Life fucking sucks for me right now, which is why I haven't really been updating…
Anyways, leave a comment if you want more.
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Cersei smiled as she gazed upon her perfect son, admiring every little detail of his handsome face.
The way his skin was smooth and flawless, untouched by even the faintest blemish. The way his soft hair swayed with the wind, catching the morning light streaming through the windows. Especially the way he smiled at her, a perfect smile meant only for her and her alone.
"…Is something on my face?" her lovely son asked as he gently placed his cup of tea down, noticing the way she was staring at him, and his other hand rubbed at his face.
She giggled, finding him utterly adorable. She brushed a thumb across his cheek with a tenderness she had never thought herself capable of, marveling at how impossibly soft he felt.
"My beautiful boy…" she whispered, her voice scarcely more than a breath.
He seemed to have heard her, however, as a small frown appeared on his face, much to her amusement.
"I prefer being described as handsome rather than beautiful. Thank you very much." He grumbled while grabbing a biscuit he personally made for their little tea party.
His brilliant blue eyes, clearer and brighter than any sapphire in the crown jewels of Casterly Rock, slowly met her own. They were impossibly vivid, almost luminous, and for the briefest heartbeat, she felt as though she truly lost herself in those divine eyes of his.
She smiled before regretfully lowering her hand from his cheek and lifting her own cup of tea, taking a slow sip to hide the obsession threatening to spread too openly across her face.
"You may call yourself handsome all you wish," Cersei said after setting the cup upon its saucer, "but the gods themselves sculpted you too perfectly for such a plain word."
Her son sighed with theatrical weariness; they had this conversation more than enough times to stop counting how many times they had it.
"Mother…"
"I speak only the truth."
"I know, I know." He said while trying to reach for another biscuit. "That is precisely the problem."
A laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it as she grabbed the biscuit before he could and held it out for him to take a bite. "Is it now?"
He nodded gravely and tried to take it with his hands, but stopped when she pulled it out of his reach and looked at him expectantly. He sighed but didn't say anything, a light blush barely visible on his face, before he leaned forward and took a bite directly from her hands.
A wave of wild emotions filled her as a smile appeared on her face at the sight. She held back a disappointed sigh as he quickly finished and leaned back away from her.
"If people hear you speak of me like that, they'll begin believing I can do no wrong."
Cersei arched a golden brow at his words. "You are the blessed prince and the future king of the seven kingdoms, my love. Lowly rabble daring to believe you can be wrong should be stomped below your feet like the insects they are."
"…That," he muttered while taking a sip of his tea before rubbing away his headache, "is another problem."
She watched him drink with all the dignity of a prince hosting the realm's greatest feast rather than enjoying tea time with her. Even the simplest movements possessed an effortless grace that seemed entirely natural to him.
For a while, they simply enjoyed the quiet moment together, the world outside their chambers forgotten. He told her about a ridiculous idea he had for a new dish involving something he called a "noodle" that he swore would either make men weep with joy or run screaming from the table.
She teased him mercilessly about how his father would probably eat an entire plate and then demand seconds while complaining about the heat. He laughed, bright and warm, and for those precious minutes, Cersei allowed herself to pretend the war, the Ironborn, and the monstrous kraken did not exist.
There was only her perfect son, the tea, and the gentle morning light.
Then, without warning, the mood shifted.
Her son set his cup down with deliberate care. The easy smile on his face faded, replaced by something quieter, heavier. His divine eyes met hers, but it was now covered in crimson bandages.
"Mother," he said softly, voice steady but carrying an undercurrent she couldn't quite place. "There is something I need to tell you about the future."
Cersei's heart gave a single, painful lurch.
"...I may not come back to you alive."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Before she could even draw breath to scream, the warm, sunlit chambers dissolved around her. The gentle light vanished, swallowed by freezing wind and lashing rain. Thunder cracked overhead, lightning illuminating a nightmare of chaos.
She stood on the deck of a ship tossed violently by towering waves. The sea roared like a living beast. Men screamed, steel clashed, and bodies fell into the churning black water. Ironborn longships loomed like predators in the storm, but something far worse rose from the depths.
A monstrous kraken, impossibly massive, its tentacles thicker than siege towers, slammed down onto ships as if they were toys.
And there, standing alone on the prow of the lead vessel, was her son.
He wore the armor he had forged himself, white as fresh snow, etched with glowing runes, and the beautiful crimson cape she had sewn for him with her own hands billowed wildly against the storm wind. His sword was raised high, lightning crackling along the blade as he faced the colossal beast staring down at him with ancient, malevolent eyes.
Cersei's heart clenched and twisted in pure terror at the sight.
"NO!" she tried to scream, but the wind stole her voice.
Her son did not turn. He only raised his sword higher, divine eyes glowing with fierce determination.
Cersei lunged forward, reaching desperately for him—
—and woke with a gasp, bolting upright in her bed.
Sweat soaked her nightgown. Her chest heaved, her heart hammering against her ribs as if it wanted to break free. The warm chambers were back, quiet and safe, the morning light now harsher against her tear-streaked face.
But the image of her son standing alone against that impossible monster refused to fade.
She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, choking back a sob.
"Come back…" she whispered into the empty room, voice breaking. "Please… come back to me."
Cersei closed her eyes, but all she could see was lightning, crimson cloth whipping in the storm, and the kraken rising from the black sea.
She did not sleep again that night, the images of the nightmare never leaving her.
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[Tyra Lannister]
Tyra woke to the softness of a warm bed as she slowly opened her eyes.
It was not the rough straw bedding she was accustomed to whenever she traveled, nor the discomfort of her chambers back at the Rock.
This was a high-quality, comfortable warmth only a noble could have and afford.
Soft furs draped over her small frame, heavy enough to trap heat without smothering her. Beneath her was a mattress so plush she nearly sank into it. The air smelled expensive, faint traces of lavender, burning cedarwood, and clean linen lingering around her.
For one blissful moment, she simply lay there in confusion, wondering what had happened and how she got here. Then, pain arrived as she quickly became aware of the exhaustion her body was going through when she tried to move.
A dull ache pulsed behind her eyes, her limbs heavy and weak as though someone had drained the strength from her bones. Her throat felt painfully dry, each breath scraping against it.
Tyra groaned softly and shifted beneath the blankets, immediately regretting it when another wave of exhaustion rolled through her body anew.
"…Gods," she rasped weakly. This was worse than any morning hangovers after drinking a bad day away. "What in the seven hells happened?"
As if waiting for her to ask, the memories quickly returned in pieces.
How her nephew accepted her with a smile as he carried her off in his arms when they first met, the forest they went to while he happily answered her many questions, and then him showing her and Jaina the impossible…
Magic.
Her heart skipped as she looked down at her trembling hands.
She remembered the feeling most of all.
That impossible sensation of power dancing through her fingers. The way the water obeyed her thoughts as she shaped it to her will. For those few precious moments, she had forgotten herself entirely.
Forgotten her twisted and damaged body.
Forgotten the pity and pain.
Forgotten she was Tyra Lannister, the malformed embarrassment of the Lannister family, the monster who killed Lady Lannister, and her Father's greatest shame.
For the first time in her life… she did not feel small.
For the first time in her life, she felt as though the world and the gods themselves could no longer force her to bow to the life they gave her.
…But then the memory returned, of herself falling to her knees before her nephew, begging with tears in her eyes as the intoxicating rush of power surging through her body vanished like smoke in the wind, leaving her feeling empty.
Tyra winced and dragged a hand over her disfigured face. A deep blush of red covered her usually pale face as hot embarrassment coursed through her.
Gods, she must have looked an utter fool before him.
After trying so desperately to carry herself with confidence, to appear worthy of being called his aunt despite the disfigurement she had spent her entire life being judged for, she had shattered before his very eyes in the most pitiful way imaginable.
What must her nephew think of her now after witnessing something so pathetic?
The thought of him looking at her the same way all others did made the pit in her stomach twist painfully. Before she could sink further into her dark thoughts, the door to the chamber suddenly opened.
Tyra turned weakly toward the sound just as Jaina stepped inside carrying a silver tray with a goblet and a steaming cloth. The moment her sister saw her awake, the deep frown that rested on her face vanished as if it had never been there.
"Tyra!" Relief flooded Jaina's expression so quickly it almost hurt to witness.
She crossed the room in hurried strides, nearly spilling the water in her haste before setting the tray aside and kneeling beside the bed.
"Thank the Seven!" Jaina breathed out shakily as her sister's hands grabbed her own. "I thought you would never wake! You frightened me half to death!"
Tyra blinked sluggishly as Jaina carefully helped her sit upright against the pillows before pressing the cup into her hands.
"Drink," Jaina ordered softly as she helped her bring the cup to her lips.
Tyra obeyed without complaint as she drank from the cup. The water was cool and fresh against her throat, and she nearly moaned from relief as she drank greedily.
"Slowly," Jaina warned, one hand steady against her shoulder. "You'll make yourself sick if you drink too fast."
Tyra ignored that advice entirely and drained nearly half the cup before finally lowering it with a weak sigh of relief.
Jaina fussed over her immediately after, brushing damp strands of pale blonde hair from her face while checking her forehead as though Tyra were still a child.
"You collapsed without warning," Jaina scolded quietly, though fear still lingered beneath the irritation. "You've been unconscious for almost three days! I was worried half to death! Afraid you would never wake! If it wasn't for the prince, I would've…"
Her voice tightened slightly, unable to finish what she was about to say. It didn't need to be said that her sister would have done something drastic if left alone.
Tyra looked away, unable to meet her sister's eyes, as she mouthed a quiet apology.
"…Sorry."
Jaina sighed softly at that mumbled apology, shaking her head. "You have nothing to apologize for."
Tyra very much felt she did; the shame crept back into her chest as memories of her behavior returned more clearly. The begging. The clear desperation in her voice. The way she had clung to the prince's magic like a starving dog offered scraps.
Gods!
She squeezed the cup more tightly at the shameful memory, causing her sister to look down at her in concern.
"I made an utter fool of myself," she muttered bitterly.
Jaina frowned upon hearing her words and immediately disagreed. Her sister kneeled beside her and took her hands into her own.
"Nonsense, anyone would have done the sa—"
"I practically threw myself at him!" Tyra laughed weakly, cutting her sister off, though there was no humor in it. "Seven hells, I sounded so fucking desperate. Like a beggar groveling for coins on a dirty street corner."
"You were overwhelmed," Jaina replied firmly, her lips tight. "I am more than sure the prince will not think less of you because of it."
Tyra doubted that, her eyes unable to help but stare at her sister enviously. The way her face was perfectly shaped and visible for all to see, the way her eyes matched the other, and the way she still looked down on her even as she knelt.
Most people likely would not have lost control of themselves; most would've been able to hold themselves back and maintain their dignity, but then again… Most people were not her.
Silence lingered for a few moments before Tyra suddenly stiffened. Her mismatched eyes widened behind her hair as she looked around despite knowing there was no one else in the room.
"…Where is he?" The question escaped faster than she intended.
Jaina's expression changed at once; the softness faded into something more hesitant, as though she was thinking of the right answer to say. Tyra immediately noticed, knowing her sister well enough to be able to notice her tells. As the second passed, it became increasingly clear her sister was trying to come up with a lie but was failing miserably.
"...The prince has not returned to his chambers since bringing you back."
Jaina sat on the edge of the bed, still holding her sister's small hands, her thumbs gently stroking the backs of Tyra's knuckles in a soothing rhythm.
"Ever since we brought you back, the prince has barely been seen for three days," Jaina said softly, her voice low and careful as she talked, "He went straight to the forge the same night and has been locked inside ever since. No one knows what he's been doing, not the servants, not I, not even his father. The king has been stomping around, growling that his boy has vanished into 'that damn smithy' and won't come out for anything. Servants have tried bringing him food and water, but he only takes what's left at the door, allowing none to pass beyond the door ."
Tyra's mismatched eyes darkened as dark thoughts flooded her mind, heavy and familiar. Her shoulders curled inward, the familiar shame wrapping around her like chains. She opened her mouth to speak, to take the blame, but before any words could leave her, a firm knock sounded at the door.
Both sisters turned to the entrance, and without waiting for permission, the heavy oak door slowly swung inward. Tyra's gaze remained dull and unfocused, uncaring about who entered. Jaina, however, immediately sharpened into a heated glare.
Neither expected who would step through as their eyes widened in surprise.
"...Y-Your Grace?" Tyra barely mumbled, sitting up straight at the sight of her nephew.
The prince stepped inside, wearing casual clothing, though the crimson cape was still on his back, and in one hand, he carried something carefully wrapped in rich red silk.
He paused mid-step when he saw Jaina sitting there, clearly not expecting her, but his gaze quickly shifted to Tyra. The moment his hidden eyes met hers, a bright, genuine smile broke across his face, impossibly warm.
"You're awake!" he said, his voice filled with joy and relief.
Tyra could only look down, unable to meet that smile. Heat flooded her disfigured cheeks. She felt exposed, small, and utterly unworthy of the kindness radiating from him.
Before she could shrink further into herself, the prince crossed the room in quick strides and surprised her completely by pulling her into a tight, careful hug. His arms were strong but gentle, mindful of her frailty, as he held her against his chest like something precious.
"I'm so glad you're all right," he murmured against the top of her head, the words warm and sincere. "You had me worried for a second there."
Tyra froze in his embrace, her small body rigid with shock. No one but her sister had ever held her like this, certainly not with such open affection. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes again, but this time they were different. Not from shame, but from something far gentler and far more overwhelming.
Jaina watched the scene with soft eyes, a small, relieved smile tugging at her lips as she quietly stepped back to give them a moment.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Tyra allowed herself to lean into the hug, just a little.
The prince's warmth, the steady beat of his heart against her head, and the simple, unguarded happiness in his voice chased away the darkest edges of her thoughts. The prince held her close for a long moment. When he finally pulled back, his expression was soft with regret.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, voice sincere. "I shouldn't have let you push yourself so hard. I knew it was your first time using magic, and I didn't stop you soon enough. That was my fault."
Tyra blinked up at him in genuine confusion, her mismatched eyes wide.
"You… have nothing to apologize for," she started, the words tumbling out in a rush. "If anyone should be sorry, it's me. I—"
Before she could finish, the prince gently placed a finger against her lips, silencing her with a small, warm smile. He reached beside the bed and lifted the object he had brought with him, the item carefully wrapped in rich red silk.
"I made you something," he said, almost shyly. "As an apology… and as a gift. I hope you like it."
With careful fingers, he unwrapped the silk, revealing what lay within.
Tyra's breath caught in her throat. Jaina, still standing nearby, let out a soft gasp of awe.
It was a wand, slender, elegant, and impossibly beautiful. Forged from a gleaming white metal that seemed to shimmer with its own inner light, the shaft was etched with intricate, glowing runes that pulsed faintly like living constellations.
At its tip and along its length were set flawless jewels, sapphires the exact shade of the prince's divine eyes, emeralds that caught the light like captured forests, and small diamonds that sparkled like stars.
The entire piece hummed with quiet, contained power, warm and welcoming rather than overwhelming.
Tyra stared, utterly speechless, her small hands trembling as she reached out to touch it. The moment her fingers brushed the metal, a gentle wave of energy flowed into her, familiar, like the flakes she had touched in the forest, but refined, stable, and perfectly attuned.
"It's… for me?" she whispered, voice cracking with disbelief. Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time they were born of something far sweeter than shame. "You made this… for me?"
The prince nodded, smiling at her with that handsome face of his. "It should help you use the flakes more safely. It stores them, guides them, and keeps you from overexerting like before. I made it so you can practice whenever you want, grow flowers, shape water, move earth… whatever you like."
Tyra clutched the wand to her chest like the most precious treasure in the world, her disfigured face lighting up with a joy so pure it made Jaina's heart ache.
She looked up at her nephew, tears slipping freely down her cheeks, and whispered the only words she could manage.
"Thank you… My prince."
The prince smiled warmly at Tyra, watching the way she clutched the wand to her chest like it was the most precious thing in the world. For a moment, the weight of the war and everything else felt distant.
Then he gently stood, brushing a hand over her hair once before turning to Jaina.
"We need to go," he said quietly, voice urgent.
Jaina blinked, confusion flickering across her face. "Go? My prince, my sister only just woken—"
The prince's expression turned grave as he shook his head. "My father and the lords are ready to make a move against the Ironborn and are finalizing where to attack. We can't delay any longer than we already have waiting for our forces to gather."
Tyra stiffened in the bed, her small hands tightening around the new wand until her knuckles turned white. The warmth of the gift, the joy of the moment, shattered in an instant as her father's cold voice echoed in her memory.
You will watch him. Keep him safe. Contained. Whatever it takes.
Her mismatched eyes darted between her sister and the prince, panic rising in her chest. She had been ordered to stay close, to distract, to protect the Lannister legacy through him. And now he was leaving, marching straight into danger while she lay here weak and useless.
The prince noticed her sudden tension and offered a gentle smile. "Rest, Aunt Tyra. I'll come check on you later. I'll show you how to use the wand when I do."
Before she could protest or find the words to stop him, he turned and strode toward the door, Jaina falling in step beside him with one last worried glance back at her sister.
"Jaime! Can you do me a favor?"
Her sister and the prince stopped just as they were about to leave and turned to her. "Of course, what do you need of me?"
"...Can you call the maester before you go?"
Guilt consumed her as Jaina, and the prince looked at her with concerned and worried eyes.
"Of course, I'll have them sent to you in a moment. Rest well; we'll return soon." Her sister and nephew smiled at her, causing the guilt to grow even worse.
The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Tyra alone in the lavish chamber. She stared at the wand in her hands, the beautiful gift now feeling like both a treasure and a chain.
Her father's command weighed heavier than ever.