Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons

Jaime:

The sept at Casterly Rock was golden and glorious.

It was one of the newer additions of the Rock. And by new, he meant that it had only been added thousands of years ago when the Andals married into his family's line. The names escaped him, but he did recall that Lannisters that followed, added and enriched the Sept to win favor with the Seven as well as to show the magnificence of the Lannisters to all who visit their seat.

Expensive glass bathed the room in a rainbow of light, Jaime stood at the center of it. Looking out at the rows upon rows of empty seats that would be filled tomorrow with all the nobility of the Westerlands, Dorne, and from other important houses throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

The Seven stood perched in their spots, looming down and bespeckled with jewels and glittering in gold. To the pious and the poor, this would enamor them. For Jaime it meant very little.

His eyes went to where the Warrior stood vigil. His sword was shining in his hand, a beacon to protect those in need. His countenance determined and jaw set, armored and prepared to defend the faithful.

When Jaime was a boy, he decided the only time he'd eagerly step foot inside a Sept was to be when he was doing his vigil the night before his knighthood.

Now, here I am, he smiled, and he wasn't about to be knighted. He was about to be married. I yearn more for the title of husband, amused at the differences upon his reflections of his younger self.

Tomorrow I will say different vows.

In front of so many, he added as an afterthought, picturing the crowded Sept. His family would be the closest, and he took some comfort in that. In his mind's eye, Mother was smiling, Tyrion happily watched not entirely understanding it all, Father… He paused, would Father smile? Would he be proud?

He thought he would, but a smile from Tywin Lannister was a hard thing to earn unless you were his wife.

And Cersei, he stopped on his sister, long ago he buried the special relationship they thought they had for each other. He had thought Cersei his world and loved her because of it, and would do anything, all she had to do was asked, and she did. Sometimes they were simple things like letting her dress up as him so she could attend his lessons or try to spar in the training yard. Other times it was something else, and for one fleeting second, he remembered the embraces they shared, and the feel of them together. He pushed the memories away. Thankfully, Mother had found them. She had stopped them. And watched them and then pushed him in the direction of Elia Martell and Jaime never looked back.

He didn't think Cersei ever forgave him for that. In her twisted view, she saw him as abandoning her for a Dornish princess, but he wasn't. She was still his sister, and he loved her, but she could be difficult when she was not given her way and did not forget slights real or imagined.

And, I am not the most patient, he admitted, believing it unfair to put their fractured relationship solely on her.

Tomorrow she'll be sitting beside her prince, her betrothed. She would look beautiful, he had no doubt, but she hoped she was happy. It didn't have to be for him, but for her and for the future that awaited her.

He remembered Elia telling him she had plans in motion for the two, but she did not say much, claiming she'd spoil it by telling. Jaime had been frustrated, but trusted his future wife and let it pass, hoping his family realized how thankful they should be in having her be the next Lady of the Rock.

After his uncles and aunts, there would be the Dornish, Princes Doran and Oberyn. The latter allowed a brief reprieve before his exile to attend his sister's wedding. However, Jaime knew his friend well enough to know, permission or not, Oberyn would not miss anything of Elia's.

My other friends will be near, he thought of Robert and Ned. They're more brothers than friends, Prince Daeron too. He corrected, thankful for their presence in his life. He had no doubt that Ashara would be standing beside Ned regardless of how it would be perceived. Aware that there was no promise of a betrothal between them and the pair may be unfairly parted.

If anyone tried to put themselves between me and Elia, I'd carve a bloody path to reach her.

Past his friends, he looked out at the rows filled with distinguished guests: Strangers, toadies, loyal, or ambitious, the Dornish nobility, and his father's bannermen.

One day my bannermen. The truth felt like a daunting obstacle rooted in front of him, and one he had to try to overcome. How could I follow my father? He saved our house. He rules the Seven Kingdoms.

The answer was swift- Elia.

And it made him smile because he knew it was true. My father has Mother, and I will have Elia. The greatest boon I could ask for if I am to rule the Rock one day.

"Eager are we?"

The sound of her warm accented voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Her timing was impeccable.

He looked to see her walking towards him. A knowing smile on her lips, her dress was wickedly cut, and gave him great glimpses of her olive colored skin. Upon her neck was resting a golden chain made of the speared sun of House Martell.

"Very eager," Jaime was having trouble keeping his eyes to her face.

Elia laughed, and her hand touched his chin, a gentle tap followed.

He looked down at her and smiled. "You are tempting me, Princess."

Her dark eyes flashed. "Am I?"

"Yes," Jaime answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He then leaned down and closed the distance between them in a kiss that his betrothed was very receptive too. Her taste was sweet and exotic, a headiness filled him and the soft moan that escaped her lips was enough to stir something within his chest.

She hesitantly broke it. A humming sound followed while her eyes betrayed her own lustful wants. "You'd kiss a betrothed woman in front of the Seven?" She teased, one of her hands had somehow found their way through his hair.

"They didn't stop me," Jaime grinned.

She laughed, "No, they did not." Her fingers combed through his hair before she dropped her hand but Jaime was quick to grab it, putting it between his. She did not resist and her smile grew. She then led him to the empty row where tomorrow their families would sit and watch as they married.

"I'm tempted to go grab the Septon and marry us now."

Elia smiled, "Impatient, are we?"

"Very."

"Does the septon not answer to your Father?"

"I'll do it at sword point if I had to," he shrugged. In that moment, he did not care about the consequences that came with a secret and hastily arranged marriage or threatening a septon.

"Sword point?" Her eyes seemed to hold the golden hue of the flickering candle lights when she met his stare. "And what would all the visiting noblemen say who came all this way for a wedding?"

"They'll congratulate us," Jaime replied, "And then try to drink our cellars dry."

Elia made a noise, but did not betray her thoughts on his answer. "You seem to have this all planned."

"I've been thinking about this for awhile," he answered honestly.

That earned him one of her small, but warm smiles. "Oh?"

"Yes," The truth was he had wanted to marry the Princess even before the betrothal was announced. He said as much to her and was rewarded with a kiss. He barely had time to appreciate the feel of her lips on his before she broke it.

"I am the blessed one," She then rested her head on his shoulders. "Now tell me all about these plans you have for us."

So he did.

What is this?

Sometime later, they had left the Sept with Jaime promising to escort his betrothed back to her chambers.

He stopped in their walk at the sound of voices. He moved to the nearby balcony allowing him to look down onto the training yard a level below them. Prince Daeron was sparring. He noticed the white cloaked spectators of Sers Barristan and Gwayne on the outside to give the prince and his sparring partner some room.

Elia had come up alongside him.

"He's not using real steel," Jaime found that odd. The Prince never fought with blunted swords after Ser Barristan deemed him ready to train with steel. He found his eyes drifting towards the prince's sparring partner. They were wearing a helm, so he could not see their face. The sparring partner was dressed in dirty trousers and a red tunic. The clothes looked strangely familiar to him.

That made him frown. Those were mine.

"Well done," Daeron praised, "But you need to keep your guard up."

"It is difficult."

"Cersei." Jaime said in a half strangled voice at the realization that the Prince was sparring with his sister.

Elia giggled beside him which made him turn to her. He did not need to read her look to know she was aware of this development. He remembered back to her cautioning him when he pried for details about what was said to encourage the Prince and Cersei.

"You have her fighting," Jaime whispered, wondering if he needed to go down there to put a stop to this.

"Not me," she said with all the innocence she could feign.

He frowned. "This is your doing."

"Mine?" She was still smiling, "I said no such thing about fighting and swords."

"You look very pleased," he accused.

"I am," she did not try to hide that. "Shouldn't you be too?"

"Pleased?" He looked at her in dismay. "Of my sister fighting?"

"What is wrong with that?" Elia asked in a tone that conveyed she was in the right and Jaime was in the wrong.

"Women should-" He stopped in his answer remembering he was talking to a Dornish Princess who saw the roles of women a lot differently than the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Realizing his mistake, he held up his hands to placate her.

Satisfied at his change, she did not pursue his folly.

"I can show you." The Prince's voice carried over into their conversation.

Jaime turned away from Elia who looked very pleased with herself and back down onto the scene below. Prince Daeron moved to stand behind Cersei, and then put his hands on hers in an effort to show her how to hold the proper form. The Prince then said something too low for Jaime to hear, but he did hear the responding giggle it got from his sister.

Just when Jaime found his voice and was about to shout at them, Daeron stepped back and encouraged her to try again. She did and to Jaime's continued surprise, it looked decent.

What is happening? Nothing made sense. Cersei was learning to fight? The Prince was helping her.

"They are happy," Elia pointed out, a slight lilt in her voice that perfectly carried over her feelings on what was happening - She was right and he was wrong.

"They are," he repeated in a dull sounding tone. Watching the practice between them continue. "But Cersei learning to use a sword?" He shook his head, it didn't seem real. He didn't think his sister had the patience to truly learn the skill. It was a challenging road that looked easier when you were looking at it instead of walking on it.

"How do you think my father will react?" Jaime had an idea and it was not pleasant.

"He should be pleased that his daughter and the prince are getting along."

"Pleased?" Jaime repeated incredulously, "Do you not know my father? He cares about our reputation and his daughter is wearing trousers." My trousers, he wanted to add, wondering when his sister stole those. "And she is sparring in the yard like a common guard."

Jaime was not sure he could see a way where if his father walked by to witness this where it didn't end with him sending Cersei to her chambers immediately and a stern conversation with the Prince.

Elia did not seemed bothered. "His daughter is already betrothed to him. And if her future husband not just approves of it," She then paused and tilted her head towards the yard, "But is participating in it then what does it matter how your father will take it."

"This is…" Jaime's voice trailed off. He was not really sure he had a word that could capture the conflicted confusion that he was feeling in this moment.

"I understand your need to protect your sister and your house," Elia guided his face towards her, by cupping his cheeks, "As well as your father's role, but perhaps, we should not be so quick to stamp this out."

"You may be right." Down below, he could hear the sound of sparring swords clashing against one another, dull and blunted. It was a different tune than the songs of steel.

"May?" Her hands dropped from his cheeks. She was giving him a certain look.

Jaime did not budge. "May." He was certain father would not look kindly at this. And yet, as he looked down at his sister trying to follow Daeron's instructions. He found himself hoping that his Father would approve or at the very least begrudgingly allow it to continue.

He remembered how much Cersei had longed to go to his training with the Master-at-arms. And it would appear her desire to pursue it had never dwindled as she got older.

"I can speak to father if needed," Jaime found himself saying. Seeing his friend and sister, who both looked to be enjoying themselves solidified his shaky resolve in his decision.

How many more bloody songs and prayers are there?

Jaime found his patience waning.

Here he was standing with the septon, no Elia in sight. He didn't find it quite fair that he had to listen to the droning of the septon while the bride stayed behind, shielded from this boredom.

He tried his best to keep his smile as the septon extolled the virtues of the Seven. He felt the eyes of all the assembled crowd upon him. Jaime had heard that this was the largest gathering of a wedding that the Rock had ever hosted.

I can not be seen as an impatient toddler. He tried to remind himself. I must look the Heir to the Rock.

A soft yawn broke through his thoughts, and he couldn't help but smile. He didn't need to glance over to know it belonged to his younger brother. He envied Tyrion, who would be forgiven with his action dismissed as that of a child.

If only I could be that lucky.

He thought back about his previous idea of holding the septon at sword point, and couldn't deny how much more appealing he found it now. Jaime could cut away all this needless filling and get to what mattered. The vows, but at this moment, he settle for seeing his bride.

As if the Seven heard his griping, the septon made the announcement to bring her forward.

The sound of hundreds of heads turning, and bodies shifting as they all moved as one in their seats to turn to the entrance.

There Jaime was given his first glimpse of his bride, the Princess Elia Martell.

She was radiant in white silk. Amidst the pale cloth there was streams of orange and gold, rivers of sunlight woven into the fabric that made Elia brighter than any star. Her dress was cut with a plunging neckline. Her bronze skin only looked more tantalizing against the pale silk. Her sleeves were slit with more gold and orange woven up the seams of it. Upon her head rested a coronet fitted for a princess. Intricately designed that shone as brightly as the red Martell sun etched into the middle of it. Cut rubies were spread out around it to mimic the rays of sunlight. Her dark hair was braided and curled falling around her, a halo of night, that framed her delicate, and pretty face.

Jaime was certain he looked a gaping fool, breathing in his bride's beauty. However, he could not find himself to care as she neared him. Her smile was as stunning as her golden banded necklace. Beside her, and serving as her escort in replace of her deceased father, was the Prince of Dorne, her older brother, Doran. He looked proud at his young sister when he presented her to Jaime. His dark eyes misty.

He could not stop smiling as he took her hand from Prince Doran. No words were exchanged, but the message was clear between them when their eyes met. Doran gave him a small smile and a tip of his head.

Her hand on his arm they took the few steps to reach the Septon. He felt the beating of his heart against his ribs, bundled and excited. He was finally near to what he's dreamed for so long with the woman beside him.

The septon looked between them with a friendly smile. He then turned to Jaime. "You may cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Jaime did not need to be told twice. His fingers were deft in their unclasping of the maiden cloak of House Martell. He handed it to Prince Doran, who took it and stepped backwards allowing the bride to move forward into her new family.

The Lannister maiden cloak was given to him by his father, who stood tall and proud. Jaime did not miss the small, but noticeable smile on his father's face when he accepted the cloak or the look in his eyes.

This was the cloak Father used on Mother.

It looked worn since this was the cloak that many Lannisters before them wore. The fabric was smooth and rich, a deeply colored red. The golden lion stood regal, roaring its defiance. Jewels and other fine materials were sewn in, but Jaime did not care to study it. He turned and moved to cloak his bride.

When he was finished, he couldn't help but marvel at the sight of her finally in his family's colors.

No, now they're our colors.

"My lords, my ladies," The Septon's voice pulled his eyes from his bride. "We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

Jaime was not sure he heard a more perfect line in his life. He took Elia's hand, their eyes meeting as they stood side by side in front of the septon. Who proceeded to tie the ribbon around their joined hands.

"Let it be known that Elia Martell and Jaime Lannister are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who seek to tear them asunder." The tying of the knot was done. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." The septon then unraveled the ribbon that had joined their hands.

"Look upon each other and say the words," The septon instructed them.

In one voice, he and Elia recited their vows: "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger-"

"I am hers and she is mine," Jaime declared. "From this day, until the end of my days."

"I am his and he is mine." Elia promised. "From this day, until the end of my days."

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," Jaime announced and turned to his wife and kissed her amidst the applause of friends, family, bannermen, and nobility, but in that heartbeat of bliss as their lips touched, the only thing in the world was him and her-husband and wife.

Joanna:

This is our legacy.

She looked out from her seat in the Golden Hall. Spread out before her the revelry and the pageantry that came with bringing two of the Great Houses of Westeros together. Every table was filled, music was playing, food and drink was being served, as all the guests took in the might of the new marriage between Lannister and Martell, a union of the Westerlands and Dorne.

One she did not waste any time respecting, making sure courses were served to their guests with food, wine from both the Westerlands and Dorne. She would not treat their new allies as strangers, but wanted to welcome them into the Rock and show the lion embraces their friends. She expected some to sneer at the Dornish courses, old hatreds run deep, some prejudices were not cleansed so swiftly, but that did not concern her.

They'll get used to it, and they'll eat it. She knew they would. The sheep always do.

On the walls or hanging from the rafters were the banners of the houses who were attending the wedding. The most prominent one was neither the Dornish sun or the Lannister lion. It was the the three headed dragon of House Targaryen. The two Targaryen princes in attendance were sitting at a table to her left along with her children, Cersei and Tyrion.

At that table, her youngest son, Tyrion was sitting between Prince Daeron and Cersei. His mismatched eyes taking in the grandeur of the feast before him with unmasked awe. His face moving this way and that, trying to capture everything that was happening around him. A wide smile split his face. Without Cersei's coaxing, Joanna was certain her boy wouldn't even be eating. He seemed more intent on seeing it all in front of him instead of the food on his plate.

Other banners stood out that showed the growing influence of her family, and the friendships her heir was wise to make. There was the crowned stag of House Baratheon, the Lord of Storm's End. The grey direwolf of House Stark, the Wardens of the North. They rarely ventured south of their borders, unwilling to play at southern politics.

Not unwilling, she corrected, unable . They were just too stubborn to admit it. However, the Lord of Winterfell, Rickard Stark was surprising her. It seemed he was capable of playing the game and his moves were intriguing her. He betrothed his heir to Lord Hoster's prized eldest daughter. While his second son was seeking to court a Dornish maiden.

What are you up to, Rickard? She had met the man a few times, gruff and stern, but shrewd. She could see he had plans of his own she just could not see where they led.

For a reclusive family, she thought, they were suddenly very willing to spread themselves in the south.

It was not just Lord Stark who was making plans, Lord Hoster was currently fostering the Heir to the Vale. It would not surprise her if the Lord of Riverrun was trying to secure a match between his second daughter, Lysa Tully and the Heir, Denys Arryn. If that were to happen, suddenly they'd find a very strong and tightly woven coalition between the North, Riverlands, and Vale. She did not like the possibility of an alliance so close to her borders without any Lannister influence.

She knew Lord Arryn looked at Robert and Eddard as sons to him, but he was old and if he passed, there was nothing of those bonds to hold them together. It was the Riverlands, she knew that her family had to address. Lord Tully's heir was a growing young man, younger than her Jaime. Perhaps she could get Edmure Tully to serve as a page or squire to Jaime, or the Prince Daeron or one of their friends.

A chance to form a bond to insure the Lion wasn't forgotten.

It was a matter that she would keep her eyes on.

While she was curious about the Stark's strange new southern interests, she was not worried. Rickard's second son, Eddard was one of Jaime's closest friends, joining Prince Daeron, and Lord Robert Baratheon. She could not help but compare them to Tywin, Aerys, and Steffon when they were younger. They were inseparable, loyal, and ambitious. All having plans to succeed their fathers and wanting to put their own marks onto the Seven Kingdoms. Sadly, the friendships have frayed, Steffon's tragic and untimely death, and Aerys turning into a cruel shadow of the once charming and promising heir.

May my son and his friends never feel that same tragedy of a dying friendship, she prayed, knowing how much they valued and respected one another. May theirs only grow stronger in the coming years.

Looking on at other banners, to her, it was not the ones that were on display to show who had come to the wedding, but those not seen that were the most satisfying to her. Amidst their bannermen, two were noticeably absent. The red lion of House Reyne and the seven pointed star of House Tarbeck.

Joanna would never forget the audacity of Lady Ellyn Tarbeck. She remembered when she found out that when Lady Tarbeck had captured her brother, Stafford. The rage she felt at the gall this bannermen had at not just taking a Lannister, but making threats and demands. It was outrageous, and she had been furious.

Thankfully, where Tytos saw a mistake, and was quick to forgive for a fake smile and a few honeyed words, Tywin saw the need for retribution. It was her Tywin who would teach them a very valuable lesson in what happens when one incurs the wrath of the real lion.

Why should I pity houses that threatened mine? Why should I weep for bannermen who would see the Lannister Lion leashed? She smiled at the annihilation of her family's rivals.

They wanted us low and weak. To cast us out and rule in our stead. They got what they deserved. Her conviction would never waver on that.

And here my family is, She looked around at the position her husband worked so tirelessly to restore in their family's reputation and prestige. He pulled our name out of the mud so it could shine once more.

My son is married to a Dornish Princess and my daughter will marry a Targaryen Prince.

She sipped her wine unable to contain the smirk at how their revenge had only gotten sweeter. We continue to rise while they sink further into the depths of the dirt to be forgotten. Their bones and names will only be dug up now to serve as a warning of her husband's resolve and the Lannister's wrath.

"You've outdone yourself, Dear."

She turned to see her husband was looking at her. "Thank you," she touched his cheek, "But what else would you expect from your wife?"

The golden flecks in his eyes shone in amusement. "Nothing less," he put his hand atop hers and guided it back down to the table, but he made no effort of letting go. "I still think Jaime should have been knighted before he was married."

She had heard this all before, but humored her husband. Joanna knew Tywin well enough to know this was hardly a quibble for the Lord of Casterly Rock and Hand of the King. "Your son would never have accepted it," she pointed out. "He's like his father in that regard." She said lightly, "Will not accept it without earning it."

He responded by gently squeezing her hand, but the corners of his lips crooked upwards.

"How many times do you think they'll play the song?" she asked wryly.

"Quite a few," Tywin answered, a rare display of mirth touching his tone.

"Shall we make a bet?"

"On?" His voice could not hide his interest.

"On how often its played."

He thought it over quietly for a few seconds, "Very well," He sounded equally amused and intrigued.

"Good," Joanna was pleased. "I'll allow you to pick the number."

"How generous of you," He replied. "I will say no more than ten times."

"Ten?" She repeated, believing it a low number. They had hired more than twice that many singers, and minstrels and every one that had ever come to the Rock insisted on playing the song. Claiming they could play it best, or in a way they had never heard before. They believed a few strings of a harp and a well sung song would earn them some acclaim or gold from the Lions of the Rock. Such pitiful hopes.

"Ten, it is."

"And the terms of the winning?"

"Confident, aren't you?" She teased.

He turned to her with a look that she couldn't help but laugh at. Cherishing her husband's rare, but wonderful sense of humor. "For a moment, I thought I was sitting next to Gerion."

Tywin met her jape with a stare that was all show and no bite. "You can be very vexing."

She grinned, "Would you have me any other way?"

"No," he leaned over and kissed her cheek. His mouth then moved to her ear, "Thank you."

Joanna did not need him to clarify. She nodded, touched by them.

I gave him no new lands. No new wealth, but he wanted me all the same. The great Tywin Lannister, and it was me who he picked. An honor she'd never forget, and was so thankful for the man she married.

"I love you, Tywin," she said softly, underneath the jubilance of their wedding guests. She saw the look that passed over his face at her words, and how he smiled.

"And I you, Joanna."

The moment between them did not linger as the duties of Lord and Lady of the Rock and hosts to this lavish ceremony pulled them in different directions to servants and guests. Tywin's brother, Kevan came to approach him, and the two talked in hushed voices, and she was certain it was about her husband's plans for Summerhall, the future seat of Prince Daeron and their daughter, Cersei. Plans she and Tywin had already discussed, so she did not pay attention to what was said between the brothers.

Instead, she looked past him where their son and new good daughter sat at their own private table at the center between the Lannister and Martell families. She watched with quiet adulation at how the newly married couple only seemed to have eyes for each other. Whispering and laughing, sharing food off each others plates, and each others hands, and drinking from each other their goblets.

Her heart swelled at seeing her son being so happy. It did not lessen the small, but selfish ache in her chest at having her oldest, no longer being the young boy, who'd follow her around. He'd beg for her to tell her stories or to watch him train in the yard. Her son who was always so quick to hug her, and always wanted to make her smile and happy. My boy, she reflected on the wonderful memories of his youth, but she accepted who he was now: a man and a husband.

And I couldn't be prouder.

It wasn't until sometime later into the feast and evening when the din of their guests' celebrations had died down. The minstrels were still happily playing, ' The Queen took off her Sandal, The King took off his Crown.' In the aftermath of her son and bride being carried away and stripped by the rowdy, lusty, and the drunken for their bedding.

That was when her husband leaned over towards her. "They've stopped playing the song."

She did not try to look innocent when she met her husband's stare. "Of course they have." Joanna wasn't going to say what bribes or orders or threats were made to insure The Rains of Castamere would stop being sung and played at just the right amount needed for her to win.

Instead she asked him. "Did you really expect me to lose?"

Tywin smiled. "No, I did not."