Joanna:
"I'm leaving."
Joanna Lannister didn't even look up when her daughter was announced to see her. She dipped her quill to continue writing out her letter while Cersei walked to reach her. When she arrived, she stood in a spot partially blocking the good light from the west windows. Her daughter's shadow lingered over her parchment and desk, as if staring up at her to try to get her attention. She glanced up to see her daughter looked ready for a battle not in what she was wearing, but in her demeanor.
She was wearing a beautiful red dress, but this red was a different shade than Lannister. It was Targaryen red with dark opals peppered into the material. An outline of dragons could be seen rising around the bodice. Her daughter wasn't wearing a crown, and the only jewelry she was wearing was a golden dragon pendant around her neck. She clearly hadn't come from the training yard.
"Of course, you are."
A brush of doubt flickered across Cersei's face. "You're not going to stop me?"
"Of course not," Joanna showed her a small smile. "Why would I?"
"Because the roads aren't safe," Cersei had prepared for an argument. She hadn't prepared to just be given approval.
"Well, you won't be traveling alone, will you?" Joanna raised an eyebrow at that terrible notion. "I don't recall raising fools."
"No," Cersei answered quickly, to banish the mere insinuation. "I'd have riders with me."
"How many?"
She gave a number.
Joanna made a small disappointing sound in the back of her throat. "You have to think a little bigger darling," she leaned back in her seat. "You're a Queen now."
"I know," Cersei was momentarily flustered. "I was going to ask for more. I thought it prudent to make it a request and not a demand."
"Good," Joanna dipped her quill back into her inkpot, realizing that she wasn't going to finish the letter. "Could I even convince you to stay?"
"You could not," She raised her chin defiantly.
Joanna hid her smile. "Has the capital been taken yet?"
"It doesn't matter," Cersei answered, "I'll stay in his tent."
None of this surprised Joanna Lannister, it was something else that nagged at her. It was what her daughter wasn't saying, but she hid that well. I have to dig a little deeper. "When will you be leaving?"
"In the morning," Cersei said, in a tone that made it difficult to decide if she was asking or answering.
Joanna nodded, now that she was giving her daughter her undivided attention, she noticed it. Lurking behind the confident veneer, apprehension flittered, and there was more. She considered carefully. "Sit, darling," she gestured to the seat.
Cersei did, her fingers fidgeted with the chair.
"Try not to pull at the upholstery, dear."
She dropped her hands, "Sorry, mother."
"Cersei," Joanna coerced her daughter, "What's wrong? And please don't try to lie." It wasn't an argument her daughter had come for, that was the pretense, she realized. It was something else she wanted, needed.
"That I can't do it, Mother," she confessed, her face mottled with embarrassment. "That I'll make a fool of myself." All of her worries and fears came pouring out of her, "That I'll fail him," her eyes glistened. "I'm afraid, Mother."
"You should be."
She scrunched her face, taken aback, but Joanna didn't let her daughter get a word in. "Your husband won the war, Cersei and now you both must rule what you've won," she said, "And in this battle your enemies will not be charging you with their swords drawn. They hide their weapons behind smiles and sweet words." She continued, "You will be under great pressure, darling, fair or not. However, you're forgetting something."
"What?"
"That you've been a great Queen these past few months, the only thing that is changing is where you'll be staying."
"You must think I'm some stupid, silly girl," she gave a weak chuckle, embarrassed at her slip of weakness no matter how brief it had been.
"No, because I did not raise silly children," Joanna answered, before reaching across to take her daughter's hands in her own. "They will try to break you, darling, but will you let them?"
"No," Cersei answered, the confidence returning in her gaze. "I will break them."
Pleased, at her daughter's restored determination, it was Joanna's turn to confess. "I've been expecting this, ever since we received that letter." She noticed how much her daughter brightened at the mention of her triumphant husband. "I'm just thankful you waited until the end of the war to leave," Joanna had the stables watched for weeks after Daeron had left, concerned that her daughter would do something reckless, but she never did.
"I wanted to, mother," Cersei confessed, "Every day, I wanted to." her fingers tapped impatiently on the arms of the chair. "I just wanted to ride, to be with him, to help him."
"But you never did," Joanna pointed out.
"No, because you taught me, I can do plenty here." she looked a little sheepish with her response, because of her earlier professed doubts. "Only because of you."
"Nonsense," Joanna wouldn't have that. "You're a bright girl, Cersei. You will be a great queen." She watched to make sure her daughter wouldn't try something foolish like argue with her. What she did see on her daughter's face was plain to read. "You miss him."
"Like air."
"I know," Joanna knew the feeling all too well. She had been so worried when word had arrived of that terrible sickness that had come to Old Oak. She didn't sleep those days, waiting with a constant twisting in her stomach, that she would never see her Tywin again. That she'd receive a letter to tell her that he had passed. Thankfully, that letter never arrived. Her husband may have been sick, but he showed his strength, when others perished, he persisted. That was his way.
"Go to the capital as planned," She encouraged her, "I'll take care of the guards to make sure they're ready and supplied to leave in the morning."
Cersei beamed, "Thank you, Mother."
Joanna gestured for her to approach, which her daughter gladly did, coming around the desk to embrace her. She held her tight, unable to stop herself from thinking of the little girl she used to hold and carry. Now that little girl was a wife, a queen, and if the gods were good, would someday soon be a mother. She kissed Cersei's brow, leaning back to see her green eyes looking back at her, "I'm so proud of you, darling. You and Daeron will accomplish so much, but do not forget to trust and support one another especially with where you're going."
"I will, mother," Cersei vowed, "Will you be coming to the capital?"
"In time," Joanna didn't know when they would travel. She was still waiting for her husband to return to her, to assess his condition, and then she'd be able to think about something as trivial as traveling.
"You will bring, Tyrion, right?" Cersei's eyes were hopeful, "I promised he'd be able to visit."
"Yes, Tyrion will be with us." She understood her daughter's concern. Tyrion barely left the Rock, and had only left the Westerlands once, but she suspected that was going to change now that Cersei was Queen and was to call King's Landing her home.
Visibly relieved, Cersei smiled, "Thank you, Mother."
She returned her daughter's smile and watched the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms leave her chambers. She's ready, and that was why Joanna Lannister wasn't worried, only proud.
She was sitting by her husband's bedside. He was under the blankets, but his thin frame could not be concealed. If anything, it stood out more. The skin was stretched tight across his face. His sunken eyes wandered in their gaze, never settling on her. He had one hand atop the blankets which she was holding. It was claw-like with its thin fingers.
They had assured her the sickness had passed him. Leaving behind the frail ruin of the man she loved. The healers and maesters made sure the flux had left him before they deemed him capable of first traveling and then returning to the Rock.
Her meeting with the maester playing before her eyes:
"He is not the same man," Desmond said carefully, "He is weakened. He's lost weight, it will take time for him to recover, if he can recover. The flux is a terrible ordeal, my lady."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that he is a shadow of the man you once knew."
"That still makes him better than most men," She replied, and she'd hear no more.
"I didn't want you to see me like this."
"I don't recall you running at the sight of my blood," she reminded him, "Besides you know I'm too smart to listen to such bad counsel."
His mouth stood out against his pale face. His lips twitched. "You're too bloody stubborn," He grumbled without real venom.
"What would you have of me, husband? To fret needlessly, pacing around this castle, too frightened to see you? You have no use for such nonsense." She squeezed his hand, gently. The bones in his hand pressed against her fingertips. She swallowed the small ache in her throat, at seeing the man she loved in such a state.
He made a noise in his throat, a loud hum, the sort he made when he was amused, but wouldn't laugh. "Kevan told me of that chair you had made." He eventually said, "I will not be seen in it," he said mulishly, "pushed around like some-"
"Hush," She interrupted him, "Kevan wasn't supposed to say anything," she made a note to speak with him of that failing later. "Don't worry, dear, I won't push it near any stairs if that's what you're worried about," she said, "despite the temptation."
This time he did laugh, but its mirth was snuffed by the wheezing breath that was pushed out of his mouth. The fit had enough force to make his body tremble, coughing followed, but he rallied after a few breaths to calm himself.
She watched terrified and helpless, hating every second of it. He needs me, but I can do nothing. She couldn't protect him from his own body, and that disappointing sting didn't lessen despite her best attempts to smother it. "The chair will help you." Joanna had it specially made for him when she heard of his ailments. It had wheels and would allow him greater movement since he couldn't stand or walk. Despite the maester's warnings, she knew Tywin would not stay bedbound, "You either use the chair, dear, or you stay in bed."
That warning got the desired effect as a slight frown made his lips pressed together. "Very well," he allowed, "But not in public."
"Such a pity," she drawled, "I was planning on parading you through the streets of Lannisport," she replied dryly. Raising her hand and brushing some of his hair which was damp with sweat.
His hazel eyes turned to her, the golden flecks shone briefly, and the wry turn of his lips made her heart swell. Relieved, and happy to still see him before her despite his body's ailments. "Here," she remembered his tonic, pouring it onto a spoon, he didn't protest her help, nor did she comment on it, she did it simply like it was an everyday task.
He smacked his lips after slurping it up. "Has there been any word?"
"No," she dabbed at his chin, where a droplet had slipped down from his mouth.
"And you still let Cersei leave?" It wasn't disapproval in his tone, only curiosity at her decision.
"The capital is sure to surrender before any siege," She doubted King's Landing would wish to be ruled over by a foreign queen especially not when all of its land was surrounded now by lords who swore King Daeron their fealty. "Besides, she is the Queen," She poured more of the tonic onto the spoon, very carefully, "We have you to thank for that and her stubbornness ." She didn't give him time to rebut as she slipped him a second spoonful of the tonic. She didn't know its contents, but suspected its taste was a bit bitter given the faint smell and the way Tywin's nose scrunched when swallowing it.
She saw the frustration behind her husband's gaze. It was a living thing trying to claw its way out of this confinement. His mind remained sharp and focused while his body was recovering. Too slow, she thought, given her husband's impatient gleam. "We won, Tywin," She reminded him. "Our enemies are dead. Aerys, Rhaegar," She listed them, Good riddance to mad dragons. "All those who thought to humiliate or destroy our family are gone." She leaned down and kissed his mouth lightly, the faint taste of the tonic still lingered.
"Our daughter is queen, our grandson will be king." she pressed another chaste kiss onto the corner of his mouth, "We already have one beautiful grandson." She kissed his cheek this time, trying not to think about how gaunt they felt beneath her lips. "We even have one of those swords you've always wanted," She chuckled, "So we'll not have to spend a fortune trying to buy one." She teased, never approving of that particular obsession. Boys and their swords, she kept that thought to herself. "Our family hasn't seen such glories since we were Kings of the Rock, and it's all because of you, Tywin."
He muttered something, but she didn't catch it. "What?"
"Us," he told her, "Because of us." Tywin's eyes were on her, and she felt the squeeze of his bony fingers around hers, "Us," he murmured, "always us."
She smiled, feeling the warmth fill her chest. "Always," she agreed.
Jaime:
His eyes took in the letters while his mind began to wander, uninterested in reading through the missive. Elia swam in his vision, smiling at him, and she wasn't alone, she was holding their son. A babe he knew only from letters, his son whose image he was forced to conjure from Elia's letters and his own imagination. They were at the Rock and they were waiting for him, beckoning him to join them.
He bit back a sigh and rubbed his eyes. He tried to return his attention to the parchment before him, but his attention was ensnared by a winking light coming from his desk. It was his Hand of the King pin which he had taken off, which was catching the light of the candle flame.
Daeron is marching on the capital but he's sending me away. Jaime wasn't sure what to make of it. When King's Landing was taken, his friend would rule as the King of the Seven Kingdoms, but he had tasked Jaime, his own Hand, to go home.
He was saved from further reflection by the noise that was coming from outside, he already was out of his seat by the time Daeron had slipped into the tent.
His friend and king smiled before gesturing for him to sit back down. "I suppose my days of sneaking around are over."
"It is hard to go unnoticed with that procession of servants and guards following you like a long puffy tail."
Daeron chuckled. "Puffy?"
"Puffy," Jaime confirmed, smiling, thinking of all the pomp that went with being the king.
He poured himself a glass of Jaime's own wine and offered some to him which Jaime accepted, in wry amusement. "I wanted to commend you, Jaime," he said, walking over to his own seat. "Your suggestions in how to handle some of the rebellious houses have gone over splendidly as have your recommendations in dealing with the bloody flux that's still reported in parts of the Riverlands." Daeron sipped his glass, "A parting gift from those foreign sellswords," He frowned, "But the gold will help the people."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Jaime was relieved to hear that his insights had proven correct. He thought the gold taken from the Mootons could be better served by giving some back to the people instead of going into the Crown's treasury. "The Mootons have paid in coin and blood," Jaime remarked, and it seemed by hosting the Golden Company they had also been left exceedingly vulnerable to the Flux.
"A price for their treachery," Daeron didn't sound all too mournful of their plight. "It is only a pity that the people have suffered as have our allies who have been swept up in the sickness."
"Hopefully, the next batch of messages are more encouraging," Jaime raised his glass at the hope.
Daeron mirrored him and the two drank to it. "Have you looked over the others?"
"I have," Jaime had been spending the last hour looking them over or trying to. He was still the Hand until he left for Casterly Rock and was helping to handle the families who sided with Rhaegar, the pardons and the punishments. Some would lose gold, some land or other privileges, and some, he looked down at the name sprawled out in black ink, were to lose everything. "I take it you cannot be persuaded about the Conningtons."
"No," Daeron's face darkened. "I will see them ruined."
Jaime stamped his seal to the parchment that would declare the Connington's lands and titles forfeit, making them outlaws in a castle that now belonged to the Crown. Jon Connington was not alive to see the complete demise of his house. Robert had seen to that, killing his rebellious bannermen in the battle that also saw the destruction of the Golden Company.
Daeron was reading it over now. "He was one of my brother's most fervent followers, but it was that day, when he dared to arrest Cersei, to threaten her," when he raised his head, anger smoldered in his gaze. "I mean to bury them for that insult."
Jaime only nodded, he had picked up the pattern that the families who had unlawfully seized Daeron and Cersei that day at Harrenhal were the ones who were receiving some of the harshest punishments. Connington, Mooton, Darry, Whent. The punishments for Mooton and Darry were not enough to bring them to ruin, but it would greatly curb their influence and power. The Whents or what remained of them were not as fortunate. It had been their castle, their tournament, their men who had come to assist Rhaegar in arresting Daeron and Cersei. That mistake would cost them dearly…
"Your pin," Daeron interrupted Jaime's musings on House Whent's fate. "You're not wearing it."
"No," Jaime reached to grab it, "I thought you'd," he hesitated when his fingers closed around the gold pin. "Want to give it to another," he finally said, since you're sending me away, but he kept those words to himself.
"Why would I want that?" He asked, confused, "Are you resigning?"
"I-I," He raised his hand that was holding the pin, suddenly uncertain whether he should give it to Daeron or put it back on. "I don't know," he confessed, "But I do know that if you won't have your Hand with you when you take the capital and your seat on the Iron Throne then you need to find one who you want at your side."
"I am looking at that man."
Jaime shook his head. "I think you wanted to believe I could be, but it was my father you should've made your Hand not his son."
Daeron regarded him for a long second, something flickered behind his pale purple eyes. "I lied to you."
Something tightened in his chest at the words, a piece of understanding sliding into place. "I know," He had always known, but he had fooled himself into thinking otherwise. They both had, but then he saw the small smile slipping onto his friend's expression, and it made him angry. This was not one of Oberyn's japes or Robert's bawdy stories. This was his life.
"No, you don't," Daeron corrected him, "When I was crowned, I told you that I went to your father about making him my Hand, but the truth is I never asked your father. I never considered Lord Tywin Lannister," he explained, "Jaime, you were always my first and only choice. The one who's been at my side the longest. You believed in me when no one did, before your sister, before your father. It was you," Daeron smiled, "In regard to sending you to the Rock, I'm not trying to punish you, my friend. I'm trying to reward you."
"Reward me?"
"Yes, I owe you everything," Daeron answered, "I want you to be my Hand, Jaime. We can do great things, but you have to want to be here," He said, "and I don't think you quite know what you want, because you can't see what the rest of us can."
"See?" Jaime frowned, "See what?"
"You keep looking in the mirror hoping to see your father's reflection, wanting to be him, not recognizing that something greater is already looking back," Daeron said, "You."
The weight stirred on his chest, and Jaime blinked back into the present. The memory of him and his friend, fading away.
He looked down to see he was still asleep, and Jaime smiled. His son's skin was smooth and soft against his own. The babe was nestled against his chest, a soft snore slipped past small lips. "Tyrone Lannister," He murmured to his sleeping son.
Ever since he was a boy, he thought there would be no greater thing than holding a sword, but his son shattered that belief. Looking down at the blond curls and olive skin, he was amazed at how big he already was. He tried to crush the sliver of disappointment at the reminder of what he's already missed these past few months.
"Go to your wife, see your son, I'll be at the capital," Daeron gestured to the pin that rested on the desk between them, "When you come to King's Landing I expect your decision, to either rule by my side as my Hand or to retire to the Rock. Go, my friend, and find your peace."
"Couldn't sleep?"
He opened his eyes for a long second to see his wife standing in front of him. "I slept some." He felt her hands against his skin, gingerly picking up their son. "I can," he began, but she stopped him with a look.
"I can handle it."
Jaime wisely stayed silent. He stood from his seat, feeling the strain in his neck and back, a stiff soreness from how he had been sitting the last couple of hours. He watched his wife carry their son to his cradle, it was such a simple thing, but he never got tired of watching it. It was what he was missing all those months away from them. He moved to their bed, collapsing onto it, partly over their bedding. He then carelessly tried to toss the rest over him. He did not think he lay alone in their bed for very long before he felt the weight shift and his wife joined him. Her arms seeking him out, "I missed this," he held her close to him.
"Me too."
His eyes were half closed, his attention fading and going in two different directions. Part of him in the moment with his wife in their bed at the Rock. The other was drifting off into the dark sea of sleep. "Even your snoring," He murmured, half asleep.
"I don't snore," she shifted in his embrace so she could look at him.
"My apologies," He cracked his eyes open to see her pout, and her warm dark eyes that he dreamed of every night. He felt his mouth curve upwards when he added, "I mean I missed your loud breathing when you're sleeping."
"You'll find yourself missing all of me when you're sleeping in separate quarters," she teased, her fingers trailing down his arm.
"Never," he sleepily grumbled, pulling her closer to him so she couldn't escape. She giggled, before catching herself, not wanting to wake their son. "They're very eloquent, very charming," he kissed her brow.
"Jaime?"
"Hmm?" He felt the curtain of sleep falling over him.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Elia," He slept the rest of the night with his wife in his arms, untroubled and content.