Sorry it took so long! Work is beating my ass! Anyways!
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Cersei walked back to her chambers at a somber pace, each step heavy with a lingering weight after she had presented her son with his gift.
She had wanted to stay longer, gods, how she had wanted to linger in that quiet forge, watching him work, touching the steel that now protected him, breathing in his scent.
But he had gently told her he needed to be alone to finish his final project before he marched off to war.
The work demanded total concentration, he said, and any distraction could ruin hours of effort.
So here she was, making her way back through the still-sleeping Red Keep while the sun had not even begun to rise. The corridors felt colder than usual, emptier, as if the castle itself mourned the coming departure.
When she reached the door to her chambers, the two guards she had dismissed earlier were gone, as ordered. She unlocked it with a small key, stepped inside, and closed the heavy oak door behind her with a soft click.
A figure stirred beneath the silk sheets of her large bed the moment she closed the door; only a tumble of golden hair was visible.
The moment the door clicked shut, the figure went rigid, muscles tightening beneath the fabric in a reflexive coil of tension, only to ease just as quickly when recognition set in.
And when the sheet slipped enough to reveal her face, it was as if she was staring into a mirror.
The world knew her other half as "Jaime" Lannister: one of the finest swordsmen in the realm, the Kingslayer, a name that still haunted songs that bards would sing. But to Cersei and to their father, "Jaime" had always been Jaina.
A secret kept so tightly that even the maesters who delivered them had been quietly removed.
Jaina sat up slowly, the sheet slipping down to reveal the lush, thick curves of her naked body, still warm and marked from their pleasurable activities the night before.
"Why are you up so early~?" Her twin asked while rubbing her eyes.
Her full breasts swayed gently with the movement, nipples already tightening in the cool air. Golden hair cascaded over one shoulder as she smiled, seductive at first, the familiar hungry curve of her lips that always promised pleasure.
Then she noticed Cersei's dark mood, and the playful smile quickly faded.
Jaina rose from the bed without shame, completely bare for the world to see, beautiful hips swaying with that effortless grace only her other half could possess.
Before she could speak, Jaina pulled her close and captured her mouth in a deep, lingering kiss, pouring every ounce of warmth and affection into it, determined to chase away the shadows clouding her sister's eyes.
"Hmm~" Cersei moaned softly into her twin's lips, the familiar taste and heat of Jaina's tongue offering a small measure of comfort.
Their bodies pressed together, Jaina's bare breasts brushing against the silk of Cersei's gown as they stumbled backward toward the bed, hands already working at laces and clasps.
By the time they collapsed onto the mattress, Cersei was just as naked as her twin, gown and smallclothes discarded in a careless heap on the floor.
Her sister's mouth trailed hot, open kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, to her stomach, heading lower with clear, dirty intent.
But when Jaina's lips reached the soft skin just above Cersei's wet, aching pussy and began to part her thighs, Cersei stopped her.
"W-Wait," she breathed, voice hoarse and full of arousal.
Jaina paused, golden head lifting from between Cersei's legs. Confusion clouded her beautiful face as she looked up, green eyes searching her sister's.
"What's wrong~?" Jaina asked softly, one hand still resting possessively on Cersei's inner thigh. "You're soaked, dear sister~ Let me take care of you."
Cersei hesitated, chest tight. She stared at the ceiling for a moment before the words finally came.
"I just came back from giving the parting gift to our son," she whispered, getting her sister's full attention. "The gift we worked on together last night."
While she wasn't as close to him as she was, no one was really; Jaina was closer to him than Robert would ever be, and a better father figure, too.
She was the one that Cersei allowed to name her son after all.
Understanding dawned in Jaina's eyes.
She crawled up Cersei's body instead of continuing downward, settling on her and pulling herself close. Warm, naked skin pressed together as Jaina's breasts pressed down on hers, one hand gently stroking Cersei's cheek.
"I see," Jaina murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her sister's lips. "That's why you looked ready to burn the Red Keep down."
Cersei let out a shaky breath, leaning into the comfort of her twin's body. The heat between her thighs still throbbed, but the sharp edge of arousal had dulled beneath the heavier weight of dread and fear.
She would never show this side to anyone, but her sister was the only exception, and maybe one day her son as well.
"I can't stand it," Cersei admitted, her voice cracking while her sister comforted her.
"Our perfect boy, off to war. Robert and those idiot men he calls councilmen, and the gods themselves, want to send him off to war against Ironborn savages and their monster, their supposed 'god' has given them. I wanted to keep him here, by my side, safe and alive."
Jaina's fingers continued their gentle strokes through Cersei's hair.
Her mirror image stared back at her with quiet understanding, eyes soft with shared knowledge and concern.
"I know," Jaina whispered softly. "He's my son just as much as he is yours, but… he is called the Blessed Prince for a reason, dear sister."
Her thumb brushes lightly over Cersei's soft cheek.
"You and I know this better than anyone, what with the impossible miracles he has been doing. Not to mention, he is able to stand his ground against me; a pathetic Ironborn will stand no chance against our son.
She paused as her voice was now full of steel and conviction.
"And if the worst should happen…I will be there to protect him."
Cersei closed her eyes, pressing her face into the warm curve of Jaina's neck, inhaling the familiar scent of her twin.
"I know…" she murmured, voice muffled. "But I still hate every second of this."
Jaina held her tighter, their naked bodies tangled together in the dim pre-dawn light. Smiling as arousal began to take hold once again.
"Then let me help you forget for a little while," she offered gently, lips brushing Cersei's ear sinfully. "Until the sun comes up and the world tries to take us away~"
Cersei didn't answer with words. She simply pulled Jaina closer to a deep kiss, seeking the only comfort she allowed herself, her other half's touch, her other half's body, the only person who truly understood her.
She leaned her head back against the pillows, a low, throaty moan escaping her lips as Jaina slid down between her legs once more.
Her sister's warm breath ghosted over her dripping pussy for only a heartbeat before her talented tongue went to work, slow, deliberate, and devastatingly skilled as she hit all her sweet spots.
Cersei's hips bucked involuntarily, fingers tangling tight in Jaina's golden hair as pleasure surged through her in hot, pulsing waves.
"Gods… Jaina~!" she gasped out huskily and trembling with desperate need.
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Uncle Jaime looked really happy, the aura around him practically glowing as they walked together.
The air around his uncle just screamed that he had just gotten laid last night and this morning.
Good for him and all, but didn't the dude take an oath that basically said no sex when he became a Kingsguard?
Well, as long as he wasn't hurting anyone, he guessed it was all right. He didn't personally care about that particular oath anyway, as long as the other ones were kept.
Besides, his uncle looked like he'd been in desperate need of getting laid for years. What with the way he practically glared a hole through him whenever they sparred.
That glare always seemed to get harsher when…
When what, exactly? The boy frowned, trying to pin down the pattern. It wasn't every session. Sometimes, Jaime was focused, intense, the perfect swordmaster.
Other times, especially on particularly hot days of training hard, his gaze would sharpen into something darker, almost hungry.
Like he was pissed off at the world… or maybe just pissed off that he couldn't do something about whatever was eating at him.
He shrugged it off; it was probably nothing.
"You're in a good mood today, Uncle. Had a good night's sleep?"
Jaime shot him a sidelong glance, one brow arched in that signature Lannister way that his mother would do. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but close enough.
"Something like that~" Well, that certainly was very smug of him.
That faint flush at the base of his uncle's neck, the way his posture seemed looser, more satisfied.
Yup, he definitely got laid.
Probably by some highborn lady who knew how to keep a secret, or maybe one of the servants who'd been eyeing him for months.
Either way, good for him, the dude carried enough weight on those shoulders without adding celibacy to the pile.
Why people insult his uncle for killing a mad king was beyond him; it was truly a medieval way of thinking. Why the hell would you condemn a man who had put an end to an evil tyrant who was burning innocent people alive?
Still, he couldn't help but poke fun at him a little.
"You should do whatever 'that' is more often. You're almost tolerable when you're not trying to murder me with your eyes during drills."
Jaime let out a short chuckle at his words as if he just said something particularly funny.
"Careful, my prince. Keep talking like that, and I might decide to work out some of that leftover energy on you instead."
The threat carried no true weight, more playful really, softened by a familiar ease between them.
His uncle was a man to admire, even if the smugness never quite left his face. Still, it was earned; few knights in the realm could match him, and he could attest to this, seeing as he had the bruises and the many ass beatings to prove it.
He smirked beneath his helmet as he turned to look at his uncles
"You should be the one being careful because soon I'm going to be the one to make you eat dirt one of these days, uncle."
His words of challenge only seemed to brighten his uncle's mood, however.
"Then I shall take no small delight in thrashing you well before that time comes, my prince~"
"Smug bastard," he thought to himself while smiling.
They continued walking, the banter flowing easily, until they reached the outer yard where Robert and the gathered soldiers were assembling.
The moment the prince stepped into view with a long, cloth-wrapped object cradled carefully in his arms, Robert's face lit up like a man who had just been promised the head of his greatest enemy on a platter.
"There's my boy!" the king bellowed, striding forward with heavy, enthusiastic steps. His massive frame was already armored for the march, though he still looked half-drunk on excitement rather than wine for once. "Look at you! That armor is going to make the ironborn cunts shit their pants the second they see you riding up!"
That was one hell of a compliment; hopefully, it soon becomes a reality.
Robert clapped a heavy hand on his son's armored shoulder, the impact ringing loudly against the steel. Then his gaze dropped to the wrapped bundle.
"Is that what I think it is?" he asked, eyes gleaming with boyish anticipation. "You finished it?"
The prince nodded, a smile tugging at his lips beneath the helmet. His father had asked him the same day he first showed off the enchanted sword, demanding that his beloved warhammer receive the same "blessing."
Being a good son that he is, the prince had taken the old hammer and forged it anew, pouring the same care, the same [Cooking Expert] precision, and a careful selection of flakes into the process.
He unwrapped the cloth with deliberate care.
The warhammer revealed beneath drew a collective gasp from the gathered soldiers and lords alike.
It was truly magnificent.
The head was larger and more elegantly shaped than the original, etched with subtle runes that caught the early morning light.
The haft was reinforced, perfectly balanced, and wrapped in dark leather that felt alive under the fingers.
A faint, inner glow pulsed along the striking face, hinting at the power stored within.
Robert let out a loud, delighted sound somewhere between a laugh and a whoop.
"Seven hells, boy! This is better than the time you made the Crunch Wrap Supreme!"
Well, damn.
That said everything that needed to be said about how his father felt.
His old man doesn't fucking joke about the Crunch Wrap Supreme.
He took the hammer gingerly, almost reverently, holding it as if it were a newborn babe rather than a weapon of war. The moment his hands closed around the haft, bright sparks of lightning crackled along the head.
Robert's eyes widened, then he threw his head back and laughed maniacally, the sound booming across the yard like thunder.
Everyone but the prince immediately dropped to one knee, heads bowed in awe and deference as their king raised the enchanted warhammer high with one massive hand.
BOOM
A deafening crack of thunder split the sky.
A bolt of pure lightning erupted from the hammer and shot upward, splitting the pale dawn clouds in a brilliant white-purple arc.
…That just used up all the flakes…
Fuck he was going to have to refill it!
Robert's roar shook the very stones beneath their feet.
"THE GODS ARE WITH US!" he bellowed, voice carrying to every soldier in the yard. "VICTORY IS OURS! WITH THIS HAMMER AND MY SON AT MY SIDE, WE'LL SEND THOSE IRON CUNTS SCREAMING BACK TO THEIR DROWNED GOD!"
Cheers erupted across the assembled host, loud, fierce, and filled with renewed fervor. Men slammed fists against shields and breastplates, the sound rolling like a coming storm.
The prince stood quietly amid the chaos, watching his father revel in the moment with a strained smile hidden beneath his helmet.
The war had truly begun.