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CERSEI was livid.
Her father had done her over again. He had pledged her to a marriage with Loras Tyrell, who obviously had his pecker up some lad's ass morning, noon, and night. It didn't take an idiot to know that he laid with men, but Tywin still felt that uniting him with his daughter was right. Joffrey was already to marry Margaery, so how many Tyrells did her father want to unite with their family? He had even made the decision to betroth Tyrion to Sansa Stark, a girl who had gone through too much, but she was the least of Cersei's worries.
Tyrion stared out the balcony of Cersei's chamber. He sighed, "Seven kingdoms, united in fear of Tywin Lannister."
Cersei wanted to laugh. She sat back in her chair, remembering a time when things were better. A time before her visit to Winterfell and Jaime hadn't pushed that Stark boy out of the damned window. "Not the Tyrells," she finally answered. "Soon they won't need to be afraid of him."
Tyrion looked to his sister in agony, but Cersei did not turn. She wanted to cry. Each day, her doubt in finding Jaime worsened and worsened. Her doubt in him loving her was at an indefinite low. Was he even alive? If he came back, he would surely be a new person, and Cersei was scared to meet that person.
"Joffrey will belong to Margaery, the little doe-eyed whore, and so will his children and their children." She said, resting her chin on her fist. "History will be taken from our hands."
Tyrion leaned against the entrance to her balcony, quirking his eyebrow upward. "You may escape, at least. Once Jaime gets back, Ser Loras may come down with a terrible case of sword through bowels."
Cersei frowned before turning in her chair to look out the window. Her heart sunk deep in her chest. "When Jaime gets back, yes. But when do we think that's going to be?" She asked with worry. "He's out there, somewhere."
Cersei's doubt plagued her mind. He had been gone for so long – too long, and without his gentle touch, she'd fear that she would spiral into a depression. Maybe she was depressed; maybe she wasn't. But now she seemed to be doubting everything about her life. Did Jaime still love her? Or had he found someone else?
"Jaime or not," Tyrion sighed, "I'm truly fucked."
•••
It was dark out. The moonlight was shining through Laila's room, one that was more of a prison cell than a bedchamber. The windows were badly boarded up with rotting planks of wood. Laila, actually, was able to tear off the planks to look outside, and she was even surprised at her strength. A couple candles were lit around her, as well as a large fire beside a rocking chair. She had no bed, but it wasn't like she was planning on sleeping.
She supposed that guards were outside her door. There was no use in trying to escape, or flinging herself out the window, for that matter. Laila leaned against the window, allowing the fresh air to blow her wild, dark curls off her shoulder. Laila felt like crying at the predicament she was in – which, by the way, was something she was doing a lot lately. She felt weak; useless.
There was a knock on her door, causing Laila to turn with a furrowed brow. Someone on the outside fiddled with the lock before finally opening the door. A guard stationed outside allowed Jaime Lannister in, and he closed the door at the Kingslayer's glare. Laila didn't move from her place.
Jaime stared at her, not knowing what to say. He had just spoke with Brienne, who promised to owe her a debt. But now that he was standing in front of Laila, he was almost at a loss for words; like he had already said everything he needed to say. In truth, he hadn't said enough. Jaime admired how her olive-toned skin glowed in the light, and her eyes seemed to turn a dark, misty brown. She was still looking at him in confusion, but she was the one to make the first remark.
"I didn't know you were still here." She said, sarcasm laced in her usually happy tone. "Why haven't you left?"
Jaime looked to his shoes. "It didn't feel right to leave yet. I ride out tomorrow."
"Wish I could say the same for myself," she replied, staring out the window once again. "Do you know what they're going to do with me and Brienne?"
He didn't respond, but simply nodded his head. He slowly stepped forward to stand beside Laila at the window. The wind howled around the broken castle, and the outside smelled horrid, but he guessed it was better than feeling cramped in here. "Lord Bolton's traveling tomorrow as well. He's going to the Twins for Edmure Tully's wedding. You and Brienne are to remain here," he spoke softly.
"With Locke and his company of dim-witted men," Laila nodded. "Excellent. Make sure you send Robb Stark and the Tullys my regards, because it doesn't look like I'm getting out of here."
"I owe you a debt."
Laila turned her heard, eyes narrowing at the sight of a slightly cleaner Jaime. "You owe a lot of people a lot of debts. Mine won't change anything."
"Give me something, Laila." He said, his voice almost pleading. "Give me a duty and I'll fulfill it."
She sighed, running a hand through her hair, but that only made it more unkempt. Laila shook her head before viewing back at Jaime. "I want you to come back," she said. "I want you to come back and get us out of here. You owe me and Brienne that."
"I'll do it," he promised. His mouth lifted in a half-smile, one that made Laila want to laugh, but she suppressed it.
Laila stared at Jaime, feeling her heart pound loudly in her chest. She swore that she was breathing heavily, but that might have been her mind pretending. She finally nodded her head at Jaime's promise, gripping the window's ledge tightly. She felt like she should say something, but what?
She opened her mouth to say something, but as she did so, Jaime placed his index finger and thumb on her chin, and kissed her forehead. Laila exhaled in shock, but closed her eyes at his gracefulness. All her insides clashed together, creating a mushy, gross feeling in her stomach. Was she going to throw up? No, she was nervous.
Jaime leaned away, staring at her with confused eyes. "Uh –" He stuttered, practically tripping over his own words. His hand fell at his side. "I don't –"
He was surprised when she chuckled softly. It sounded like bells ringing. "I'll say it once, and I'll say it again," she replied, "you Lannister lions are nothing but a bunch of sinners."
She was grinning at him: a big, heartfelt smile, full of happiness in such a dreary and dark place. A smile like that could light up the night sky. It was a different sight; nothing like his sister's questionable smirk. He liked the difference. He liked the change of scenery, and Laila's smile was all he wanted to see for a long time.
Jaime went for it on impulse. His lips suddenly pressed onto Laila's, his hand twitching with quick desire. His thumb caressed her cheeks, while her own then went to his long, blonde locks. The mush in her stomach exploded, firing right into her beating heart. She could feel it against her chest, and she wanted it to stop, for she knew he could hear it. But Jaime kissed her as if nothing was wrong; as if there wasn't a care in the world; as if she wasn't a prisoner.
He stayed with her for the rest of the night, in her cold, broken room. They sat together by the fire, not speaking, but enjoying the warmth. Jaime remembered the way her hand fit right in his, while Cersei's was always a bit bigger. They fell asleep, leaning against the rocking chair, with Laila's head fitting delicately in the crook of Jaime's neck.
