Everybody Wants to Rule the World

"Would you kill a woman for me if I asked you to?"

He stops in the middle of the act of tracing idle patterns on Cersei's shoulder and stares at her. She looks gorgeous as always – all golden curls and flushed cheeks and soft curves – and for a moment, he feels a momentary pang of regret that come tomorrow, he would have to leave her again and journey back to King's Landing to serve a fat fool in a court populated by idiots and false lords.

He cups her cheek with one hand, and though her eyelids flutter close and she lets out a soft sigh, when she opens her eyes again, the same look he saw a moment ago is still there. It is a determined look - one borne out of lust, but not the kind of lust Jaime is accustomed to seeing. No, this time, what he sees is the reflection of Tywin Lannister staring back at him.

Jaime lets out a sigh he doesn't realize he has been holding. "A woman?" he repeats slowly, propping his chin on one hand and surveying his twin through half-lidded eyes.

Cersei nods. "Just one," she says, mirroring his position so that they are perfectly aligned - shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, just the way they should be.

"Who?"

"Lyanna Stark."

Jaime's eyebrows shoot up, and despite the disapproving look Cersei sends him, he laughs. "You mean Queen Lyanna?"

His twin's eyes narrow at the mention of the Northern girl's new honorific title, and there is such blatant contempt in her gaze that, were he any other man, he would have immediately taken it as his cue to change the subject. But Jaime Lannister is not like most men, and instead of feeling repelled, he finds himself oddly aroused.

He makes a move toward her, but Cersei violently shies away from his touch. "It should have been me," she says bitterly. "I was the one who was supposed to wed Rhaegar, but Elia Martell stole him from me. And then the war happened, and Rhaegar died, and Father said I was to marry Robert Baratheon instead. But then that Stark bitch showed up and ruined everything. It should have been me, Jaime. It should have been me."

"And would you have been happy being Robert Baratheon's wife, sister?" Jaime asks her. "He is a swine and a drunkard and an awful man besides, and he does not deserve you."

"Perhaps not," Cersei replies. "But I would have been Queen."

A resentful laugh escapes Jaime's throat. Truth be told, he would never understand why Cersei longs for such a thing. He has seen what title and power could do to a man – he has enough nightmares about the Mad King and a city ravaged by wildfire to last him a lifetime – and he does not care to see his sister corrupted in such a way. But Cersei is Tywin Lannister's child through and through, and if there's one thing she inherited from their father, it is ambition.

"I want that crown, Jaime," Cersei whispers into her brother's ear, her eyes flashing dangerously and her nails digging painfully into her palms.

Jaime leans forward, brushing his forehead against hers, and plants a soft kiss at her brow. "I would do anything for you, sister," he vows. "Anything."

Cersei knows it. But she likes to hear him say it all the same.

The moment Jaime arrives at King's Landing, the game begins. He watches and waits, and takes note of everything there is to know about the enigma that is Lyanna Stark.

She is beautiful, Jaime grudgingly has to admit, with those dark Northern brows and haunting grey eyes, and he could scarcely blame Robert Baratheon and Rhaegar Targeryen for starting a war over her. But she is not Cersei. And any woman who isn't Cersei is not someone Jaime would like to know on a daily basis. But still, if he is to perform the very task his sister has entrusted him to do, then he must find a way to get closer to the queen.