Title: too much moonlight in these veins
Disclaimer: Not mine-I'm just having fun playing
Summary: For if Lyanna was the wild northern beauty, then Elarra was that of the northern moon-a softer, paler luminescence hanging high above the icy lands of her father. In truth, Lyanna was the beautiful Stark girl and Elarra could only ever be pretty in comparison. Lyanna burned too bright, laughed too fetchingly, and raged too thunderously in the space set aside for both Stark girls that it seemed almost natural that Elarra was so often overlooked. Elarra was solemn where her sister was fiery, cautious where her sister was daring, and deferential where her sister rebelled. But for all that they failed to understand each other, a bond mightier than valyrian steel bond the sisters to one another. For the Lady Elarra doted on her wild sister while the Lady Lyanna adored her solemn sister. There was not a single thing that could dare hope to part them.
Until Rhaegar Targaryen bestowed a wreath of winter roses that tore their lives asunder.
Chapter One: moonlight over the dark waters of your soul
It had gone wrong too fast for him to stop it.
He had been lost in an intoxicated daze of Cersei's lips at his temple and the tightness of her cunt around his cock. Too long had he gone without his sweet sister that he had near lost all his senses when she came to him, disguised as a tavern wench, for a clandestine meeting in King's Landing. He was still drunk off the victory over the Kingswood Brotherhood and his subsequent knighthood and the promise of Cersei's embrace did not encourage him towards sobriety. She came to him with plans and ideas and demands and he said yes to them all with every maddening roll of her hips.
He barely registered the sound of the door crashing open as his release was upon him. He was shouting his sister's name while spilling his seed into her womb and missed the first of her screams. But her second and third roused him, as jarring as a bucket of ice cold water first thing in the morning.
He recognized the red and gold of the Lannister guards first before locking eyes with their uncle Kevan. If he hadn’t been so utterly frightened, if Cersei had not broken out into shrieking sobs as she frantically covered her nakedness, Jaime felt he might have laughed at the bewildered look on Kevan’s face. But the gods had granted him some wits and he remained blissfully silent even as Cersei continued to weep.
“Your father wants to see you,” was all Kevan could manage once he found his voice. The bewildered look had been replaced with a such a severe one that it silenced Cersei immediately. He looked every inch Tywin Lannister’s brother in that moment, green eyes burning with rage. Jaime had never really been scared of his uncle growing up, but now he most assuredly was.
Clothes were thrown at them, still scandalously twisted about in the sheets. “Now!”
He wondered then if he should do something, but the guards were between him and his sword and Kevan may have been bewildered but was no fool. His sword, dagger, and anything of use was kept in Kevan's hand, and four guards surrounded him while only two flanked Cersei, once again in her tavern wench disguise. She was out the room first and Jaime must suffer through near an hour of suffocating silence with Kevan and the remaining guards. When they do leave, it was through a back door and a series of dark alleys. The Red Keep loomed before them soon enough, and he was shoved into a room in the Tower of the Hand for another hour or so of waiting.
The guards were left with him; two in the room and two outside the door. Kevan had not said one word to him since they had left the tavern; his uncle had not even looked at him since Cersei had been taken away. And though he wouldn't say that he had been particularly close to his uncle before, remembering the rage and disgust on Kevan's face in the immediate aftermath left Jaime feeling hollow. I have lost my family. They will not let Cersei near me again and none of them will look at me with love or pride again.
Jaime had never felt guilt for his feelings for Cersei. His sister had always mattered more than anyone or anything else. He had wanted to run away with her, had been desperate to avoid the marriage trap their father was making for them both. She had always denied him; she was supposed to be queen, it was her destiny. And he would have been her knight, joining the Kingsguard and therefore always within reach of his sweet sister. Had he really been swayed by her words, or had he always been too coward to follow through with his plans to run away? Would they ever done it-learned to live as something other than Lannister? They should have tried-they should have been more careful-they should . . .
How did they know? Were we seen? It would have been worse if they had. If news had gotten to Tywin Lannister about this through some tavern dweller or, worse, one of those damnable birds Tywin always complained about. Oh, they had been stupid to risk it here-Casterly Rock was different. The Rock was home and had kept this secret of theirs for so many years. They had been rash-Jaime had been too impatient. They had gambled too much and lost everything.
If it is kept in the family, we may survive. If it has gone beyond, then Father might kill us both.
It was near the hour of ghosts (and how appropriate that might be) when the door to the room opened and he was led from the room. The guards surrounded him once more and he was escorted to the Hand's solar. The guards did not follow him into the room, and that made him more nervous than before. It was dark in the room, the windows tightly covered and all the candles blown out. The only light came from the fireplace, half blotted out due to the shadowy figure of his father before it. Tywin Lannister stood with his back to the flames, leaning ever so slightly against a large chair that faced the fireplace. His green eyes were downcast, his hands clasped tightly together as he refused to look upon his son.
"I will ask you this, only the once," Tywin's voice was low, but still so very loud. Jaime felt each word reverberating around him in the still of the room. "You will answer truthfully, or else there will be immediate consequences."
There was a leather strap hanging over the back of the chair. Jaime had felt such a strap just once before, when his father had discovered that he and Cersei had been switching clothes so that she could attend his lessons instead of her own. They had been young, and it had just been three straps. More than enough to scare his young self, but not enough to hurt too long. This would be a different sort of strapping, and the stern set of Tywin's jaw told Jaime everything he needed to know.
"Did you spill your seed in your sister?"
It was physically distressing to hear the words from his father's mouth. The quiet, even nature of the delivery was worse than the rage and hatred of Kevan's words earlier. A gasp left him, caving his chest inwards, and it was a terrible few moments when he struggled to push down his panic. Tywin waited, far too patient for the subject matter, and it made Jaime feel shame for the first time. He could do nothing but answer, and answer honestly. "Yes, father."
A sudden keening wail split the silence of the room. Jaime startled as Cersei rose from the chair, previously hidden from his view by their father. Her eyes, green as his own, were with fear and rage. "You stupid fool-"
Tywin's hand cut her off, his palm striking her cheek suddenly and viciously. Jaime shouted while Cersei screamed, and he tried to rush to where she had fallen but Tywin stepped between the two of them. There was a naked dagger in his hand and ice in his eyes, and when he nodded slightly, it was to signal to Kevan, previously hiding in one of the many shadows of the room. Kevan had drawn his sword and stood very obviously to Jaime's right. Jaime was outwitted and without arms; he took a step back and Tywin watched him move away.
"Take her to her rooms," Tywin addressed Kevan, but his eyes never left Jaime's face. "Send for Pycelle; she needs Moon Tea, every day for a moon's turn. There can be nothing left to chance. She is not to leave her rooms at all; send her meals there and give her two new maids. She is to have no means of writing; only her sewing. I will send for a septa and she will keep her busy stitching clothes for the less unfortunate of King's Landing."
"Father, you cann-"
Tywin grabbed one of her arms and forcefully pulled her to her feet. Whatever she meant to say, Cersei promptly forget it when Tywin took her chin tightly in his hand. "I would have made you the queen-I have worked so hard to make that happen. And you do what you can to make it impossible. Forget the crown-you have surrendered your own honour. What lord will have you, when you have no maidenhead to give because you gave it to your brother!"
Jaime could never stand for Cersei to be hurt, to even be reprimanded. "The Targaryens-"
"You are not Targaryens!" and now Tywin was shouting. His outburst was sudden, violent in both its arrival and departure. Jaime flinched and Cersei cowered before Tywin took in a large breath and settled himself once again. "And regardless, look at their line-look at who now sits the throne. Do you see a wealth of strong, able-bodied, sound-minded Targaryens littering the capital? Do you think them something to aspire to, boy? A family half full of madness and the other half weakness-don't waste my time with feeble excuses as to why you were fucking your sister!"
Tywin pushed Cersei off into Kevan's hands, and their uncle quietly took his sister away. Jaime watched her go in desperation, the rage and the tears on her face branding itself unto his memory. "She tried to blame your uncle; claimed it was a ploy of his to usurp my position as head of the family. She claimed that she had met you in the tavern for a private celebration of your achievements, wholly innocent in all ways. But that Kevan and his men came upon you and kidnapped you while making wild accusations. She doesn't know the truth. She was followed from the Red Keep by my men; she bears a strong resemblance to your mother. More so every day; I have lived in fear that one day Aerys would notice, that he would try again to-"
Tywin stopped and turned away from him. "Never mind; she is nothing like your mother. Neither of you are-if that demon brother of yours had not killed her, then this would have. How is it that I can be thrice-cursed when it comes to my offspring?"
Jaime was a knight; he had split blood in the Kingswood in the name of the king and he had been knighted for his bravery. But he felt naught but a child right then; a remorseful, useless child. "Father, I-"
The slap was not unexpected, though it stung terribly all the same. "Don't waste my time with your words. I cannot stand to look at you, either of you. You will depart for the Rock tomorrow. Your uncle Kevan will escort you. You will stay at the Rock, you will attend your lessons and learn lordship. You will carry on as a dutiful son and you will do every thing I say without argument; you will marry when and where I say, and you will be grateful for it when it happens. You will not leave the Westerlands except with my consent and if you break any of these edicts even once, I will have your sister killed."
Jaime left the next morning.