Chapter 28 - The Young Lioness

276 AC

Cersei Pov

The past week has been an absolute whirlwind, the kind of exhilarating experience that makes me grateful to be part of House Lannister. The sight of so many noble houses gathered together, bathed in the opulence that only our house can provide, fills me with a sense of pride unlike any other.

But amidst all the splendor and grandeur, there's one thing that occupies my thoughts more than anything else – the crown prince. Oh, how I've fallen for him, completely and utterly. Jenye and Melara, my closest companions, never let me forget it, teasing me incessantly about my infatuation.

It's not hard to see why I'm so enchanted. His deep purple eyes are like pools of mystery, drawing me in with every glance. And that silver-blond hair, it's like spun silk catching the light just so. Sometimes I find myself wondering if any man could possibly be so beautiful.

But he's more than just his appearance. He carries himself with a grace and nobility that's almost otherworldly, as if he's descended from the gods themselves. The blood of old Valyria flows through his veins, a heritage of dragons and ancient power that only adds to his allure.

"Cersei, start eating," mother's voice broke through my reverie, pulling me back to the present as I realized I was sitting in the grand hall with my family, the feast laid out before us.

"Cersei is dreaming about Prince Rhaegar," Tyrion's mischievous voice chimed in, causing laughter to erupt around the table, save for Father who remained stoic.

A single stern glance from Father was all it took for Tyrion to shrink back into his seat, though Mother's expression betrayed a hint of perturbation.

I couldn't help but feel a pang of pity as I glanced at Tyrion. The gods had bestowed upon him such a cruel fate, condemning him to a life as a dwarf.

At first, I'll admit, I didn't care much for him—perhaps even loathed him—but over time, as Mother reminded me of our shared blood and the importance of familial duty, I began to soften. Since then, I've made a conscious effort to be more gentle and loving towards him.

Despite our differences, despite the challenges he faces, he's still my brother. And as the eldest, it's my duty to stand by him, to support him in any way I can.

After the feast concluded, I took my brothers to my chambers, relishing the rare opportunity to spend time alone with my twin. Ever since his betrothal to Lady Elia Martell and his fostering in Dorne, we hadn't had much time together.

As Tyrion settled onto the bed, engrossed in his toy dragon, I turned to Jaime. "How has Dorne been, brother?" I inquired, eager to hear about his experiences.

"It's breathtaking, Cersei," Jaime replied with a wistful smile. "The water gardens are like something out of a dream, and the blood oranges... they're a taste of paradise. The Martells have been hospitable, and although Oberyn was distant at first, he warmed up to me in time."

"And what about your betrothed?" I pressed gently, noticing a hint of color creeping into his cheeks.

Jaime's blush deepened. "She's... she's kind," he stammered. "I enjoy spending time with her."

"I'm genuinely happy for you, Jaime," I said, sincerity lacing my words.

In the beginning, being separated from Jaime had been unbearable. We had always been inseparable. But when a servant caught wind of our closeness and informed Mother, she swiftly put an end to it, sending the girl away and enforcing strict rules to keep us apart. I'll never forget the reprimand Father delivered when he learned of our indiscretion.

Yet, as time passed, the desire for that kind of closeness with Jaime faded, replaced by thoughts consumed with Rhaegar.

"Cersei, who do you think will win the jousts?" Jaime's inquiry interrupted the quiet of our chambers.

"Prince Rhaegar will win, without a doubt," I asserted confidently.

In my mind, there was simply no other contender. Prince Rhaegar had already bested formidable opponents, including my uncles Gerion and Tygett, along with numerous other skilled knights.

"Prince Daemon believes that Ser Barristan will emerge victorious," Tyrion piped up from his perch on the bed.

"He's mistaken," I countered firmly.

"No, he's not," Tyrion retorted, standing defiantly on the bed.

"Tyrion, you only say that because Prince Daemon gave you a wooden dragon," Jaime teased, causing Tyrion to promptly resume his seat.

"I, for one, am eager for tomorrow," Jaime declared, a hint of excitement in his voice.

With only four knights remaining in the tournament—Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard, Ser Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning, Ser Brynden Tully the Blackfish, and the crown prince himself—anticipation hung thick in the air.

As I drifted off to sleep that night, my thoughts were consumed by visions of Prince Rhaegar crowning me the queen of love and beauty, a scene that played out in my dreams with unparalleled clarity and longing.

From the noble's gallery, I surveyed the sprawling grounds where the final day of the jousts were to unfold. The viewing stand for the smallfolk lay beneath the towering walls of Lannisport, their cheers promising to echo off the ancient stones of Casterly Rock.

As Father made his grand entrance alongside the king, the crowd erupted in thunderous applause, their adoration for him palpable. The king, however, received only a fraction of that applause, his expression betraying a hint of displeasure at the unequal reception.

As the knights entered the arena, the fervent shouts of the smallfolk for the crown prince eclipsed even those for the king and my father combined.

Seated beside the queen, the king's demeanor remained stoic, though I noticed a whispered exchange between him and Prince Daemon, his eldest son. Whatever was said seemed to further sour the king's mood.

Observing the royal family, my curiosity piqued at the sight of Prince Daemon's attire. Unlike his relatives, who donned the traditional colors of black and red, Prince Daemon stood out in garments of white and gold, adorned with a ring bearing the emblem of a golden dragon.

The subtle differences in his attire intrigued me, sparking a curiosity about the prince that lingered in my thoughts as the joust unfolded before us.

Turning my attention towards the bustling grounds, I focused on the impending clash between Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Brynden Tully. Ser Barristan, resplendent in the gleaming white armor of the Kingsguard, stood tall and poised, a picture of knightly virtue. Opposite him, Ser Brynden donned the dark, imposing armor adorned with the emblem of a black fish, his presence exuding a sense of determination.

As the heralds announced the commencement of the joust, the anticipation in the air was palpable. The clash of lances rang out, echoing across the tournament grounds as the two knights charged towards each other with thunderous speed. Again and again, their lances met in a flurry of blows, each strike met with resolute defense and skillful parry.

Five lanes passed in a blur of action, with neither knight gaining a decisive advantage. But then, a shift in the atmosphere caught my attention. Prince Daemon, rising from his seat, began to cheer fervently for Ser Barristan. It was as if his encouragement ignited a fire within the knight of the Kingsguard, infusing him with renewed determination.

With a renewed vigor, Ser Barristan charged forth once more, his lance aimed true. In a breathtaking display of skill, he delivered a devastating blow, unseating Ser Brynden with a resounding crash. The crowd erupted into cheers as Prince Daemon's exuberant shouts rang out above the rest, celebrating the victory of his favored knight.

As Prince Rhaegar, astride his imposing black destrier, faced off against Ser Arthur atop his noble white steed, the anticipation among the spectators reached a fever pitch. Prince Rhaegar's armor gleamed under the sunlight, a sight to behold with its night-black hue adorned with crimson rubies in the shape of a dragon. Beside him stood Lady Ashara, sister to Ser Arthur Dayne, adding an air of tension to the already charged atmosphere.

As the joust commenced, I found myself fervently praying to the Seven for Prince Rhaegar's victory. From my vantage point, I could see Jaime, too, cheering enthusiastically by my side, his support unwavering for my beloved prince.

The clash of lances reverberated across the tournament grounds as the two knights engaged in a relentless battle for supremacy. With each pass, the sound of splintering wood echoed as lances shattered against their armor, the tension mounting with every exchange.

The intensity of the joust reached its zenith when, in a dramatic moment, Prince Rhaegar's lance found its mark on Ser Arthur's shoulder, while Ser Arthur's strike landed squarely on Prince Rhaegar's chest, sending him reeling. With a gasp from the crowd, Ser Arthur was unhorsed, tumbling to the ground, while Prince Rhaegar miraculously managed to retain his seat, albeit barely.

The crowd erupted into ecstatic cheers as Prince Rhaegar emerged victorious, his resilience and skill on full display. Prince Daemon, looked jubilant at his brother's triumph, received a golden dragon from Lady Ashara, a gesture that left her looking somewhat perturbed, though she offered a forced smile in return.

As the herald called for a break in the joust, allowing the knights to recuperate, I observed Prince Daemon hurrying towards Ser Barristan's tent, his urgency evident. Meanwhile, Mother beckoned me over, her gaze softening as it settled on me.

"Your daughter is truly lovely, Joanna," the queen remarked, her words bringing a gentle smile to Mother's lips and a modest one to mine.

"Cersei, I was just speaking to Rhaella about you, and she has graciously agreed for you to become her lady-in-waiting," Mother announced, her tone tinged with a hint of melancholy.

The unexpected news filled me with both surprise and joy. To be chosen as the Queen's companion, to accompany her to the capital after the tournament's conclusion—it was an opportunity that thrilled me to the core, especially knowing it would bring me closer to Rhaegar.

Grateful and elated, I thanked Mother before taking a moment to speak with the queen. Then, as the herald called for the final round of the joust, my heart raced with anticipation for what lay ahead.

As Prince Daemon ascended the stands, a smile graced his face, radiating an aura of confidence and anticipation. However, as his brother, Prince Rhaegar, appeared on the field, a scowl marred his expression, his eyes betraying a deep-seated loathing.

Yet, in a fleeting moment, Prince Daemon's gaze shifted to me, and he offered a smile that failed to reach his eyes, prompting me to realize the facade he was putting on.

"Dear nobles and smallfolk alike," the herald's voice boomed, commanding the attention of the crowd, "the final two knights who have proven their mettle shall now engage in the ultimate test of skill, and the victor shall be honored with the crowning of the queen of love and beauty."

With that declaration, the excitement among the spectators reached a fever pitch. Cheers erupted as the focus shifted to the two finalists: Ser Barristan Selmy, a legend who had played a pivotal role in ending the Blackfyre Rebellion and had a long history of jousting triumphs, and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the crown prince himself, renowned for his prowess despite his young age, having been knighted at the tender age of thirteen.

The crowd's enthusiasm swelled, their cheers echoing throughout the tournament grounds as they rallied behind their favored prince, eager to witness the thrilling conclusion of the joust.

The tension in the air was palpable as the two knights urged their steeds forward, their determination etched upon their faces. With thunderous force, the two lances collided, sending a shockwave reverberating through the arena.

The clash was nothing short of epic, each knight displaying unmatched skill and valor as they fought with unwavering resolve. Prince Daemon, his voice ringing out with fervent support for Ser Barristan, added an electric energy to the atmosphere, his cheers amplifying the anticipation of the crowd.

Yet, as the joust unfolded, it became increasingly apparent that victory would not come easily. Ser Barristan and Prince Rhaegar matched each other blow for blow, their skill and determination pushing the limits of their endurance. The crowd watched in awe as the two knights engaged in a battle.

As the tension peaked, Prince Rhaegar and Ser Barristan charged towards each other, their lances aimed with deadly precision. The collision was thunderous, sending shockwaves through the arena as wood splintered and metal clashed.

In a heart-stopping moment, Prince Rhaegar's lance struck true, shattering upon impact with Ser Barristan's armor. The gallant knight was unseated, tumbling to the ground in a whirl of dust and debris. Meanwhile, Prince Rhaegar, unwavering in his determination, remained steady upon his mount, declared the victor of the joust.

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and applause, celebrating Prince Rhaegar's triumph. But amidst the jubilation, I caught sight of Prince Daemon's clenched fists and furrowed brow, his anger palpable as he gripped the railing with fierce intensity.

Then, Prince Rhaegar was bestowed with the crown of love and beauty, a symbol of his triumph in the joust. With regal grace, he moved towards the noble stand, where he delicately placed the crown upon a lance, a gesture laden with honor and reverence.

"I name Lady Cersei Lannister my queen of love and beauty," Prince Rhaegar proclaimed, his voice carrying across the arena, as the crowds erupted into applause. Overwhelmed with joy, I accepted the honor with a heart full of happiness and pride.

As Prince Rhaegar's eyes met mine, a warmth spread through me, deepening the affection I held for him. In that moment, amidst the cheers of the crowd and the adoration in his gaze, I couldn't help but feel my love for him grow stronger than ever before.

"Look at that radiant smile, my dear niece," Aunt Genna exclaimed, her eyes twinkling with warmth as she observed my joyful expression.

"I can hardly believe it myself," I confessed, feeling a deep blush spreading across my cheeks. "To be crowned the queen of love and beauty by the prince..."

"Even your father couldn't hide his happiness when it happened," Aunt Genna revealed, a rare glimmer of amusement in her eyes. It was true; Father's stoic demeanor rarely cracked, making his smile on that occasion all the more significant.

Then, Aunt Genna leaned in closer, her tone conspiratorial. "I shouldn't be telling you this just yet, but I can't contain the excitement," she whispered. "Your betrothal is to be announced on the final day of the tourney."

My heart skipped a beat at her revelation. "To the crown prince?" I gasped, hardly daring to believe it.

Aunt Genna nodded, and I couldn't contain my elation, wrapping her in a spontaneous hug as she gently smoothed my hair.

After Aunt Genna departed, my companions Jeyne Farman and Melara Heatherspoon entered the room, their faces alight with happiness for me.

"Cersei!" they exclaimed in unison, their smiles brightening the room.

Yet, despite their apparent joy, I couldn't ignore the twinge of envy in Jeyne's eyes, though she hid it well beneath her cheerful facade. In contrast, Melara's genuine happiness shone through, her freckled face lit up with a heartfelt smile that warmed my soul.

"Tonight, we will quietly sneak away from the Rock and go meet Maggy the Frog," I declared, watching as fear crept into Jeyne's face and Melara's expression turned to one of apprehension.

"Cersei, we shouldn't," Jeyne protested, her voice tinged with worry, but I brushed off her concerns with irritation.

"Yes, we will," I insisted firmly. "I don't want to hear any complaints from either of you."

With determined resolve, I led the way as night descended upon us, slipping away from Casterly Rock under the cover of darkness, with Jeyne and Melara following closely behind.

Maggy the Frog was said to reside in a dark green tent with a tall peaked roof on the outskirts of Lannisport. As we drew nearer, I could sense the apprehension growing in my companions, their fear palpable in the dimly lit surroundings.

Entering the tent cautiously, I was taken aback by the scene before me. Melara and Jeyne, overcome with terror, fled from the tent, leaving me alone to confront the bloodbath that lay within.

The figure I had assumed to be Maggy lay motionless, lay lifeless before me, Her diminutive frame, hunched and weathered, bore witness to a lifetime of trials and tribulations. As I drew closer, her unblinking eyes, tinged with a crusty yellow hue, stared lifelessly into the abyss. Her mouth, devoid of teeth, gaped open in a silent scream, a chilling testament to the violence that had befallen her.

A deep gash marred her throat it was not just her neck that bore the marks of violence; a vicious wound marred her head, The sight of her gruesome demise failed to elicit fear within me, only a steely determination to uncover the truth.

Amidst the chaos, a glint of gold caught my eye, drawing me closer. There, on the dirty floor, lay a small golden dragon ring, its significance unmistakable.

In that chilling moment, as I stood amidst the aftermath of the bloodshed, it became painfully clear who was responsible for Maggy's brutal demise. The sight of the golden dragon ring, glinting ominously in the dim candlelight, served as an undeniable marker of the perpetrator's identity.