Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons

Daeron:

The Godswood was quiet when Daeron stepped out into it, dim torches lined the various pathways that cut through the wood. He closed his eyes, appreciating the gentle tussle of the wind against his face. The cold brisk air was a welcome change to the stuffy and smoky ambiance of the celebrating he had excused himself from. He and his friends drinking to his victory over Rhaegar.

His fingers brushing against the sheathed sword that he had won in his duel hours ago. The famous sword of his ancestors, Dark Sister. He had admired the valyrian blade countless times since he had claimed it, showing it to his friends and new supporters of his that have sprung up since his victory.

His mouth twisted at those vermin. Their attempts at worming into his good graces were not lost on him. As if he'd forgotten their behavior in the past, and was foolish enough in thinking they wouldn't turn on him the second it was convenient for them. The Court could hang as far as Daeron was concerned.

"Oh."

Daeron looked ahead of the path he was walking to see a young woman was approaching him.

"My Prince," she recovered, curtseying.

He recognized her to be Mina Tyrell, Mace Tyrell's youngest sister. "My lady," he greeted, "I apologize for startling you."

"It's quite alright," she waved off his apology. "I took the risk by venturing into this wood at night," she explained. "I should've prepared myself in the chance I came face to face with a dragon."

Daeron found himself smiling at the young woman in front of him. "You are brave," he complimented. His eyes taking in her slender form, her green dress done in a conservative cut, she had big blue eyes, honey brown hair that had been done in a braid, but strands of it had slipped through, framing her lovely face. "And beautiful," he found himself adding.

She smiled, "I'm sure you tell that to all the women you meet in the moonlight."

He had difficulty looking away from her eyes, sapphire pools that in the moment shimmered with a mischievous glint. "I didn't mean to interrupt your stroll," he took a step to the side, allowing her to pass, while secretly hoping that this conversation wouldn't come to a sudden end.

"I'll admit I came out here to escape my mother," she confessed, "but I wouldn't protest your company."

Silently pleased, he offered her his arm, "Allow me," her small hands were tucked against him. They then set out on their leisurely pace through the Godswood. "Your mother is a very formidable woman." Daeron knew the stories of the Queen of Thorns. He had rarely found himself in her company, but had heard the lash of her tongue, and the barb in her words.

"So am I," she squeezed his arm, before letting out a laugh which sounded like music to his ears.

He chuckled, "I'll remember that."

"Allow me to offer my congratulations on you victory," she spoke up, after they had walked a few steps in silence. "I cannot say what I enjoyed more, your thrashing of the Crown Prince or the looks of my brother and sister once you were finished," she giggled. "I thought my sister was going to faint."

Daeron didn't reply right away. His mind dwelling on her reveal of wanting him to beat his brother.

Unaware of his internal debate, she continued in her story, "My brother swallowed his tongue in that defeat. The first silence I've ever experienced in his company. So you have my thanks."

He found it difficult to keep from smiling at her alluring charm. However, the distraction of his thoughts was enough to keep his mood somber despite the infectious mirthfulness coming from her tone and expression.

"That is surprising news," He picked his words carefully, "Since I thought it was only in my small circle of friends that would be the ones happy with the outcome of my victory." He watched her carefully, when he added, "However, in the hours that followed, I've found quite a new group of friends emerging from the woodwork."

Mina snorted, catching him off-guard, "And you suspect I'm one of them?" She sounded more amused then insulted.

"The thought crossed my mind."

"I'll be honest with you, my prince," she said candidly. "My family have had their eyes set on Rhaegar for years," her eyes darkening, "They chase a dragon, a way to put a Tyrell as close as they can to the Iron Throne."

"You're proving my point."

"Am I?" she challenged, "They want Rhaegar, not you." She said bluntly, a softness touched her face at the admission, she squeezed his arm. "They will not even consider you until Rhaegar is married with a wife who's already given him a handful of sons." Her voice betraying her thoughts on her family's scheming, "A man I'm not deemed worthy of," she let out a bitter laugh, "No not as a second daughter, no Targaryen Princes for me. I'll be given to a bannermen to strengthen our family's alliances," her admission, brought an eerie resignation to her tone. An acceptance to her fate.

"A role I'll play for my family, but that's for the future," she slipped her hands from his arm, and moved to take his hands in hers. "This night, this moment," she looked into his eyes, "that's mine."

His eyes flickered between her enthralling blue eyes and her lips which he yearned to kiss. He found his mouth dry, a slight haziness in his mind that he knew was from the celebratory wine. He wanted to believe her. Her tone was so sincere. Her words capturted a sentiment he understood only too well, but still he hesitated on the precipice.

Daeron knew how this game was played. How his family was viewed. His hesitation kept his heart from plummeting while praying his wariness was misplaced, because in that moment all he wanted to do was to feel her lips on his.

"And this?" He raised her small and delicate hands.

The corner of her lips curved, which only seemed to enhance her beauty. "Let my brother and mother fret over the Crown Prince," her azure eyes were warm and inviting. "Let them throw my sister at his feet, if it means I can have you all to myself."

Daeron felt something stir within. Relief welled in his heart like a mountain spring.

"My Prince?" A voice called out in the darkness, puncturing the moment between them.

A look of disappointment flashed across Mina's face, but her smile returned, smooth and confident as she leaned on her tiptoes. "What if I were to come to your chambers tonight?" Her lips brushing against his cheek, "Would you find me a welcoming sight?

"I would," his voice sounded strange to his ears, like a low rumble.

She shivered at the sound, red crept into her suddenly flushed cheeks. "Until tonight, my prince," she ducked her head, smirking as she did. That glint lingering beneath her eyes that Daeron found beguiling, like a lit beacon to weary sailors.

He watched her slip into the darkness of the night, standing alone his thoughts and feelings lingering on the youngest Tyrell.

"My prince," Ser Gaunt emerged from the shadows, out of breath, but that didn't stop him from giving Daeron an irritated look.

"Ser Gwayne, my apologies." Daeron had promised the knight to not wander off and in return he'd allow Daeron some privacy. "I got distracted," he admitted, looking over his shoulder to where Lady Mina had slipped away, only moments ago, her scent lingered in the air- an enticing floral scent.

"Evidently," the knight replied dryly. He looked him over, a suspicious look in his eyes, but he voiced none of it out loud. "Allow me to escort you back, My Prince."

"Very well," Daeron acquiesced.

"Your cousin, Lord Robert has quite the voice and a talent at remembering bawdy songs."

They started back towards the Keep.

Daeron resisted the urge to look backwards not wanting to confirm any of the knight's suspicions. So instead he looked forward to tonight, remembering the words spoken to him, and of the promises to come.

It was nearly an hour later before Daeron found himself walking alone towards his chambers. His encounter with Mina had left him distracted. He hadn't been able to focus with his friends, barely listening or paying mind to what it was they were saying. Thankfully, they seemed oblivious to it, and when he excused himself, citing weariness after his fight. They were understanding, bidding him a good night, and a final congratulations on his triumph before he left them.

Here he walked after having beaten his brother, claimed Dark Sister, but it was Lady Mina Tyrell that had rooted herself at the center of his consciousness. Her beauty and her charm, her boldness and her bluntness forming an unexpected distraction. The fight felt like a distant memory to him, now that his thoughts and desires were focused entirely on the young Tyrell maiden.

Upon reaching his doors, he wondered how to discreetly let the guards know to expect Mina, as well as insuring that her visit went unreported. Pushing the doors opened, his thoughts on alerting his guards were forgotten when he spotted the very guest he was expecting having already made herself comfortable within his chambers. Lounging on the couch by his fireplace, the orange glow of the burning embers casting her form in an enchanting light.

A form he couldn't help but admire.

She stirred upon hearing him enter, raising her head. She had removed her pins and braids, allowing her honey brown hair to fall in loose lazy curls past her shoulders. Her lips were the first to react to his sight, forming a smirk that was confident and inviting. "My Prince," she inclined her head in his direction, "I've been expecting you." She gracefully sat up.

"I wasn't expecting this," he gestured to her presence upon his couch, "But one that I'm very grateful at seeing."

"You're smoother with your sword, my prince," she teased. "I invited myself in," she shrugged, elegant in the movement as it drew his attention to the silk nightshift she was wearing. A thin, transparent fabric that hid nothing from his hungry gaze.

"No easy feat," She noticed his eyes on her, sitting up straighter to allow him a better view of her pale breasts.

"You're full of surprises, my lady."

"You have no idea, my prince," she replied impishly, emphasizing his title in a tone that sent a shiver of pleasure strumming through him. She suddenly stood, but remained graceful in her movement, turning her back to him. She walked over towards the table, a seductive sway in her steps. "I brought you some Arbor Gold."

"You are too kind," He moved over towards her, watching as she poured the golden liquid into two glasses. He nodded his thanks at the offered glass. He felt his doubt bubbling up, so he quickly drank the wine. Wanting to douse his misgivings before they could distract him further. He finished the delicious wine in three sips.

"Allow me," he offered, when he noticed her glass was empty. He poured them their second glass in silence.

"Do you find me homely, my prince?"

Daeron coughed up some of his Arbor Gold at her unexpected question, "My lady?" His face burned in embarrassment at his gaffe. He quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. "I-I do not." He assured her. He hesitated to look in her direction, but after warring silently with indecision and nerves, he looked towards her. He found himself emboldened by her beauty, and no doubt, the wine, when he clarified.

"I find you stunning, my lady."

"So stunning that you must keep your distance," the challenge in her tone was clear, but softened by the look in her eyes. She looked so fragile, vulnerable.

"I am cautious," he decided she deserved honesty after all she had told him earlier about her family and her future.

"I see," a touch of pain in her voice. She took a long sip from her glass. "I assure you, my prince, I come here to you out of desire of nothing more than the feeling of two lovers embracing," she put down her now empty glass. "Marrying you would please my family," she admitted, "But fucking you would please me." Her eyes luminous in the candlelight, lust shimmering beneath the sapphire pools.

Satisfied with her answer, Daeron moved towards her. He was tired of the doubting. He let his concern be numbed by wine and lust. Letting his desire drown his caution, because here and now, he wanted this, he wanted her.

"Very well," he smiled, "I'll indulge you."

It was her stirring that pulled him out of his slumber. Haziness greeted him, he blinked it away only to see darkness surround him. He reached out his hand, his fingertips finding the soft, warm skin of Mina's body beside his. "What time is it?" He yawned.

"The hour is late," she answered, "However, morning is still far enough away that the skies remain dark, and the castle asleep."

His eyes were adjusting to the dim light to see her lying beside him. Her blanket abandoned, he drank in the sight of her breasts, the steady rise and fall of her chest. He reacted to her beauty.

Since their bodies were still partly intertwined, it allowed her to feel his appreciation . She smiled, "You'd draw your sword on an innocent maiden?" Her impish tone only solidifying his growing lust.

"You're hardly an innocent maiden," Their night of passion confirmed his suspicion that she was no blushing virgin.

She laughed, "I cannot deny that," she didn't sound ashamed at the admission. "You were not my first," her fingers went through his hair, "But you were my first prince."

He met her lips with his, savoring the soft sweetness of them. The moan that escaped her mouth, only fueled his desire, but she pulled away after a few heartbeats of passion.

"Hmm," she purred, smiling as she did, her eyes lingering on his lips. A look of conflict flickering across her face, shadowing her beauty before a look of disappointment settled, a resigned sigh followed. "I must leave," she slipped out of bed before he had a chance to try to stop her.

"I have an explanation in place," She padded across the floor, "But I shouldn't risk it," She picked up her discarded shift from where Daeron had peeled it out of her.

The memories of their passion coming back to him. He smiled upon reflecting of their time together. It had been a very good night.

"Despite the temptations to stay," She sent him a playful look over her shoulder, slipping into her shift. "I can come again if you like?" The offer hung in the air between them. Her tone was casual, but there was a flickering hue of hope beneath her cobalt eyes.

"I wouldn't be opposed to it," Daeron joked, earning him a glare, but he saw the relief flicker across her face no matter how brief. He pushed the blankets off of him, and got up to meet her. "I'd be a poor host if I let you leave without so much as a goodbye," He leaned down, capturing her lips in a brief, but tantalizing kiss. "Until our next meeting," He was pleased at the dazed look in her eyes. "I pray that it isn't too much of a wait."

Her glazed look slipped away at his last words. Her confidence returning in her familiar smirk. "I'm not the Maiden, herself," she teased, "But I'll see what I can do about your prayer."

Daeron smiled, resisting the urge to kiss her once more. He stayed that desire instead having to settle for watching her put on her rough spun cloak and hood, disguising her into looking like one of the many servants within the Red Keep.

An ingenious disguise, he thought, impressed with her planning. Since even if she was noticed, they'd think he was sleeping with a maid. A notion that wouldn't have anyone batting an eye.

She looked back at him, before she slipped away out of sight.

He stayed there, standing and staring at the closed door wearing nothing but a dazed smile.

Cersei:

He needs me.

She hadn't been able to sleep.

How could she rest while her prince was in pain?

To make matters worse she had to endure the celebrations of her brother and his friends as they gloated over the spare prince's victory over the Crown Prince. Had they no wits? They insulted the heir to the Iron throne with their jubilee.

She lay awake all night fretting over her Rhaegar. Unable to push away the horrible memories of watching him get bested by that brute of a brother. Who in his jealous rage had marred Rhaegar's face with a savage blow.

He couldn't take his brother's crown so he settled for taking his beauty, she thought bitterly, and his sword.

She wouldn't forget the blood that gushed from the break, or the odd angle Rhaegar's nose was in. It made her stomach clench, but she ignored that discomfort, knowing she couldn't let it affect her feelings for her prince.

So here she was an hour or so past dawn, making her way through the Red Keep. Determined to see Rhaegar, to comfort him, to nurse him, whatever she could do to help her prince, she'd do. Her heart fluttered at her willingness and her imagination, conjuring images of a grateful Rhaegar showing his appreciation for her.

Cersei felt the heat creep in her cheeks, her pulse quickening, and her lips parted to let out a pleasurable sigh, but the dream soon ebbed away, from the sound of approaching footfalls and voices. Putting aside distractions and temptations, Cersei continued on her way to the royal apartments, where her prince was waiting for her.

I can make him better, Cersei had looked over herself more than a handful of times before she had set out. Confidence brimming in her heart, knowing he'd finally see her, the woman she could be for him. His friend, his ally, his wife, the last words pulling her lips into a smile.

His Queen, she continued, his staunchest supporter.

All she needed was the courage to seize this moment. A lion didn't hide and wait for its prey to come to them. They hunted, they sought what they wanted and they took it.

I am no different, she felt the tingling of anticipation beneath her skin. The flutter of her heart like a bird in a cage, as she neared with each step. The first lion to subdue a dragon, she thought proudly, and a lioness no less.

A little more patience my love, she prayed for her prince, I will be with you shortly.

She was so close, her legs were beginning to tremble in anticipation, her hands fidgeting at her sides. She steadied her steps, and put her hands together. Cersei knew her family was counting on her. Thinking of how pleased her father would be within a few hours when she told him that she had snared Rhaegar with her beauty and her charm.

"My lady?" The voice of the Targaryen guards brought her out of her reverie.

She recovered smoothly with a smile she perfected in her years at the Rock on servants and guards alike who asked her too many questions. To her satisfaction, it worked on the two in front of her just as easily .

Men, she chided, predictable and pathetic.

"Oh yes?" She blinked at them, fluttering her eyelashes, and pouting her lips. "Oh please forgive me," she put a hand to her chest. "You startled me," she let out a giggle that made her want to cringe, but the role was needed if she was going to succeed.

"That wasn't our intention," the guard on the right quickly said, "Our apologies, my lady," he bowed his head. The other guard quickly followed and chorused his sentiments.

"The King has such stalwart men protecting him," she praised, smiling sweetly at them, "I have an invitation to give," She added, "From my father," knowing the weight those two words carried not just in this city, but throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

The guards reacted accordingly, "Go through, my lady," standing aside to let her pass.

"Thank you, kind sers," She walked passed them without another look, ignoring their replies as it no longer mattered to her to hear what it was they were saying.

He waits for me, she felt as if she was gliding across the floor when the prince's room came into view. A kingsguard knight was standing outside of it, he blinked owlishly at her, "My lady?"

It took her a second to put a name to this dark haired, dark eyed knight, Ser Alliser Thorne. The newest sworn brother and the one Aerys picked not her father. "Morning, Ser Alliser," She greeted, smiling before slipping into a perfect curtsey. "I have a message for the Crown Prince."

Ser Alliser's face was stone as his dark eyes took her in without reaction. His lips finally moved, forming a frown, "The Prince asked not to be disturbed."

Cersei refused to show her anger to this lowly knight who was promoted above his station. I will not let you stand between me and my destiny. She wanted to roar back at him, but she didn't, knowing her tools were of a different kind than a man's. So instead she smiled back at him, not allowing him to see his words had an effect on her.

"Mayhaps, you should tell him about this visitor," she suggested sweetly. She was no servant or lowly member of Court, but the daughter of the Hand to the King, a Lannister of Casterly Rock, and the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

He looked ready to argue, but sense seemed to finally come to him, he sighed. "Very well," sounding annoyed, he showed her his back as his armored knuckles rapped across the wood of the door. He then opened it, and disappeared from view.

Just behind those doors, he waits for me. She was giddy, self consciously she ran a hand through her hair to make sure she stilled looked her very best. She glanced at her dress, noticing no stains or wrinkles as well checking her neckline where it cut low so that Rhaegar would be able to see her beauty for himself.

One look at me, will stir the dragon, she thought confidently.

"He will see you," the knight's sharp voice pierced her thoughts.

She blinked, "Thank you," she walked past him and into the prince's chambers.

Ones that I'll become quite familiar with, she thought wickedly.

Then her eyes found him. He was standing at his table, where numerous tomes and parchments were spread out. Her heart quivered at the tall, silver haired prince before her. With his indigo eyes, and despite the bandage that was over his nose, this was a face sculpted to display perfect beauty.

"Lady Cersei," Rhaegar's melodic voice was entrancing.

"My Prince," She replied breathlessly, curtseying after her greeting. "I pray I'm not interrupting something."

"You are considerate," he replied, his soothing voice was hypnotic to her ears, "but it can wait."

For me? She nearly slipped out, but restrained herself. "Is it anything I can help with?" She asked hopefully.

A frown settled on his lips, but even it couldn't shadow his handsomeness, "No, you cannot," he said tightly.

"Forgive me," she replied hastily, fearing she had let her curiosity ruin her. Before she could further her apology, he held up his hand to silence her.

"Ser Alliser said you had a message or me?" He asked, a touch of irritation smattered his tone. "Is it from your father?"

It's now or never, she realized, plucking up her courage, she went in for the kill. "It's me," she declared.

"Pardon?" He blinked.

"I'm the message," She explained, "I-I needed a way to speak to you and get past your guards," her words were fumbling together as she found herself pinned by his gaze. "I came here for you," She revealed, "To help you, to comfort you," she listed, "To do anything I can for you." She offered, finishing her rushed spiel with her best smile while also trying to emphasize herself to get her meaning across.

"I see," His voice was chilly.

"You're not upset with me are you?"

He ignored her. "Ser Alliser?"

"My Prince?" She felt her heart plummet at the stony silence her words fell into.

"Yes, my prince?" Ser Alliser was inside the room.

"Kindly escort Lady Cersei out of my chambers," he instructed, "As well as out of these apartments." He moved to sit back down, "See to it this time I am not interrupted again."

"Yes, my prince," Ser Alliser bowed his head to Rhaegar, but the Crown Prince had already dismissed them, his eyes going over one of his tomes.

The Kingsguard knight scowled at her before addressing her, "Come with me, my lady."

Cersei stood there, mouth agape, blinking, trying to understand what had happened. Let this be a dream, no a nightmare, she prayed. It wasn't to be like this, she didn't understand.

"My Lady," Alliser's grip on her arm was tight, but it didn't hurt.

"My Prince," she ignored the knight, "My Prince, my prince," she pleaded, feeling the knight pulling her away from. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she felt tears blur her vision as she waved her arms frantically trying to stop the knight from removing her from Rhaegar's chambers.

Cersei called and she cried, but Rhaegar didn't stir from his seat.

"My prince, please," Tears ran down her cheeks, feeling her dreams beginning to crumble all around her, "I can help you!"

He did nothing.

Too soon, she was out the door, an annoyed Ser Alliser closing it behind her. Cersei's last glimpse of her prince, was of his nose in a book. He had never looked up.

"Go along, girl," Alliser's sharp voice cracked like a whip.

She flinched at the harsh sound of it. Snapping out of her daze, she lightly put a finger against her cheek, brushing a tear in the stroke. Looking down at it in dismay, she could hear the angry voice of her father, berating her, for her tears, for her failure, for disappointing him.

So she ran.

What have I done?

Fear and shame seemed to be taking turns at gnawing on her insides, while she wandered cluelessly within the castle.

Reflecting on the fool she had made of herself and in front of him, her prince, the man who was to be her husband .

I ruined everything! She had failed, she had promised her father that she would see this through, and within a week of her arrival at court, she all but sunk her chances at being Rhaegar's wife.

No, no, she pushed it way, not wanting the realization to stick.

A setback, the voice assured her. It was the soothing voice of her mother that put aside her doubts and fears. You are my daughter, a lioness of the Rock. You will go out with a roar not a whimper.

I need her now, she thought glumly. She'd know what to do. Mother always had a way of making her feel better.

Then it came to her-a letter. Cersei could write him a letter.

Apologizing profusely for my behavior, she perked at the idea. I'll tell him the truth, adding, it was due to being so distraught over his loss, with my inability to sleep over my concern for him . The more she thought about it, the clearer the letter formed in her mind. Knowing this was her chance, she gathered herself, assessed her bearings before she picked the direction she thought would lead her quickly back to the Tower of the Hand.

Cersei could feel the slow trickle of hope pouring into her broken heart, fixing it as it went.

I will show him my strength, rebuilding her confidence as she moved. Prove to him that a lioness will not cower to a dragon. She was determined to see this through. One bad encounter cannot ruin our future, she wouldn't accept that possibility. She caught her prince at a bad time. Her letter would find him in a better mood, and when it did, she knew he'd respond, he'd see her strength, and he'd seek her out.

Yes, the last lingering traces of sadness melting away like morning dew beneath the sun. She walked with purpose, with pride. She had run like a wounded animal then, but now she moved like the determined predator that she really was.

The sound of footsteps caused her to look up just in time to see King Aerys, and two of his knights trailing behind him. He looked sickly. His silvery hair was stringy and hung limply in dirty knots. His beard was a dirty and disheveled mess. But the worst thing was his nails, they had grown long and yellow. The sight of them made her want to turn away in disgust, but she couldn't. The King carried a pungent scent that didn't help soothe the revulsion she felt bubbling in her stomach.

"Your Grace," she curtseyed. Slipping on a smile, mask in place to looked pleased at his sudden appearance. To hide the worry that crept on her, having been warned by her father and brother of the king's impetuous behavior.

He blinked at her, his eyes hooded in suspicion, a scowl settled over his face. He looked ready to chide her, but then his expression changed instantly. His lips curved into a smile, eyes glittering in delight as they looked her over, "Joanna?" His voice was frail and distant, "Is that you?"

"No, your grace," She answered swiftly, startled at the mistake.

The answer wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Don't lie to me," he snapped harshly, mouth twisting in rage, "I'm not mad!" He growled, before his face softened, "Forgive me, Joanna," he pleaded, and without warning, he took one of her hands in his, placing a clumsy kiss onto her knuckles.

Cersei looked towards the guards to help her, but they stood silently. "My King," She deftly slipped her hand out of his greedy ones. "I must be going," she felt the trickle of panic beginning to seep into her heart.

"So soon?" He sounded disappointed, "Please, stay," he begged, "Don't go running back to Tywin so quickly," His face hardened at the mention of her father.

"I must," Cersei turned to go, but stopped when she felt his grip on her shoulder. His nails dug into her flesh causing her to wince in pain.

"Let go of me," her heart was pounding in her chest. The more she moved, the deeper his nails dug in. Crimson droplets were exposed from the cuts, dribbling down her pale skin. "Please, you're hurting me," She felt tears swelling in her eyes.

"Do something!" she half cried, half demanded of the guards. They did nothing, watching her beneath their helms. Unmoved by her pleas or their king's madness.

"Come back with me, Joanna," the king encouraged. "Rhaella doesn't control me." He smiled, "I'll be good to you."

His voice was beginning to get drowned out, by the sound of her heartbeat, which seemed to thunder in her ears. Her vision was blurred from tears. She wanted to crawl deep within herself to hide, to protect herself from whatever it was the king had in mind for her.

Then a voice broke through. It pulled her out of her self-induced abyss, snapping her back in the presence.

"Father."

Cersei blinked back tears, a rush of relief filled her chest at this unannounced savior. There approaching them was Daeron Targaryen and behind him was the kingsguard knight, Ser Oswell Whent.

Aerys turned his attention towards his son. "Go away," he demanded, "We're busy!" He put his other hand on Cersei's shoulder, gently as if they were friends.

"Father, they're looking for you," Daeron coaxed him. "Your Small Council members," he added, talking to the king like one would a child to get him to do something. "They need you."

"They do?" Aerys' eyes grew hazy before he nodded, "Yes, they do," he removed his hands from her shoulders. "These Kingdoms would be lost without me," he continued talking to himself, "Come, come, I have kingdoms to run," he barked at the guards, walking past them without second thought or look.

It wasn't until he turned the corridor and was out of sight did Cersei allow herself to breathe once more. She sagged in relief, leaning against the stone corridor, her breaths haggard and greedy as she tried to rein in her frantic heartbeat. Her fingers going to the cuts that were curtesy of the king. She wiped away the blood, leaving red streaks across her skin.

"Lady Cersei," Daeron's voice was hesitant, "My apologies," he said, "Did he hurt you?"

Anger and fear churned in her stomach to form a volatile mix. "It'll take more than a few scratches to hurt me," she snarled. She wouldn't look weak or scared in front of him.

"Of course, my lady."

It was the softness of his tone that brought her to look at him. Sympathy lay beneath his pale purple eyes, and when she met his gaze, it was enough to snuff the anger in her gut and for her to feel a bit of shame at how she had unfairly lashed out at him.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, her hand going to her head, feeling suddenly dizzy from the entire ordeal.

"You have no need to apologize, Lady Cersei," He assured her, "Come, I will escort you back to the Tower."

She wanted to refuse. After all, this was still the man who had defeated Rhaegar. He had bested her prince. He was the reason why Rhaegar had received her in a poor mood. Had Rhaegar won, he would've been pleased and inviting towards her, but this spare prince took that away from her.

However, she knew she could not. Those were not the duties of a lady, even in anger or discomfort, one must always be gracious and accommodating. They weren't fair expectations, but when was anything fair when it came to the roles women had to play?

"I would be grateful, Prince Daeron," She lied, throwing in a thankful smile when she finished, praying for their time together to be brief and quiet.

They walked at first in an awkward silence. The Prince seemed undecided on whether or not to address his father's behavior. Not that she minded, she preferred the silence especially if it included not dwelling what happened to her.

To stop herself from reflecting on it, she glanced over towards him to see he was dressed for the training yard. To practice with the sword he stole from his brother, she thought sourly. Cersei spotted the sword, sheathed, tied to his belt, the golden hilt, and pommel carved to resemble dragon flame, poking out.

"It's a remarkable sword."

She looked up to see he had caught her staring. His eyes were beautiful, lilac pools, but she silenced those treasonous thoughts before they could go any further. This was the man who stole his brother's sword. A jealous brute who could only use violence, who possessed none of Rhaegar's finer qualities.

"It is," Cersei agreed, one you're not worthy of, but she hid her true sentiments behind a polite veneer . If he thinks I'm going to congratulate him on winning then he is sorely mistaken.

He returned her smile, easily duped by it. "The sword of my ancestors," his fingers resting on the hilt. "You can almost feel the power of it, the rich history this blade has seen." His eyes looked lost in thought.

"It's a sword, my prince," Ser Oswell cut in dryly. "You use it to poke the other person full of holes."

Daeron laughed, "Hide your awe and envy behind your japes all you wish," he replied, "but you cannot fool me."

"My prince," the knight deferred, ducking his head, but his smile could be seen.

"Care to hold it, Lady Cersei?"

Cersei was stunned by the sudden question. Long had she watched in sullen silence her brother get to fight, get to train with swords while she was given needles and told to be happy. She had never wanted to stitch. She wanted to fight. The control, the power that came with it. To have it in her hands and no one else's. She was denied that and was suppose to be thankful for having such power taken away from her.

"Prince Daeron," She wondered if he lost his wits when his brother had hit him during their bout. "I am a lady." She wanted the sword, she couldn't deny that, but she couldn't look eager. She had to observe decorum. Another dance, she was forced to play. Another farce expected of her.

"I noticed," he grinned, "The dress gives it away."

She felt her lips twitch at that infectious smile, but she snuffed it out, cursing the man's charm as she did. She found her annoyance for him wane at the temptation he put to her.

Refusing to let him see his words have an effect on her, she replied to his jest like she would one of Jaime's, with a glare.

However, he did what Jaime never did. He bowed his head, "My apologies, if I offended, my lady," he offered, sounding contrite.

"You did not." She replied quickly. Like he had the power to do such a thing. As if she would care what he said or thought of her. The idea so ludicrous she had to stop herself from laughing.

"Some of the finest warriors in my family were women," Daeron observed thoughtfully, "Seems foolish of us to forget them, or worse ignore them." He pulled the sheathed sword out from his belt, "Queen Visenya used this sword herself to help her husband conquer the Seven Kingdoms," He looked at the sword with reverence, "As did her sister, Rhaenys and there have been countless others throughout my family. Women who fought and died for our cause," his eyes moved from the sword and onto her. "So I ask again, my lady, would you care to hold it?"

She could've fallen into his eyes in that moment, but she pulled her attention away to avoid temptation. Rhaegar awaits me, she chided herself. "I would," she found herself saying, unable to resist the pull she felt at holding a weapon.

He smiled, looking pleased at her decision, moving the sword so she could take it from the scabbard. "It awaits your touch," he encouraged.

Slowly, Cersei moved her hand towards it, when her fingers touched the hilt, she felt what only she could describe as a jolt go through her. Power, she realized, her fingers carefully wrapping around the hilt, wanting to savor the movement, the feel of it within her grip. Ever so slowly, she withdrew it from its leather scabbard, not wanting to appear clumsy or to accidentally damage it.

It slid effortlessly from its cover, it was lighter then she thought. She didn't take her eyes off the blade, studying its fine details, the ruby wrought on the cross guard that felt to be winking at her. It is the very eye of the blade, she thought, as if every wielder of the sword could view her through it in an instant.

"What do you think?" Daeron was still smiling, his eyes going between her and the blade.

"Magnificent," she breathed, unable to take her eyes off of it.

"Try it out," he encouraged, "A few swings," he added gently at her confused look.

She nodded vigorously, unable to contain her excitement, feeling it go from her heart to her fingertips. Cersei took a step back, careful of her surroundings, as she tried to remember how Jaime would use it during one of his lessons, she'd spy on when she'd quit her needlework. Cersei performed it from memory, a cut downwards, but in doing so, her feet nearly tripped over each other in the step. Frantically, in a half heartbeat she feared she was going to trip and fall, but Daeron's hand found her shoulder and stopped her. When she regained her balance, his hand dropped.

"A good first effort," he praised.

"No, it was not," Her cheeks were hot. She knew she was bad. She didn't need him to lie to her about it, to try to make her feel good that she was terrible.

"You are too hard on yourself, my lady," he replied quietly, "With practice you could be the next Queen Visenya."

She snorted at the suggestion unable to hide her derision at his foolishness. "Practice?" She scoffed, "You think my father would allow that?" She sneered, "You think my future husband would want a warrior as a wife?"

He frowned, taken aback by her caustic tone. "I pity the man who'd try to deny you, my lady."

"Here," She mumbled, images of the Crown Prince flickering before her. "It belongs to you." She offered him back his sword.

He took it with a nod, sheathing it before returning the scabbard back to his belt.

She couldn't deny the disappointment that filled her at having the sword out of her grip. The power she felt rushing through her when Dark Sister was in her hand was undeniable. It was addicting.

In her mind's eye, she could see herself wielding it, cutting down men who'd oppose her, weaken her, try to stop her. Each of them falling by the wayside to her blade. The thrill was exulting, coursing through her blood, tantalizing her beneath her skin as the triumphs were conjured before her.

To know she'd never experience that sensation again bothered her. Not wanting to dwell on what she was denied, she looked ahead to see they had reached the Tower of the Hand. "Thank you, Prince Daeron, for the escort," Her tone was polite, but dismissive. She ended it with a curtsey.

"Lady Cersei," he bowed his head. "It was a pleasure," he smiled, gesturing to his knight for them to retreat, but he hadn't taken more than few steps before he stopped and turned back to face her, "You have a fire, my lady. It'd be a shame to see it extinguished." And with those parting words he left.