AN: See what you will… inside a woman's head. Especially a woman named Cersei Lannister.
CERSEI
The Red Keep's gardens were in full bloom, their fragrant air providing a welcome respite from the stifling formality of the queen's solar. Cersei Lannister walked the stone paths with deliberate grace, her emerald silk gown—the finest from the weavers of Lannisport—swishing softly against the carefully cultivated flowerbeds. At thirteen, she had blossomed into a beauty that turned heads throughout the court, a fact she noted with private satisfaction each time lords and knights paused their conversations to watch her pass.
Three years had passed since her first visit to King's Landing. She had returned to Casterly Rock then with a head full of observations and a heart filled with ambition, spending the intervening years enduring the tedious lessons her father deemed necessary for her future role. Now she was back at court for an extended stay, and this time, she was determined to be noticed.
A servant girl hurried past, carrying fresh linens toward the royal apartments. Cersei frowned at the girl's failure to properly acknowledge her with appropriate deference. At Casterly Rock, the servants knew better than to move in the presence of a Lannister without showing proper respect. King's Landing's household staff clearly needed better training.
"Lady Cersei," a voice called from behind her. "Your expression suggests someone has committed a grave offense against House Lannister. Has the Master of Coin challenged your father's wealth?"
She turned, allowing a bright smile to replace her frown. Prince Thalor Targaryen approached along the garden path, his silver-gold hair caught in a simple leather tie, his unusual green eyes—so similar to her own in color if not in shape—regarding her with amused interest.
At thirteen himself, the second son of King Aerys had grown taller since her last visit, though he remained more slender than his older brother. His features had begun maturing from boyish softness toward the distinctive Targaryen beauty, tempered by a thoughtfulness that set him apart from others their age. He wore simpler clothing than she considered appropriate for a prince, well-made but lacking the gold embroidery and jewels his station deserved.
"Your Highness," she curtseyed perfectly, her movements practiced to emphasize both grace and the golden highlights in her hair as it caught the sunlight. "A minor irritation, nothing more. Though at Casterly Rock, servants know to stop and bow when a noble passes."
"Different household, different customs," Thalor replied with a slight shrug that Cersei found both intriguing and mildly irritating. Most princes would share her indignation at servants' lack of proper deference. "The Red Keep's staff prioritize efficiency over ceremony, particularly when delivering items to the royal family."
"Perhaps," Cersei conceded, though she privately disagreed. Proper hierarchy should be maintained at all times—her father had been quite clear on this point. "Though I believe respect and efficiency need not be mutually exclusive."
"A fair assessment," Thalor acknowledged, falling into step beside her as she resumed her walk. His immediate willingness to join her sent a pleasant flutter through her chest—attention from the Dragon Prince was quickly becoming a coveted commodity among the noble ladies at court. "Were you headed somewhere specific, or simply enjoying the gardens?"
"I find walking helps organize my thoughts," Cersei replied, subtly adjusting her pace to extend their time together. "After observing yesterday's Small Council meeting, I have much to consider."
"You were present at the council?" Thalor's eyebrows rose in evident surprise, gratifying Cersei with his attention.
"Not officially," she clarified, pleased to have captured his interest so quickly. "But my father sometimes positions me as a cupbearer during sessions he expects to be particularly significant. It allows me to observe while remaining essentially invisible to most participants." She emphasized the last part with a knowing smile, suggesting her own cleverness at gleaning information others might miss.
"Clever," Thalor nodded appreciatively. "Lord Tywin prepares you for future responsibilities through direct observation rather than merely theoretical instruction. What caught your attention during the session?"
Cersei considered how much to reveal. Her father had warned her repeatedly about appearing too overtly ambitious, particularly around the royal family. Yet Thalor's attention was focused entirely on her now, his green eyes showing genuine interest in her response. The sensation was intoxicating—having a prince, especially one with a dragon, hanging on her words.
"The tension between your father and Lord Staunton was particularly fascinating," she said, deliberately choosing words that would showcase her political awareness. "The Master of Laws clearly fears the precedent set by your dragonback interventions in local matters, while the king sees only the demonstration of renewed Targaryen power."
She watched Thalor's reaction carefully, rewarded by his expression of surprise and approval. He looked genuinely impressed, and Cersei felt a surge of satisfaction far more potent than what she typically experienced when manipulating the simple boys at Casterly Rock with her beauty alone.
"An astute observation," Thalor acknowledged. "Most adults at court missed that undercurrent entirely, focusing instead on the more obvious friction between my father and yours regarding taxation of Lannisport shipping."
They turned down a less frequented path, one that led toward a small stone courtyard featuring a delicately carved fountain.
"I trained myself to look beyond the obvious," she explained, allowing a hint of pride to color her tone. "At Casterly Rock, I would often listen outside my father's solar when he met with bannermen. While other girls practiced needlework, I studied power—who has it, how they use it, how they keep it." She lifted her chin slightly. "My father doesn't know, of course. He thinks I learned politics solely from his direct lessons."
This minor rebellion against her father's authority felt deliciously rebellious to share, particularly with a prince. Thalor's expression suggested he found her initiative impressive rather than inappropriate, further encouraging her candor.
"Impressive self-directed education," he commented. "Though I imagine Lord Tywin would be both displeased and secretly proud if he knew."
"He would never admit the pride," Cersei said with a light laugh. "Father believes women should understand politics but not participate too visibly. A position I find increasingly frustrating." She settled onto a stone bench near the fountain, arranging her skirts to display their rich fabric to best advantage while ensuring Thalor had an optimal view of her profile.
"An outdated perspective," Thalor replied, sitting beside her—though Cersei noted with mild disappointment that he maintained a properly respectful distance. "Some of the most effective political minds I've encountered belong to women. My mother navigates court currents with remarkable skill, though few recognize her influence because she exercises it subtly."
"Queen Rhaella is kind," Cersei acknowledged, "but I aspire to more direct impact." She turned slightly toward Thalor, allowing their eyes to meet directly. "Why should men alone determine the realm's future when women often see what they miss? Take yesterday's council—not one member noted the connection between the Dornish trade proposal and the recent Tyroshi shipping disputes, yet the relationship was obvious to me within moments."
"You noted that connection?" Thalor looked genuinely surprised. "Even my brother missed it, and Rhaegar typically excels at identifying such patterns."
His evident admiration sent another thrill of satisfaction through Cersei. Surpassing the crown prince in political acumen, even in this small way, felt like a personal triumph—especially with Thalor as witness to her cleverness.
"It was simple enough once you understand Dornish market strategies," she explained, embellishing her analysis with details she had overheard from her father's discussions with Lannisport merchants. She noted with growing pleasure how Thalor leaned forward slightly, his full attention focused on her words.
This was power of a different sort than she usually wielded. At Casterly Rock, boys stammered and blushed in her presence, falling over themselves to earn a smile or compliment. But their attention was to her beauty, not her mind. Thalor seemed genuinely interested in her thoughts, finding her intelligence more compelling than her perfect golden hair or emerald eyes.
It was, Cersei decided, even more intoxicating than the superficial admiration she typically inspired.
"You have a remarkable grasp of trade dynamics," Thalor observed when she finished her analysis. "Most noble ladies consider such matters tediously beneath their attention."
"Most noble ladies content themselves with influencing fashion and managing household servants," Cersei replied with poorly concealed disdain.
"I intend to shape kingdoms." I intend to be a Queen.
The moment the words left her mouth, Cersei worried she had overreached—revealed too much ambition too directly. Her father had repeatedly warned her about allowing her true aspirations to show so plainly. Yet rather than withdraw or show disapproval, Thalor's expression brightened with what appeared to be genuine appreciation.
"An admirable goal," he said. "And one that aligns with some of my own aspirations, though perhaps from a different angle. I seek to reshape the physical infrastructure of the Seven Kingdoms—water systems, roads, defense structures—while you clearly have talent for its political architecture."
"We would make quite the partnership," Cersei suggested boldly, then immediately softened the statement with a light laugh to make it seem more jest than proposition. Still, she watched Thalor carefully for his reaction, pleased when he appeared to consider the idea rather than dismiss it outright.
"An interesting proposition," he replied thoughtfully. "Complementary strengths allied toward common purposes could indeed prove formidable."
Before Cersei could pursue this promising direction further, a shadow passed overhead—Nightfury circling above the gardens, his distinctive silhouette immediately recognizable. Thalor glanced upward, a subtle shift in his attention that Cersei found irrationally irritating despite its brevity.
"He seems more magnificent each time I see him," she said quickly, reclaiming Thalor's focus. Though she had been introduced to Nightfury during her previous visit to court, that meeting had been brief and formal—nothing like the private interactions she knew Thalor sometimes granted to those in his inner circle. "I've been hoping for another opportunity to see him up close since returning to court."
The hint was far from subtle, but Cersei had observed how other girls openly pestered the prince for dragon access without success. Perhaps a more direct approach, with the pretense of renewing a previous acquaintance rather than requesting a first introduction, would yield better results.
"Nightfury remembers you," Thalor replied with a smile that suggested he had recognized her maneuver. "He mentioned your confidence during your first meeting. Most people approach him with more trepidation."
"Has he?" Cersei couldn't keep the pleasure from her voice. Being remembered favorably by the dragon would elevate her status among the court ladies immeasurably. "I'm flattered by his recall. Though I'd love the opportunity for a longer interaction than our brief introduction allowed."
"That could be arranged," Thalor said, his tone casual but his eyes evaluating her reaction. "He's particularly active after morning flights, which we typically complete before most of the court awakens."
The invitation was clear, if indirect. Cersei immediately calculated the implications—a private meeting, early morning, away from the jealous eyes of other noble girls who had been fruitlessly seeking extended dragon time for weeks or months. It represented not just access to the magnificent creature, but visible evidence of Thalor's particular favor.
"I would be honored," she replied, carefully moderating her voice to hide the depth of her enthusiasm. "Though my septa may require convincing regarding the propriety of early morning meetings."
"I'm sure appropriate chaperonage could be arranged," Thalor assured her. "Perhaps your father would permit Ser Kevan to attend, or one of the Kingsguard could serve as formal witness."
Cersei nodded agreement, though privately she hoped for a less attentive chaperone. The idea of having Thalor's undivided attention, with only his dragon as company and minimal oversight from adults, appealed to her immensely.
Their conversation continued, flowing from court politics to broader discussions of governance philosophy. Throughout, Cersei carefully maintained Thalor's engagement—asking insightful questions about his projects, relating them to Lannister concerns in ways that showcased her knowledge of her family's holdings, occasionally allowing their hands to nearly touch on the stone bench between them. Each time Thalor's attention seemed to drift, she introduced a new topic or perspective designed to recapture his interest.
It was an exhausting but exhilarating performance, one that combined her natural intelligence with carefully calculated appeals to Thalor's known interests. By the time a royal page appeared to summon the prince to a meeting with master builders, Cersei felt confident she had made a significant impression.
"I've enjoyed our conversation immensely," Thalor told her as they prepared to part ways. "Your perspectives on governance are refreshingly practical compared to the theoretical abstractions most courtiers offer."
"Perhaps we could continue our discussion tomorrow?" Cersei suggested, unwilling to relinquish this promising connection so quickly. "I have thoughts about your water management system for Lannisport harbor that might address some of the merchant guild objections my father mentioned."
"I'd welcome that input," Thalor agreed readily, to Cersei's private delight. "The western guild structures differ considerably from those in King's Landing, and local knowledge would be invaluable to ensuring proper integration."
As they said their farewells and Thalor departed with the page, Cersei remained on the bench by the fountain, mentally reviewing the interaction with critical assessment. She had successfully captured and maintained the Dragon Prince's attention, distinguished herself from the other noble girls at court through substantive conversation rather than merely flirtatious overtures, and secured what amounted to an invitation for continued private discussions.
All in all, a productive morning's work.
As she finally rose to prepare for her afternoon obligations with the queen, Cersei allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. Where other girls at court had failed to penetrate beyond formal courtesies with the increasingly important second prince, she had established what appeared to be genuine rapport within weeks of her arrival. Her father would be pleased when she reported this development—though perhaps she would leave out some of the more personal elements of their connection.
After all, Lord Tywin had instructed her to cultivate relationships with both Targaryen princes. He needn't know yet that she found the dragon rider significantly more intriguing than his crown-wearing brother.
—-
"He takes you to his workshop?" Jaime's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "The sacred dragon lair that most lords and ladies would sacrifice their favorite child just to glimpse inside?"
"Twice now," Cersei confirmed, unable to keep the smug satisfaction from her voice. "And tomorrow I'm spending an extended morning with Nightfury—a far more intimate setting than the brief introduction most nobles receive."
They were walking along the battlements of the Red Keep, using the pretense of enjoying the sea view to secure a rare moment of privacy. Jaime had arrived from Casterly Rock the previous day, ostensibly to deliver important documents from their father but really, Cersei suspected, to check on her progress at court. Though only thirteen, Jaime already demonstrated the protective instincts that would define him as a man—particularly where his twin was concerned.
"The Dragon Prince appears quite taken with you," Jaime observed, a complicated emotion flashing across his handsome features. "Father will be pleased, though he expected your primary focus to remain on Prince Rhaegar."
"I maintain appropriate interactions with both princes," Cersei replied with a dismissive wave. "But Rhaegar is perpetually surrounded by admirers or buried in his books and harp. Thalor offers more interesting conversation and unique opportunities." She couldn't resist adding, "None of the other noble girls have visited his workshop twice, let alone been invited for extended time with his dragon."
"And I'm sure that has nothing to do with your interest," Jaime said dryly. "The exclusive access rather than the prince himself."
Cersei shot her twin an irritated glance. "The exclusivity merely confirms his discernment. Unlike his brother, who treats all noble daughters with the same distant courtesy, Thalor recognizes quality when he encounters it."
"And that quality just happens to have golden hair and emerald eyes?" Jaime suggested with the teasing familiarity only he could get away with.
"My beauty may capture initial attention," Cersei acknowledged without false modesty, "but it's my mind that maintains his interest. We discuss governance structures, trade efficiency, water management systems—subjects most girls find tediously dull but which actually shape the realm's future."
"Ah yes, the famously riveting topic of water management," Jaime laughed. "Truly the foundation of great romances throughout history."
"It's not about romance," Cersei snapped, though a flush crept up her neck that suggested the topic might not be entirely political for her. "It's about influence. The Dragon Prince grows more important each month as Nightfury continues to mature. His interventions from dragonback have made him a hero to commoners across the kingdom. Having his particular favor positions House Lannister advantageously regardless of how court politics evolve."
Jaime studied her with unsettling perception. "You've developed a genuine fondness for him," he observed, surprise evident in his tone. "Not just calculated interest, but actual preference."
"Don't be ridiculous," Cersei protested, though with less conviction than she intended. "He's a useful connection, nothing more."
"Is that why you've mentioned him seventeen times since we began our walk?" Jaime asked innocently. "And why your eyes brighten every time you speak his name? For someone focused solely on political advantage, you seem remarkably enthusiastic about his personal qualities."
Cersei stopped walking, turning to face her twin with irritation. "I am cultivating a valuable alliance as Father instructed. If I happen to find Prince Thalor's company less tedious than most at court, that merely makes the task more tolerable."
"Of course," Jaime agreed with exaggerated solemnity, though his eyes danced with amusement. "Just as you find his silver-gold hair and unusual green eyes purely politically significant, I'm sure."
"He's reasonably attractive," Cersei admitted reluctantly. "Though not as handsome as you," she added, offering the familiar compliment that had always soothed Jaime's occasional jealousy in the past.
This time, however, her twin merely raised an eyebrow. "Such flattery, sister. Yet somehow I doubt you've counted how many times Prince Thalor mentions water management during your fascinating conversations, the way you once tallied my practice sword strikes in the training yard."
The observation struck uncomfortably close to truth. Cersei had indeed found herself hanging on Thalor's words during their discussions, noting small details about his preferences and expressions that had nothing to do with political calculation. The way his eyes lit up when describing a particularly elegant engineering solution. How he absently tucked loose strands of silver-gold hair behind his ear when concentrating. The surprising calluses on his hands from regular work with tools—so unlike the soft palms of most noblemen.
"You're being absurd," she declared, resuming their walk with quickened pace. "My interest in Prince Thalor is exactly what Father expected when sending me to court—the cultivation of advantageous royal connections."
"Of course," Jaime agreed, matching her stride. "And I'm sure you've shown equal enthusiasm for cultivating Prince Rhaegar's friendship? The actual heir to the throne?"
Cersei's silence was answer enough.
"That's what I thought," Jaime said, a strange note in his voice that Cersei couldn't quite identify—something between resignation and relief. "The mighty Cersei Lannister, who once declared she would settle for nothing less than being queen, now seemingly content with the second son and his overgrown lizard."
"Nightfury is not a lizard," Cersei corrected sharply, then immediately regretted the defensiveness in her tone. "And being queen isn't the only path to power. The Dragon Prince offers different but equally valuable advantages."
"Yes, I've heard as much in tavern songs," Jaime commented. "'The Silver Prince and Golden Maid, astride the midnight dragon...'" He hummed a few bars of what was apparently a popular melody among the smallfolk.
"There are songs?" Cersei couldn't keep the pleased surprise from her voice. "About Thalor and... a golden-haired woman?"
Jaime laughed outright at her transparent interest. "Not specifically about you, sister. It's a romantic fancy some singer invented—the dragon prince finding love with a golden-haired beauty. Though I suppose you could claim inspiration if things continue in their current direction."
The idea sent an unexpected thrill through Cersei—not just songs about being queen someday, as she had always imagined, but ballads celebrating her specific pairing with the Dragon Prince. It painted a different but equally appealing picture of future glory: not merely standing beside a throne, but soaring above the realm on dragonback, feared and adored in equal measure.
"What else do these songs say?" she asked, trying and failing to sound merely casually interested.
"Mostly romantic nonsense," Jaime replied with a shrug. "Flying through storms together, defending the innocent, the usual heroic drivel commoners enjoy. Though some versions suggest the golden maid teaches the dragon prince about true power, harnessing his abilities for greater glory."
Cersei couldn't suppress a smile at that particular detail. It aligned perfectly with how she increasingly saw her potential relationship with Thalor—her political acumen guiding his practical innovations and dragon-based power toward appropriately ambitious goals.
"You're enjoying this far too much," Jaime observed, something hardening in his expression. "I remember when it was you and me against the world, sister. Now you dream of dragon princes and midnight flights."
"Don't be dramatic, Jaime," Cersei replied, though a hint of guilt colored her tone. "Nothing has changed between us. We came into this world together, and that bond remains regardless of what alliances or marriages eventually occur."
Yet even as she spoke the familiar reassurance, Cersei recognized its partial falsehood. Something had changed in how she related to her twin—a subtle but significant shift in priorities and emotional investment. Where once she had seen Jaime as her other half, a masculine extension of herself navigating parts of the world denied to her as a girl, she now recognized him as somewhat separate from her expanding ambitions.
More surprisingly, she realized that her feelings toward Jaime had shifted in ways she hadn't fully acknowledged until his jealousy forced the recognition. The intense, somewhat confused emotions that had occasionally surfaced between them in early adolescence—a closeness that sometimes crossed conventional boundaries—had cooled on her side without her consciously noticing the change.
The reason was embarrassingly clear now that Jaime had pointed it out: her growing preoccupation with Prince Thalor had redirected emotional energies previously focused exclusively on her twin. The discovery was simultaneously liberating and somewhat guilt-inducing.
"You like him," Jaime said quietly, no longer teasing but making a simple observation. "Not just as a political alliance or path to power. You genuinely like the Dragon Prince himself."
Cersei considered denying it, then sighed in resignation. Jaime knew her too well for such deceptions to succeed. "He's... interesting," she admitted reluctantly. "Different from what I expected. He sees things most miss, thinks beyond traditional approaches, treats me as if my thoughts actually matter rather than merely humoring a pretty girl."
"And he has a dragon," Jaime added, a hint of bitterness in his tone. "Which certainly doesn't hurt his appeal."
"The dragon is part of who he is," Cersei replied thoughtfully. "Not separate from him the way a crown is separate from a king. Nightfury extends Thalor's capabilities, but more importantly, reflects his character—precise rather than merely destructive, intelligent rather than simply powerful."
"You sound half in love with the beast as well as its master," Jaime observed, studying his sister with new understanding. "You don't just see Prince Thalor as a political alliance anymore, do you? You see yourself beside him, in the sky."
The observation struck deeper than Cersei expected, articulating a vision that had been forming in her subconscious over the past weeks but which she had not yet fully acknowledged even to herself.
In her initial calculations upon returning to court, Thalor had represented merely an alternative path to power should Rhaegar prove inaccessible—the second-best option, valuable primarily for his dragon and growing popularity among the common folk. But as their conversations had deepened and her understanding of his character and vision had expanded, something had shifted in her perspective.
She had begun to see possibilities beyond merely being queen to a king—conventional power channeled through a husband's position and limited by a wife's traditional constraints. To stand beside the Dragon Prince, potentially to fly beside him...
"It would be glorious," she said softly, not entirely meaning to speak aloud. "To see the world from above, unbound by the limitations that constrain everyone else. To have songs written about our journeys together, to be remembered throughout history not merely as someone's wife but as a dragonrider's equal."
"And what does Father say about this revised ambition?" Jaime asked, practicality reasserting itself. "His plans have always centered on you becoming Rhaegar's queen."
Cersei tossed her golden hair dismissively. "Father's plans adapt to changing circumstances. When he realizes the potential advantages of an alliance with the Dragon Prince specifically, he'll adjust his expectations accordingly."
Jaime didn't look convinced, but he nodded acceptance of her assessment. "Just remember who you are," he said, his tone softening. "A lioness of Casterly Rock. Whether you eventually stand beside a crown prince, a dragon prince, or anyone else, don't lose yourself in these new dreams."
Later that evening, preparing for a formal dinner where both Targaryen princes would be present, Cersei found herself unusually anxious about her appearance. Her handmaidens had presented three gowns for consideration—a deep crimson with gold embroidery that proudly displayed Lannister colors; a softer green that complemented her eyes; and a midnight blue with silver accents that subtly echoed Targaryen colors without being too obvious.
"The blue," she decided after careful deliberation. "And the silver hair combs rather than the gold."
The senior handmaiden raised an eyebrow slightly but made no comment as she returned the other gowns to the wardrobe. Cersei ignored the silent judgment. Let the woman think what she would—court strategy required careful costuming, and tonight's seating would place her within direct view of Prince Thalor during the feast.
"The ribbon is crooked," she snapped at the handmaiden, displeasure finding a convenient target. "And that section needs to be tighter against my head. Do I need to show you how to properly dress a lady's hair?"
The woman murmured apologies, quickly adjusting the coiffure to meet Cersei's exacting standards. Another handmaiden approached with the specially selected jewelry—silver and sapphire pieces borrowed from the Lannister collection specifically for this visit to court.
"Not those earrings," Cersei decided abruptly. "The dragon-shaped ones my father gifted for my nameday."
"My lady, those are gold," the handmaiden pointed out hesitantly. "They would clash with the silver combs and necklace."
"Did I ask for your assessment?" Cersei's tone could have frozen summer wine. "The dragon earrings. Now."
The handmaiden scurried to comply, returning moments later with the requested items—delicate gold dragons with emerald eyes that echoed both Lannister colors and, not coincidentally, the distinctive shade of Nightfury's gaze.
As final preparations were completed and Cersei rose to inspect the full effect, she felt a surge of determination that transcended mere vanity. Tonight she would ensure that Prince Thalor's attention remained primarily focused on her despite the many noble ladies who would undoubtedly seek his notice. She would reference their private conversations in ways that emphasized their special connection while remaining appropriately subtle. She would position herself after the feast to "accidentally" encounter him during the entertainment portion of the evening.
In short, she would employ every strategy at her disposal to advance what had become not just a political objective but a personal desire: to become uniquely important to the Dragon Prince, to establish herself as his natural partner in both governance philosophy and potentially more personal matters.
Her father had sent her to court to secure a royal marriage alliance. While the specific prince might differ from Lord Tywin's original target, Cersei remained confident that her growing connection with Thalor would ultimately meet with paternal approval. After all, dragons had always been the true source of Targaryen power, more so than crowns or thrones.
And this particular Lannister lioness was increasingly certain that her destiny lay not just in conventional queenship, but in the skies above the Seven Kingdoms—beside a prince whose unique vision and capabilities matched her own ambitions for greatness.
The fact that she found him personally appealing was merely a fortunate alignment of political advantage and personal preference. And if her heart beat a little faster when he smiled at her, or her thoughts drifted to him during otherwise tedious court functions, well—that was merely evidence of her commitment to securing this important alliance.
Nothing more.
Or so she told herself as she made final adjustments to her appearance, preparing to capture and hold the Dragon Prince's attention through the long evening ahead.