Shows [Reverse Harem x Reader]

Fifty-Five

You got poisoned and survived, unaware that Cersei is behind it, because for you, it feels odd that a mother like Cersei, who is obsessed with children, would poison her own daughter.

However, it is strange that you indeed do get poisoned a day before heading off on the journey, but do not die.

Robert still insisted on your traveling, claiming that you had survived a brutal poisoning; therefore, you could survive the journey to the north.

The journey North was supposed to kill you.

You were certain of it during the first week, when every jolt of the carriage sent fire through your still-healing shoulder.

When nightmares painted the inside of the wheelhouse with visions of ice and blood.

You woke up gasping in the night, your mother's cool hands pressing a damp cloth to your forehead while she murmured reassurances that sounded almost genuine.

"Hush, sweetling," Cersei had whispered, her fingers stroking your sweat-dampened hair. "You're stronger than this. You must be stronger than this."

By the second week, your fever had broken, and you were strong enough to ride on horseback for short stretches.

Robert had been surprisingly insistent about it, appearing at your wheelhouse each morning with that gruff concern that seemed so at odds with the drunken king everyone else saw.

"Fresh air will do you good," he had declared, ignoring Cersei's protests.

"Can't have you arriving at Winterfell looking like a corpse. Ned would think I'd abused you."

The irony of that statement, coming from Robert Baratheon, was not lost on you.

He is acting like having your ill child go on a journey is not abuse.

So, you rode behind Jaime as your mother insisted, fearing you would fall.

You were wrapped in furs, despite the late summer heat, your shoulder aching with every stride, but your head was finally clear.

Joffrey kept his distance, though you caught him watching you sometimes with an unreadable expression.

"You're brooding again," he said without turning his head. "I can feel it radiating off you like heat from a forge."

"I'm not brooding. I'm thinking."

"Dangerous pastime for a Lannister woman," Jaime replied, his tone light and mocking.

You shifted slightly, wincing as your shoulder protested. "I just wish to get this over with, without dying, also..."

Tilting your head at him innocently.

"I'm a Baratheon"

Jaime's shoulders stiffened beneath the white cloak, though his hands remained steady on the reins.

When he spoke, his voice was carefully controlled, each word is thought about with precision.

"A Baratheon," he repeated, and there was something sharp in his tone now, like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath.

"Of course. What else would you be?"

You smiled, and leaned forward just enough that your words would carry to his ear alone.

Despite you both being behind everyone.

"What else indeed, Uncle? Though I confess, I have always thought it curious how little I resemble our king. Black hair, they say, runs true in Baratheon blood. Strong as steel, dark as night." You paused, letting the words hang between you.