properly folded and while she was not looking at Arya, she had a small superior smile on her face. Arya clenched her fists to keep herself from wiping it off with a slap. Robb was also sitting at the table, appearing contrite and awkward, as if he was the guilty party. When she looked at him for sympathy she found none there.

She trembled with rage, barely holding her tongue, but she could see he was out of patience. Father had never been this angry for as long as she could remember.

"You are to be a lady! As a lady of a great house, it is your duty to marry and you will marry as your king commands! Now go to your room and I suggest you spend your time thinking about the ways you have failed your house. I will retrieve you when I think you are ready to do your duty."

With that, she stomped out of the room and slammed the door, before throwing herself onto her bed to cry once more. Nymeria whined and tried to lick the tears from her face, but her grief was too much to take any comfort in her direwolf.

Arya hated when she couldn't control her tears. Only ladies cried and she was no lady! She finally pulled herself away from her window and curled up on the bed, glaring at the door. Not even Nymeria was here. Robb had shown up to retrieve her and given her a warning look that suggested she shouldn't try to leave sooner than Father was willing.

Her stomach growled hungrily and she presumed that breakfast had already passed. She'd had to go without a meal here or there before, but never two in a row. In truth, it just made her angrier.

She startled when a knock came at her door.

"Arya, I'm coming in."

She glared up at him as he entered. His face was softer and she thought she could see guilt in his eyes, but there was still a firmness in his bearing. He carried a plate of fruits and cheese which he held out to her. She hesitated only a moment before snatching it up and beginning to scarf it down. He closed the door and came over to sit on the bed, watching her as she ate.

When she began to slow down, he said, "When you are done here, you will be dressed in your finest. The king has summoned the both of us."

A grape in her hand froze halfway to her mouth as she stared at him.

"You will be on your best behavior. You will address the king as 'Your Grace.' If you do not do this, I will take your sword away for good."

"But it's mine! The king gave it to me!"

Her father glared down at her and she recognized the angry jut to his jaw that was so similar to her own. "Indeed, the king gave you a gift and you have done nothing but scorn him. I should've taken it from you from the very beginning."

She felt herself flush, both in anger and embarrassment. "The king has sold me! Like a cow at market."

"The king has arranged for marriage alliances, as is his due! Would you rather your brother and I risk our lives in a war so that you don't have to enter into marriage?"

Arya blanched. She knew that there was upheaval, that overthrowing a king brought with it its own problems, but that was hardly her concern. What did she care about the world at large? She was supposed to be perfectly safe at Winterfell. Yet it had been almost lost on her that she had been surrounded by an army this entire time, that they were supposed to be marching to war.

He softened again. "You are young, Arya. Such is the way of children to think of little outside their small world. But we are not in Winterfell anymore. We are the first backers of King Aemon, his most prominent ally. All eyes are on us and if we want the Seven Kingdoms to be united, then we must do our part."

She felt her lips tremble, but then pressed them into a thin line to stop it and blinked back the tears.

"Marriage is not the end of the world. I know I've said this before, but your mother and I were not in love when we married. I knew her as the lady betrothed to your Uncle Brandon that whole time. I was completely unprepared for a marriage, let alone one to her. It wasn't easy but we came to terms with it. In time, our love grew. I know you don't enjoy or believe in the loving stories of knights and romance like Sansa does, but love isn't something that happens. It is something you work for. As long as you and your betrothed are looking to find happiness with each other, you will." He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

"This is not the end of the world, my little wolf. It is only the beginning. I will send in a maid to help you dress. Once you are ready, we shall see the king."

She nodded, unable to speak as she fought with the emotions trying to overwhelm her. How would she have actually felt if Father or Robb had actually gone into battle? And Jon? He was the king. A Targaryen. His new title didn't erase her years with him at Winterfell, where he encouraged her mischief and taught her what he knew about sword fighting. He could have died in battle as surely as his father, Rhaegar, had.

But they didn't fight, she thought. Jon took the throne without one. That's why everyone calls him The Bloodless King. She barely noticed as the maid picked out a dress and she climbed into it. She frowned at the frumpy thing. Jon won't care what I wear. Her heart panged as she thought of him and more recently of his downtrodden look when she had stiffly greeted him the other day.

She missed Jon. She wanted to go back to Winterfell, before he ever became king, back to the days when they would aid each other in pranks against their siblings. But then he wouldn't really know who he was, she mused. The lack of knowledge had eaten away at him his whole life. Would she still prefer he remain ignorant than pursue his rightful inheritance? Deep in her heart, she knew she wouldn't. Maybe it was time to forgive Jon. She hated this distance, she hated what her life had been the last six months, but she missed him and she couldn't bear the thought of him going into battle believing she hated him.

For once, she followed her father dutifully, though she refused to carry herself the way Sansa would. She was no lady, after all, and never would be.

Arya followed her father as he walked up to the Kingsguard. A portly boy about Sansa's age was also standing outside of the Solar, but he was not dressed in the typical Kingsguard garb. She stared at him with interest, but he only nodded bashfully.

"Ser Preston."

"Lord Stark."

"His Grace, King Aemon, has summoned us."

The guard knocked on the door then opened it and announced, "Lord Stark has arrived, Your Grace." He waited a moment then pulled the door wider for them to enter.

They stepped inside. Arya had only seen Father's Solar a handful of times; it was a small room, with documents piled high on his desk and a small window for light. This Solar was spacious with a single desk, also piled with parchment. However the back of the room was a wall of tall windows and she could see there was a door opening out onto a balcony. Jon looked up and nodded at them, but did not immediately speak as he wrote on a piece of parchment

The Kingslayer was standing there with a sheaf of documents. He always had an ever present glare on his face and he gave her and her father a stiff nod.

When Jon finally stamped a seal onto the parchment, he handed it to Jaime and then turned to them. "Uncle, Arya, it's good to see you. I hope you're settling in?" He asked her.

"I am fine, Your Grace," Arya replied with a stiff curtsey. And still Father glared down at her.

"I think you'll be pleased to hear I have welcome news for you."

She stared at him with a measure of hope, but she dared not believe.

"A betrothal is set to be brokered with Prince Doran Martell, but it won't be yours," Jon said.

"Your Grace?" Father asked shocked.

"It has come to our attention that Prince Doran Martell's oldest child is his daughter, Princess Arianne Martell. As I'm sure you're familiar, Uncle, inheritance laws in Dorne mean that Princess Arianne will inherit after him. Were Arya to marry Prince Tristayne, her children would be sure to inherit nothing. Whatever Arya's feelings are about marriage and being a lady, I want her to have success when she marries and that is not it."

Arya felt tears come to her eyes, yet again, but these were ones of relief.

Jon turned to stare at her earnestly. "I am sorry that I had this potential betrothal hanging over your head for so long. Forgive me?"

She choked back a sob, then ran around the desk and threw herself at him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered endlessly into his ear.

"Who will you offer instead?"

"Don't worry, Lord Stark, it's not from your side of the family," the Kingslayer said acerbically.

Her heart began to feel lighter as Jon squeezed her. "I have missed you," he whispered into her ear.

She couldn't unstick her throat, but merely nodded against him.

"Uncle, would you consider it acceptable for Arya to continue her sword training?" Jon asked.

Her father hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Very well, your training may continue. But I expect you to be diligent with your other studies, including sewing. Don't make that face!"

She saw Jon turn away to hide a chuckle, then he cleared his throat and said, "Lord Jaime and I have decreed that women shall be given equal footing in the training yards. Lady Dacey, Lady Maege, and Lady Brienne of Tarth hold lessons there every day for anyone who wants to learn."

Jon glanced at the Kingslayer who returned an unreadable expression and then he barked, "Pod!"

"Yes, M'lord?"

"Escort Lady Arya to the training grounds. Make sure she reaches Lady Maege."

Arya detached herself from Jon and ran over to the pudgy boy.

"Do not ruin your dress!" Her father called to her as they left.

Once they were out in the sunlight, Arya asked, "You're the Kingslayer's squire?"

He frowned at her. "Don't call him that."

"Why not? He killed a king."

"He was pardoned for that. He is the Kingslayer no more."

She frowned at him, but then her eyes were drawn to the training yard. It was filled with a multitude of men training with each other or practice dummies. They stared at her and she glared right back at them. A female voice shouting instructions drew her attention and she broke away as soon as she recognized Dacey Mormont.

"Lady Arya! We heard you arrived yesterday. How've ya been?" Dacey said, but she was distracted by a fight in the ring.

A boy of fair skin and pale hair was dueling with another girl of darker skin and dark hair. They were of an age with her and fought ferociously. Their wooden swords sharply cracked as they swung at each other. Arya noticed that the girl had a split lip and there was a blue bruise around the boy's eye. Suddenly, the boy's foot rolled and he lost his balance, falling to the ground. The girl gasped and ran over to him. "Are you okay?"

"Lucille," a warning voice came from the largest woman Arya had seen, even larger than Dacey or Maege. Her armor made her even bulkier and she had straw blonde hair. She would've mistaken her for a man were it not for her voice.

The girl sighed and tapped the boy's neck with her wooden sword point. "There! Kill point! Are you well?"

The boy grinned up at her. "Well fought."

"That was hardly fair. You fell."

"Not all fights are fair," Dacey barked. "You take your advantage when you have one."

"The girl has a foreign style. You did well, Lord Dayne. You're improving," a gruff man who had been standing at the edge said.

"Thank you, Ser Beric," the boy replied. His knight turned to leave and he scurried off after him.

The other girl noticed her and walked over. "Good day, my Lady," she said with an attempt at a curtsy even though she was wearing breeches and a tunic.

"I'm no lady! I'm Arya."

"I'm Lucille. You want to fight?"

Arya grinned back at her.

|-The Dragon's Roar-|

Cersei I

She screamed.

Her lips were peeled back from her teeth in a rictus of agony, but at the same time the corners were upturned into a manic grin.

Finally. Finally, it is my time, she thought. A pair of handmaidens bustled around her, mopping her forehead, and speaking soothing words of encouragement. She would have snapped at them had she any energy to spare, but she was devoted to bringing this babe into the world.

Cersei hadn't quite believed the pregnancy had caught when she started vomiting during the travels to this horrid island. The barbaric north hadn't seen fit to make smooth roads and she found the bumps and jostling of her carriage caused her stomach to roil. It had taken more than once for her fool of an uncle to impregnate her on every single occasion, but of course Jaime needed only once. Her handsome, viril Jaime. She felt tears leak down her face as she thought of him.

He would never abandon our child. Once he hears of its birth, he'll be begging to have me released from my cage! It was one of the few thoughts that had kept her going all of these months. And after so many years of begging, pleading, and threatening, her perfect child would be born. Not only a Lannister through and through, but her twin's son. This babe should have been her firstborn. Joffrey was a good boy, but he wasn't a king. He wasn't Jaime's son.

Another contraction seized her, but she kept breathing. She had birthed three children already. What was a fourth?

If only you were here, Jaime, she thought wistfully. She had made him be present for the birth of her other children. Perhaps it had been foolish of her to believe that she might win him over after all of these years, yet he remained unmoved.

She was still confused about where it had gone wrong. One day he had been wrapped around her finger, hanging onto her every word. She had seen the way his eyes rolled in lust when she had whispered into his ear that she intended to visit him the morning of her wedding day to remind him of whom she was truly loyal to. He had grinned avariciously at her and kissed her hand.

Yet when she had showed up as promised, the door opened on a Jaime that felt alien to her. Instead of opening the door wide in welcome, he had cracked it open and peeked through, demanding to know in a cold voice why she was there.

She tried to push the door open, but it didn't budge more than an inch. Irritation flashed through her, but she attempted a smile, though it was condescending in nature. "Dear sweet brother, do you not recall? I promised to stop by before my wedding."

"And? The king will be more than happy to fuck you. Sate yourself on him."

Blood rushed to her cheeks as she felt the rage in her heart. "How dare you!"

"How dare I? It's done. We're done."

She fumed. "Are you so stupid as to forget that you are part of the Kingsguard? It will never be over, Jaime."

It was then that she saw the sharp clarity in his eyes that caused her fury to chill with fear. "It was over between us when you persuaded me to join the Kingsguard, stripping me of my right to Casterly Rock for your own ends. I will not yield. Not now, not ever. I will forever be unattainable to you." With that, he snapped the door shut in her face and she heard the lock turn.

"Oh, but you will yield, brother. I'll make sure of it."

It had taken fifteen years. She would admit, with some grudging respect, that he had held out that long. She almost couldn't believe her good fortune when he lay unconscious from his wounds. A man's body still worked, even in sleep, so it was only a matter of coaxing it. And perhaps, he'll realize the error of his ways and come back to me, she had thought with some satisfaction.

She had felt vindicated as his cock hardened under her ministrations. His words said one thing, but his body said another. When she saw him stirring, struggling against the heaviness of sleep, she had been elated. Of course fucking would bring a man like him back from the edge of death. It was dismaying when he had shouted protestations at her.

It's simply propriety, she had told herself. He doesn't want to show he enjoyed fucking his sister. Once he had been gagged, it was easy to believe the noises coming from him were moans of pleasure. She had ridden him with wild abandon, though she kept her moans silent. Then that damn squire of his had burst through the door and she had known her scheme was up.

It was later, once she'd been dumped in the cells that she had discovered her brother's seed dripping from her slit. She had laughed, even while tears dripped down her face. She had been successful, but at the cost of everything. How fitting that my brother would be my downfall. If he'd only complied, it never would have come to this, she thought. Her laughter continued as she thought about the careful Lannister legacy her father had built over decades only for her to rent it asunder in one night, with a single act. If the king didn't kill her, her father would. No matter,he still has three grandchildren. He will not rest until his grandson is back on the throne where he belongs, she mused.

A strange calm had befallen her the morning of her execution. She'd been allowed to dress in something more befitting her station than the simple, sheer robe she had been tossed into the cell with. She would die, but Jaime would die with her, as it was meant to be. They were one soul in two bodies. That he had resisted this baffled her, but he would not be able to ignore it any longer.

If she had been a believer in the Seven, she would've thought that they'd answered her prayers as Stark's bastard challenged Robert for the throne. A small part of her sneered at the idea of that manchild on the throne, her children's throne, but there would be time later to address that. She was alive and with Jaime. They could finally be together.

Then he had put his sword in her face.

For the first time, dread had filled her as she looked into his face. His lips were pulled back in a snarl and he stalked toward her, his sword raised ready to deliver a death blow. She never thought she would have to face the leonine warrior that her brother became on the battlefield. It had only been her good fortune that the new king had stepped in to avert her death.

Cersei screamed as a new wave of pain seized her. The contractions were coming closer together. It wouldn't be long now. She was looking forward to Jaime releasing her from her imprisonment. He'd never let the child be raised in this frozen waste.

"That's it, my Lady. Breathe," the maester said to her in soothing tones, as he lifted up her gown to see her progress.

"I AM YOUR QUEEN," she shouted at him.

He took as much notice of her as he would a bird chirping outside. While the handmaids glanced at each other in alarm, they continued to work around her.

Their apathy grated her. When I get off this rock, you will all beg for mercy. Jaime will see this island razed to the ground for your shameful treatment of me, she thought.

She puffed and her chest heaved as she tried to stay alert. Hours must have passed, judging by the way the light shifted against the walls. Childbirth was always so tedious, but the rewards were sweet. She just needed to be patient.

The light was well and truly dim as the contractions rolled through her. They were very close together now. Her time was near. In a moment, her son would be born.

Cersei didn't even hear the coaxing of the Maester or the words of the handmaids as they put a dampened cloth on her forehead. With one last scream and a final effort, she felt a gushing as her baby was finally removed, coming out into the world.

She fell back, her smile wide and gleaming as more tears leaked from her face. She could feel the maester doing the usual afterbirth cleanup. The silence pressed and she found her panic growing. She tried to sit up and strained to see the baby from across the room.

In the very next moment, a sharp and strong cry pierced the room. She sobbed in a shuddering breath, her greatest fear almost realized, but then happiness blossomed in her like the sweet spring sun was shining down on her. That cry was hale and healthy, the cry of a warrior king who would one day grow to press his claim.

Cersei still couldn't see the child, the handmaid bathing him had her back directly to her.

"Move, you great cow! I wish to see my son," she commanded. It took every effort to not slap away the other handmaids as they came over to change her bedsheets. She could hardly expect to hold her son in the filth of afterbirth.

The child continued wailing as the handmaid tended to him and Cersei was becoming impatient. Then she watched as the maid wrapped him up and headed straight for the door. She held him in just a way that Cersei couldn't see him at all.

"Where are you taking him? Where are you taking my son?!"

The maester stared down at her with a sympathetic smile. "My Lady, you are a prisoner, but your babe is not. It is to grow up free and far away from here."

Cersei stared at him, the words slowly sinking in. She shook her head. "N-no, no! That's my son! He is mine! I am his mother! He needs me."

The maester simply continued to smile softly at her.

"NO! BRING ME BACK MY SON! BRING HIM TO ME! BRING TOMMEN BACK TO ME!"