ㅤㅤㅤARE  ALL  SELLSWORDS  TRULY  THIS  BRAZEN?  It  takes  much  to  fluster  the  queen,  yet  she  finds  herself  caught  out  of  sorts  by  the  man's  direct  approach,  lashes  fluttering  as  she  collects  herself,  silently  cursing  the  flush  she  feels  spread  across  her  cheeks.  What  an  impudent  thing  of  him  to  ask,  uncouth,  and utterly unacceptable  .  .  .  so  why  does  it  excite  her,  to  see  the  desire  in  his  eyes?  To  understand  the  question  he  is  truly  asking  beneath  these  vulgar  words?  He  is  a  handsome  man,  she  will  not  deny.  An  archer.  And  such  boldness  has  always  drawn  her  in,  as  much  as  she  is  loathe  to  admit  it.  It's  made  worse  by  the  current  predicament  he's  trapped  her  in,  her  back  to  the  wall  as  he  towers  over  her,  yet  she  composes  herself  nonetheless.  As  a  queen  should.

ㅤㅤㅤTRUTH  BE  TOLD,  SHE  ISN'T  SURE  WHAT  SHE  WILL  DO  WHEN  HE  WALKS  THROUGH  THAT  DOOR.  Oh,  there  are  several  things  she  wants  to  do,  but  they  compete  within  her.  She  never  got  to  confront  him  for  giving  her  secrets  to  the  Sparrows.  All  of  the  wretched  things  they  did  to  her,  they  did  because  his  tongue  slipped.  She  touches  her  hair  in  front  of  the  mirror  as  she  waits,  barely  grown  below  her  shoulders  from  where  they  had  cut  it.  Her  hair,  her  dignity,  they  took  so  much  from  her.  She  should  hit  him  when  he  enters,  scream  at  him  and  call  for  the  guards  to  come  take  his  head.  But  gods,  how  long  had  she  waited  just  to  hear  word  of  what  had  happened  to  him?  Cersei  was  surprised  when  Taena  told  her  he  had  returned  to  the  city  despite  being  a  wanted  man.  Even  more  surprised  to  hear  what  he'd  been  up  to.  Does  he  truly  miss  her  so,  that  he  would  take  company  with  women  who  share  some  minor  resemblance  to  her?  She  misses  him,  too.  More  than  she  dares  to  confess  aloud.

  ㅤㅤㅤFor  all  she's  been  through,  Cersei  has  never  felt  so  lonely  as  she  has  since  claiming  the  throne  for  herself.  Her  sons  are  dead,  and  her  brother  has  turned  against  her.  Her  own  daughter  has  been  wed  to  a  rival,  possibly  carrying  Aegon's  child  now.  Who  does  she  have  left?  She  wants  Osney's  apology,  to  show  him  her  fury,  but  she  also  wants  his  comfort.  The  sound  of  the  opening  door  draws  her  from  her  thoughts,  head  whipping  around  to  look  upon  the  disgraced  knight.  The  queen  cannot  find  the  words  to  say  for  a  moment,  approaching  slowly  as  her  mind  wars  with  itself.  But  when  she  reaches  him,  her  features  twist,  a  stinging  slap  of  her  palm  against  his  cheek.  ❝ You  betrayed  me.  You  told  them.  Everything  they  did  to  me,  they  did  it  because  of  you!  ❞  she  hisses,  her  voice  shaking  as  her  fury  flows  from  her.  ❝ I  should  have  let  them  execute  you  for  that.  I've  done  worse  to  others  for  less!  ❞

ㅤㅤㅤHIS EYES ARE STEEL AS HE LOOKS AT HER, dark and grey and frozen upon her form. He's never seen her like this, all the furs cast aside, the thick fabrics stripped away and left on the floor beside the bed. His bed , he must remind himself, as if the message was not clear enough. But oh, it is. As much as he's dodged Val and his own unbidden thoughts of her as best he could, there is no avoiding it now, a confrontation with something he had long suppressed. Stannis had offered him Winterfell, his father's lordship, and her, and Jon had refused it all in the name of honor. But now he's reclaimed Winterfell, and the lords hail him as a king with his brother. He has everything he had once refused. Everything except for her. How strange fate works, slain and revived, at the side of the brother he thought dead and a Targaryen who promises to return the North to them entirely.

ㅤㅤㅤSo much feels wrong, but there are many things that feel right again, and he's not sure where Val falls in between the two extremes. He was a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, forbidden to take any bride or father children. A Lord Commander who made hard decisions for the sake of the realm, decisions that ripped him apart inside. And what did he get for it all? Six knives, six betrayals by the men he called brothers. No, they're not his brothers. Robb is his brother. Bran is his brother. Sansa and Arya, poor Rickon before he was slain, they are his family. And Val, once an enemy, then an ally, then a friend . . .

ㅤㅤㅤRARELY DOES THE LANNISTER FIND HIMSELF FLUSTERED, yet the Baratheon woman's increasing boldness does just that. There are no swords between them this time; the practice instruments cast aside when his good arm had tired, in need of a brief respite. Training with her seemed to help him as much as it might help her. Bronn is harsh but effective, and Addam is a fair opponent that gives great instruction, but there is a certain lightness to his time spent with Orysa where he can simply exist in the moment and not dwell on what he'd lost. His hand may be gone, but the knowledge is still there, and as long as he can pass that on to her, it's proof enough that he hasn't completely lost himself. There is a beauty to the art of battle that exists beyond the edge of a sword. Jaime had forgotten that until now.

ㅤㅤㅤBut that isn't the only beauty that has held his attention as of late. Black hair and a doe's eyes shaded blue. Eyes that lacked the malice and scorn he had begun to see in a certain pair of greens. Ever since returning, it's felt as if he's been abandoned by everyone he once held dear. Tyrion is locked away on account of supposed regicide. His father has all but disowned him as his son for wanting a different path than what he'd put forth for him. Even his sister seems to hold the greatest contempt for him now amidst his constant rejections of her maddening plots. Jaime only meant anything to her when he was of use, and to both Cersei and Tywin, he might as well have been just another man in a white cloak. A drone to serve the crown. He could easily forget he was a living man at all if Orysa was not there to remind him with shared adrenaline and laughter and all the things that make a person feel alive. Perhaps that's why, most selfishly, he does not refuse her as he should.