His Queen

He can hear the hurt in her words and, though they may be worlds apart, he can feel the pain she feels at his suggestion. He supposes he understands- the name would be for two women who had passed. Mayhaps it could be seen as an ill omen- he had not thought on that. And he does not wish to place such a fate upon his babes. They are the only people in the Known World that he is certain he loves.

“It matters not,” he answers quietly. “I know it brings you anguish and I…apologise for suggesting such. You can name our babes…you certainly have more experience than I do.”

It is then that his daughter begins to whimper against his chest. He tries to settle her with a kiss to her brow, but it has little effect. And so, he rises, pacing slowly about the room with the babe nestled against his chest.

“Hush now, sweetling…” he whispers. “Hush now…”

Soon enough, she settles, drifting to sleep in his arms. It is the first moment that he has ever truly felt like a father and it brings tears to his eyes. He could only wish he felt like a husband too. But he doubts he ever will.

It irritated her that he ceded so quickly.  She doubted that it would be the end of the issue.  He’d likely always wish that they had named their daughter as he wished, always hold it against her. But Cersei didn’t want to think of that.  She couldn’t really.  She was exhausted and in dire need of rest. But rest would have to wait. The babe with Jaime started to fuss and naturally, its twin, soon followed suit, if to a lesser extent.  Cersei offered him her breast, and though milk would not come yet (if it came at all and Cersei prayed that it would), the offering quieted him.  She tried to turn and take the other babe from Jaime to placate it in the same fashion, but Jaime was gone.  Cersei’s blood ran cold as she turned to Jaime and saw him gone, but a moment later she realized that he’d risen and was attempting to soothe the babe in his arms.

She couldn’t make out what was said, but the babe soon quieted and Cersei could close her eyes again.  She then moved the babe from her breast to her chest and adjusted the pillows behind her so that she was comfortable.  “I can take her.” Cersei whispered, only moments before she slipped into sleep without waiting for an answer.

Before his imprisonment, he would have crawled atop her in an instant, fucked her until they were both spent. He had had the energy then, the desire. But little of such a feeling comes to him now, despite his body’s response to her.

But her kisses, her words…they echo of a growing need within her and who was he to deny her? Perhaps seeing to her pleasure would help him crave his own…

He eases her onto her back beside him, moving atop her and seeking her lips with his own. He is grateful that the samite nightdress she wears opens at the front and he opens it with remarkable ease for someone with only one hand. And there it is…the first pang of lust in his belly as her body is bared to him.

Emeralds feast upon her hungrily, remaining fingers tracing a line between her breasts and down to her cunt, where he slowly begins to explore the wetness he finds there. Gentle caresses at first before two fingers slip inside her, readying her for him. But still, it is not enough to render him needy for her. And so, he withdraws his fingers from her, instead using his hand and right forearm to spread her legs, so that his tongue might explore her instead.

The way that he handles her then is a far cry from his haste in the Sept, but Cersei didn’t much mind.  Perhaps this time he would be more attentive, would ensure that she finished with him rather than be solely concerned with his own pleasure; not that Cersei was convinced she’d have been able to finish in the Sept with Joffrey’s body beside them and the risk of being seen.  There was no issue with that now.  They were alone. The only one in the world. The door was locked and no one could bother them. Jaime was with her, and Cersei could finally feel safe.

Already she felt closer.  His fingers slipped inside of her and Cersei’s eyes fluttered closed as she savored the feeling. She moaned quietly as he hit the spots that he no doubt knew that she liked.  No one knew her as Jaime did, she’d always known that and this was but another example.  And now he was home.  He wasn’t a million miles away forcing her to work with Tyrion to try to bring him home, leaving her to spend her nights worried about what the Stark’s might be doing to him. All of that was a distant memory now; Jaime was here and hers again.

She exhaled deeply and spread her legs a touch wider to leave him plenty of access to her and her pulse ticked faster in anticipation. Her excitement was palpable as she watched him spreading her legs further. Golden hair lay across the pillows that Cersei had gathered at her back and beneath her to prop herself up so that she could watch him, and so that he would have an easier time with the task that he’d accepted for himself.  One of her hands went to his hair and she stroked it through his hair.

Often times with Cersei, Jaime had found it best to just listen. Had he mayhaps had more energy within him, he would tell her that it was not Margaery who had killed Renly and that, most likely, it was not she who had killed Joffrey. Of course, he did not know the girl and if ridding themselves of her would make Cersei feel better, then he would go along with whatever she desired.

He lets out a huff as she shifts against him, the movement causing a stirring within his breeches that her proximity so often did. He can only pray she does not feel it, fearful she might slap him for reacting in such a way to her body.

“When I am rested enough,” he says, desperately trying to will the feeling away. “I’m going to Dorne. I’m going to find our daughter and bring her home, no matter the cost. If they want to start a war, let them. Our armies are stronger, as are our allies. Myrcella will be back with us, my love. I swear it to you.”

Jaime stiffened beneath her and there was a familiar comfort to it, but he did not pull her hand to try to coax her to tend to it.  Instead he promised to bring their daughter home, to give her something that she desperately wanted, though really, she was in no hurry to see Jaime leave again after only being returned to her so recently.  She already felt safer with him here, more at ease.  And she supposed that he ought to be rewarded for that.  

She nuzzled his cheek and placed a lingering kiss there, one that invited him to touch her in the ways that she hoped he longed to.  “I’ve missed you.” Cersei purred.  “I love you, Jaime.” And he would bring their daughter home. And he would see any threat to Tommen dispatched with. Jaime would lead the Lannister armies and destroy anyone that stood against them.  Together, they would make what Father had done at Castamere appear to be nothing more than an opening salvo.  Now that Jaime was here, she could finally think with someone to trust to work through her ideas, especially now that Jaime seemed more willing than previously to discuss them with her. The idea of it, the idea of them, had Cersei growing wet between her legs. “Jaime, I’ve missed you.” she repeated. 

He wonders if he is foolish to speak the name he longs to give their daughter. Most like, Cersei would mock him, call him an idiot. She did most times he suggested anything simple, let alone anything quite so serious.

But he speaks it anyway.

“Myra,” he says gently. “Named for Myrcella..and for Mother.”

It is not a name he recalls ever hearing in their lineage. No one would like it to Lannister…and only they would know the truth of its origins. In Jaime’s mind, it is perfect.

“A tie to our house,” he continues, fingers idly stroking the babe’s back. “But not obvious enough for anyone to pay it any mind.”

Myra. Myrcella. Mother.  She understood the connection to their daughter, but not to their mother, but she didn’t puzzle after it for long.  Myra. For Myrcella.  Cersei tried to say the name in her head, but her thoughts immediately went to the daughter that they’d lost and she felt tears welling in her eyes.  She didn’t want to think of the children that they’d lost any more than she already did. There was so much pain tied to it.  They felt so similar, as if they were just using Myrcella’s name again, as if she could just be replaced with a new child the way that someone might replace a spoon or a cup. Cersei hated it. 

But how would Jaime react if she were to voice her aversion to the name? He held the babe now, but he might react poorly if she rejected the idea.  Cersei could not predict his moods the way that she had once been able to. But she didn’t have it in her to acquiesce to the name either.  It was their daughter’s name, the daughter that they lost. Would they then name the boy Tom? Or Joff? Wasn’t that to curse their children with the fates of the others? It turned Cersei’s stomach, but she didn’t dare say as much to Jaime when he held the fragile babe on his chest. It had been much easier with Robert.  When he’d arrived to visit their children, Myrcella and Tommen had already had their names for days by the time that he’d visited, and Joffrey, well, with Joffrey she’d told him Joffrey’s name and the Maesters had immediately offered that Lord Tywin had been informed of the honor to the Lannister family such that Robert did not challenge it. It wasn’t that she minded giving Jaime a say, but she didn’t want to call her live children by the names of the dead ones.  

“I want to sleep on it.”  Cersei replied.  She still wasn’t sure if she’d slept since the birth so the exhaustion in her voice was not feigned. “Do you’ve any names for the boy?”  she asked, so as not to appear to be completely rejecting his ideas and thus risking his anger at the babe. She only hoped that it wasn’t Tom or Joff.

Fear laces her words and it is all he can do not to soothe her with kisses, fuck her until she forgets every ill in the world.

At least, that is what he would have done before the Stark boy had taken him prisoner, before the mummers had stolen away who he was. Now that the dust has settled since his return to the Capitol, he has realised just how unworthy he is of her. He is no longer her golden lion, no longer her reflection. So far removed from who he was that he doubts she would want him anyway.

And yet he gathers her in his arms all the same, pulling her lithe frame atop him as he showers her brow and cheek in kisses. A feeble attempt to comfort her.

“No woman in the Known World will ever steal my heart away from you. I don’t care how much she tries…I am yours, Cersei. I will always be yours.”

Jaime’s arms wrapped around her and she felt safer than she had in months. He kissed her, but it wasn’t an attempt at seducing her, that was obvious.  Instead he was listening to her, letting her talk about all of the things that he hated discussing.  That soothed her more than anything else.  “I know that she’d never steal your heart. She’d have an easier time seducing Renly.  But she killed him all the same.  Even though I doubt that he ever touched her. And while Joffrey appreciated her beauty, I doubt she could have truly stolen him either. And now he’s dead too.” Cersei wrapped her arms around Jaime’s neck and began toying with the hair that she found at the base of his neck. “She’d never take your heart, but she could take your life. She’s a curse. I want her gone.  Banished to the Silent Sisters or the bottom of the sea, I don’t much care which.  We can bring Myrcella home then.  Marry her to Garlan, or whichever brother they were trying to marry Sansa to.  He’ll never touch her and we’ll still have an alliance with the Tyrell’s. I don’t like her being so far away.  With people that hate us.  They Tyrell’s might hate us, but they know that they need us at least. The Martell’s might kill her.  I never should have let Tyrion send her away.  If you’d been here I could have worked out a way to keep her here.” Cersei shifted on top of Jaime, trying to bring herself closer to him though that was hardly possible in their current positions.  She could think now that Jaime was here beneath her, now that half of her thoughts weren’t devoted to how to bring her twin back, what might be happening to him. Jaime was safe and with her. Now they could would see to making sure that Myrcella and Tommen would be too.

The weight atop his chest is alien, and yet it feels familiar all the same. As if this was how things were supposed to be, as if the Gods had intended for him to experience true fatherhood all along.

It caused a swelling of emotion within him, one which threatened to bring tears to his eyes. He had not realised how much he had craved such a moment until now. He supposes he had never truly thought Cersei would allow him to so much as touch their babes, so holding one- his daughter, as the quick check under her blanket tells him -is more meaningful than he could have ever anticipated.

“She’s…heavier than I thought she’d be,” he says softly, stumped right arm resting atop her back as his fingers stroke the soft golden hair upon the babe’s head. “And…I’ve thought of a name. For this little one at least.”

Exhaustion threatened to pull Cersei away, into sleep or perhaps more, but she was doing her best to fight it.  She closed her eyes and it would have been so easy to drift away, but there was a baby warm on her chest that needed her. The babe’s hands were so small, and yet she could feel the little fists on her chest. Cersei’s eyes were barely open, but she could see the baby’s mouth moving absently and soundlessly. Golden hair clung to his head. She assumed it was the boy.  Jaime was saying something about their daughter.

Her head lolled to the side as she turned toward him, trying to push through the difficulty of bringing him into better focus. “A name?” Cersei asked, her voice heavy. She put a hand protectively over the baby on her chest.  “I thought we gave them names before?” Though Cersei also seemed to recall saying that they would wait until the morning.  Was it morning already? Cersei looked to the window and tried to tell whether it was morning or afternoon sun.  Had she slept yet? She wasn’t sure. “What name did you think of?”

If it is an argument she craves, he is not forthcoming in giving her one. He doubts he has the energy to engage, anyway. And besides, an argument could open up a void between them, and he needs her now as he has never needed her before.

He instead remains silent as she moves about the room, scarcely even watching her as she slips out of her gown and dresses in the nightdress. She has irked him, in truth, and allowing his eyes to wander would only make him succumb to whatever spell she was trying to place him under. If his time in the North had taught him anything, it is resilience.

He has always enjoyed her in such a nightdress, though. The material leaves very little to the imagination, a tease as the wonders that lie beneath it. Remaining fingers itch to touch when she returns to the bed, but he swallows the urge.

“Of course,” he answers her instead, forcing back any hint of insolence in his words. “Forgive me…I know little of Lady Margaery. If she is as wicked as you say she is, who am I to say otherwise?”

“Forgive me…I know little of Lady Margaery. If she is as wicked as you say she is, who am I to say otherwise?”

And with that, Cersei was placated, at least for the moment. She moved slightly closer to Jaime, though there was still a wealth of bed between them. “You haven’t been here, how could you know.”  Cersei offered, already offering excuses for him, so long as he would be willing to close the space between them. “She’s wretched.”  Cersei confirmed. “She wants to sink her claws into Tommen and turn him against our family. If the Stark girl hadn’t killed Joffrey, I’m sure Margaery and her grandmother would have tried.” And it wouldn’t be long until they tried to kill other Lannister’s too.  Cersei and Tywin already had tasters. Hopefully Jaime would use one too, but Cersei didn’t want to bring that issue up at the moment. “The less you know of Lady Margaery, the better.” What Cersei wouldn’t have given to have Jaime walk through the doors of the Red Keep instead of Loras after the Blackwater.  she wanted Jaime. Jaime would protect them. Jaime could be their savior. “I suspect that she’d try to sink her claws into you too.” Cersei muttered, though she didn’t think that Margaery would be as successful with Jaime as she would be Tommen; Jaime wouldn’t betray her like that. “Every man that she’s pursued has ended up dead/  I can’t see that happen to you or Tommen.”

You can hold one…

He fights to keep the look of bewilderment from his features. Less than a day ago, she was berating him, would scarcely even allow him to hold her hand. Not that he had wanted to, of course. But he had felt as if he should.

So how was it now that she was trusting him? Not that she had anything to fear, but the shift in her thinking was peculiar all the same.

Nevertheless, he sat up and tugged the tunic over his head, dropping it to the floor before he turned to her.

“Can you help me?” He whispered, a sudden shame rising within him.

How does a one-handed man cradle a babe?

She doesn’t know how long she labored.  It felt like days, but she knew that it could scarcely be more than half of one.  The exhaustion remained overwhelming. Cersei could barely think. Yet she knew that Jaime was there, knew that he was taking off his shirt as she’d instructed. She was exhausted, running on autopilot as she placed a babe on Jaime’s chest. “Just hold him there” she wasn’t certain whether she’d placed the boy or the girl, but she assumed that it was the boy. “Just lay back and remain there. The babe will lay there and if you don’t move, he won’t either.” Cersei said, still slightly delirious from pain. She raked her hand through her hair and leaned against the headboard. 

“Just lay there. Don’t move and you’ll be fine.”

He has little desire to talk about politics, and even less to talk about their children. Yet he knew she needed to talk about them, talk about her fears. She had been without him for over a year- who else could she speak to about them?

And so, he lays in silence, still settled atop her as he allows her words to wash over him. He scarcely registers what she says, far too distracted by the comfort she is bringing him. For the first time in…Gods, he does not know how long. But he feels safe. The warmth of her, the way her heart thuds against his ear. He longs to suggest they undress so be might hear it better, might savour her bare skin against his own. And yet he fears she may misunderstand his intentions. And so, he does not voice his request. Perhaps if he hints enough…

“Mother was sweet,” he answers, living fingers idly toying with the laces that hold her gown to her frame. “And you can be too. I’ve seen it enough times…I’m seeing it now.”

His fingers still. Instead, he sits up just enough to pull his shirt off over his head before he settles on the pillow so that he might look upon her face. He brings her hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it.

“Sweetness is not a bad thing,” he says. “He will win the love of the people with it. But that sweetness does not equate to foolishness. He will rule well, with father as his hand.”

“Wedding Tommen to Margaery is a necessity, if we are to keep our family safe. The Tyrells have one of the biggest armies, and they can keep our city fed. Let her give him an heir, they we can rid ourselves of her like we did with Robert.”

Yes, she was being sweet to him, but it didn’t last.  How could it when he was siding with Father and not with her! How could he not see that Margaery was a curse that would lead their son to his death, but only after Margaery had sunk her claws in enough to bring House Tyrell up to being a threat.  Cersei wanted the girl dead, and she wanted someone to agree with her that Margaery was better off buried in the bowels of the Red Keep.  But Jaime wasn’t. 

She let out a huff as she rose from their bed and walked to the trunk containing her nightgowns.  Jaime had been hinting that he wanted her out of her current gown, and she had half a mind to indulge him, though, she was a bit cross that he was not taking her side. In the end, she thought that perhaps putting on a nightgown.  Though he didn’t deserve it, she thought perhaps the green samite one, one of her favorites, one that she looked best in, might persuade him to see her point about the little thorn in her side. 

Cersei returned to the bed, but she didn’t curl  up beside Jaime.  Instead, she remained rooted on her side of the bed. “It will be years before Tommen could give her an heir.  He’s a child.  I’m not sending him to her bed to let her whisper poison into his ear.  It will be years of that. Years before he could given her an heir and by then the damage will be done. He’s not as strong willed as Joffrey.”

l

Jaime would consider himself a well-travelled man, having met many a man and woman throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Yet it is faces that he recalls, not names. Often times, he had not entirely cared about who he was speaking to. And so, any suggestions of names that Cersei may anticipate from him do not come.

He supposes he likes the name for the boy. Jason. Yes, scarcely a clear tie to their true heritage to an outsider, but one that would still hold some form of importance for he and Cersei. But for their girl…

Myra, he longs to say. Named for Myrcella, their girl who had died in his arms what feels like a lifetime ago. The name had come to him in that instant, and nothing had ever felt quite so right.

His heart still aches over the loss of his daughter. He had never shared a particular closeness to any of the three, but Myrcella had known of her true parentage. Myrcella had loved him as her father.

Yet he keeps his silence. He doubts Cersei is in any fit state to think so seriously and even if she were, he is certain she would shut him down immediately. Better he let her decide.

“Let me put the babes in their crib,” he says. “Then you can rest…”

The sun is well into the sky by now, the bustle of the crowds in the streets below floating in through their window. But even Jaime knows birthing a child is no easy business. And Cersei had just birthed two. She needs all the rest she can get.

“No.”  Cersei’s eyes went wide and she clutched the babes closer to her. She did not want to be parted from them. They were her miracles. They were proof that that old hag had been wrong. Cersei had once felt a similar feeling when Joffrey had been born, but this was so much stronger. She stroked the babes’ backs with her hands and kissed their heads.  Gods, she’d forgotten how good babies smelled, even when a bit of the scent of blood still clung to them.  “I can rest with them here. They need to be close, need to know that they’re safe.” she kissed their heads again. “If you take off your tunic, you can hold one. They need to be close to us to bond.  To smell us.  They can’t go in their crib yet.”  Besides, Cersei didn’t even think they had a crib.  They hadn’t before.  Unless Jaime had picked one up while she was in labor. Maybe he had. It was all a blur for Cersei. “We need cloths for diapers. In a few days they’ll be feeding.” 

A gentle shake of his head as he presses his face closer to her, wholly unwilling to be any distance away from her, no matter how insignificant.

“I ate with father…”

The lie passes his lips with ease. He has never enjoyed lying to his twin, and he is certain she will take note of it. But feelings of hunger are something he has lacked in for many moons now. More often than not, he eats because he has to, not because he wants to. Memories of his times with the Mummers still sour his stomach even now that he has safe within his twin’s arms and often, he is entirely too nauseous to even consider allowing food to pass his lips.

“Have you eaten?” He asks, praying a swift change in the course of their conversation might distract her from his falsehood. “You need your strength…you are queen until Tommen comes of age. You cannot rule if you haven’t the strength to sit the Throne.”

He was lying.  It irritated Cersei more than it should have.  It was an innocent lie.  She told him lies some times, but they were always to protect him.  She could forgive lies meant to protect her, but she couldn’t see how this protected her.  And if he would lie about one thing about his meal with father, perhaps he would lie about other details of their meeting: like swearing that he would stay with her.  No. Jaime wouldn’t lie about that.  He wouldn’t.  This was just some silly lie that he felt he needed to tell.  Still, Cersei did not like it. Pointing out his lie would do little good though.  

“You are my strength.” she told him. Perhaps reminding him of that would help him to believe it, snap him out of whatever currently had a hold on him. “Jaime, I’ve never felt safer than I have since you’ve come home.” That was true.  The last time that she had felt even close to this amount of relief was when Father had come through the doors to the throne room during the Battle on the Blackwater. It should have been Jaime. But it hadn’t been.  Perhaps Joffrey would have been alive if it had been. Cersei didn’t know and there was no point in wondering now. Instead, she had to focus on the children that they did have left. “I’ve plenty strength with you at my side. Tommen is a good boy.  He’ll listen to us.” And he would need Jaime’s counsel with the war still looming.  Just because Jaime had been captured did not mean that Cersei trusted him any less with their armies. 

“Too good, perhaps.”  Cersei continued, absently running her fingers through Jaime’s hair, glad that she’d been able to give it a good wash. “The Tyrell’s are talking of marrying that little tart to Tommen.  She’s a curse on men.  First Renly, then Joffrey.  Marrying her is a curse. Father still thinks it a good idea though.  I’d sooner bring Myrcella back from Dorne and promise her to Loras.  Loras would never touch her, and then she could do as she pleased. And then Tommen would be free of that tart’s thorns.  He’s not as strong as Joffrey.  She could manipulate him. He’s too sweet by far.  Where do you suppose he got that from?” Cersei babbled, glad to finally have someone to share her thoughts with.

“As are you, my love…”

The relief in his words is evident and something within them startles him. Hours ago, he had almost wished the Stranger had taken her. And yet here he lies now, knowing he would be quick to follow her. How could he have been so foolish, to assume he could go on without her? For the first time since they had arrived in Essos, he feels as he had all those years they had been together. He would kill for her, and he would die for her.

Fingers move to one of the babe’s backs. Gently stroking the soft skin he finds there. He is uncertain which is which- they both look so alike and he wonders if his own father had had such trouble when he and Cersei came into the world.

“Their names…” Jaime whispers. “Gerion and Lana… was that it?”

Cersei’s eyes remained closed, unaware that Jaime had started to stroke the babes until his fingers brushed hers as she held the babes against her.  Jaime had never gotten to hold their babes after they were born before. She’d never thought that he’d wanted to hold them, to be a father. Cersei wasn’t sure how much he wanted to now. A part of her considered offering to let him hold one, but she distantly recalled their argument and the struggles in getting a maester.  But he’d sounded like her Jaime when he refused to leave at the landlady’s insistence.  Cersei tried to suss out where his head might be, but all it did was give her a headache herself.  She needed sleep, but that pit of worry had started again.  Thoughts nagged even as he eyes drooped again.  

“Jason and Castor.  But since one’s a girl, I suppose Lana.”  Gerion was a fairly obviously Lannister name though.  Would “Lana” and “Gerion” give them away here? She let out a tired sigh as she thought.  She hadn’t spent much time on names for a daughter.  Myrcella had not been named for any ancestors.  Perhaps she owed that to this daughter as well.  She huffed softly.  She didn’t know about names.  She really had only spent much thought on the boys.  And now there wasn’t boys.  There was boy. And a girl.  “Maybe “Joanna” for mother.”  Cersei said absently.  Then she remembered that Jaime had told the landlady that Joanna was her name.  “Or maybe once I’ve slept we’ll choose.” 

Her rejection is something he neither anticipates nor enjoys, but he does not give voice to his disappointment. He has always stood by the notion that forcing oneself on a woman was an abhorrent act and, though he may be a mere husk of who he had been before he had left for the North, his morality is still intact.

He supposes he does find comfort as he settles atop her, her arms providing a stability that he had not known in so many moons. He is thankful he had the initiative to have his armour removed by his squire before seeking his twin out- the plate would have made their current position somewhat uncomfortable.

And yet that comfort is shattered by her words. Fingers that had idly been playing with her hair still and his eyes close. He dreams enough about his imprisonment every night. He wishes not to think about it in his waking hours, despite some aspect of it plaguing every other thought.

“I don’t want to talk about the Whispering Wood,” he answers. “I did not come to you to tell you tales of being chained to a post, covered in my own shit. I came to you because I need you. Not your cunt, just you.”

Cersei had been comfortably beneath him.  Well, perhaps not comfortably.  She was finally saying all the things that she’d been holding in since he’d been gone, every worry, every fear, everything that she dared to show only to her twin.  Jaime was there and nothing would hurt her anymore.  Jaime was there.  But he didn’t want to listen to her.  For years, Jaime had been the only one that would listen to her, really listen.  But now he didn’t care.  She was half convinced that he’d tell her to be quiet and roughly shove up her gowns as Robert had done so many times. She was about to brace for it, but instead of hands, he made it clear that this wasn’t about silencing her except for her moans. “Not your cunt, just you.”

She relaxed again at that and brought her fingers to stroke through his hair and kissed his brow.  “I need you too.” Joffrey was dead and there were enemies all around.  Not only had she spent countless nights worried about Jaime, but she’d spent them worried for herself as well leading up to the Battle on the Blackwater. But Jaime was here now.  Jaime and Lannister armies. She nuzzled his neck and placed kisses there, glad to have his weight atop her once more. 

As much as Cersei wanted to talk more about her fears, she suspected that her twin wasn’t yet in a place to hear them.  He’d just come from standing against their father so she could forgive him that, she could offer him comfort on the promise that she could seek comfort later. “Do you want to eat? I can have the kitchens make anything that you wish.”