Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons

Cersei:

"You came at a bad time."

That's an understatement, brother.

Cersei kept her annoyance to herself, not wanting to argue in front of Tyrion, who was currently sitting on her lap. She wouldn't forget how happy he looked when he saw her for the first time upon her arrival. It made her heart swell at seeing his reaction and how he ran to greet her. She had been quick to pick him up and she hadn't let go of him since.

The three Lannisters were in the chambers Cersei had been given by Prince Doran. They were adequate, she thought, not as lavish or as ornate as the ones that Casterly Rock had for esteemed guests. Jaime's betrothed was currently with her brothers. She was grateful for her absence. The last thing she needed was watching her brother act a fool for his princess. However, even gone she still had a way of making her presence felt since Jaime seemed more concerned about Elia's predicament then he did for Cersei's.

Didn't Father tell him how important this was? She wondered, Didn't Mother explain his role to him? Cersei hated to admit it because it felt like a weakness, but she needed Jaime to help her with Prince Daeron.

"So it's true," Cersei finally spoke, realizing her brother was waiting for her. She shouldn't have been surprised, Jaime always needed guidance. If only Father could see me now, she thought, I can lead too.

Jaime looked to Tyrion, their oblivious little brother, before he answered. "It is."

Way to be inconspicuous, brother, She wanted to roll her eyes. But she didn't have the time to dwell on Jaime's shortcomings, she had to focus on the matter at hand. That meant the gossip she had been hearing since arriving first to Sunspear and then to the Water Gardens had been true. Lord Yronwood had challenged Prince Oberyn to a duel. It was to be to first cut, but now the Dornish lord was dead, and the Prince was now known as the Red Viper.

Do the Dornish do anything but cause trouble? She thought at the headache they presented to them. "Where is the Prince?" She hoped she didn't have to clarify for Jaime. Cersei thought it was better to speak with some vagueness with Tyrion being present. Despite his age, he was astute and observant.

A look flickered across her brother's face that she couldn't quite decipher. "He's kept mostly to his chambers the last few days."

"Because of the duel?" Cersei knew the Prince was friends with Oberyn.

"Not exactly."

Cersei growled in annoyance at that infuriating and uninsightful answer.

Tyrion mimicked her, swatting his hand as he did, as if pretending to be a lion. It was enough to quell some of the anger she felt rising within at her brother's incompetence. She kissed Tyrion on the top of his head. He responded with a happy squeal which felt warmer to her then the Dornish sun ever could.

Jaime smiled down at the two. "He does stroll the Water Gardens in the early evening before taking supper."

Cersei perked up. Finally, something useful from him. She showed him her appreciation with a smile, he responded to it with nothing but a nod. I remembered when my smile meant the world to him, Bitterness laced her wistfulness, Now all he cares for is his Princess.

"Thank you, Jaime," She meant it, despite her current annoyance directed at him, he was still part of their Pride. Mother always said they had to look out for another.

"I'll let you know if he decides to spar again," Jaime took her gratitude with another helpful answer. "It may be another opportune time to visit without unwanted attention."

"That would be appreciated," Surprised by her brother's insight. This was the Jaime she'd need if she were to be successful in getting that betrothal. A brother that was focused first and foremost on helping his family, on helping her.

Something in Jaime's answer caught her interest. "He hasn't been sparring?" She didn't know the Targaryen Prince well but she remembered how dedicated he was to his training with the sword.

"No, he hasn't."

"Is that not strange?"

"It is." A strange look passed over his face as he watched her.

She tried not to be rankled by the clear insult that Jaime showed her. Do you think so low of me, brother?

"So what has changed?"

Jaime looked away, uncomfortable with either the question or the answer he'd have to give to sate her curiosity. It became clear she'd get no response to her question.

Wonderful, she thought dryly, realizing she wouldn't be getting anything more helpful out of him. Frustrated, she turned to Tyrion, who had been watching his siblings talk. There was undisguised fascination in his mismatched eyes, but when she caught his attention, his face split into a wide smile.

If only Tyrion could help me, she thought, He wouldn't keep secrets from me. He'd do anything to help me get my Targaryen prince.

What a wasteland, She couldn't help but notice as she waited for the Prince to make his expected appearance in the Water Gardens.

Why the Targaryens want such a region was beyond her. In her travels she saw little of note, the only constant in this area seemed to be the heat and the sand. What a dreadful place to live, she observed, and the Dornish are proud of it. The more she had seen the more she thought the Targaryens should've just let the Dornish keep their caves and deserts; let them live in sand and squalor.

She stood on the edge of one of the fountains, glancing down upon her reflection. She had chosen a low cut dress of red silk and gold trimmings. It had been selected by her mother to be worn for Cersei's first impression with the Prince.

The sight of you in this, her mother had said as she inspected the dress back in Cersei's chambers. And he's yours, she had added a smirk and a raised eyebrow to emphasize her point.

She was right, Cersei felt the eyes of many passing men linger upon her. None of them were brave enough to maintain their gaze when her eyes found theirs. Sheep, she thought, frightened to be caught in the sight of a predator.

I may be trying to seduce a dragon. Her fingers touching the golden lion head medallion that hung from her neck, but I will not hide what I am-a Lioness.

Her golden curls shone in the sun, not a single strand was out of place. Her emerald eyes stared back at her, mirroring the confident gaze she wore. Satisfied at her appearance in the reflection, she turned away and looked once more around the Water Gardens for Prince Daeron.

I am a hunter, She walked by a group of children, laughing and splashing in the waters. This dragon is my prey.

She fought the urge to frown when he didn't come into view. Cersei couldn't risk it marring her face in a first impression if he happened to spot her before she saw him. Let him see my beauty, she challenged, so that he can be blinded to the steel lurking beneath.

Then she spotted him. He was a ways away from her, his kingsguard knight behind him. She went to a nearby alcove so that he could not see her, but she could see him. I must study him before I am to ensnare him.

Prince Daeron is handsome, Mother's words playing in her head as she watched him. In seeing him outside his brother's shadow, she saw him in a new light. He was a man whose prowess with a sword helped to carve a hard, rugged physique that made her own eyes linger especially on his arms and chest.

She felt the heat rush to her face admiring the sight before her. Then he turned suddenly, she darted back, heartbeat drumming against her ribs. She dispelled a breath, hoping and praying she hadn't been so foolish as to have been caught. She stayed against the wall, eyes closed, breath in her throat and waited to see if he had seen her or not.

After what felt like an eternity, but couldn't have been more than a few minutes did she find her courage and peak to see. She dispelled the breath she had been holding when he wasn't looking her way. He didn't see me, relief filled her at that.

I'm not some ditsy maiden, she chided herself at being distracted, I am a Lioness.

If my family saw me in such state. She dreaded some of their reactions: Father would scold, Jaime would snicker, she put them aside, since it was Mother who she would turn to. Mother would smile and encourage her.

With that comfort, she stepped out of the shade and into the light. She walked towards the oblivious prince. Cersei felt the thrill of the hunt, humming beneath her skin. Her heart fluttered within her chest. This is my battle, she needed to steady herself, and I must make it a victory.

"Oh, my prince," She feigned surprise upon seeing him. Cersei followed her ruse with a swift curtsey. She was aware of with how her dress was cut that it would give the Prince a plentiful view of her ample chest.

"My lady," He replied politely. His look didn't betray if he had glanced upon her or not at the angle she hoped he had. "Your brother told me of your arrival to Dorne. How do you like it?"

"It is hot," she admitted with a light laugh, "I'm afraid I'm not use to such heat," she admitted, "I fear I may faint."

He frowned. "Shall I escort you back to your chambers?"

Cersei restrained from smirking. Men are too predictable, reveling in her triumph. "I would not want to impose." She demurred.

"Shall I insist?"

She smiled, "I couldn't oppose a Prince's order could I?"

He eyed her. His face masking his thoughts. He allowed the silence linger between them.

Cersei tried to keep her smile, but she felt it waning in the face of his stoicism.

Before her panicking thoughts could smother her, a small smile appeared on his face. "That would be unwise, my lady." He then offered her his arm which she took. Her fingers could feel the hard muscles beneath his shirt. She had the urge to tighten her hold on him just to better feel them, but she resisted.

She looked up to see his lilac eyes were on her. They're as mesmerizing as I remember. Being at the center of them and being so close brought an unexpected shiver of delight to go through her.

"I heard you took my brother's wedding hard."

The Prince's blunt words hit her like a bucket of ice water. "P-pardon," she spluttered, her composure cracking.

He saw her struggle, and seemed to take pity on her, holding up his other hand to stop her from speaking. "You were not the only maiden disappointed in my brother's wedding." He said the words lightly, but frost lingered in their wake.

Cersei felt her tongue unexpectedly numb, and her throat tight as she tried to recover. She could sense his judgment, and did not need to see his disapproval to sense it lurking beneath his polite veneer.

"You are right." She finally pushed out. I will not balk at a challenge, she rallied, "To marry your brother would've been a chance to become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," She looked off into the distance. "What girl doesn't dream of that?" She asked, "What father doesn't instill that in his daughters?"

His eyes were staring at nothing in particular in front of them. Making her figure that he was measuring her response. When his attention returned to her, his mask remained.

I will break that mask, she vowed. "What do you think of Dorne, my prince?"

"It is a harsh place, my lady." He was honest in his opinion. "I also cannot help but dwell on those who came before me, my namesakes and their history with the land."

"Who do you see yourself as, my prince?" She knew enough history to know the kings he referred to. "The Young Dragon or Daeron the Good?"

"Neither, my lady," There was a curious lilt in his voice. "Those men were kings. I am and forever will be a Prince."

His expression thoughtful and more polite than the stony looks she had been getting since their encounter began. It was his eyes that made her duck her head. She was enamored with his eyes, lilac pools that she feared she could fall into.

It wasn't until they were out of the sun and walking under the shade of the corridor that would lead them back to her chambers, did she look at him and speak again. "What of your brother?"

Curiosity? Frustration? Pettiness due to his behavior, she couldn't say what prompted her to ask such a question. Cersei knew the difficulties between the two oldest princes. She had witnessed their duel first hand and heard of Jaime's observations over the years about their icy relationship.

He nearly stopped at that. "My brother,"

"Yes," she ignored the reaction it got out of him. She wouldn't cower to him, prince or not. His feelings for his brother were his problem, not hers. "Some say he will be the next Jaehaerys," she heard the quiet snort come from him at that, but she pressed on, "Others say Daeron the Good," she added, "But they do not know the Crown Prince like you do," She felt his arm tense beneath her grip, "So I was curious at how you'd see his future reign."

"Were you," his tone thick with sarcasm.

"I was," Undeterred by his response.

Prince Daeron didn't answer and as her room drew closer, she believed he wasn't going to. In a heartbeat, his demeanor had shifted, his lilac eyes glinted in the torchlight, and his body had instinctively stiffened and it was all due to the mention of his brother.

"This is my chambers," She announced, finding herself disappointed that it was over and that she didn't get an answer. However, Regardless of her feelings, she knew what was expected of her. So she smiled up at him, "I thank you for the escort."

He looked down at her, but his expression did not thaw. "You are welcome, my lady."

Cersei curtseyed before turning her back to him so that she could get inside her chambers. She felt his presence remain but ignored him. Her door was halfway open before he spoke.

"Aerys the First."

When she turned to face him, he was already walking away. Leaving her to ponder his choice.

"You told her." Just when she thought she knew the depths of her brother's foolishness, he'd surprise her by showing her that it went lower.

"I did." He was unblinking to her anger.

"Father told you this was for our family to deal with," she hissed.

"Elia is family."

Cersei wanted to slap him for that answer. Her hand twitched, but before she could act on her rightful rage, the door opened to show Princess Elia walking in, smiling at them, Tyrion holding her hand.

The Dornish Princess initiated their embrace. Cersei wanted to squeeze her with all her might. Let her struggle, she thought viciously, let her feel my strength, my wrath.

Elia turned next to greet her brother with a kiss that made Cersei clench her fists at her side. Her anger softened when she felt a small hand on one of her closed fists. Cersei looked down to see Tyrion's eyes looking at her with unbridled adoration, "Cersei!"

She forgot all about her anger when she picked Tyrion up. She then began kissing his tummy, he giggled and squirmed, until he was breathless. Cersei carried him to the table where their supper had been laid out by the servants. She placed her youngest brother to her left when she sat down.

"Auntie Elia," Tyrion called her, "Sit next to me." He pointed to the empty spot on the other side of him.

Auntie, Cersei wanted to scowl. She isn't your aunt, she wanted to correct him. She'll be our sister, but those words tasted just as bitter to her tongue, so she kept quiet.

Elia smiled at him, and he basked in it. "Then where should your brother sit?"

Tyrion already had an answer to that. He pointed directly across from him. "There!"

"What do you say, Jaime?" Elia sounded amused.

Jaime grinned, "I know better than to argue with him." He tussled Tyrion's hair, and kissed Elia's cheek before moving to take his seat.

"Its only because you smell," Tyrion said with the innocence that only a child had.

They all reacted differently to that unexpected remark. Elia giggled. Cersei felt her lips twitch. Jaime barked out a laugh, looking more amused then insulted.

"So you'd rather sit next to two beautiful maidens than your smelly brother?"

Tyrion bobbed his head up and down.

"I'm happy we're all able to be here together and eat," Elia decided to change the topic away from her smelly betrothed.

"It is wonderful for us to here," Jaime replied to the Princess, smiling towards her.

"Like a family," Tyrion said happily.

"Exactly," Jaime agreed, reaching across the table towards their youngest brother to tussle his hair.

"We will be sisters," Elia looked over Tyrion to Cersei, "I've always wanted a sister."

Cersei wanted to roll her eyes. She knew she couldn't, so instead she returned the princess' smile with one of her own. "Me as well, Princess." After that, she turned her attention to her supper. She didn't speak much allowing Jaime and Elia to carry the conversation with Tyrion, who wanted to prove that he could join in without any problems.

The food was spicy and hot, and with each bite, she could feel her stomach protesting. The taste burned her mouth and throat, and her eyes watered. Resulting in her eating very little, and settling for the wine.

She glanced to her side to see Elia was helping Tyrion cut up some of his food. Cersei watched the princess very carefully. Ready to pounce at any off handed comment or unkind look she might give to her youngest brother. In watching her, Cersei saw her give him only smiles and encouraging words and in the exchange she could see how much Tyrion reacted to them. He loved it. There was nothing but adoration in his looks towards her, as he continued to call her Auntie Elia.

Cersei was glad that the princess was treating her brother well. However, she couldn't deny a bit of hurt twist in her stomach at seeing her brother look at Elia in the same way he would look at her. "I'm sorry to hear about your brother, Elia."

"He is leaving in the morning." There was a tremor in her voice. "He'll be heading to Oldtown to study at the Citadel for awhile."

"Such a pity," Cersei shook her head, aware of the glare her brother was giving her.

"Yes, it is," Elia nodded, "Oberyn is fortunate to have a brother like Doran to help him." She then turned to Jaime, who's glare slipped away as fast as snow in the Dornish sun. "Oberyn will still come to our wedding, but then he'll be exiled for a time."

Exile from Dorne, Cersei thought it a better reward than having to live in Dorne. "My sympathies, princess, since family must be of the utmost importance." Giving a pointed look to her brother when she finished.

"I agree," Elia replied politely, "And soon we will be family."

"I'll drink to that," Jaime raised his glass, "To family," smirking at Cersei when Elia was distracted with helping Tyrion raise his cup, who wanted to join them.

Obligated, Cersei raised her glass, "To family," she chorused back, before their cups came together. Tyrion was a bit too enthusiastic about it and spilled some of his drink over himself and the table.

"I'll handle this," Elia had begun sopping it up on the table. "There's no need to bother the servants."

Jaime moved around the table to retrieve his brother, who was now sticky and stained. "And I'll handle him." Holding Tyrion at a distance as to not ruin his own tunic. Tyrion, however thought it a game and was trying desperately to grab at his older brother. Jaime was too amused to correct him. "I'll be back."

"Do not worry, we'll not be gossiping about you," Elia teased.

Jaime nodded, before giving Cersei a pointed look when Elia's back was turned.

Cersei smiled and waved him away which only seemed to further sour his mood, but then he was out the door.

"I want you to know Jaime told me about your family's plan."

"Did he now?" Cersei kept her tone measured. Her brother had already informed her of it, but was curious with what the Princess would say.

"He did, and he feels guilty about it," Elia defended her betrothed, "But I think he made the right decision," she looked up to meet Cersei's gaze, "Afterall, we'll be family soon."

"Yes, we will," Cersei's smile was tight, and she hid it within a heartbeat of revealing it with her wine glass. "Sisters."

"Sisters," Elia repeated in a warmer tone than Cersei's. "I can help you with the Prince."

Cersei was surprised by her confidence.

"I consider him a friend, which is more than you can say."

Cersei frowned, perceiving it an insult at her expense.

"He's no fool. He knows you wanted Rhaegar and not him," She went on. "Did you really think he'd forget that?" She asked incredulously.

She stayed quiet because she knew princess was right. Cersei was aware that she'd have to overcome her past follies to insure her family got their betrothal with the Targaryens. She buried her pride and annoyance, knowing what she had to do to succeed:

"What do you have in mind?"

Lysa:

Catelyn, Catelyn, Catelyn!

Lysa sobbed into her pillow.

It wasn't fair, she clutched her pillow. He was suppose to have loved her!

He was to be hers. Another sobbed wracked her body. He had picked her.

Lysa Tully had run to her chambers after the humiliating and heartbreaking ordeal and hadn't left since. She wasn't sure how long she'd been in there. She raised her eyes from her pillow to see the sun was setting. A reddish glow splashed across the darkening sky.

I had wanted to make him feel better. She felt fresh tears pooling in her eyes.

He had been upset about the talks swirling of her sister's betrothal to the heir of Winterfell, Brandon Stark. The announcement was not new, but the gossip of it was renewed when a new message from Brandon Stark came to Catelyn. Her sister had been delighted. Petyr had been enraged.

He hid it well, but Lysa could see it. It had taken all of her discipline not to move from her seat to comfort him. It wasn't until later was she able to finally see him. To finally free him of the pain and burden that no one else could see, but her. He welcomed me with sweet kisses.

She sighed, feeling heat pool in her tummy at the sensation of their tongues dancing together. Catelyn had only given him pecks and dances, but Lysa, she would've given Petyr whatever he asked for. His hands were gentle on her, and she thrilled at his touch, his eagerness, he wanted her. She could feel it in her bones. His passion for her burned in her blood.

He had moaned. It was her lips that elicited his desires. In between their kissing and touching, was when he betrayed her. It was when he showed her his true desires.

Catelyn, he had murmured, Cat, he had said it again, but lower.

Lysa had pulled away as if slapped. What?

His eyes glassy from lust. In his gaze she saw the truth. He wasn't' looking at her. He was looking at Catelyn. That was who he spun in his mind, that was who his heart coveted. It had never been her. It was always about Catelyn.

She felt her tummy tighten as it dawned on her. Lysa had rushed out of his chambers at that, crying, but he didn't go after her. Petyr never tried to comfort her. He never came to her to tell her it was a mistake, a slip of the tongue. He never attempted to soothe her like he use to.

His absence was all the more telling.

"Lysa?" A knock followed the muffled voice.

She spun around to her door, surprised at the unexpected visitor. "Uncle Brynden?"

"Yes, child," He paused, "May I come in?"

"One moment," Lysa felt the panic in her chest. Looking at her reflection to see her face was red and puffy from crying. She scrubbed away the tears that lingered on her cheeks. She then tried to smooth out the wrinkles of her dress. "Come in, Uncle."

"Lysa," His eyes took in her appearance, "What happened to you, child?" There was an edge to his voice that was sharper then the steel he carried.

"Nothing, uncle," she lied quickly, turning away when his scrutiny seemed to much. She heard his footfalls across the floor, metal boots clanging against stone and carpet. Then she felt the bed shift, and she looked to see he had taken a seat at the edge of her bed.

Even when sitting, her uncle was a tall man. He was dressed in his ringmail, his Tully colored cloak attached by a clasp of an obsidian pin in the shape of a trout-the Blackfish. His auburn hair was thick and curly, with just little bits of grey beginning to show. His eyes were deep blue and kind, looking at her with undisguised worry. He raised one of his bushy eyebrows in question at her lie.

"Lysa, you missed your sessions with both your septa and the maester."

"I'm sick." It wasn't a lie. She was sick. It was just a different ache then the ones she was use to. It was brought on by Petyr, and she wasn't sure if there was a cure for it.

"Ah," His eyes didn't give away whether he believed her or not. "Your Father left to sort out another squabble between the Brackens and Blackwoods."

In knowing her father was gone, Lysa realized that the duties of Riverrun had fallen on her uncle since Edmure was too young to take on the responsibilities.

"It's Petyr."

Her uncle's voice shook her from her thoughts to see he was watching her closely. The denial was in her throat but seeing his eyes pinning her, she knew it was futile. She ducked her head, and felt fresh tears ready to spill at the reminder of Petyr's treatment of her.

Brynden's hand was calloused but gentle on her cheek when he raised her head so that she could look at him. "What did he do?"

The shame and pain rushed back to her. Her lip trembled, she looked into her Uncle's dark blue eyes even now they remained friendly towards her. "H-he r-rejected m-me."

Uncle Brynden made a noise in the back of his throat. Frowning as he spoke, "I knew you three are close, Lysa. I saw your childish games in the godswood, and the glances and chaste kisses," he revealed when Lysa blinked owlishly at him, "But those are the games and feelings of a child." He observed kindly, "You are a Tully and a woman flowered."

The reminder of her first flowering made her tummy clench. It had been months ago, but she couldn't forget how afraid she was when she woke up to the blood. She had felt sick for days afterwards, despite the Septa's words and advice, Lysa suffered.

He needed me, she realized slowly, b-but I-I d-don't need P-Petyr. "I know, Uncle," her voice sounded more like a hiccup.

"Petyr may be your father's ward, and your friend but he is not a worthy suitor for you," Her uncle never shied away from being blunt. He wrapped her in a one arm embrace that made Lysa cling to him, grateful for his support. "You are a beautiful young woman, and your father has no end of suitors for your hand."

"Really?" She looked up to see her uncle looked a bit uncomfortable at the topic.

That discomfort left his expression when his eyes met hers. "Yes." He confirmed, kissing the top of her head. "One of them is in this very castle."

Lysa perked at that secret. "Truly?"

He rewarded her surprise with another smile, "Would I lie to you?" He feigned hurt.

Lysa giggled, "Never, Uncle." This time she hugged him, feeling renewed at his kind words and helpful advice.

"Good," He looked pleased that her mood was shifting, "Do not forget who you are, Lysa. Draw strength from that, and know you are not alone. It is family to who the Tullys turn to."

"Family, Duty, Honor," she suddenly recited.

"That's my girl."

"Ser Brynden?" A new voice entered their conversation.

Lysa looked to see her uncle's newly arrived squire standing in the doorway, Denys Arryn.

He was tall, with curly sandy blonde hair, and eyes as bright as the morning blue sky. He walked with grace, but she saw the hard muscles beneath his clothing. When he smiled at her, she blushed and looked away. Was he the suitor? Lysa reacted with giddiness. He's so handsome.

She suddenly felt self conscious of her appearance, knowing she probably looked terrible. Here she was with a messy dress, tangled hair, red face. A part of her wanted to hide behind her uncle until he left.

Her Uncle didn't miss the way she looked at his squire. "Denys, one of the duties of a knight is to safeguard the innocent," he told him, "That includes young, pretty maidens like my niece," he winked at her, "She wants to go to the Castle Sept to pray. You will escort her, and then find me in the armory."

"Of course, Ser Brynden," Denys took the instructions without complaint.

"Remember, my words, Lysa," Uncle Brynden told her with a mirthful twinkle in his deep blue eyes.

"I will."

Denys stepped forward when her uncle had left the room. He smiled at her. "My Lady, I would be honored."

Lysa felt her heart flutter at that smile, "The honor is mine."