Chapter 20: Pivot

Cersei:

What is wrong with him?

She furiously paced in her chambers. She could not understand. She was doing everything right, and yet with all her labor, she had nothing to show for it.

Cersei could count the smiles he gave her with one hand and still have fingers left.

What is wrong with him?

She couldn't help but repeat her question. She could not understand how this was going so poorly.

It is not me, she was quick to defend, I've been the perfect host. I've been kind to his brother.

She carefully picked what dresses to wear to try to entice him and to show him how lucky he was going to be.

I show him what a beauty I am and he barely looks.

Then it came to her. The only thing that could make sense in her troubles with him.

The Prince was a sword swallower.

What else could it be? He barely looked at her. She showed him all the wonders of the female form and yet he gave her nothing. No lustful looks or teasing touches.

What other reason could there be for him to not be interested in me?

It all made sense. What else could explain his indifference to me?

The more she thought about it, the more it just fit.

It was never me. It couldn't have been me.

She nearly laughed in delirious relief at figuring it out. Her reassurances were welcomed with a relieved smile as she checked her reflection in the looking glass. A beautiful woman looked back at her. The most beautiful woman looked back at her.

Her dress was nothing fancy, red silk, gold laces, and of course the proud Lannister lion. She was not meeting her betrothed, so she put little thought in her attire. I am meeting my mother and the Princess, and was a bit relieved that she could take a reprieve from some of those dresses she had been wearing.

And it was all for naught, she reflected on the truth she figured out of her betrothed. I could've been naked and he would not have blinked or cared.

She put that aside and focused on what she now had to do. Thinking over what her next move should be with the Prince, she felt an unexpected thrill go through her. This is my chance to show how clever I can be.

Was this how Father felt when he put down the Reynes and Tarbecks? She couldn't help but wonder, he showed he was clever and ruthless, and I am his daughter.

He adapted to his rebellious bannermen so surely I can adapt to this, Cersei reasoned. She knew she would not be the first woman to take a husband who preferred men.

And they did not have my beauty and charm and yet they were able to give their husband heirs. This was a challenge she'd gladly accept, another chance for her to show just how great she can be.

Now that I know what I am dealing with. I can try a different tactic that will get his attention. I can let him know that I know, she liked that idea. I can prove to be a friend and confidant, sympathetic to his plight.

The sudden knock at her door broke through her planning, but she did not frown or growl in frustration. How could she? She had just crafted a perfect plan within one morning. Her father could do no better.

"Yes?" She called to the intruder.

"Cersei," It was the voice of the Dornish Princess.

"Come in," Cersei moved to greet her.

This was the woman who claimed to be the Prince's friend, but she didn't even know his truth, she nearly smirked at the Princess' mistake, but decided against it. She'll be family, and she tried.

Princess Elia Martell was still dressed in her family's colors, but Lannister red could be clearly seen, blending in with the colors of House Martell.

"Princess, this is a surprise," Cersei embraced her when she was close enough. "I thought we were to meet in my mother's solar."

"We were, but I thought it'd be better if we walk together," she suggested, her dark eyes twinkling when she added, "A chance to discuss your betrothed."

"I would love that," Cersei smiled in return, not wanting to miss a chance to gloat that she knew something the Princess didn't. It made her wonder if Jaime knew the truth about the Prince.

I doubt it, she dismissed after considering it quietly for a second, He's not the sharpest sword. Upon imagining her brother's reaction when he found out about his best friend, she nearly laughed.

"Shall we?" Cersei asked, and Elia accepted with a nod and a smile and the two went off. Walking through the family wing of Casterly Rock on their way to her mother's solar.

"I've heard you and the Prince have spent a good amount of time together," Elia's voice was anything but innocent. "I take it, things are going well between you?"

A waste of time, she wanted to say, now that she knew the truth of the prince.

"We have," she settled for that answer. "The Prince is not what I expected." She was amazed by her own wit and cleverness at times. A pity that so few can recognize it, lamenting the fools she was surrounded with.

"Oh?" Elia's voice betrayed her interest while her dark eyes hid her thoughts.

"Yes, he is," Cersei would relish this. She realized she could not wait. She had to tell someone how she had solved it and how quickly too. How she figured out the prince's secret when none of those around him could including her brother and his betrothed. "And now that I know the truth of him, I can prepare myself for what is to come."

"The truth?" Elia's eyebrows knitted in confusion, "What sort of truth do you speak of."

Cersei wanted to roll her eyes. She decided against it, despite the temptation. "Of the prince's inclinations," Cersei answered in a tone that conveyed it was as obvious as the sky being blue.

Her future good-sister stared blankly at Cersei's vague words. "Inclination?" She repeated, frowning, "I do not follow."

Must I spell it out? Cersei bit back her annoyance and instead offered the princess a smile before she looked around the corridor to insure they were alone. When she figured they were, she made the reveal, "The Prince's preference towards men."

The words had barely left Cersei's mouth before the Princess' confusion crumbled into a fit of giggles. Loud and mirthful, she covered her mouth to try to stem them, as her cheeks grew rosy. "Prince Daeron?" She said in between her peals of laughter, "You think he is a pillow biter?"

"Yes," Cersei was frustrated at Elia's response. "This is no jest."

That only made the princess laugh louder. To the point, she stopped herself in mid step to recover from this mirthful fit. "Forgive me," she apologized in between the bouts. Her dark eyes were now shimmering when they met Cersei's. "You are mistaken, Cersei." She composed herself, but the amusement remained in her eyes and etched across her features. "The Prince has no interest in men."

Cersei frowned. "Of course he does."

"He does not," Elia shook her head, her dark hair swishing back in forth at the motion. "My brother laments it to this day." She spoke casually of her brother's tastes. "He was most disappointed when the prince declined him and said as much."

"Mayhaps, he was not interested in your brother," Cersei found herself arguing.

He has to be! What else could it be? There was nothing else.

Elia shrugged. She did not take it as an insult for her brother. "I do not think so, Cersei." She declined gently. "The Prince has had," she stopped herself.

She speaks with such confidence, Cersei wanted to frown. The idea that the princess was familiar with the prince came to her suddenly. She felt something stir inside her belly at the mere thought.

It is wrath for my brother, she refused to see it as anything else.

She wouldn't, Cersei did not need to consider it for a heartbeat more before realizing it was folly. Elia adored Jaime, she thought with pricked pride, in the same way the Prince should me.

I do not know much about the prince, she admitted, but she knew and saw enough to know he'd never hurt her brother.

"Had what?" She had a sinking suspicion of what was being implied. She ignored the shifting in her chest. It is not that!

"That does not matter," Elia dismissed her concern with a brief smile, "But what is important is that you will no longer be disappointed in the belief that your husband would not prefer your company." As if to reassure Cersei, she grabbed her hands and squeezed them.

It did not comfort her. It angered her.

She wanted to sink her claws and roar in rage. As she was forced to confront this possibility that she had failed somehow.

If the Prince has had someone, Cersei soured at just the thought that she could not compare to this whore who somehow found her way in the Prince's bed.

The Prince chose someone, In a voice that sounded like Father, And it is not you.

The disappointment in the tone nearly made her shudder.

I have not failed, Father. I will not fail this family. She wanted to scream back.

"Cersei?" Elia's accented voice broke through, "Are you well?" A look of concern fell over her tanned face, "Shall I fetch the Maester?"

"No, no," Cersei answered hastily, "That will not be needed." She tried to sound reassuring, as well as look it. I will not look weak. I will not look confused. I am a lioness. I will not falter.

"The Prince has been difficult with you," Elia did not try to temper her words, "Because he does not forget how you once were. How you once acted." Elia paused, a challenging hue in her eyes as if to try to refuse what had been said.

Cersei wanted to refuse. She wanted to cling stubbornly to her argument. She did not want to see.

"I thought that would not matter," Cersei confessed in a tone that she should've despised.

This is not the roar of a lion, but the meowing of a kitten. She suddenly felt tired. The strength sapped from her. All of her confidence being drained as if she was covered by dozens of leeches. A slow, painful pull of everything she was proud of being.

You've failed.

Your pride has doomed us.

Each blow fell upon her with the force of a warhammer.

No, no, no, she could not disappoint them.

You've shamed this family.

With that she felt herself shatter like glass.

She hit something-hard. Cersei blinked back to the present to find herself with her back to the wall, sliding down onto the floor.

I cannot be wrong. She wanted to shout. It isn't my fault, Father.

Then suddenly a memory of her youth was pulling at her:

She was a young girl swimming in the waters of the Sunset Sea. The waves were churning, and she was kicking, resisting. She had refused to get out, because she did not want to look weak like the others. She had thought being a Lannister would save her, that she could prove her strength and show she was better than all the others.

The water was unrelenting. It did not care who she was. It did not matter how much she kicked or how much she fought. She gagged at the bitter taste of saltwater in her mouth while her breaths became haggard. Her arms grew tired, and her legs slowed as if weighed down by lead.

It is not the waters I'm drowning in, She found herself feeling the same way she did all those years ago, It is my failures. My foolish pride among others.

Just as she had been cautioned that day by her mother, had she not been cautioned by Elia about this matter. She ignored them then and she ignored them now.

Her reflections of her failings were interrupted by an unexpected embrace. She blinked to see that Elia had crouched down in front of her and put her arms around her. Cersei did not fight it. She did not hate it. She returned it.

The embraces before between us had always been more for show. I'd hug her, but I never really meant them.

Now, she held tight to the woman who in a few days would be her good sister. And for one of the few times she could remember, Cersei was thankful that she'd be getting her for a sister.

When it ended, Cersei pulled away, head dipped, afraid of what weakness shimmered in her eyes. Even still, I act like a cornered cat and not a lashing lion.

"If this was Dorne, you would rule and not your brother," The Princess' words were unexpected.

Cersei hesitantly raised her head to see a small smile from Elia. Her dark eyes shone. It was not in disgust. It was not mocking. No, it was in understanding.

"Instead, you are in Jaime's shadow. You are forced to do things you do not want while having to watch him do everything you want and think you can do," Elia's tone was somber, "You are not the Lady of the Rock, but a piece for Casterly Rock to use. Your betrothed is no different. A prince he is, but he is just as much a piece as you are. He too must struggle in his brother's shadow just as you do."

It seemed so simple and obvious when said like that, Cersei thought on it. And still I refused to see it.

"What do I say?" But she already found herself knowing the answer.

Elia's words hung heavy on Cersei's mind.

I have ripped the veil away, She had been forced to confront truths she did not want to.

Now, she stood quietly, unnoticed in a small alcove. From here, she could look down onto the training yard to see her betrothed sparring with the kingsguard knights. Cersei had come here often as a girl, slipping out of her lessons with her septa to hide here. In the shadows, she longingly watched her brother train and fight. While she cursed the womanly shackles she had been forced to wear.

The sound of swords clattering pulled her from her childhood memories and back down onto the training yard where the Prince was sparring against Barristan Selmy. They were using real steel, and even at this height, she saw the ruby of Dark Sister winking in the light. In the prince's hand, it looked more an extension of his arm, as he matched the knight's strikes and thrusts with parries.

And then with a shout, Ser Gaunt joined the fray, attacking the prince with Ser Barristan following behind. The two knights were well coordinated in their strikes but the prince fought them off valiantly.

He's incredible, she watched in quiet awe. She knew the knights were holding back some of their skill and talent to accommodate the young prince, but she still thought it an impressive display.

The last time she saw him spar it had been for Dark Sister. He had fought his brother, and she had been so enraptured by Rhaegar that she never really appreciated what she saw. Jaime had tried to tell her. She had dismissed it. Believing Rhaegar would defeat him with ease.

I refused to give him his due.

A grunt, pulled her eyes back to the yard just in time to see the prince push one of the knights into the dirt. Looking closer to see it had been Ser Gaunt, but the action prompted only an apology from the prince, who was still engaged against Ser Barristan.

Ser Gwayne laughed it off, before pushing himself up and throwing himself back into the fight, just in time to block the prince's strike that was aimed at Ser Barristan.

It forced to the Prince to spin away from a cutting arc of Ser Barristan's sword.

"Be aware of your surroundings," Ser Barristan lectured as they fought.

"Do you need help?"

Cersei turned in the direction of the yard to see her brother sauntering in. He looked to have hastily put one some makeshift practice gear that the guards wore. He held his sword loosely in one hand.

"It took you long enough," Daeron threw back, ducking his head from a slash from Ser Gaunt.

"I got lost."

"In your own castle?" Daeron's dismay carried over the song of steel.

Her brother's response was to laugh before he entered the fight to find himself against Ser Gaunt.

Lost in Elia's chambers, Cersei imagined, but found herself more amused than annoyed. Her opinion on the princess having shifted considerably these last few hours due to her continued support and counsel.

"Ser Arthur?" Ser Barristan asked casually, as if he wasn't currently sparring with the Prince with real steel.

The Sword in the Morning had been watching from the stands with Prince Viserys. "Yes, Ser Barristan?"

"Would you care to join us?" Barristan called out. An amused lilt in his voice. "To teach these men the lessons of the uncertainty and unfairness of combat."

"Gladly," Ser Arthur chuckled.

"I hope my brother wins," Viserys supplied happily as two Targaryen knights stepped forward to take Ser Arthur's place at the young prince's side.

"Thank you, brother!" Daeron replied in a half grunt, and half laugh.

Cersei felt her fingers twitch impatiently. She was quiet and useless watching as Ser Arthur stepped into the sparring area where his fellow knights were currently fighting Jaime and Prince Daeron. After a silent few heartbeats of consideration, the Sword in the Morning turned to her betrothed, who now found himself fighting two of the more famous and formidable knights in his father's kingsguard.

Prince Daeron cursed loudly.

"I heard that," Viserys said in a tattling tone.

The laughter of the sparring yard melted away as a memory sprung up between her and the Prince.

With practice you could be the next Queen Visenya.

Do you think my father would allow that? You think my future husband would want a warrior as a wife?

She could not deny the desire she nursed for years of watching her brother fight while she had to sing or stitch. She dared not hope, afraid of the familiar, but bitter taste of disappointment if she was wrong about the man she was set to marry.

Does he mean it now? She wondered, now that he was her future husband. Some of the finest warriors in my family were women. Seems foolish to forget them or worse ignore them.

"Prince Daeron?" A booming voice pulled her out of her musings.

She looked down to see more of Prince Daeron's friends had arrived. There was Prince Oberyn Martell, Eddard Stark, and the towering Lord of Storm's End, Robert Baratheon. She also spotted amidst the men, the beautiful violet eyed Ashara Dayne and on the other side of Eddard Stark was his sister, Lyanna Stark, a small dark haired girl, who was a year or two younger than him.

"I was about to complain you've been keeping us waiting," Robert was more amused than annoyed at the delay.

"Jaime," Eddard Stark said in tired resignation, "You were supposed to get the Prince."

"I got distracted."

"Forget the ride, Ned," Robert said, "I want to fight."

"What fight?" Ser Barristan asked before sharing a look with Ser Arthur and in a blink, they moved in tandem, too fast and too skilled for the prince who found himself disarmed and defeated. Ser Gwayne followed seconds later with his own move that brought her brother onto the ground with the knight's sword tapping his chestplate.

"That wasn't knightly," Jaime groaned from where he landed.

"Battle rarely is, Jaime," Ser Gwayne responded grimly.

The conversations and noise that followed from the training yard was pushed aside in her mind at having heard what their plans for the afternoon were.

They're going riding? This is my chance.

At that thought, she slipped out of the alcove and made her way to her chambers, hoping to get there before the Prince showed up to invite her.

She grinned the entire way back at the thought that her betrothal was finally looking up.

Daeron:

"My Prince."

"Princess Elia."

He frowned, confused at why Jaime's betrothed was in his chambers.

Daeron was sweaty, dirty, and not in the mood for company.

The ride had been exhausting under the sun leaving him hot, and tired, and the sparring before that had made him sore. The only thing he wanted in this moment was a few minutes of peace. And a hot bath. Neither of which he could accomplish with Elia here.

The Dornish princess rose from where she had been waiting. "How was your ride?"

"It was good," He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. "A pity you did not join us." He moved past her, hoping she'd take the not so subtle hint.

She did not. "Thank you for at least considering me," She called back to him. "The same cannot be said of your betrothed."

Daeron stopped at that. He felt his shoulders tense, but he refused to feel any form of guilt at his decision. Ever since he arrived at the Rock, the Lannisters had thrown their daughter at him. Every time, and he was tired of it. Of the smiles, the honeyed words, the lies that she hid behind her pretty face. He wanted to spend time with those he trusted and liked, and his betrothed was not one of them.

I'm already betrothed to her, he wanted to say.

He did not think it some terrible deed that he wanted to spend an afternoon without her. I'll be spending my whole life with her.

"I doubt she noticed my absence," he dismissed, "I suppose she's still reeling from Rhaegar."

A snort came from the Dornish Princess. "This afternoon she was reeling, but it had nothing to do with your brother and everything to do with your carelessness." Elia's tone gave him pause. It was sharp and very unlike her.

"Not inviting your betrothed?" She shook her head, an incredulous look followed. "Do you not see how that would reflect on her? You've shamed her in front of her family and all of her household and their guests."

"Shamed?" He nearly scoffed.

Elia did not back down. "She was in tears when she came to see me." Her dark eyes were hard as onyx. "She told me she overheard your plans from the training yard and she retreated to her chambers, awaiting your arrival and invitation."

He winced. "I did not know that."

"No, because you do not care," Elia gave him no sympathy. "How long do you think she waited until she realized that you were not coming? When did she figure out what all the castle already knew? That you rode off with your friends including noblewomen, and your betrothed was not only not with you, but wasn't even given the courtesy of an invitation."

"She'll recover," Daeron knew his tone sounded petulant, but he did not care.

"As you have," Elia threw back, "About this entire arrangement."

"I think you should leave, Princess."

She made no attempt to. "I think you need to listen." She met his gaze without flinching. "Unless you wish to get one of your knights to force the future Lady of Casterly Rock to leave."

"Very well," He recognized a defeat when he saw it. "Does your betrothed know you're here?"

A faint smile came to her lips. "Of course he does."

There it was. He felt a slight pang inside his chest. He was happy for them, but he was also envious. Theirs was a betrothal he coveted. How they felt for another. How they talked and trusted one another.

And what was I given? A bride who'd pick my brother over me every time. He pushed those thoughts aside and settled on mirth instead of bitterness. "Then he cannot be mad at what I am about to do."

He retreated to the privacy screen in his chambers so at the very least he could change out of his clothes. If he was to be chided he'd rather not be smelly and dirty too. He was out of sight from her.

A soft chuckle could be heard. "I will not tell him that his friend got undressed in front of me before our wedding day."

Daeron laughed from where he stood. It was a welcome release. He could feel some of the tension slip away. "My thanks, Princess."

"I do not know who would be more jealous, my betrothed or my brother," Elia's light tone was a welcome change to the chiding one he had been greeted with. "And on the matter of my brother, if he were here, he'd tell you among other things that you needed to remove your head from your arse, my prince ."

He knew while the screen would give him privacy that it would be a flimsy shield from the verbal bludgeoning by the Dornish Princess. "Is that so?"

"It is."

He did not respond right away. He slipped out of his dirty riding clothes and put on a fresh black tunic. The thin material helping to alleviate the heat he had just been feeling from his old attire. He sighed, feeling better already.

"So I should be happy that I'm marrying a woman who cared little for me and who pined after my brother?"

"Women are pieces to be moved by men," Elia observed bluntly, "And it seems unfair of you to be upset with her that she was placed before your brother. That was her father's choice."

"A choice she was in favor of."

"What woman does not want to be Queen?"

"You."

That got a quiet chuckle from her. "You are right. However, I am blessed in my betrothal. Many women are not when it comes to the men they marry. If you do not believe me than look to your own mother."

An icy drip went down his back.

In his selfish petulance, he had forgotten all about his Mother and her problems with Father. Their conversation before he left replayed in his mind, and he wanted to wince and curse at reliving it to see how he was acting and how he was speaking.

I did not want to see them. A nd worse, I protested such petty things to a woman who faces worse problems every night.

The more he reflected on it, the sicker he felt.

"Prince Daeron?"

The memory swirled away at the sound of Elia's voice.

"Do not worry, Princess, I have not slipped away from your scolding" He tried to jest, but it fell flat.

She's married to a mad man, and I whine over a beautiful woman and a castle, he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. I refused to see anyone's problems but my own.

So many others have disappointed Mother, I cannot be one of them.

He stepped away from the privacy screen in new and fresh attire, but thinking back on his selfish thoughts and peevish attitude, he still felt dirty.

She showed me patience and gave me comfort and I threw it back at her just so that I could gripe.

The guilt worming in his heart by how he acted.

"You are right, Princess." He admitted, and he knew what he had to do.

"My prince," Cersei greeted him politely, opting for his title instead of his name.

"Cersei," He returned the greeting with a smile.

Her smile was formal, not friendly. "Was there something you needed?"

"Yes, there was," He pushed past her chilly reception towards him.

"I am sorry about this afternoon, my lady," He saw her body stiffen at the mention of her snub. "It was wrong of me, and you deserve to be better treated especially by your future husband." He dipped his head to her. "I hope to have your forgiveness when you are ready to give it."

Cersei regarded him behind jade eyes, hooded in suspicion. Her small, pretty mouth pursed together as she looked him over, quietly measuring his words and his tone, but then she nodded. "You are forgiven, Daeron."

"Thank you, my lady," He was relieved and tried not to show his surprise at her sudden forgiveness. He remembered Jaime often complaining about how prickly and stubborn she could be and how she clung to slights with both hands and refused to let go.

Has that not been you with her? He frowned at that honest barb.

"My prince," Her mouth turned upwards into an almost shy smile. The anger that had been lurking behind her green eyes vanished. "And," She paused, as if she wanted to say something else. She then bowed her head to hide the warring emotions she was secretly feeling, "I am sorry as well."

"My lady?" He was not expecting that. This was all catching him off guard.

"I-I have," she tried to find the right words, her ensuing struggles lessened some of his natural suspicion and had him inclined to believe she was sincere.

Elia had told me of her willingness to change, should I not give her that benefit if we are to move forward? In seeing her before him, he found her more endearing than any of their conversations since arriving to the Rock.

This gave him a glimpse of the woman behind the beauty, and decorum, the act she had been putting up. He had seen it in parts in how she wonderfully handled Viserys and her time with Dark Sister.

In those glances, he saw a woman he would not mind getting to know more. And perhaps one day calling my wife.

"I have been unfair to you," She finished, settling on the words. "Jaime has always spoke highly of you, and I did not heed his words." She flashed him an apologetic smile.

"Thank you, my lady," Daeron was grateful for the effort at her surprising but welcomed apology. "I have a gift for you."

"Oh?" There was a curious lilt in her voice.

"Yes," He was still smiling, before he turned and gestured for Ser Gwayne to come forward. He could see his betrothed was trying to see what it was. In a not so subtle move he turned to block her view.

She frowned at him, but her sparkling green eyes belayed it.

"My Prince?"

Ser Gwayne's words caught the Prince in his silent and unexpected admiration of his betrothed's beauty. He cleared his throat, but caught the sly look from the knight. He did not want to see how she had reacted. So instead he took the item and then turned around to present it to her.

He knew he chose wisely by the instant reaction it got out of her.

Cersei let out a soft gasp. Her eyes wide in surprise.

In his hands he held out a sparring sword.

"What is this?" She looked at it as if it wasn't real. She then ran her fingers along it as if to assure her it was not imagined. The sword was really there.

"It is yours."

"Mine?" Her golden eyebrows furrowed together, but he saw the excitement shimmering behind those green eyes as understanding came to her expression.

"Yes," He confirmed. "I cannot promise you that you will be the next Visenya," He hesitantly put his hands over hers which had been resting on the hilt. To his relief, she did not pull her hand away, "but I can promise that as long as you wish to learn and train, you will have my blessing, my full support, and myself if needed."

"You mean it?" Her voice as soft as a whisper.

"Yes, my lady," He smiled, "And when your skill improves, I shall have a sword forged for you, but all great knights must first train with this."

"Thank you," she said breathlessly, slowly taking the sword out of his hands. Her mouth parted as her eyes took it in with a disbelieving sheen. "For the sword, for the gesture, for the support," she said in a rush, a faint pink blush followed on her cheeks.

"You are welcome, my lady." His smile grew. "You are to be my wife. So if any man is foolish enough to try to stop you when I am not here you let them know that a dragon's displeasure is a terrible thing to behold."

"I will," Her green eyes flashed like wildfire.

"Good," He was silently pleased at how well the gift went over. He reveled in seeing the fierce lioness before him and no more of that ditzy maiden that had been too prevalent since he arrived.

"When can I start?" She did not try to hide her eagerness.

Daeron chuckled. He then stepped aside and offered her his arm. "My lady, I thought you'd never ask."